Sandra entered the execution chamber. She was in her midtwenties and very nice to look at. She had the girl-next-door combined with sleazy-hooker look that most guys would be very happy to settle down with. Her hair was tied back in a short ponytail and was light brown, almost blond in color. She was about five foot four inches, and she curved in and out in the right places. Her nails were painted and well manicured, but a little on the long side for the medical profession. To put the proverbial icing on the cake, she had eyes that back in the eighties would have been called “spanner eyes,” because when she looked at you your nuts would very literally tighten.
Eddie was now starting to panic. He was sweating profusely, and his fear had managed to unlock his vocal cords. He was about to start yelling and screaming when he noticed Sandra entering the room. His panic and fear of the situation were Withd immediately by a hypnotic fascination of the woman now walking directly toward him. As she approached the gurney to begin her work of setting up the heart monitor sensors, she lent this way and that, accentuating her female curves, just the way he liked. Something deep within Eddie woke. His hands steadied, and he relaxed. Even his breathing became normal as his eyes locked onto her seductress’s body. Her scent permeated deep into his core. She flooded his mind and his every sense. He wanted her now—and so, so badly.
Sandra busied herself with preparing the needles. Eddie didn’t even notice the sharp prick as the long steel point invaded his left arm and then his right. As she taped down the needle in his right arm, she ever so slightly lent forward, just enough so that her ample breasts fell just a little forward, filling her tunic, revealing her smooth curves and inviting cleavage. The room was a little on the cool side, enough so that her nipples had become hard and their outline was now clearly visible to Eddie, a treat that had not escaped his attention. As she held his wrist, she took a quick look around to see if anyone was paying attention to what she was doing. As it happens, the only one who paid any attention to her was Eddie, so, still holding his wrist, she feigned taking his pulse while holding a small nurse’s watch in her right hand. She then let the timepiece dangle from her neck, and with her now-free hand she deftly ran her fingers up the inside of his thigh, eventually reaching his crotch, where she brushed her fingertips over his growing bulge. She raised her eyes and met his gaze, then winked and smiled. Eddie felt his nuts tighten involuntary.
With a start, one of the guards shook the gurney, bringing Eddie back to his senses just a little, and said, “Eddie Drew, do you have anything you wish to say before the state of Florida carries out the sentence?”
But Eddie had returned to that place in his mind where he was only concerned with his own desires and was lost to a fantasy that only he was privy to. He reacted then with what could only be described as an insanely ridiculous request.
“Yeah, bring me my fucking cape and some hot chocolate.” Eddie licked his lips and returned the wink to the Med-Tech.
The reporters looked at each other and talked amongst themselves, asking for clarification of what Eddie had just said, assuming that they must have misheard him.
The guard ignored Eddie’s request and nodded to the executioner’s chamber. This was the prearranged signal to the executioner to begin the series of fatal injections. Eddie was completely oblivious to the evolving events. He had not stopped eyeing the Med-Tech’s every move. He had now fully undressed her all the way down to her skimpy lingerie and was in the process of slipping his hand down the front of her nickers, as his growing bulge became most pronounced. He began encouraging her over and inviting her to experience a “chocolate dip.”
As Eddie began to mentally remove Sandra’s black lace panties, he paused briefly as he decided whether she shaved or not, then deciding she was clean shaven he slipped his index and forefinger into her hot moist sex. The image of fingering her while she stood there naked, was stolen from him as the first of the chemicals ran into his veins and obliterated his conscious mind, as well as his overactive imagination forever.
Chapter - 7
- CIA Sanctioned Murder #2 -
As I mentioned a little earlier, I decided to reuse the same brain-mixing technique a few more times, purely for the fun of it of course. When I recall my third killing, I find it somewhat interesting, as the reporters tried very hard to outdo each other when creating their headlines. Seriously now, I really believe that the press has a far darker sense of humor than I. This time my target was Indian; not the red kind—that is, a native American—but a man from India. Again. He was selected by the CIA for more or less the same reasons as my previous hit. However, his case differed slightly, because at its core was religious fanaticism, and somehow he had managed to worm his way into Congress.
It was quite by accident that I had witnessed this man beat his wife senseless during an early reconnoiter of his home and the neighboring buildings. Over the following weeks, and prior to the final thumbs-up for the hit, I watched both he and his wife very closely. His wife regularly wore sunglasses, even though there was very little sunshine that time of year, raising my suspicions yet further about his abusive behavior toward her.
Jimmy the Turk was in fact Chinese, and he liked to think that he was running a classic Turkish bath. Truth be told, it would have been more accurate to describe it as an Islamic hammam. The difference, of course, being the air. The Islamic hammam tends to be a steamy affair, while the Turkish bath tends to use hot dry air. A little-known fact lost to Jimmy. And just to be awkward I’ll refer to it as a sauna. Confused? Anyway, my target visited the sauna once per week and was as regular as clockwork. He could be counted on to arrive promptly at 7:00 p.m. each Wednesday evening, then after two hours thirty minutes, give or take five, he would leave. It was here in the sauna that he would experience his final steaming. I used the same knife and technique as before, but this time it was going to be a much more challenging hit for the simple reason that it was in public. The timing had to be perfect, and the scene needed to be staged to perfection. An abundance of steam would be my only veil, behind which I would send him to his maker without being discovered. A source of noise would be needed to mask the sound of his skull being cracked, and luckily the sauna had a radio built into the exquisitely hot room. The radio’s controls were mounted by the entrance, where the visibility was sufficiently good enough to allow one to not only find the controls but to use them as well.
I entered the steamy room with a towel around my waist and the knife hidden from sight against my forearm. Turning up the radio, which was playing “Who Wants to Live Forever?” by Queen, I saw the lone outline of my target and took a seat behind him on the wooden bench. Save for the target, no one saw me enter the steam room and, more importantly, no one saw the knife-file slam into the target’s crown, accompanied by a brittle cracking sound as the blade broke through his skull. The part of the brain that controls speech was destroyed, so he made no sound. His motor function was also decimated on that first strike, and after only a few rotations it was all over. His body relaxed, and I gently let him lean backwards and then made my exit.
Curious to see how long it would take for someone to notice the body and call the police, I watched the business from across the street and waited while I enjoyed an ice-cold beer. An hour had almost elapsed by the time the police arrived, after which they cordoned off the business and started their investigations. I watched for only a little while longer before heading home to watch the story unfold on the local 42 News station.
The next morning a slightly comical three-column article detailing the murder scene became front-page news in the local newspaper. Some wannabe writer had decided to modify the original Blender Butcher headline to a rather tasteless title. “Killer Adds Some Spice for a Spicy Blend.” Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I had heard this writer’s name before. In fact, I think he originally wrote for one of those classless weekly Brit newspapers.
I had used the same technique this one last time again before hungering for a new and more d
ramatic method for my hits. My reasons for the change were mixed but were in part due to the witless reporter and his apparent abundance of ridiculous one-liners. The camel’s back was finally broken when he referred to my first hit as “a half-baked blender butchering.” I had enough. This loser was on my list now and would pay for his inappropriate humor somehow.
It wasn’t long before I noticed an ad posted in several of the local newspapers. This ad was our means of communication and told me that my services were required once more. This really was the best job in the world! It read, “In need of a baker. Existing bakery under new management. Must be inventive and creative. Candidate must demonstrate an original blend by Friday this week. Contact: [email protected].”
This was going to be the next hit I performed for the CIA. They liked what I did and didn’t mind me having some fun of my own. In fact, the message clearly stated they wanted something very different. My mind began its creative process, and I watched the generated mental images portraying technique after technique of bloody murder.
Chapter - 8
- A Zombie is Born & Its Twins -
The cameramen stood quietly monitoring their displays and adjusting the zoom settings. Two white corner speakers were mounted up and to the left and right of the gallery viewing window, and the warden had gone to great expense in having the latest in low-noise microphone technology dotted around the execution chamber. He had wanted to give the spectators an experience they would never forget by implementing the almost-perfect surround sound experience the market had to offer. The sound from these speakers would make an audience feel as if they were not only in the chamber but were literally on the gurney.
It was months after its installation that one of the more technically savvy guards was overheard dissing the crappy ten-dollar speaker system. Needless to say, the warden was fuming and sought his revenge on the ballsy sound company. If he had his way, he’d have the salesman locked up behind bars. Preferably right here so he could exact his revenge.
The cameramen, reporters, and an old couple, Henry and Violet, watched with interest as the guards manhandled the struggling Eddie into the room. Violet, in her seventies and slight of build, smiled a tight, menacing smile when she saw the fear in Eddie’s face and the energy with which he struggled. It was plainly obvious to all present that Eddie was overcome with the realization of his impending doom as they watched him struggling desperately to be free. From the moment his legs had started to resist entry to the room, the guards had grabbed him and carried him to the gurney.
Violet hit the armrest with her clenched fist and said out loud, “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. That boy’s more slippery than snot on a glass doorknob!” Then finally she added, “Henry, that boy just ain’t right.”
“Uh-huh. Why, he looks as mad as a mule chewing on bumblebees!” Henry agreed.
The cameramen and reporters turned their heads and looked at the old couple in bewilderment.
Henry patted her on the knee and said quietly, “He’ll be all hog-tied and fit for supper in no time!”
The reporters turned back to watch the events unfold. The guards were now strapping Eddie down, and though Eddie was turning his head and looking around the room in obvious fear, he had as yet said nothing. Everyone in the gallery was expecting an outburst of some sort. In fact, they were all really hoping for him to cry out for mercy and beg for leniency. But Eddie remained quiet. Both guards strapped each arm in unison, one on the left side and the other on the right, and as they did so, Eddie’s legs seemed to have grown a mind of their own and were busy trying to leave the rest of his body behind. No matter how much he squirmed though, his legs remained firmly attached to his torso.
As Henry watched Eddie’s frantic motions, he couldn’t help drawing Violet’s attention.
“Look at him go! Why, he’s busier than a one-armed monkey with two peckers!”
“Henry!” Violet admonished. “Act like you got some raisin!”
“Sorry, honey, I do apologize,” he said genuinely.
The guards didn’t waste any time in going to the end of the gurney, each of them grabbing an ankle and strapping it down. It was then that the audience thought that Eddie would have an emotional outburst. Everyone sat quietly and lent forward slightly in anticipation. Just then an attractive midtwenties Med-Tech walked into the execution room. Then, swinging her hips, she walked over to where Eddie lay. Eddie stopped squirming. Totally transfixed with the Tech’s good looks, he relaxed. The audience in the gallery humphed in disappointment now that Eddie was diverted from his demise. The reporters went back to taking their notes, and the cameramen went back to checking the technical aspects of the recording and broadcast.
Only the old couple really paid attention as Sandra prepared Eddie’s arms for the injections. She rolled up his sleeves, then disinfected a small area in the crook of his arm. She took the syringe needle from her tunic pocket. As she removed the outer protection, the old couple turned to each other and smiled. The needles were massive.
The old woman nodded to herself and said to her husband, “Oh, that’s gonna hurt! Mind you, I’ve had bigger! Remember two winters ago I had that nasty fall? That damn Indian doctor stabbed me with the biggest goddamned needle I ever did see. It was at least a foot long, I tell you! I shoulda sued his curry-stinking ass.”
“Uh-huh. Yes, dear. I remember you telling me! You know he weren’t no doctor. Why, I do believe he was a vet!” her husband said, chuckling.
The old woman responded quickly, “Don’t you dare back-talk me, you hick, and don’t you dare laugh at my misery. Your mama would spank your behind for less, you hear me?”
“I hear you, honey.” Then her husband added, “But you know you’re the only girl in town I’ll let spank me.” He chuckled.
“You are incorrigible. My momma was right about you!” she replied.
During the old couple’s banter, both the cameramen and reporters had been enjoying the old couple’s lighthearted interaction and had completely missed the seductive attention that Sandra had paid to Eddie. It was only when they returned to watching the unfolding events that they one by one noticed Eddie’s obvious erection. It then became further confusing for the audience when the guard asked Eddie if he wanted to make a last statement, and his response came through crystal clear from the surround sound system that he wanted his cape and some hot chocolate. The reporters quickly discussed this with each other. Had they really heard him say that? Either way, they all felt that they had missed some small but important detail. These events were not making any sense at all. For them, this was a detail that sadly they would never learn.
The old couple held hands as the guard gave his nod for the injections to start. Violet squeezed Henry’s hand harder still as a quite visibly fluorescent-green fluid ran down the tube and raced toward Eddie’s arm. As the fluid entered his body, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands balled into fists, and his body went rigid, and, straining against the straps, he then formed an arch. The leather restraints could be heard creaking, and they began to stretch.
Sandra backed away from the gurney as Eddie and the gurney began to shake violently. Foam appeared at Eddie’s mouth and ran down the side of his face, and as it slid, his eyes sprang open, with their pupils rolled fully back and no longer visible. As his body arched, his erection became the apex of the arch and strained beneath the thin cotton fabric. Under different circumstances this would have been hilarious.
After what seemed to be an eternity, Eddie collapsed back on to the gurney, his breathing returned to normal, and as suddenly as it had all started, his seizure ended. One of the guards approached the gurney and checked the restraints. All were good and undamaged from Eddie’s violent episode. For the guard closest, this was pretty much run of the mill, except for perhaps the erection. In fact, in all his years he would be hard pushed to remember an execution that had ever gone perfectly.
After checking the restraints, he turned to Sandra, the Med-Tech
, and signaled that she should check Eddie’s vitals. She was feeling pretty queasy by now and was glad that the guard remained close by, just in case any weird shit went down. Having witnessed Eddie’s agony, she felt a pang of guilt when she looked back to how she had treated him not five minutes earlier. She came forward and quickly checked his pulse and blood pressure while trying to avoid staring at his still-erect penis. Keen on reclaiming her position against the wall and as far away from the condemned man as possible, she worked quickly, then backed away and wished that she had never agreed to this. Inwardly kicking herself, she promised to herself that she would never do anything so stupid ever again, no matter how much cash anyone offered.
Eddie lay there quietly. He then started to snore. It was a deep nose-and-throat snore, the kind that penetrates even the thickest of walls. For the members of the press, this was the last straw. This had to be the strangest execution that any of them had ever witnessed, and this crew had seen almost every execution carried out within these walls over the last six years. Their self-restraint was not limitless, and they all burst out laughing, while Eddie had possibly the soundest sleep he had ever experienced—well, for at least this past week. One cameraman was laughing so hard that he even managed to knock over his camera. This only encouraged the others even more, and soon tears were flowing. The old woman had also had enough at this stage, but she did not crack even the faintest of smiles. Instead, she stood up and made her way to the viewing window and hammered at it with her fist, screeching, “Get on and kill the nasty little lizard.”
The nearest cameraman couldn’t take it anymore and began to beg the old woman, “Please, please stop. I can’t take any more!” He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe at his eyes.
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