Chapter
36: Locked Away
“Ian Lawson do you have any last words?” The
elderly Hispanic priest leans over the bearded bald man in the orange jumpsuit strapped
to the executioner’s table. Ian moves his head straining to look left and right
but with his head bound by leather straps he can do no more than cut his eyes. He
sees the Warden standing in the corner next to a pudgy doctor with blond hair
and droopy eyes. In days gone by the executioner was a man to be feared. An
imposing figure with a black hood obscuring his face. He waited with an axe
ready for a beheading or a black gloved hand perched on a wooden lever. In the
new days of an overly politically correct society. The much coveted old world
position of executioner is now held by a doctor and in most cases not a good
one either. The Warden’s face is stoic unmoving he shows no emotions having
presided over executions for more than two decades. The room is a sterile white
which is a stark contrast to the rest of the Penitentiary. “Nawh Padre I got
nothing to say but thanks anyway.” Ian says feeling sweat beading on his forehead
and slowly rolling under the leather head strap. He clinches his fist
determined to meet his end with dignity. A twinge of pain from his wounded
fingertip runs up his arm. Ian Lawson has seen death hell he has caused death. The
fact that he was a murderer was what had led him to his current predicament.
His crimes had earned him an unprecedented fast track to death row. His date
with the lethal chemical cocktail in the executioner’s needle would not be
delayed. Even as the power seemingly went out plunging the rest of the country
into total darkness yesterday. The power remained on in most of the prison
thanks to the backup generators buried under the facility. Then there was the
bite he sustained to the tip of his pinkie finger from a guard earlier. After a
quick check by the prison doctor it was determined this wouldn’t grant him
extra time in this world either. “Fuckin’ bastard Hobart.” Ian’s mind wanders
as he thinks about the Screw who nipped him. “May God have mercy on your soul
Ian Lawson.” The old man hobbles over closing his weather bible. The Priest
takes a lumpy arthritic hand placing his hand gently on Ian’s chest. “He won’t
Father I’ve killed a lot of people bro and they have almost all cried out to
God or a god of some sort.” A hollow smile draws across the man on the table’s
face. “None of them ever got an answer and I bet if he didn’t answer them he
sure as hell won’t answer me.” Ian closes his eyes his mind racing back over
the faces over the horror he’d left in his wake. He truly felt his work on this
plane of existence was done.
The Priest snatches his hand back from Ian’s
chest as if he’s touching a hot skillet. The old man of the cloth stands over
the convicted killer his mouth open. The condemned man’s heartbeat is beating slow
steady rhythm as if he is reading a book in a quite library instead of
recounting the butchering of countless human beings. A chuckle followed by a
snort escapes Ian’s lips. “Hey Warden Gladstone let’s get this show on the
road.” He shouts struggling to catch a glance at the two-way viewing mirror to
his left. “These people paid for a show. They came to see me the great and
malevolent Ian Lawson be put to death.” The broad chest Warden walks over his
face clearly showing his disapproval but how could you admonish a man who was
literally waiting a death’s door? “Father Martinez thank you for your service
you are dismissed.” The Warden speaks to the priest through a thick bristly
salt and pepper mustache. The old man clutching his bible to his chest makes
haste towards a locked door next to where the doctor is standing. A tap on the
door and the sound of keys rattling comes from the opposite side of the door.
Father Martinez exits the death chamber and doesn’t look back. Warden Gladstone
gets down to whisper into Ian’s ear. “Look there’s no need to show out. Your
audience isn’t as big as you’d normally like you asshole.” His eyes drill into
the killer bound with his arms out as if he was ready to make snow angels.
“Seems the global blackout is just a little bigger than you being put to
death.” Ian and the Warden catch each other’s gaze. “If the powers down Warden Gladstone
how will the Governor ever call you to spare my life?” The serial killer pouts like
a spoiled child mocking the warden. Gladstone stands back up straightening his
beige suit jacket running his fingers through his crew cut hair. “Yeah don’t
hold your breath convict. Governor Fillmore told me yesterday he wished he
could be here at seven on the dot. He wanted to push the needle into your
eyeball not your IV himself.” Neither man knew that Governor Fillmore was
currently disemboweling the Deputy Governor on the floor of the State Capital
and gulping down her warm intestines as they spoke. The Warden winks down sarcastically
at Ian Lawson. “In about four minutes boy the sun will set on today and your
life.” He strolls back over next to the doctor peering up at the wall the
clock. It was running five or so minuets slow after the power outage. When the
generators kicked back no one had bother to reset the clocks. In prison keeping
clocks set correctly wasn’t a huge priority.
The portly doctor hustles into position he
occupies himself by running a check on the machines monitoring Ian Lawson. The
volume has been turned down on the machines as they are not here to keep track
of a person’s health. Their purpose this evening is to maintain a record of
one’s death. The doctor stands huffing in his rumpled lab coat. Now that he’s
satisfied he squeezes his girth past Lawson coming to a stop behind a chrome
tray with two syringes. He nods “yes” to Warden Gladstone placing a trembling
hand on the tray containing the needles. The Warden acknowledges the doctor
before speaking to the condemned. “Ian Lawson you have been found guilty by a
jury of your peers and sentenced to death by a judge in good standings.” The
man crosses his arms behind his back the well-rehearsed stance is even part of
the pomp and circumstance of the ritual. “Have you any last words to say?” The
Warden pauses briefly scanning Ian Lawson’s face. “If I would have known this
fat fuck would be doin’ me in. I would have never given up willingly.” The
killer scoffs rolling his eyes. “Sheesh …. You’re pathetic.” The Warden is
overcome with the sudden urge to cave Lawson’s head in with one of the trays in
the room. Instead he regains his composure “Proceed doctor.” On the Warden Gladstone’s
orders the sausage fingered doctor takes the first syringe holding it up at eye
level. He pops off the top flicking it with his index finger making sure there
are no air bubbles present. Ian thinks this protocol is odd considering an air
bubble in the needle would take longer to kill him than the drugs in the
syringe. He plunges the syringe into the plump IV. He drives the plunger on the
needle down forcing its contents into the bag draining into Lawson. With no
hesitation the out of shape doctor retrieves the second needle to finish off
the lethal compound. He can already see the rhythmic rise and fall of Lawson’s
chest give way to uneven heaving. As he jabs the inlet on the bag with the
second syringe and along with Warden Gladstone they wait. Gladstone loathes
this part it had always seemed ludicrous to him. Standing idly by like he was
at a social function except everyone struggled to ignore the dying person in
the room. Warden Gladstone watches the minuets tick painfully by on the slow clock
perched on the wall across the room. His mind turns to the people in the
viewing room originally they had expected a full house. Ian Lawson was the
equivalent of a serial killing rock star. He was insidious, evil and claimed to
have murdered over sixty people. Instead there were two people a local reporter
and a woman from one of those tabloid TV shows.
“Call it Dr. Luta.” Warden Gladstone
instructs the man to his left. Doctor Luta waddles over checking the heart
monitor first. Every line on the screen is flat there were dashes where
Lawson’s blood pressure, heart rate and pulse once were. He hesitates staring
at the body on the table before him. With practiced precision doctor Luta
unhooks the leads running from the monitors to Ian. He checks Ian Lawson’s
pulse and finds none. He then uses a stethoscope dangling from his neck to
listen to the killer’s chest. “No heartbeat, no pulse and no respiration.”
Doctor Luta pulls the scope from his ear and drapes it back across his neck.
“Time of death ………” He looks at the clock unsure of what to say. Gladstone
rolls his eyes in frustration. “Add five minutes Luta and let’s be done with
this. I have a prison full of convicts and more than half my staff didn’t show
because of this damn power outage.” Doctor Luta shoots Gladstone a glaring
stare muttering something under his breath. The thick jowls dangling from his
neck shake like water balloons. He begins to undo the strap hold down the dead
killers arm. Luta stops to check for a pulse not finding one he flicks the
butterfly needle free. He places the dead man’s arm at his side on the gurney.
Doctor Luta was thrilled this execution had gone far smoother than he’d
expected and with less of a turn out. He dutifully goes about removing the
restraints from Ian Lawson’s body. It was past sundown and the good doctor
wanted nothing more than to be locked up tight in condo. The head restraint was
the last one he had to undo. No one was here to claim the body so this would be
an easy one. He had to sign one sheet of paper. After seven days in the prison
morgue Ian Lawson’s body would be unceremoniously buried in an unmarked grave
on the prison grounds. As he comes up from the end of the table Doctor Luta
does a double take. “Did he just move or was that just me?” He asks Warden
Gladstone in disbelief. “Doc I didn’t see a hot damn thing.” Gladstone slaps
his forehead. “Now bag this sack of shit up I have work to do.” A conflicted
doctor Luta presses his hand down on Lawson’s chest and it doesn’t move. He
wants to be one hundred percent sure this lunatic is dead before he frees the
last restraint around the dead man’s head. He looks the body on the table up
and down. Luta notices how peaceful the killer looks peaceful in much the same
way a dead shark does. The doctor hesitates hands shaking noticeably as he
takes Ian Lawson’s head into his hands. Slowly he leans down like scared lover pressing
a down on the serial killer’s chin. Trembling doctor Luta listens for the
sounds of respiration holding perfectly still to feel the tingle of breath on
his ear. Nothing satisfied the man underneath him is dead his hands drop to the
buckle on the head restraints. “He’s dead Warden.” Luta declares cocking his
head up. He unhitches the buckle standing up. “Gotcha bitch!” Lawson lashes out
in a blur his arms ensnaring the startled man.
Lawson’s cryptic words sink into doctor
Luta’s ears while his teeth sink into the pink flesh under his chin. Doctor
Luta’s tries to scream in the death chamber but Ian jams a hand under his chin.
Doctor Luta’s screams of agony are forced back down his throat. Warden
Gladstone clutches his chest falling backwards like a felled tree. Lawson
drives Luta to the floor snatching his head back in an arch. Blood sprays in
thick goblets against the wall like a stepped on ketchup packet. “Woooooooo”
the killer howls past the chunk of flesh in his mouth. Behind him he hears the
sounds of shoes scuffing the white tiled floor. “Don’t go nowhere fat boy.” Ian
demands of the thrashing doctor who is desperately clamping his hands around
the hole in his throat. Ian turns his evil orange flecked eyes to Warden
Gladstone. The man is dragging himself across the floor as his heart stages a
revolt deep within his chest. “Now Warden I don’t know much about what’s going
on here.” Lawson walks towards the terrified man using one hand to swipe blood
from his chin. “One moment I’m cascading joyously down this dark tunnel with
thousands of other wailing condemned folks.” He stops lording over the Warden
who reaches for a red glass covered button marked “Panic Alarm” in bold red
lettering. “Well the next thing I know sure as shit feels like a tornado in
reverse done grabbed hold of me and I gets sucked back into my body.” Warden
Gladstone’s hand moves for the “panic alarm.” “Here let me help you with that.”
Lawson seizes his victim’s beefy hand and crams the squirming fingers into his
mouth. Lawson savagely tears the fingers free chewing them smiling like a kid
who has found a stash of ill-gotten candy. “Yes sir I open my eyes and what do
I see Warden Gladstone?” Lawson throws his hand up in mockery the way a hitchhiker
does. “I see fat boy over there …. “ He points back to the now dead doctor Luta
laying in the widest pool of blood he’s ever seen. “You know the odd thing
Warden?” Lawson’s smile fades as he reaches down grabbing the Warden’s bloodied
lapels. His lips twitch as he slams the Warden flat against the hard tile
floor. Ian Lawson sits on the Warden’s chest straddling the man who is fast
losing the color in his face. “The odd thing is that ole boy’s flesh sudden it
looked better than that cheap shitty steak you done served me earlier.” Lawson
pulls the Warden upwards by his lapels the smile that returns to his face would
make the devil’s blood run cold. “Kinda like yours does now Warden.” Lawson
lets Gladstone’s head bounce off the floor as he slithers backwards over him.
In a flash his rips the man shirt open exposing his hairy heaving stomach. He
dives in like a starving animal biting up a clump of meat then driving his
hands into the same wound. Just like that Ian Lawson claims yet another victim
disemboweling the struggling man. He rips at the gaping cavity greedily
shoving handfuls into his mouth. He hears a loud bump from the other side of
the viewing glass but he can only see his own reflection. Which oddly enough he
isn’t shocked to see himself covered in blood after all this wasn’t his first
rodeo. The orange glitter like sparkles dancing around his eyes do however
fascinate him. Then come another crash from the viewing area. Lawson rises to
his feet swallowing a mouth full he scans the room finding a small oxygen tank
under the gurney he was strapped to. He takes up the aluminum container
flipping it around. He is aware that he is hungry once more but the cold dead
bodies on the floor no longer interest him. They are like lunch meat left on a
counter to long on a warm summer afternoon. “Knock … “he smashes the canister
into the mirror coated safety glass. A spider wed pattern appears instantly as
Lawson continues his assault. “ … Knock.” His blows comes fast a furious the
glass soon gives way. A large jagged hole appears in the center of the glass.
Lawson pokes his head through in the darkness he can see a form hunched over
another. He recognizes the thin pale man in the black uniform feasting on a
twitching woman. “Hobart” He spits as the gangly man turns to face him. His
face is a crimson mask blood coats everything from his blond buzz cut to his
goatee. “Hey Lawson you too?” The prison guard laughs licking blood from his
fingers. “I was in this fog kept trying to bite people. I could see myself but
I couldn’t stop what I was doing. So they locked me in the infirmary dude and
it didn’t go so well for them.” Hobart lets out another cackle. Lawson’s eyes
glow with a murderous rage. “You turned men into a damn zombie you son of a
bitch and I’m gonna kick the shit outta you for that you hear me?”
This week we find ourselves making a quick pit stop on death row. We tuned into the last minutes of a serial killer named Ian Lawson's hate filled life. These events takes us back to the day after "The Event." Could these events impacts the James family's quest for survival or are we just passing through? We say see you the week of July 28th for Chapter 37 to learn more.
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The Living Dark
