Death Row Rewrite

Tomorrow you'll wake up to the good news. The papers, the man on the TV, the articles on the web, they'll all proclaim that good has once again triumphed over evil. That justice has been served and a bad guy got what was coming to him, what he deserved, what he earned. Tomorrow you will all feel a little bit better knowing that a tiny percentage of evil on this planet has been vanquished forever. And I don't blame you. Who wouldn't take comfort in that?

They asked me what I wanted for my last meal. I had oddly had this planned out for most of my life. Just one of those odd things you think about when your mind goes astray and there's nothing else to occupy it. I didn't ever want to kill anybody. But I did like the idea of a meal where I could get whatever I wanted, my perfect meal. I wanted a Thanksgiving feast, but with no turkey. I wanted the sides. I wanted the mashed potatoes, the stuffing, the corn, the yams, the biscuits, the cranberry sauce. I wanted a slice of pumpkin pie. But what I really wanted most of all was to replace the turkey. Get the turkey out of there. The turkey was the centerpiece of Thanksgiving dinners my whole life and I never understood why. It’s such a boring meat. This time I would have my say. This time I’d have it my way. I’d stick a thumb in the eye of all convention and they would listen. I wanted pizza. I wanted real pizza, like the kind you get in Jersey. And I wanted it smothered with pepperoni.

I read tons of books. I’d read through books at a hectic pace just hoping the bad guys won in the end. Those sorts of books are few and far between. But every now and again I’d come across one. When I didn't, I’d write my own alternative ending after completing a book. I’d kill the good guys, the good family, the good kids, the good friends. I’d burn the good neighborhood, the good church, the good ‘mom and pop’ fruit market. The gangsters would outlive the cops who chased them. The dragons would smite the knights that challenged them. There was no cure for the disease. The miracle medicine that shows up in the last few pages would only make things worse. All the prayers, the leaps of faith, the hard work and dedication would always go to waste.

Some people would label that sort of literature as tragedy. And that's what I was. My whole being was a tragedy. The only thing that ever made me feel better about myself was to cause more tragedy. I was infected and it was too late for me. All I could ever do was spread the disease. Rehabilitation was out of the question. This was my joy. This was my hobby. This was my craft. And I loved every moment of writing when I was destroying all that was good and pure and just.

There is no justice. It’s all a farce, a theatrical production. It’s all built to construct happy endings that inspire joyous standing ovations for an audience of innocent victims. Well done judges, jury, lawyers, officers, witnesses. Well done to all the actors who play a part. We really won them over this time. They’re throwing us roses. The critics are in speechless awe. We did it again.

I’m a common drunk. I haven't had a drink in years. But if I came into this place a drunk, then I will leave this place a drunk. Years of not drinking cannot take that title away from me. It doesn’t seem like much. But when I look back, it was perfect. My life was exactly what I wanted it to be. Go to work just like anyone else. I’d carry luggage for tourists. I’d hustle for extra tip money. All day I’d think about getting out after work and blowing off some steam. Most nights I ended up at Stan's Corner. Shoot a game of pool. Play some songs on the jukebox. Drink a few beers. Shoot the shit with my buddies. I'd do this more nights than I wouldn't. It was simple and it was filled with good times…

…plenty of good times, until that one night. I left Stan's after closing, around 3am. I was mad about some pool games I lost to Billy. I had gotten cocky and let the betting get out of hand. He let me double or nothing twice. He beat me all 3 times, right in a row. I lost $450 that night. I don't know what i was thinking. That second match didn't seem like such a bad idea. After i lost that one, I figured I’d come so close the first two games, that I was due to win that third match. But I didn't. I lost. I spent the rest of the night noticeably angry. But I continued to hang around and attempted to drink my sorrows away. That only made me feel worse about the whole thing.

When I left for the night, I got in my car to drive home. That’s when I made the worst decision of my life.

I woke up the next day to my door bell ringing over and over and loud knocking at my front door. I got up but was dazed and slightly hung over from the night before. I quickly threw a shirt on and ran to the door.

Minutes later I’m in a precinct being questioned by two cops in a dark room with a two way mirror, just like you see in the movies. Officer Diaz and Officer Grant would go on to tell me how I got in my car and drove to the Ramada downtown, my place of employment. I parked in the lot and waited for my victim to come out. As soon as I saw him come outside by himself, I got out of my car and stalked him as he walked the local streets for a late night stroll. When I saw the right opportunity, I attacked him from behind. I dragged him into an alleyway and beat him brutally. I knocked him to the floor and in a fit of rage slammed his head face first into the ground repeatedly. I stole his wallet and left him for dead on the ground.

The body was discovered early in the morning and that is when the cops were called. With no identification, they had no way of knowing for sure if he was staying at the Ramada. But he seemed out of place so on a hunch they checked with the hotel staff. They had to take pictures of him, with his face looking like processed meat, and bring it to the hotel to see if any of the employees could identify him. Sure enough, they did. Surveillance camera video was confiscated. That’s where they saw my car pulling in and pulling out. That’s where they saw me follow him until we both walked out of the camera's view.

They ran the license plate number and sure enough found out my identity. They questioned employees at the hotel about me. Inevitably questions were asked about what I do after work. Someone mentioned Sam’s. The rumor mill at Sam’s was in full swing by the time a cop walked in there around 10am. The morning patrons had heard all about my financial loss from the night before and how angry and drunk I was. They were all too willing to talk about it. I never liked the day time crowd at Stan’s.

I sat through interrogation and tried to play it cool. I played the denial game and remained as silent as possible. I let the officers go on and on, waiting for their exhaustion. Finally I felt a lull in the room. I asked for my one phone call.

I called the Ramada front desk. The operator, Cheryl, picks up.

"Ramada Inn, how can we help you today?"

"Put me through to room 520 please."

"Will do! Please hold."

A woman picks up, "Hello?"

"Mia! I'm so glad you picked up. I need your help really, really bad. I’m in a jam. The worst jam of my life. You wouldn't even believe it. But I need you to come down to the local precinct and tell everyone here what I was doing, what we were doing, in your room last night."

"You've got to be kidding me! I can't do that! If my husband finds out, forget about it! He’ll kill me!"

"Kill you?! They’re really going to kill me here! Listen, they think I killed someone last night. And if you don't set the record straight, I’m fucked! Super fucked! Like going to jail for life, or death penalty fucked! Do you understand?!" I was practically on the brink of tears.

She turned cold on me, "who is this? I don’t know you. Stop harassing me! I’m hanging up now!!”

"Mia, c'mon!! You’re being unreason----,"

She hung up on me. My one phone call was finished. I went back and held my head down in shame.

Turns out calling Mia would be the second worst mistake I made in that 24 hour period. That phone call sent her flying. She disappeared leaving behind no traces of her existence. For all I know, her name wasn’t even Mia.

I tried to explain what really happened. It was of little to no use. With Mia no where to be found and with no way to prove she exists, there was no way to prove or even persuade anyone that it was a huge coincidence that I was walking in the same direction as the victim in the same camera frame. It was too hard for anyone to believe that on that same night this poor man was brutally murdered, I was conveniently in the same hotel he was staying at enjoying a random sexual encounter.

The police mocked me. The papers called me a liar. Even my public defender doubted my story and constantly questioned my honesty.

But the hardest part of it all was dealing with my mother. She was the only one who believed me and it hurt me to even see her, never mind talk to her. My mother’s trips to visit me filled me with sadness and pain. I wanted to be happy to see my mother. But I couldn’t stand her tears. I couldn’t stand to watch her break down in front of me. Here I was waiting for my execution, and I had to be the strong one.

As bad as those visits were, nothing crushed me more than when those visits were done and I would watch my mom walk away. Even if those visits were only filled with tears and pain, it was the only real human connection I had left. I love my mother and it was the only time for the last part of my life I felt anything good at all.

It broke my heart to know that my final memories of my mother would be her stuck in a state of permanent sadness. I knew that once I was gone, a part of her would be gone forever as well.

The trial was a circus. I was guilty before I walked through the door in my orange jumpsuit and chains on day one. The evidence and public outrage against me had piled too high. There was no way the jury would budge. I sat in my chair next to my two bit public defender watching as my whole life was destroyed for a couple hours of passion.

And so I’ve waited in this cold, lonely place. I’ve waited as my date with doom approached closer and closer. The day I’d find myself in that cold chair in front of an audience, anxiously anticipating the moment when the medicine will run through my veins to forever take me away, making the world a better place for all.

"Do you have any last words?"

"Yes.

Today an innocent man will die before your eyes. I did not kill that man. Somewhere out in the world his killer or killers remain at large. The guilty party remains free to roam the streets and live their lives while I’ve rotted here for years in my innocence. But maybe I’m not totally innocent. I am guilty. Guilty I had sex with Mia. Guilty that I enjoyed it. Guilty that I preyed upon a seductress who would rather see me die than to plainly admit to our lustful sins. Who can blame her? It’s so much easier to deny her crime against her husband then to do the right thing. Mia, you got your way. You got out of this easy.

To the family and friends of the victim, I apologize. I apologize that the world is cruel enough to create the kind of evil that did what it did that night. Rest assured I’d have sex with all the married women of the world before I’d kill an innocent human being. But in your minds and hearts I’m guilty. There’s nothing I can say in my final moments that will persuade you otherwise. I hope they find the real killer. But they probably won't. As soon as I’m dead, a victory will be claimed. You will all go on with a certain peace in your hearts that justice has been served and evil has been dealt with. My last breaths will bring you closure.

But in a way you are all the same as Mia. You all had sex with me, but in your own special way. You got off on me while my life went to shambles for no good reason. And just like Mia, you're taking the easy way out. After I’m gone, I’m still innocent. There’s only one person in this entire room that knows the truth, and soon I won't be here anymore.

I’m ready. I’m sick of this world. Kill me in all my innocence. It’s the ending I’ve been writing for years."