Chaos: Contemporary Biker Romance (54 page)

“Why can you not testify?” Carter's face was red hot as he undressed for the third time this week. The sex at this point was something he needed, even though he never loved Ingram, because the moments of closeness would have to do in these desperate times. Continuing the pseudo-relationship with Ingram also gave Carter hope that he might be able to help him before it was too late, and Stetson was gone forever.

“I told you man. Where am I going to testify? I've already lost everything. You don't need me anymore. Why are you even here?” Ingram grew angry since his demotion, sensing that he was being used on some level. Carter was a kind person, but even kind people can use others for their own gain, even if they feel bad about it. “You have the tape. You have what you need, you don't need me to testify or anything. Only the judge can declare a mistrial, otherwise you have to file an appeal and hope for a stay of execution. If the judge doesn't want to participate, probably because he's colluding with Watkins and won't do anything to disparage his reputation, then there's nothing I can do.”

“I'll go to the governor if I have to. I'll take his place. I'll do anything. Just help me!” Ingrams put his face to Carter's, rubbing his five o'clock shadow on the side of Carter's cheek lovingly.

“I love you. Just stay with me. I'll protect you.”

III

The night before Stetson's execution, the dwarf-like guard who Stetson hated with the fire of a thousand suns stepped into his cell with the same malicious smile he had when something was up.

“I've got something for your last meal big guy.”

“You ain't ever asked me.”

“Oh we didn't need to. We had the cook make it special for you.” The small guard looked over his shoulder at three other guards three times his size as they entered with a tray full of dog shit.

“Now listen here big guy. We're here to repay you for the little number you did on us last month. See, we didn't want you going out without a goodbye from us.”

The small guard cackled. “You did give us so much entertainment, Mr. Carthswaite. We'll miss you. But before you go, we'd like you to have something on the house.” The three guards handcuffed Stetson to either side of his cell, and he fought with all his might to get free. It wasn't enough the sick fucks would take away his life, they needed his dignity too. Stetson looked up at a camera in the corner of the room, knowing full well the rest of the guards were laughing their asses off, watching from the safety of their own observation chamber.

But he couldn't get free. There was no use, as the small guard jabbed him in the side with a needle full of sedative. “See we had to get some special concoctions for you. This here medicine is really for horses, but we know you really don't mind because you're not all that much different now are you?” Then the small guard took a rusty metal spoon and scooped some of the shit up.

“Open wide, sweetheart. Here comes the airplane. VRRRROOOOOOOM!”

The small guard shoved the spoonful of dog shit in his mouth, down his throat. Stetson had no other choice but to swallow or choke. The other guards laughed. Then suddenly the door shut behind them. There was nothing but silence and the boys got real scared real fast.

“Who's there?” one of them asked. There was no response. The dwarf tried opening the cell door but it wouldn't budge.

“It's stuck!”

They started to panic now. “Let us out,” the dwarf said, standing on top of the bed, looking into the camera and waving his hands. One of the big guards managed to open the door, and they rushed outside, leaving Stetson drugged with a stomach full of dog shit. Outside, they looked around the hallway and there was nothing. Stetson's door shut again by itself, and from his perspective, he could see the guards' frightened eyes watching him through the small square window in the door. They screamed blood murder. Something bad was happening.

IV

Carter got up from Michael Ingram's bed, looking at the clock. It was officially 12 hours to Stetson's execution. He couldn't wait around any longer. Ingrams was no help and Carter made the mistake of dealing with his grief and sorrow by ignoring, a quality Stetson himself probably imparted to him. But now there was nothing but panic in Carter's soul.

“Oh God! No! I can't survive this!” Ingram jumped up from the bed, as Carter's verbal insanity shocked him from his dreams. He grabbed Carter, and tried to comfort him, but Carter wouldn't let go. He fought out of Ingram's arms.

“Fuck you for wasting my time. You are a terrible human being!” He ran out of the door, into the street, to sleep in his car.

--

The next day, Carter looked up the judge's home address in the phone book, and gassed up his car. He was going to make this personal. On the way to the judge's house he stopped by a pawn shop. The clerk greeted him with a reserved smile. “Hi sir. How can I help you today. Are you okay?”

“I want to buy a gun.”

--

Carter left the gun shop, flew in his car to the wealthiest area of the small town and pulled down the driveway of the judge's house. Parking in the yard, he put the gun in his pocket and beat on the front door.

“Open up you fuck head. It's time you paid the price for what you've done!”

The door opened and the judge stood in the doorway in his underwear. “What in God's name has gotten into you faggot!”

Carter stopped and took a deep breath, then exploded in anger at the man. He beat him over the head with the pistol, breaking his nose, sending thick, hot blood all over the beige carpet of the judge's living room. The judge's eldest son heard the commotion and came running through the hallway. Carter beat him again and again and again. “Call the governor! Call the governor! Call him! Call him now!”

The judge could barely get any answers out of his mouth for all the pain. “I can't. It's too late! I'm sorry.” Carter looked up and could see the son standing in the hallway, pointing a rifle at Carter. Death was not something he feared anymore; in fact, he welcomed it. In the distance, he could hear the sirens blaring. They were coming for him. He took one look at the son and bolted, but not before the son got one shot off, grazing Carter's shoulder. He jumped into the car and sped away, unsure of where he was going or what his destiny was.

The Execution

I

Stetson lay on his cot in his prison cell, the day of his execution. This was the moment of truth, and there was no going back. Other prison guards came the night before and picked up what was left of the dwarf-sized guard with a malicious smile. They wanted to know how managed to kill them all with his bare hands and then fake his own punishment by eating dog shit and tying himself to his cell. Stetson said nothing, because he drugged, but he was nevertheless conscious of what happened in the cell earlier. The fact that the prisoners claimed Kwahu killed the guards to protect Stetson, or maybe he was drugged and dreamed it up. But one thing was certain, those guards were dead and Stetson had no recollection of killing them.

When Presley Watkins showed up to the scene, for some reason he was overjoyed that the guards were dead.

“You're going to fry for certain now, big guy. If you didn't do it then you certainly did it now. Aw, what's wrong boy? Are you sore? One too many punches to the head?”

Stetson just lay in the hospital bed earlier that morning, staring dead-eyed at the man who caused him so much grief. He wanted the energy to kill him--because, if he was going to electric chair for a murder he didn't commit--why not actually commit the crime he was accused of so the death sentence had value. Watkins made sure the orderlies delivered him back to his cell, where the haunting murders took place. Watkins charged and convicted him with the murders to ensure the governor would carry out the execution, falsifying document after document. The man truly had no limits to the depths he would sink. But the truth was that he didn't kill those guards--whom the other prisoners said were twisted again like Barbie dolls sucked up by a lawnmower. As the drugs wore off and he came to his senses, Stetson began to believe there was something supernatural about Kwahu and his powers. He believed in his heart of hearts that the Indian was working from the lockdown of his cell to protect him. If Kwahu's motives were to delay the execution, it wasn't working. If anything, the events that transpired the night earlier sped up the execution.

His cell door open and a different set of guards came in to dress him for the event. Stetson could sense they were petrified of what he might do to them. They pulled off his shirt and pants and put him in nurse's scrubs, then placed a black bag over his head. From Stetson's perspective, all he could see was black, but he could hear and feel the gurney they laid him on roll down the hall and into a new room. The air conditioner in the adjacent froze him like no other, and it smelled sterile like a hospital. Stetson was sure they had him in the room he would die in. The next thing he knew, Presley Watkins pulled the bag off his head, stood over him, smiling.

“You know you're going to die in 15 minutes, right?”

Stetson ignored him and looked away, past his head at the ceiling. Two orderlies came into the room, followed by a man in his mid-thirties wearing a priest's collar. The orderlies wrapped Stetson's wrists with thick leather straps and used the electronic chair to sit him up.

“OK doc, we're going to set you up in the chair, but you got to promise you won't do anything to hurt us.” Stetson again said nothing. “OK we'll take that as a yes, doc. Here we go.” They pulled him up from the gurney heaving all their weight to counterbalance his. They placed him in a large wooden chair, strapping down his arms and legs. Then they doused a sponge with a bucket of water, bathing the crown of his skull with the wetness. The water dripped down the front of his brow onto his shirt and into his eyes. He never blinked. As the orderlies screwed a metal plate over the top of his head and connected various electrical wires to the chair, Stetson could see through the plate glass window Stetson alone in the observation room, staring, and smiling. It was silent in the room, but Watkins turned around suddenly in the darkness of the room, as if he suddenly saw or heard something. Suddenly Watkins body was thrown against the glass violently and the two orderlies rushed out of the room to help. Several moments passed, and Stetson could hear screams through the other side but then there was silence. The door to the execution room open and Stetson looked over at the figure standing in the door, saying nothing, too weak finally to put up any fight. The figure threw a red package in his lap, labeled EVIDENCE.

--

After an hour or two, when the place was silent, two middling guards walked with the priest into the execution room to find the prisoner, cloaked with a black hood over his face, sitting tied to the electric chair, with all other orderlies missing. Missing too was Presley Watkins.

“What the hell is going on here?” one guard asked.

“Beats me. I'm hungry. Let's get this show on the road,” the other guard yawned. They turned on the lights in the observation to find an empty, clean room. Another hour or so passed and witnesses came filing in, one after another, sitting in the chairs. Some of them were Jaidon Marsh's relatives. Some of them were friends of Presley Watkins, one of whom wondered out loud, “Where the hell is that boy?”

II

Carter pulled into his driveway, sure the police would arrive at his place any second. He got out of the car, racing in circle like a rabid dog, unsure where to go or what to do. He paced back and forth in the den of the mountain home. The quiet of the house terrified him. He thought about the past few years and all that he'd been through, all the suffering which he didn't seem capable of escaping. It was like he was the plague, and everything he touched died or abandoned him. He just couldn't cope anymore with the unbearable sadness of losing Stetson. He stared at the loaded on the table, knowing this was it. He picked it up, placed the end of the barrel into his mouth, closed his tear-filled and pulled the trigger.

But the chamber wasn't loaded. He looked down at the clip to make sure there were bullets, found something lodged in the clip and dug his finger in to remove it. There was a desperate knock on the door. Carter looked up frightened, as he approached the front door. He wondered for a second whether he should open it, certain cops were waiting outside with loaded guns, ready to blow him away. He placed his hand on the doorknob, ready for his fate, and opened the door. He stared at the figure on the doorstep for several seconds in shock.

“Stetson,” he said. “How did you?” The figure belted him in the chest with a red package labeled EVIDENCE.

III

The second set of guards to enter the execution chamber, never bothering to check the identity of the man in the chair, gave the approving look to the switch handler. “Roll on one.” The handler nodded and flipped the switch, sending thousands of volts of electricity through the terrified human sitting in the chair. After a few seconds which seemed to last forever, the doctor walked over the prisoner and checked his pulse.

“Dead.”

The lights in the observation room went up and the doctor pulled the veil of the head of the prisoner, revealing his identity at last. There were shocks from the room were murderous. “PRESLEY WATKINS!” one of them screamed.