Page 4 of Becoming Juliet

There was a guard on each side of the chair with Beast seated and strapped tight in the middle. The warden was near the door, and there was a small group of men in white coats standing beside him. With a nod from the Cartwright, the guard on the left placed a large, water soaked sponge and metal headpiece (which looked like an old-styled football helmet) on top of Beast’s skull. When some of the water spilled down over his forehead, Beast let out a low growl. P.J. was distressed to see that the mixture of cortisol and adrenalin that had to be racing through Beast’s body had begun to overpower the calming sedative. P.J. could see Beast’s strong arms flex against the restraints. He could see all that ink jump and ripple as Beast’s body tensed with the prospect of what was to come.

“Does the prisoner request to be blindfolded?” The warden’s voice was rigid in its formality. Beast’s response was to look at Cartwright as if Beast were a small child asking for guidance.

“No shame in it. Billy Bob” The warden’s tone gentled. “The darkness can be a comforting thing.” Beast then nodded his consent. A large black shroud, which looked a lot like a welder’s mask, was fastened to the helmet.

Between the leather and metal restraints, the electrodes, and the heavy black mask, there was nothing left of Beast’s face to see. The man now looked like something dark, menacing, and unworldly. P.J. wondered briefly if maybe that was the intention. He wondered if it somehow made it easier for the executioner to pull the kill switch if the condemned appeared as something less than human. One by one the evacuation team left the death chamber. Beast was alone now, and P.J. leaned forward as if trying to reach him. The atmosphere was heavy with morbid fascination while an almost maniacal anticipation hung in the viewing room. The voices had all hushed, the scribbling had stopped. The quiet settled heavy and thick like a wet woolen, blanket. Suddenly, the sound of a heavy exhaust fan came barreling out from the kill room. It was followed by a loud BANG!

Beast’s body began to convulse, he was pinned to the back of the chair like he was strapped into a grotesque carnival ride. The woman reporter, who was so eager to get a good look, let out a small cry and jumped back as if the electricity had reached out and grabbed her. The impact of the voltage should have killed Beast instantly. But sparks and flames erupted from somewhere along the circuit. There was another loud bang as an electrode on Beast’s leg exploded and blew out a hole in his shin. While the reporter in the back of the room screamed, the sparks jumped in ominous delight searching for someplace new to land. Beast’s lap blazed with orange flames while a firestorm burst out from under the hood in the area of Beast’s left temple.

P.J. shot straight up in his chair with murderous intent. His body coiled tight in rage. But two strong hands grabbed P.J.’s shoulders and shoved him back down in his seat. The voice of the guard behind him was a low growl in his ear. “Any ruckus you make now is just gonna take attention away from the matter at hand. You behave yourself so we see this done. For the sake of that man in there, you stand down.”

Somewhere in his raging anger, P.J. knew the guard was right. P.J. stayed in his seat and watched on in abject horror as two physicians entered the chamber. One felt for the pulse on the right side of Beast’s neck. The other searched for proof of life by pressing on Beast’s thick wrist. Both of the doctors had large pads of white cotton held up under their noses. With a nod, they each confirmed to the warden that there was still a heartbeat.

How can there still be a heartbeat?P.J. felt as though he was trapped inside of a nightmare. The reporters all made a quick and sudden move to rush out the door. And honestly, P.J. didn’t blame them. In truth, the execution gone wrong would be too much for the most hardened man to handle. But their effort to flee was thwarted as the guard blocked the exit. He bellowed out a sharp command to all;Donot distract from the proceedings and sit your ass down! The reporters, who were shame-faced, did as they were told. But the scratching of their pencils had stopped. They sat with their shoulders hunched, and their eyes cast downward. But P.J kept his eyes focused on the man in the chair. P.J. McCabe would defy the devil himself and hold Beast in his eyes until the gory end. He would hold that stalwart and steady gaze because if there was any chance, the slightest possibility, that Beast was still alive in that heaping lump of burning flesh, P.J. wanted to make damn sure that Beast knew he was not alone.

In the end it had taken four thousand volts of electricity and fourteen minutes to kill Beast.

With finality, the curtains closed, and a voice came over the speaker; it declared that thelegal execution of Billy Bob McKennahad been carried out. After that, it was only a matter of seconds before P.J.’s head exploded in blinding pain.Well, that’s a fucking understatementP.J thought, while a scene from theWizard of Ozflashed through his mind. P.J. could just see the coroner of Munchkin Land proclaiming to all the citizens of Oz that theWicked Witch is not just dead, she’s really quite sincerely dead.”

To everyone’s profound relief, the guard opened the exit door. P.J. found himself being rushed through by the pressure of the people who had filled the room just moments before. Once out into the cool night air they collectively bend down with hands on their knees and breathed out their relief. The female reporter in row three dropped straight to her knees, while other members of the press leaned against the cool, chain link fence for a moment to steady their shattered nerves.

On P.J.’s part, he walked straight to his bike and revved up the engine. With his body tense and his heart racing, P.J. rode at full throttle until he had cleared the corn fields that surrounded the prison, then he kept going. Stopping only for caffeine, nicotine, gas or to take a piss, P.J drove for three straight days until exhaustion finally overtook him, and he found himself losing the battle against white line fever and rumble lines. Feeling despondent with the realization that he could never run far enough or long enough to escape the memory of Beast’s final fourteen minutes, P.J. gave up.

After registering himself into a hotel room, the first thing he did was take a very long, very hot shower. Then he put in a call to his V.P. Jet Mathison. The conversation with Jet was quick, to the point, and one sided.

P.J. told Jet that he would not be coming home, and that Jet was now in charge. Then he gave Jet instructions to call Reno and fill him in. After that P.J. opened the sliders to the balcony, sat in the deep cushioned chair, had himself a smoke, and waited for his father to call him.

That conversation had not been an easy one.

Reno had arranged a conference call that included P.J.’s uncles, all of whom were dangerous, intelligent, and morally compromised HSMC royalty. P.J.’s family was comprised of a rare breed of badasses whose roots in the club ran deep. It had been a long, loud conversation filled with violent outbursts (those mostly from P.J.’s hot- headed, stubborn, irretractable Uncle Diego). There had been a demands for an explanation and the answers had satisfied no one. After a very long fifty-eight minutes, the conversation was over. The exchange had left P.J. exhausted and made him glad that he was hundreds of miles away.

The next thing P.J. did was take out the switchblade from his pocket and carefully remove the HSMC president patch from his leather cut. He reverently folded the leather jacket and secured it in the bottom of his duffle bag. Then he placed the patch in an envelope provided by the hotel and left it on the desk. Tomorrow he would go down to the concierge desk and have them mail it.

After consulting the room service menu, P.J. called in an order of king cut prime rib, a Caesar salad, fresh green beans and a fifth of bourbon. After finishing his meal, P.J pulled the heavy burgundy curtains of the room closed and hung the laminateddo not disturbsign on the door. He piled the fluffy, down pillows high on the bed, and laid his sore body on the deeply cushioned mattress. Then P.J. downed several shots of the liquor and watched a movie on Netflix until his mind was clear enough to rest.

P.J. put in a solid fifteen hours of uninterrupted sleep before he woke. When he did, he felt better. The steamy shower, nutritious meal, comfortable bed, and large bourbon consumption had given way to a much mellower version of himself. When P.J. thought back to his decision of the day before, he readied himself for an onslaught of regret. But instead, a wave of relief flooded his senses, and P.J. felt a tremendous weight lift off his shoulders. The decision to pass the gavel on to his cousin Jet had not been an easy one, but it had been the right one. Jet was solid. He was confident in his ability and had a good sense about people. He was cool, even tempered, and capable of making quick and sometimes brutal decisions. Jet was a natural leader, the men respected him, and their enemies feared him.

Feeling good, P.J. took a walk around the corner to the local market where he bought himself a carton of cigarettes, a bunch of lottery tickets, a twelve pack of beer, and two massive Italian cold cut grinders— light on the lettuce and heavy on the oil. He went back up to his room, turned on the game, ate the sandwiches, drank the beer and, at half time, P.J scratched the tickets.

Before half time was over two things had happened. One was that P.J. had seen a cool travel commercial touting New England tourism. The other thing that happened was that P.J. was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars richer.

The next morning P.J. drove straight to the lottery commission to cash in his ticket. Then, remembering the television commercial from the night before and thinking it might be a sign, he headed off in search of the craggy cliffs and sandy beaches of the Northeast Coastline.

Lucy Brewster

Lucy Brewster went from sound asleep to wide awake in an instant. She bolted up in bed, heart thumping, eyes staring through the dark, ears straining for the sound that must have awoken her. But there was nothing but the lazy country sounds of a hot, summer evening. The whirring noise of the fan, the rhythmic buzzing of katydids, the musical chirp of crickets, and the warning hum of cicadas all mixed with the soft rumble of distant thunder. Lucy had no idea what had caused her to bolt up in bed with her heart thumping out of her chest, but it was not the first time it had happened to her.

It was such a beautiful spot on the lake, she knew she should feel more relaxed and comfortable. But even after a few weeks, Lucy found that she still wasn’t used to the nightly cacophony of the country sounds. Her sleep was typically restless. Especially on nights like this when you could cut the humidity with a knife. Lucy could feel the heat prickle at the back of her neck. The damp, cotton cloth clung to her sweat soaked back. She peeled off her nightgown and headed down the hall to the small bathroom. The floorboards creaked beneath Lucy’s feet, and the walls of the house shook as the ancient copper pipes worked hard to bring a spray of water through the rusty shower head.

Standing under the cool blast, Lucy lathered herself up in the mint olive oil soap that she had gotten at the farmer’s market the day before. Then she washed her hair in chamomile shampoo and rinsed it in a mixture of vinegar and lemon juice to make it shine. When she felt squeaky clean and cool, Lucy put on a fresh night shirt and went downstairs to get a drink of water. It was just past two a.m. and she couldn’t imagine that Kenny would be much longer.

Lucy had met Kenny two years earlier when she had first been hired as a research assistant at a small, private college. Kenny had been in his first year as an adjunct professor. Because the college had a lot of on campus events and the staff was friendly and close in thatdrinks on Friday, brunch on Sundaykind ofway, Lucy and Kenny had found their paths crossing often. They developed a fast, furious, and fierce attraction for each other, and soon found out that they were just as compatible in bed as they were out of it.

After each earth shattering, star exploding, mind blowing, sexual adventure they would lie in bed, hands entwined, limbs tangled, and talk about the future that they envisioned together as a couple. At the center of their wish list had been a two story, center hall colonial, a minivan in the driveway, and as many children as God would serve to bless them with. Lying safe and secure in each other’s arms, the young love birds planned out a perfect future together.

After only a few months into their relationship, Lucy and Kenny decided to get married in city hall during a semester break. Then they had celebrated with colleagues and friends around a bonfire. Wine, and roasted marshmallows had been the only thing on the menu, and just like everything else in their lives, it had been perfect.

Lucy and Kenny’s wedded life together had been easy, comfortable, and blissfully happy.

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