by Linda Hahn
Bewildered and at loss, they stared at me with soft puppy dog eyes. The both of them mute now they’d spilled the beans. In a way I wasn’t surprised at what they’d just told me. My luck had been running to the bad lately.
So I told them not to worry. Said they could take care of it when the cat showed up. But they weren’t appeased, the worry still showed on their faces. Kitty’s never done this before they explained. Always he’s been home for dinner, but last night he wasn’t. And today they hadn’t seen him either.
They thought the damned cat had run away is what it boiled down to. A sixth sense message that he should leave or some such nonsense. His life was in danger and somehow he was able to know that. At this foolishness, I laughed.
They looked to me fearfully. And after a moment of wonder I realized that my laugh had not been a happy one. By no means was it. It must have sounded sarcastic and cruel to my sappy sentimental neighbors. Even crazy. But I didn’t care how it sounded to them. At once I decided my doctor was right about my being more selfish, therefore I was not going to worry about the feelings of these people.
Brusquely I told them I’d had a bad day and was in no condition to trouble myself over a cat. I waved to them smartly and shut the door. In their faces as it were.
I was irritated once I thought it over. There was no sense to my being bothered with such claptrap. Then and there I decided to shoot the beast on sight. I’d been pushed too far.
* * *
Toward evening I decided to get myself around and water the lawn. Before I started though, I leaned the rifle by the back porch. It was loaded and ready. I wanted to vent some anger if I had a chance. So I strongly hoped that the cat would show up.
For a few minutes I was able to water the lawn in peace. And at first when the cat appeared I didn’t even take notice of it. Not until the renegade beast ran straight at me. The demon. It was snarling ferociously and its ears were laid straight back on its head. It didn’t even look like a cat in the state it was in.
I was utterly astounded by the sight and didn’t react until the last minute. It was more a reflex than anything else. I pulled my hand up to protect my face and the hose aimed itself directly into the cat’s face. It was almost an accident. Momentarily the beast was deflected. But not for very long.
I swear the beast was possessed of a demon from the darkest of hells. An evil spirit blazed in its eyes as it ran at me again and again. For a good ten minutes I was under siege. Each time I fired the hose into its eyes and mouth. Forcing it back.
There was no time to get to the rifle. I could see it in the background but it was useless to me. Each time the cat was driven less distance. It would crouch soaking for mere seconds, then again would be upon me. Each time the hose seemed to faze the monster less.
Soon it was close enough during its forays to leave scratches on my arms. Bites on my hands. It was a small wet fury from hell. Enraged, I resolved to send it back there. To that end I began to reinforce the hosing with sharp kicks.
Its eyes glowed as it dodged one way, then slashed at me from another. Although my kicks were haphazard at best, when I did land a kick, the beast howled wolflike. It was beginning to lose its venom; I could see it falling back.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed old man Nailor watching this debacle. I was mortified. I’d been starring in his performances too often lately. No more I thought. I resolved then to kill him if the opportunity showed itself.
Finally the cat ran off. Only moments after I’d espied Nailor. I was enervated as I staggered to my rifle. Clutching it tightly, I collapsed to the porch. Halfway I expected old Nailor to appear at my side for a closer look. He didn’t though. Rifle must have scared him off.
A bitter evil day it was. I was certainly sorry I’d seen the beast again. Maybe the neighbors were right with all of their damned nonsense. But that was the last I saw of the cat.
Chapter 27
I trudged down to the courthouse early. More than anything I wanted to reverse my direction, go back home, and crawl exhausted into bed. The sun was shining so brilliantly that I resented it. I was fully aware that Murphy couldn’t even see the sunlight. Not locked away the way he was.
Canfield was waiting for me outside the courtroom. His face was bright and full of hope. This morning he looked youthful. I couldn’t help smiling; it was good to see him looking his actual age for a change. He was a young man after all.
He was just on his way to hear what the panel of judges had to say. And he was sure they were going to grant Murphy an appeal. For whatever inexplicable reason, Canfield had himself completely convinced. Moonstruck was more like it. I told him I hoped so but privately I didn’t think there was a chance. At his request I waited in the hallway until he came back with the panel’s decision.
It didn’t take very long at all. I knew it and I wished to God I could have been wrong. When Canfield came back he was broken. I didn’t have the stomach for it really, but I tried to help him buck up. His face was white and pasty. I said Canfield, for God’s sake, you’ve been through this before. Then instantly, even before he shook his head, I knew he hadn’t. He was indeed a young man and this was his first lost homicide case. I wondered what the statistics were for such a thing and decided to look into it when this was all over.
Blankly he stared at me. Then finally he managed to say “But he didn’t do it. They had no evidence.”
Softly I said yes. That’s true, Canfield. I stood there and waited. After a time he got his back up and we went inside. Just in time to see Murphy coming in. I saw him look to Canfield as if in last hope. And for him it was.
I watched while Canfield first braced himself for it, then slowly shook his head in answer to Murphy’s question. Murphy took it well, straightened his shoulders and went on to his seat. I noticed how calm he was. And he was dignified.
It didn’t take much time once the judge came in. He said he was prepared to pronounce sentence and at once ordered Murphy to rise and face him. I took a good look at Murphy while he waited for his fate to be handed to him. He was pale and bruised, but held his head high as he looked to the judge.
The moment seemed to hold forever. In my vision was clearly imprinted Murphy standing alone, Canfield sitting with head slightly bowed, and the hanging judge. I remembered that someone had called him that. As though on cue, old Nailor popped into my line of vision. He was cocking his head like a bird and I could see that his eyes were all asparkle.
Dimly then I heard death by execution. My head spun until I felt that I’d fall out of my seat. That was it then. It really was all over. Murphy was still standing but now Canfield was beside him. Canfield looked to be taking it very hard, but not Murphy. He looked as though he’d been expecting it all along. He was even nodding his head. I couldn’t believe that.
I tried to walk up to him but there was a quick infusion of guards into the vicinity and I couldn’t even get close. Murphy was taken away by a wall of guards. It was over and I was in a daze as I watched the courtroom empty. That was it.
* * *
Old man Nailor was waiting outside. His former high spirits were brought down considerably I could see. I was surprised that he was putting his own personal feelings ahead of business concerns. He shook his head sorrowfully as I walked up to him. “Nicky, I’m sorry.” he said. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this but it did.” I could see he meant it.
I acknowledged his condolences. None of us were expecting what had happened after all. We walked together for some time without talking. I realized that it wasn’t just for the sake of Nailor’s breathing that we were walking very slowly. My legs were so weak that I’m not even sure how I was able to stand at all. And I didn’t know Nailor had it in him to be quiet. He did it though and I was grateful.
Before we parted at my corner he remarked on how hard the lawyer took it. Said it surprised him. I nodd
ed, I’d noticed it too. The old man offered the opinion that Canfield was losing his touch and might best be suited in changing jobs. I allowed that I was wondering that myself.
Then Nailor shook his head. He hesitated before saying that was one of the harshest sentences he’d ever heard of.
After a moment’s consideration I asked him what he meant by that. He said, “Didn’t you hear the judge, Nicky? He said to carry it out Monday morning, right at sunup. Three days from now.”
Chapter 28
Before long I remembered that this was visiting day. Although my memory didn’t extend as far as leaving Nailor or getting myself home. I wondered at that loss, then shrugged it away as I stumbled out the front door. I felt that I had to see Murphy right away. Unless his new status prevented visitation. Or some other foolish rule involving court hearings and visits on the same day. It wouldn’t have surprised me.
An interruption. I met Bob Milhaus on the steps. He told me he’d just run into the town crier. That didn’t surprise me either. Old Nailor was back at work, matters of sentiment behind him. I said Bob, it’s true. I was there when it happened. Bob said he still didn’t believe Murphy did it. And damned sorry he was getting executed. Said he never did believe in that.
No. I never did either I answered, then I told him I was going to see Murphy if I could get in. He said he was fairly sure I could. Visiting will probably be liberal this weekend he told me.
Yes I said slowly as I thought about it. I suppose it was the state’s effort to be humane. But why bother with such a tidbit in the face of what they intended to do to him. There was no humanity there. None whatsoever. That too was murder.
I heard Bob saying something about special meals and religious counseling. I thought, my God, Murphy will have fits if someone starts talking religion to him. He hates anything tainted by religion. Always has I imagine. His father was a minister in a snake handling, faith healing cult. And a coldhearted man was he. Murphy once told me he’d been snake bitten so many times when he was a child that he didn’t think a snake could ever kill him. And his mother had faded early on into the glory of God. So he’d had his fill of all things religious when he was young.
Still in a daze, I nodded to Bob, who said again that he was sure sorry for Murphy. Then I drove down to the prison. Murphy was under the same stringent security. The gang of hoodlums couldn’t get to him. The state didn’t want what was owed it stolen from beneath its nose. It was due an execution and intended to have it.
For a moment I wondered if I personally would prefer a professional state execution or something more sudden and violent. A hard choice with only two such alternatives. To choose the moment and grasp clawing at each fading second, thereby enjoying none. The other to wait it out and fear the quick attack. To opt for one moment of horrifying pain and awareness before death. A knife in the dark. Death by violence. Both ways.
Murphy was waiting for me, standing up and looking through the bars. He looked completely ghastly, like something out of a horror movie. Dead already I thought once more. As I approached he stuck out his hand and smiled in a way most gruesome. Through the bars we shook hands.
I had no idea what to say. This was a time when proper behavior had its limitations. I certainly wasn’t going to offer condolences before his actual death. He said, “Nicholas, I’m glad you’re here. Didn’t think you’d make it today.”
The shorter life span seemed to have loosened his tongue a mite. He got me set down, then told me Canfield had just left. “Boss, you’ve got to talk to him. Talk some sense into him. That boy told me he’s had enough. Can’t take it anymore. Says he wants to be a gardener.”
I offered the opinion that he might be better off as a gardener. Happier.
Murphy thought about it a minute, then nodded. “Maybe so.” he said softly. “Might just be what he needs.” Another minute passed and he observed that Canfield would take a loss money-wise, but maybe he would get his heart back.
We didn’t say anything more for awhile. Not until he asked me how I got the scratches and bites on my hands. There were so many, I’d have been surprised if he hadn’t noticed. Still, I was embarrassed about it; even old Nailor hadn’t brought up the cat’s attack on me.
There was that to consider, but I owed Murphy plenty, so I told him about the beast viciously coming after me. I added that I thought it had run away and I didn’t expect to see it again. He listened in silence, then upon consideration said I should’ve killed it when I had the chance. I quite agreed.
This time when I left Murphy walked me the few steps to the door of his cell. We stood for a minute and listened to the hollow echoings. This was death row I realized. Until Murphy was finished with it. Probably all along it had been I thought with a start. The safest, least accessible place to stash him. Not because they thought he’d ultimately end up there. That was just coincidence.
And I thought suddenly that it was very close to the place they would take him for execution. I felt dizzy from being so close to it. That small frightening room. I couldn’t breathe thinking about it.
Formally he thanked me for coming and said he hoped I’d visit the next day. I assured him I would.
Chapter 29
Saturday I awakened with the strong sensation that Murphy was already gone from this life. It was a dreadful cold feeling. Great loss. I bowed my head in grief.
So many things lately had escaped their suitable intended places and done the unexpected. And always at Murphy’s expense. I felt somewhat responsible. I had from the beginning. But everything I did to fix it turned out wrong.
I felt I had to accept it finally. At this point there was nothing to do to change the hard facts. All the same I felt sick fear. Murphy was going to be executed and there was nothing more to be done. Two days is what he had left. And he’d be spending them in prison, alone but for his guards and such paltry visitors as he had.
I’ve seen many terrible things in my lifetime. The taking of Murphy’s life is by far the worst of them.
I saw Murphy several times throughout the weekend. We talked sometimes and sometimes we sat quiet. He was calm. I saw no fear or panic in him. He never mentioned what was going to happen to him and neither did I. We simply passed the time.
Chapter 30
Monday, an hour before sunrise. Murphy is to be executed this morning. I shudder at the thought of it.
I’m going to him now, for that last half hour. Feeling so closed in today I can hardly breathe. The thought of that chair with built-in straps, in that small room. Barely bigger than a closet. More like a large coffin.
He asked to be outside right before it happened. It was the only thing he asked for. Due to Canfield’s influence he’d had the prison yard to walk in for most of the night. It was concrete and unpleasant. But there was the sky, the stars, and the moon to see. And fresh night air to breathe.
# # #
