The War Gate

by Chris Stevenson

  She blinked. “Well, I’ve never heard it put quite that way before. It sounds like you’re all over the place.”

  “Just backward and forward, the sun, the moon, and the key in between.”

  She cocked her head at the odd words, wondering if something was getting lost in translation. Was it possible this guy was mental?”

  His eyes glimmered for a moment. “But forget about all that. I’m not the pertinent subject of this hour. This chapter draws to an end necessitating the turn of another page. Do you have anything to confess?”

  “Should I kneel, Father?”

  “It won’t make your words any more significant. Divine justice reads the heart. Not the posture.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I guess I’m guilty of being accused, convicted, and sentenced. I’m just plain dumb for trusting the wrong counsel. I’m ashamed that I’ve put what little family I have through the worst heartache imaginable.”

  “I’m not referring to this conviction in which the War Gate is soon to open. After all, you cannot confess to a crime that you are innocent of, can you?”

  She looked at him with an aching curiosity. Her heart lifted for a moment. Then reality set in. “How do you know I’m innocent? I’ve never met you before.” It shocked her that a priest had followed her case with such conviction. “Unless you’re really a reporter whose been watching the trial coverage.”

  He adjusted his body to face her more squarely. “Let’s just say my investigative sources prove that a sacrifice is not needed here. You could call it a restoration of balance. I was referring to the infractions in your life before this case.”

  Strange. This man was convinced of her innocence. She had no idea how he had arrived at that conclusion. She struggled between embarrassment and relief when she began to tell him of her life’s transgressions, the times when she didn’t pay parking tickets, when she had kicked her dog out of frustration, the incidences of pettiness, jealousy, and wantonness. She even admitted to cheating on a history exam in high school for fear of being held back a grade.

  When she exhausted her confession inventory, she looked at the priest, wondering if he was going to forgive her or recite a standard blessing. She watched him close his eyes. Next, she heard words that were just a whisper. Nevertheless, she found herself bowing out of reverence.

  “So it was found. So it was confessed. So it is forgiven. From the past, into the new beginning, beyond into the days that have not yet been seen. I take thee from the Old Gate into another of the same for the deserved chance to correct the great wrong. Abide in the final peace that has been earned.” He opened his eyes. “Are you prepared to enter the new Gate, Avalon?”

  She couldn’t hold back the floodgate of emotions any longer. His words intoned some kind of indescribable beauty, albeit tempered with tragedy. She had never heard such an interpretation that spoke of passing from one life into another in such a manner. It was too much. The tears spilled from her eyes, and her shoulders quaked. She reached out a trembling hand. He took it to pat it in comfort. His hand was so warm, so secure. For a fleeting moment, she felt she was in the presence of a guardian angel. She tried to contain herself, resisting the urge to throw herself into his arms, knowing he would be one of the last persons to see her alive.

  With an endearing tenderness, he pulled her to her feet. She bit her lip, commanding the tears to stop. At all costs, she would try to recapture some countenance of dignity.

  The priest embraced her with strong arms. She wanted it to last, but knew it was prolonging the inevitable. When she pulled a half step back, she swiped one last wet spot from her cheek with a forearm.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “This isn’t the way I wanted to be remembered. I just don’t want to suffer when the time comes. Will you help me deal with it, Father?”

  He put a hand over her abdomen. A light shone in his face. His eyes seemed to pass right through her. “I won’t let them take you from this Gate. This is a time of rebirth.”

  It was impossible to understand a lot of what he was saying. Death had always been a complicated issue amongst humanity. Faith was the assurance of things hoped for—the conviction of things not seen. She had the faith, but was uncertain if she had enough conviction. The passing from one plane to another was symbolic—it always had been. Maybe the priest knew the mysterious “other plane” better than anyone. He was conveying that it was not something to be feared, she reasoned. That to face renewal one should rejoice.

  His hand brought a fire to her stomach. She could feel a throb that radiated from her navel down into her bowels, an uncomfortable sensation that almost felt like a bladder infection. The discomfort increased, causing her to waver. The air filled with a brusque mesquite odor that forced her to take choppy breaths until she was panting. A heavy buzz filled her head with a nauseating thrum. She felt herself collapsing from within, the strength leaving her legs. The world went black, like a curtain had been thrown over her.

  Avalon awoke lying on her back. When her eyes focused, she found herself staring up at the cell ceiling, watching the bluish-white flicker of the fluorescent lights behind the translucent covers. She sat up, and nausea from the worst cramps she had ever experienced rolled through her. From the corner of her eye she noticed the departing figure of the priest who strode through the dayroom on his way to the exit. He had left his thick book behind. She staggered to the door with it. Avalon called out twice. He stopped, turned around.

  “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I must have fainted. You’ve left your book here.” She wondered why he’d decided to leave. Wasn’t he supposed to accompany her into the death chamber?

  Janus called across the room, “You’ll be all right now. Rest, child. The book is yours. It’s your new story. We’ll meet again.” He walked past her vision. The tap of his shoes echoed across the floor.

  She waited for the sound of the slamming vault door but it never came. Knowing that she was defying prison rules, she took woozy steps out of her cell and across the floor to chance a look. She could see nothing. The priest had vanished. She returned to her cell, perplexed. She had no idea what time it was or where Chubby had gone.

  The sound of a dozen inmate voices rose again, bleeding into each other in the dayroom.

  “You hang in there, girl,” yelled a female voice from the next cell over, barely audible through the wall.

  “Don’t give those bitches the satisfaction,” said another woman.

  The familiar clank of the entrance door sounded like a gunshot. It was followed by the shuffling of shoes. Chubby appeared, cuffing sweat from his forehead. He drug his chair across the floor, placing it closer to Avalon’s cell. He sat down with a heavy thud. A patch of his shirttail hung out, and he had a streamer of toilet paper stuck to a shoe.

  “Sorry I had to leave,” he said under labored breaths. “That was the worst case of diarrhea I’ve ever had. Jumped me like a strong-armed robber.” He began writing on his clipboard with furious strokes.

  Her own stomach churned before she could question him about the mysterious priest. It came to her in a fit of annoyance that her last meal might have been the source of their illness. She felt bloated, an explosion of gas bubbling up from her guts like seltzer. She didn’t need to be sick right now. A nauseous belch escaped her. There went any vestige of dignity she had left. Now she faced the possibility of messing herself during the long walk or while strapped in the crucifixion pose on the gurney. The pain eased after a few moments.

  She placed the large book on her lap, flipping it open to the first page. Her name was spelled out in bold letters across the top. She turned the page and found it blank. She fanned the pages. They were all blank except for the page numbers that appeared centered at the bottom. What kind of twisted joke was this? A new story? It was a blank slate, which was even more demeaning if it was meant to be a diary of her life.

  She lurched to her feet and hurled the book. It hit the wall, bouncing back to slide under her bunk. Chubby jum
ped up from the chair and hurried into the room.

  “You okay, Avalon? What was that bang?”

  She sat down in a slump. “That was cruel—just damned cruel. The pages are empty. What a crock! Do me a favor. Don’t let anyone else in here until it’s over.”

  “Who did I let in here?” Chubby shrugged, looking dismayed.

  Avalon slapped the bunk pad hard. “Now don’t you start in on me! Why does this have to turn into a torture fest? You’d think I’d had enough of this after fourteen years with God knows how many appeals!”

  “Avalon, you want me to get the doctor?” Chubby checked his watch. “We still have ten minutes or so.” He froze, whipping his head around at the clacking sound of the entrance door in the dayroom.

  Chubby received a call on his radio. He answered, “Okay, Sarge. I copy that. Yes, sir. We’re ready to walk, I think.” Then to Avalon, “Sorry. The detail is on its way.” He strode off to meet with the other staff members.

  She rose to her feet, prepared to face the small escort crowd that had just entered the cell block. She picked up the thick book from under the bunk and secured it in her duffel bag. The bag contained her personal inventory—court documents, letters, hygiene kit, slippers, a photo album, and a few pieces of plastic jewelry. She hadn’t been in this cell long enough to call it home. She visualized her cell at the Correctional Institute in Raleigh. She said a silent goodbye to that one. All those inmates who had befriended her over the years passed through her thoughts. Considering the circumstances, some of those memories were happy ones.

  She stepped up to the cell threshold. Two more guards, the prison physician, and a chaplain appeared. The prison physician, Doctor King, a silver-haired man, had been appointed to guard against botched execution procedures. One person of note who had not shown up was the warden. But why had the regular chaplain appeared now? Hadn’t he been called away for an emergency?

  The detail formed a half ring around her. Father Mathews stepped forward to offer his hand for the purpose of escort. She took it with a fierce grip. “I thought you were off the schedule tonight,” she said. “How’s the family member?”

  Father Mathews gave her a curious glance. “Family member?”

  “Yeah, the one who got in an accident. I hope everything is okay. By the way, you shouldn’t have sent a quack for a replacement. I could have done without the prank.”

  “There’s been no accident, Avalon. I can assure you, I have not been replaced. In fact, I’ve been in the chapel praying for you.”

  She tossed the hand away like a gum wrapper. “What in the hell has gotten into everyone around here? Are you all in on this? The priest that was here fifteen minutes ago, jibber jabbering about new beginnings, gates, and correcting things.” She backpedaled a few steps, raising an accusing finger.

  “Now don’t tell me that Gemini character just walked right in here without a pass, fed me some horrendous pile, then put his hands on me without anyone knowing about it.” She glared at her friend. “Chubs, you checked your roster. That priest wasn’t even cleared to enter.”

  The staff exchanged glances. The doctor gave a breathy sigh. Chubby froze like a stone pillar The other two guards bowed their legs, postured for trouble. One of the guard’s hands stole to the butt of a taser gun.

  Father Mathews took a cautious step forward. “It’s no good to get worked up over this, Avalon. I’ll be with you every step of the way. We can do this together.”

  Chubby clenched a fist. “Can’t you see she’s frightened? She’s sick and needs treatment. This is inhumane!”

  The sergeant turned on him. “I’ll remind you of your detail, Officer Hammersmith. Would you like to be relieved of duty?”

  Chubby shook his head. “No. Right now she needs someone she can trust. I’m staying.”

  Avalon remained obstinate. “If you don’t believe me, check my bag. That fake priest gave me a big gold book with my name on it. At least check your surveillance tapes. Nobody can get in or out of here without the video system picking them up.”

  The sergeant blew out an exasperated breath. He spoke urgent words into his hand-held radio. “Surveillance, back up your tapes thirty minutes, then fast-forward. See if you can pick up any unauthorized entry into death row dayroom for D block. Report back ASAP.” The sergeant looked at his watch. “Let’s head out. We’re falling behind.”

  Chubby extended a hand, offering a soft, sympathetic look. On the verge of panic once again, Avalon collared her emotions. She reached out to take her friend’s gentle grasp. She tried to imagine a logical scenario for what had just happened. Her mind had conjured up sights and sounds that no one believed. There seemed a single explanation for it. The devil had come in the last hour to rattle her cage. Break her faith. Well, she wouldn’t have any part of his dealings. She shook a fist at the ceiling. “Be gone!” she commanded the air. “Get behind me.” Then to her escorts, “I’m ready now. Let’s get this over with.”

  She walked hand in hand with Chubby across the dayroom floor. Her thong slippers made little clacks. She heard the sound of fists hitting the cell walls, knowing that her fellow inmates were in the throes of protest. Her legs felt unusually heavy. There was a persistent ache in her lower back that hadn’t been there before.

  Father Mathews began reciting scripture when she passed through the dayroom vault into the long corridor. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, carefully distributing her weight lest she stumble and fall to the floor in an undignified belly flop. She gave a halfhearted salute to one of the surveillance cameras above. A door at the end of the hall opened when they approached. She filed through with her escorts into the octagonal room.

  The huge observation windows of the execution chamber were cranked wide open for optimum view. Several reporters, along with a few city officials, sat in a long row of frontline chairs. A number of friends and past employees of her husband, who also happened to be her friends, were in attendance. Most of them did not make eye contact with her.

  How awkward, how morose it all seemed. Her face flushed hot from embarrassment.

  The sergeant spoke for the benefit of the staff after having listened to his radio. “Surveillance reports from all stations that there was no intruder on the prison property at any time tonight. All cellblocks are clear.”

  Avalon ignored the report. It was the devil. Case closed. Her bucket of give a damn was empty.

  Refusing assistance, she mounted the gurney to splay herself out. Father Mathews droned on, reciting passages until he settled on Psalm twenty-three. He raised his voice, accentuating every word for all ears to hear. Two guards began buckling the straps while another readied two intravenous drip lines that were routed from behind a curtained station. The doctor applied a heart pickup, then adjusted the controls on a nearby monitor.

  A face appeared over Avalon that she had seen just twice before. It was Warden Remy, a man with too much hair gel, a ruddy complexion, and too little time. He held a small microphone at her chin while addressing her in a calm, measured tone. “Do you have any final words you’d like to express, Avalon?”

  She nodded, turning her head toward Chubby who stood to her right. He looked off balance, but his eyes remained fixed on her, soulful and unblinking.

  “I would like Raymond Hammersmith to know, in answer to a question he asked me eleven years ago, that, yes, I would have been very proud to have accompanied him on a real date. He should always remember that beauty is in the heart, and resides in the eye of the beholder. That’s all. Oh yeah, I’m innocent. But I suppose that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Chubby blinked several times. A fat tear rolled off his cheek to plop on floor. Avalon winked at him. He tried to return the gesture but both his eyelids fluttered, his eyes beginning to fill with a wash of emotion.

  When the abdominal strap was cinched over her, there came with it an indescribable pain that radiated all the way to her heels. Her breath caught in her throat. She clamped her teeth with
all the strength in her jaw, determined that she would not cry out. But after holding her breath, a loud exclamatory bark escaped her throat. The contents of her stomach threatened to blow like a fountain.

  “Hold off,” said the doctor, nudging the catheter-wielding guard to the side. He placed a stethoscope over her chest. “Where is the pain, dear?”

  Avalon spoke through clenched teeth. “Oh, God. Down low in my stomach.”

  The doctor put his hand to her abdomen while he slid the scope down. He gasped, looked at the monitor across the room, then whipped his hand down hard in chopping motions, the signal to drop the blinds. A guard released a cord, letting them fall with a clatter.

  “What’s the problem, Doc?” The warden stepped over his own feet, trying to get closer.

  “Quiet, please,” the doctor ordered. He moved the stethoscope pad across Avalon’s lower abdomen again. He collared the stethoscope, then glared at the warden. “You better get the attorney general and the governor on the line. Tell them we’ll need a stay of execution.”

  “What’s going on, Doc?” asked the warden, now more agitated than ever.

  Doctor King’s jaw tensed. “We can’t execute two people. I have a strong fetal heartbeat. She also has a nasty case of morning sickness. This woman is now a patient until further notice.”

  The warden stiffened. “She’s pregnant? How is that even possible?” He ran a hand through his oily hair, and turned on Chubby, pegging him with a hardened stare. The other staff members joined in, leveling accusing eyes at the portly guard.

  Chubby froze, wide-eyed. Avalon assumed by the look on his face that any words he might have were jammed in his throat.