hysterical level.
Chuck cringed and took a few steps back. “They want blood,” he said.
Fin put his arm around Chuck’s shoulder. “But there’s at least four times as many on our side,” he said, pointing to the growing numbers of people who were now getting down on their knees on the pavement to pray that Raelynn Blackwell’s life be spared. Fin crossed his fingers, closed his eyes, and prayed in his own way along with them.
EIGHT
Bernadette was stunned as she stumbled out of the death chamber, sure that her heart was going to hammer holes right through her ribs. She looked at Regis, behind her, and his face told her that he had no idea what was happening, any more than she did. With robot-like steps that matched the guard’s hollow footsteps in front of her and Amy Whitehall’s sighs behind her, she filed into a large open room along with everyone else.
Tap, tap, tap. Warden Fredrick stood in the middle of the room, his thick fingers thumping against his chunky thighs. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead and a circle of sweat radiated out from the underarms of his light blue shirt. Bernadette searched his face for a clue about what was going on, but her intuition seemed to have gone as quiet as the room. All at once, several men exploded through the door, press tags flying from their necks, their edgy voices and shuffling feet shattering the silence as they vied for the best position near the warden. She glared at them. Who invited them, anyway? Shouldn’t the media be kept away?
A fidgety circle formed around the warden. His face looked depleted and his eyes haunted as he expanded his chest as if he was trying to fill himself with courage. He raised his hands, and the room fell silent.
“The governor stopped the procedure,” he announced.
A burst of adrenaline shot through Bernadette’s veins and tightened around her throat. A chorus of gasps echoed through the room—and then havoc broke out.
“What did the governor say?”
“Why did she stop the execution?”
“What’s going on?”
The warden raised his palms and the reporters fell silent, notepads and pens at the ready.
“The governor didn’t call at six o’clock like she usually does.” He cleared his throat. “At seven o’clock, we called her office. Her staff said we could expect to hear from her any minute.” He cleared his throat again.
“When did she call?” A reporter interrupted, his voice loud, demanding.
“Tell us what happened,” another one said.
“Offender Blackwell was out of appeals.” Warden Fredrick tried to shout over the reporters’ voices but quickly gave up and pressed the palms of his hands into the air to restore order.
“We fully expected the governor to give the go-ahead. That’s why we broke with policy just this once and prepared the offender. That’s why I made the decision to bring the witnesses into the viewing room.”
He took a deep breath and looked at Bernadette, speaking to her as if she were the only person in the room. “I didn’t want you to have to wait any longer than you already had. That was poor judgment on my part. I should have waited. I’m sorry. I never should have put you through all that.”
Then he cleared his throat again and sighed, looking around the circle as if resigned to the attacks that were certain to follow.
“Why did the governor stop it?” a reporter blurted out.
“Yeah, what happened, anyway?”
“Does this mean her death sentence is commuted?”
“I reckon Mr. Pearl over there is the one to do the rest of the explaining here,” Warden Fredrick said.
A man who had been leaning against the wall stepped forward and joined the warden in the middle of the room. With suspicion, Bernadette eyed his buzz cut, his round head, and his ruddy face that seemed oddly placed on top of his lean body, a flaming red bowtie incongruous next to his impeccable gray linen three-piece suit.
“I’m Attorney Jimmy Pearl, y’all,” he said, “and I’ve
Chuck cringed and took a few steps back. “They want blood,” he said.
Fin put his arm around Chuck’s shoulder. “But there’s at least four times as many on our side,” he said, pointing to the growing numbers of people who were now getting down on their knees on the pavement to pray that Raelynn Blackwell’s life be spared. Fin crossed his fingers, closed his eyes, and prayed in his own way along with them.
EIGHT
Bernadette was stunned as she stumbled out of the death chamber, sure that her heart was going to hammer holes right through her ribs. She looked at Regis, behind her, and his face told her that he had no idea what was happening, any more than she did. With robot-like steps that matched the guard’s hollow footsteps in front of her and Amy Whitehall’s sighs behind her, she filed into a large open room along with everyone else.
Tap, tap, tap. Warden Fredrick stood in the middle of the room, his thick fingers thumping against his chunky thighs. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead and a circle of sweat radiated out from the underarms of his light blue shirt. Bernadette searched his face for a clue about what was going on, but her intuition seemed to have gone as quiet as the room. All at once, several men exploded through the door, press tags flying from their necks, their edgy voices and shuffling feet shattering the silence as they vied for the best position near the warden. She glared at them. Who invited them, anyway? Shouldn’t the media be kept away?
A fidgety circle formed around the warden. His face looked depleted and his eyes haunted as he expanded his chest as if he was trying to fill himself with courage. He raised his hands, and the room fell silent.
“The governor stopped the procedure,” he announced.
A burst of adrenaline shot through Bernadette’s veins and tightened around her throat. A chorus of gasps echoed through the room—and then havoc broke out.
“What did the governor say?”
“Why did she stop the execution?”
“What’s going on?”
The warden raised his palms and the reporters fell silent, notepads and pens at the ready.
“The governor didn’t call at six o’clock like she usually does.” He cleared his throat. “At seven o’clock, we called her office. Her staff said we could expect to hear from her any minute.” He cleared his throat again.
“When did she call?” A reporter interrupted, his voice loud, demanding.
“Tell us what happened,” another one said.
“Offender Blackwell was out of appeals.” Warden Fredrick tried to shout over the reporters’ voices but quickly gave up and pressed the palms of his hands into the air to restore order.
“We fully expected the governor to give the go-ahead. That’s why we broke with policy just this once and prepared the offender. That’s why I made the decision to bring the witnesses into the viewing room.”
He took a deep breath and looked at Bernadette, speaking to her as if she were the only person in the room. “I didn’t want you to have to wait any longer than you already had. That was poor judgment on my part. I should have waited. I’m sorry. I never should have put you through all that.”
Then he cleared his throat again and sighed, looking around the circle as if resigned to the attacks that were certain to follow.
“Why did the governor stop it?” a reporter blurted out.
“Yeah, what happened, anyway?”
“Does this mean her death sentence is commuted?”
“I reckon Mr. Pearl over there is the one to do the rest of the explaining here,” Warden Fredrick said.
A man who had been leaning against the wall stepped forward and joined the warden in the middle of the room. With suspicion, Bernadette eyed his buzz cut, his round head, and his ruddy face that seemed oddly placed on top of his lean body, a flaming red bowtie incongruous next to his impeccable gray linen three-piece suit.
“I’m Attorney Jimmy Pearl, y’all,” he said, “and I’ve
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