Wicked Awake

by Merrill David

  Like the proverbial tiny angel sitting on one of his shoulders, Mack heard in one ear a voice that was urging him to feel guilt - for Mack had kept a secret from Jake for several months leading up to the birthday incident.

  It seemed like not that colossal of a deal back then. But as the prosecutors’ theo ry developed and they revealed Jake’s supposed “motives,” Mack came to realize that if he had disclosed his secret to Jake’s counsel, they could have used that information to blow holes in the prosecution’s story.

  Meanwhile on Mack’s other shoulder sat a microdevil who was whispering into Jake’s other ear, advising him he should be feeling nothing more than hatred. Jake had murdered Mack’s lover, Holly.

  Maybe all along Jake knew of this relationship and was pissed off that his brother’s wife was messing around before her divorce was final. Or perhaps Jake wanted Holly for himself. Or maybe Jake was just a racist asshole and didn’t want his Caucasian sister-in-law to be with a black man?

  The debate raged on in Mack’s mind until it was obvious the little devil guy had won. Mack could not find it in him to forgive Jake for slaughtering Holly - a petite, beautiful young woman who was merely throwing a birthday party for her one-year old child. It made no damn sense.

  Mack and the entire crowd in the courtroom took notice as the Judge took the punishment verdict form from the Jury Foreman and began to read aloud. “We the jury find that there does exist the probability the defendant would commit criminal acts of violence that would constitute a continuing threat to society, be it inside or outside of prison. We find no sufficient mitigating circumstances exist to warrant a sentence of life imprisonment rather than a death sentence.”

  The judge looked graciously at the jury and thanked them for their efforts. “Mr . Jake Hathaway, you are hereby sentenced to death by lethal injection at the Texas Department of Corrections in Huntsville. May God forgive your soul. Do you have any final comments before your transfer to death row?”

  “Yes.”

  Jake wriggled his shackled, ballistic-vest-covered, electric-shock-collar-wearing body closer toward the defense attorneys’ microphone. Looking much like Hannibal Lector straight out of the movie scene where he was wheeled around on a dolly and outfitted similarly, Jake imagined what Jesus felt while wearing a crown of thorns and having a huge wooden cross strapped to his back.

  He never claimed to be anyone’s savior, but right about now he sure as hell felt like a sacrificial lamb. “During the trial, I was advised by my attorney not to testify on my own behalf. I did not, and now I regret that. I guess he thought that my story – the truth– was too far-fetched, unbelievable, impossible. If you had told me that my brother and sister-in-law would somehow turn into - whatever they turned into, I might not have believed it either. Some sort of sinister synthesis. But it happened! I loved Rich and Holly, and I never would have hurt them. But these things that attacked me that day were not Rich and Holly.

  “And why is everyone covering the truth up? No one showed the jury any pictures of their entire bodies. They showed extreme closeups of the injuries I caused when I had to use force to protect myself from being killed. But there were no pictures of their faces. They didn’t look like humans. Their eyes were large and swollen, pupils dilated and tiny and jet black. Their hair was starting to fall out, their skin was corroding and falling off.

  “Why were there no pictures of Holly’s other injuries? She had large bite marks on the side of her neck and on her upper body! These were not caused by me. I sure as hell didn’t bite her! Thoseare not normal human bites. And they were not caused by Roscoe either. Roscoe didn’t exit the Tahoe until I was struggling with Rich- what used to be Rich- on the front lawn.

  “Why is that witness Gladys lying and saying that Roscoe went inside the hous e with me? Why didn’t we hear anything about forensic tests being done on the bite? DNA could have been taken from the skin tissue there. The teeth marks should have been compared with mine and with Rich’s teeth. This would have proven they were not mine and probably from Rich!

  “No one showed my police cruiser in -car video camera footage that showed the creature trying to bite my heart out in Rich’s front yard. Where is that video? The taser I use contains a tiny video camera mounted to the grip that was programmed to record a ten-second video clip automatically when the taser was fired. Where is that video? If I was a murdering scumbag like you all portray me to be, why didn’t I go on the run? Why did I drive right back to the police station? I knew the FBI would be wanting to interview me. I figured they would believe me.

  Jake continued. “The evidence all points in my favor - that this was self-defense! But none of this evidence was brought out in court. And then the prosecutor, in need of a motive, invents this crazy story about me banging my sister-inlaw and then seeking revenge when I can’t have her? Fuck you, Ferron, you piece of shit! How dare you insinuate that I did anything inappropriate with my sister-inlaw. You’re a sick asshole. Judge, please tell me what the fuck this is– because this sureisn’t fuckin justice!”

  Judge Parker stood and shouted “Bailiffs, remove Mr. Hathaway from this courtroom at once!”

  Filled with fury due to his unjust treatment, Jake yelled “This is bullshit!” and struggled to free himself from his restraints before an electric current flowed through his body from the shock collar on his neck down to the tips of his toes.

  The shock made him piss in his striped jail jumpsuit. The once proud Marine and Police Sergeant was humiliated in front of the world. He lay on the courtroom floor, his muscles twitching and giving out due to the electric current as he basted in his own urine.

  Court bailiffs flooded the room and circled around the sentenced one as other Deputies escorted the trial observers out into the safe confines of the building.

  Amanda attempted to make her way to her fallen boyfriend, yelling “Jake! This is all wrong! We’re going to fight this! I love you, baby!”

  Her words echoed as she was shoved outside of the grand solid oak double doors and into the hallway, as Jake struggled to mouth the words, “I’m sorry! I love you” before being kicked in the teeth by an occupied size 12 1⁄2 black tactical boot.

  Part 2 - Life After Death Sentence

  The “human condition” is the reflective nature of Homo sapiens that allows for deep thinking and reflections upon conditions that may to one extent or another affect man’s contemplations, and therefore his decision-making process.

  Concerns of human beings vary, ranging from theories regarding the meaning of life, the search for gratification, and their sense of curiosity, the inevitability of isolation and the awareness of the inescapability of death.

  These are all key concerns to the self-aware man, mysteries which he may never be able to resolve or fully understand. Yet, the unique feature of the human brain and the cerebrum within is that it allows for the analysis of these existential themes. The results of this analysis quantify the owner’s point of view, and thus affects one’s thoughts, attitudes, and actions accordingly.

  The plans that you make and steps you take could very well depend on which of your cerebral hemispheres, the left or right, you depend upon or favor more heavily. There are those whose allegiance runs with those whose blood runs black. This is the type of person who is more apt to take a bone saw to your jugular than to lend a helping hand to their fellow man when society is crumbling, a festival of mutilation surrounds you, and humanity is dying. Their lawlessness, selfishness, bullying of the weak and laziness should all be considered mortal sins rather than mere capital vices.

  Chapter Eleven - As Humanity Falls

  Dallas County Jail, Downtown Dallas (Present Day) Jake was still housed in the Dallas County Jail, awaiting his transport to Huntsville. The transfer was expected to transpire sometime over the next couple days. Word quickly spread throughout the facility that there was a cop who was being held there on two murder charges.

  So much for trying to keep a low-profile in there. Jake kne
w some of his counterpart inmates would probably remember him and would consider it worth the risk of getting additional sentences to cause him some pain or worse.

  Dressed in his regular daily attire, a white jumpsuit with lateral black stripes, inmate #978658 began to do some people watching. He did not for fun or for entertainment purposes, but rather as a way of protecting himself from any type of attack.

  He noticed some prisoners shooting dice. Other inmates were making up rap songs about the injustices in the American penal system. Still others were soaking paper towels in coffee, only to let them dry, then cut the paper towel into smaller strips in order to roll them up and smoke them.

  Apparently freebasing caffeine produces a high comparable to that of crack cocaine, since both are central nervous system stimulants. The high achieved when freebasing caffeine is immediate, but the duration of the high is shorter than that of cocaine. Jake pondered what he had observed.

  How do people come up with this shit? It takes some real ingenuity to figure out and experiment with these things – if these guys are smart enough to find ways to get wasted smoking coffee, imagine what they could do in the real world if they had set their minds on it…

  But this was no time for Jake to mull over how and why prisoners get stoned smoking Folgers. He had to appraise his current situation thoroughly. He was only days away from being transported to the Texas Department of Criminal Justice’s Polonsky Unit in Huntsville, where the state’s male death-row inmates were housed until they were eventually put to death.

  He had to replay in his mind the extremely troublesome events that led to his murder arrest and convictions if he was going to be able to possibly make any sense of it all. Back on that fateful February eighth, Jake was on duty as Dallas Police K9 Sergeant. He had been trying to call his brother Rich for two days straight to find out what time to be at his brother’s house for his one-year-old nephew, Carson's birthday party. Jake was never able to get Rich to answer his phone.

  So, at about 12:30 p.m., Sgt. Hathaway went to Rich’s North Dallas house in the “M Street” area of upper Greenville to make an appearance at his baby nephew Carson’s party. Rich’s blue Mazda Miata convertible was parked on the street in front of the house, and Holly’s red Kia Rio was in the driveway.

  Jake parked his Chevy Tahoe police truck on the street behind Rich’s car and left his K9 partner in the vehicle. Roscoe was friendly enough with the family, but Jake knew Roscoe would be so tempted to lick the birthday cake.

  Jake knocked, but there was no answer at the door, and he then found the front door unlocked. He went inside to see an undetermined red liquid splattered all over the living room floor, walls, and even the ceiling. Inside the dining room was a square chocolate frosted birthday cake carved into eight even rectangular slices. However, the cake had been flattened - much like a powdery layer of fresh snow that someone belly-flopped onto to make a snow angel.

  Jake tried to take comfort and convince himself that the red liquid all over the living room was ketchup or paint. But Jake was also cautious and knew the red could very well have been blood and that something might be very wrong. He drew his service weapon and held it in a ready position as he walked through the house looking for his brother, sister-in law, and nephews.

  “Hello? It’s me, Jake. Where is everyone?” Usually when Jake went to their house, Austin was the first to answer the door. Austin thought it was cool to have an uncle who was a cop, and he especially liked to see Jake play ball with Roscoe in their large back yard. But today there was no sign of Austin, or anyone else for that matter.

  The s ound of baby Carson’s shrill cries suddenly emerged from the dining room around the corner. Jake rounded the wall to see the one-year-old squirming and kicking, strapped into a highchair that apparently had been tipped over in a disturbance. The toddler was struggling to get free, grunting and squealing like a wild pig that had just stepped into a steel jaw trap.

  Jake began working quickly to unfasten the straps on Carson’s seat. Then, with his peripheral vision, he saw what at first appeared to be a human shape rounding the corner from the kitchen. IT was trudging into the dining area toward him. The form moved slowly and had long straggly hair. IT appeared to be female.

  This THING was covered with blood from head to toe, growling and snarling like a mother black bear coming out of her den to protect a cub. It smelled of rotting flesh, its yellow decaying teeth were glaring.

  The sergeant did not recognize the figure and began to back up. He tripped over the highchair leg and fell to the tiled floor. The she-monster grabbed Jake by the arm and began lunging at and biting near Jake’s head.

  “OHFUCKKKKKK” Jake yelled as he ducked just in time to avoid a face bite but instead was bitten deeply on his right shoulder, causing instant pain and massive bleeding. The right-handed cop tried to unholster his Glock .40 caliber handgun from the holster on his right hip. But because of the injury he sustained, Jake was unable to grip his right hand on the weapon strong enough to remove it from the holster. The desperate lawman lunged with his left hand toward a large kitchen knife lying on the table beside the flattened birthday cake.

  He grabbed the utensil by the handle and swiped the blade toward the still-biting figure, stabbing it in an upward motion through the side of ITs face. The creature continued biting, with the blade side of the knife visible in its open breathy mouth and its left eye socket.

  Jake removed the knife and stabbed again, striking IT in the forehead and sinking the blade about five inches deep. This final blow finished off the creature, with IT dropping to the living room floor.

  Jake closely examined this THING. He discovered that under its putrefying, oozing, bubbling, soggy, rotten skin was what he thought he recognized as what was once his sister-inlaw, Holly.

  Jake was normally as cool and calm as can be in strenuous situations, but at this juncture he was quite shaken and hoping that what had just transpired was not reality. Maybe this was just a figment of his PTSD hallucinations. Jake walked back outside and aimed his trembling body toward his waiting patrol car parked on the street.

  K9 Officer Roscoe was in the back-seat area of the Chevy Tahoe, barking loudly and viciously while pressing his face against the tinted glass. Roscoe sensed that his partner was in serious trouble. At this point, if Roscoe could speak like a human, he would have pointed with his paw and yelled “Jake look out!!! Behind you!!!”

  Another dark form had emerged from around the east side of the house. IT was now just several feet away from Roscoe’s human partner. This creature too was snarling, biting, reaching. IT was acting as if it wanted to eat Jake.

  This THING appeared to be starving, craving for the sustenance that human flesh would provide. Jake turned suddenly to see what he recognized as something that appeared somewhat like his brother Rich. But it also looked like the miscreation he had just slain with the frostingcovered butcher knife inside the house.

  “Rich!!! Rich!!! It’s me, Jake!!! What are you doing? What the fuck is going on?!” The Rich/monster dove at Jake, seemingly attempting to swallow him whole in one enormous bite. Realizing that this was not the same person he knew as his brother; Jake began thinking aloud. “I gotta get to the car, gotta get the less-lethal...” referring to a Remington 12-gauge shotgun covered in orange paint to signify that it was armed with bean bags instead of buckshot slugs.

  Jake didn’t make it to the car or the orange shotgun. The creature tumbled on top of him, about ten feet away from the police truck. Armed with his Glock handgun, his yellow plastic taser, black metal asp baton and a can of Law Enforcement strength pepper spray, Jake used his left hand (now his only working hand) to wrap it around the hungry carnivore’s throat. ITs yellowish flesh and blood saturated incisors were mere inches from Jake’s face.

  His right hand was no longer able to grip a weapon. However, Jake was able to use that hand to apply enough pressure to push his vehicle’s K9 door release button on the keychain in his back pocket. K9 Roscoe
’s door popped open and the anxious police dog sprang into action. As always, he knew his job was to give his all, including his life, to defend his partner.

  Roscoe began tearing into the Rich/monster’s torso, arms, and neck area. He was ripping out mouthfuls of flesh, shaking his head side to side while biting non-stop.

  The creature seemed not to be fazed. IT was still making every effort to feast on Jake’s face.

  Jake’s strength was waning. He recalled the only thing that seemed to stop the Holly/monster was a swift stab to the forehead. Jake knew he only had one chance of surviving this encounter.

  A neighbor came out of a house next door (Gladys Torrence). When she saw what was happening, she began to scream with panic “AHHHHHH!! OH,MY GODDDDDDD!!” This was just the break Jake needed. The distracted Rich/monster turned toward the shrill sound for a split second. This was all the time Jake needed. He released the throat of the beast with his left hand and then quickly reached for his Taser X26 CEW (Conducted Electrical Weapon), holstered on his left side.

  Aiming the Taser into the pizza-sauce-looking, sore-popping, stinky face, he pulled the trigger. Two dart-like probes stuck into ITs head, filling the beast with 50,000 volts of electricity. Rich/monster’s body began to fry and sizzle. This filled the cool February air with a stench that could best be described as rotten Spam sautéed in sewage and sizzling on a hot tin roof. IT jumped back a couple of feet, it’s central nervous system obviously tweaked. But it still didn’t go down for the count.

  Exhausted and weak from the large amount of blood lost from his shoulder, Jake had to use his left hand to de-holster his Glock from the right-side holster. Still left-handed, Jake fired five 10 mm rounds into what was once his brother’s chest. This too was ineffective, and the attack continued.