Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word

Three thirteen and eleven seconds. The door behind him opens and people come in. Yes, certainly more than one, probably more than five. He thought about how blind people could tell a lot about what’s going on from the sound. The click of a switch started a buzz and a flickering light came from behind him. Then the sound of... kind of a wahffing and tiny rumble... like an x-ray being put on one of those light back things, that was it. Then voices, young, male and female, some nervous. "My God" "Whoa" "incredible" and other interjections.

Then a steady voice. "We have here a victim of hanging," it said to the others, "notice the displacement of cee four five and six. The patient manifests quad lateral paralysis while respiration and circulation seem to be functioning normally."

"The patient would like something to eat." William blurted out.

The other voice answered while moving around the bed into his field of vision. "It seems that your gastric system is not fully functional."

William could now see that the speaker was a doctor. "Can you repeat that in English Doc." He complained.

A voice behind him questioned. "Not fully, is there partial digestion?"

The doctor continued teaching as if the patient wasn’t there. "From the MRI it appears that the stomach is working but the intestine is not functioning. What problems can we expect?" He paused glancing around then selected his victim, "Lewis."

Lewis, came back with a quick question. "Is there food in the system?"

Smiling the doctor responded. "The proverbial last meal."

Lewis said. "Then first the remnants of that meal must be evacuated, then the stomach should be disabled or the acid will be dangerous."

"And how will this evacuation be accomplished?" The doctor continued.

"Gravity?" Lewis guessed.

The doctor chuckled. "Lewis, you are always so entertaining. I guess we could hang him by his legs until it drained out. Which brings us to the immediate problem. We have here a man that is strapped to a back board. Keeping the neck immobile may be keeping him alive. Notice on the X-ray, if the vertebra move it could complete the execution."

Another voice from behind asked. "Will the vertebra fuse in this position? In which case the backboard may be removed in nine to twelve weeks."

"Yes," the doctor responded, "or we could surgically adjust the spine to stabilize the patient."

"With what prognosis?" asked yet another voice.

"We can almost certainly maintain the patient's current condition." responded the doctor.

Three sixteen and twenty six seconds, William was amazed how easily he had began to ignore the conversation and focus on the clock. These words were not intended for him so he just forgot about them. Very uncharacteristic for him to let that slide. Again out of nowhere, a rancid burp arrived in his mouth. He cleared his throat and asked. "How ‘bout some Tums?"

The doctor feigned a little clapping of his hands. "The patient has discovered the digestive dilemma on his own." He glanced around again. "Martin, what is the answer to the patient's question?"

Another voice, a girl, said. "Wouldn’t hurt, won’t help, best to pump the stomach and let it shut down on its own."

"Good," the doctor replied lifting a clipboard and writing rapidly across the page. "Lets order a stomach pump and prep him for surgery first thing tomorrow. You will all be expected in the gallery in the morning."

William spoke again. "Can someone contact my next of kin?" he asked.

"I’ll have a clergyman stop by." The doctor replied sweeping out of the room with his flock of students in his wake.

William hadn’t thought about what becomes of a last meal, he guessed most people hadn’t. Now that he was still alive he figured that it wasn’t his last, he guessed now that is was. Time crawled along at its usual pace till at six forty one and twenty three seconds the door opened again and a woman walked around into his field of vision. She was well dressed and carried what could have easily been the worlds largest bible under her arm.

"I’m sister Goldstein from the First Apostolic Pentecostal Church of Christ. I was visiting with one of our parishioners this evening and they asked if I could stop in to see you." The lady said.
"Can I pray for you?" she asked.

William was so bored he considered her offer for a minute then replied. "I don’t pray, but could you contact my sister and tell her that I’m here?"

"Of course." The lady replied. "I can call her from this phone right here."

"I don’t know her number, I’m not even sure of her name." William responded. "I only know that when she got out of Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women last month she went by the name Judy Jones. I saw it on the news."

"I see," she said, "going to be a little more to this than a phone call."

"She’ll have a probation officer that should know where she is. The hard part will be talking her into seeing me." William responded.

The lady jotted a note on a paper she kept in her bible pages. "I will plead your cause for you, she said, "is there anything I might say to convince her."

William thought, "Tell her I changed my mind. It’s not her fault."

"I’ll see what I can do." the church lady said as she left.

Time ticked on. In the morning, at seven twenty three and forty nine seconds, an orderly came in and rolled him out of the room and down the hall to surgery. He was happy to see the anesthesiologist and he counted backwards to the best rest he’d had since he woke up with a bag over his head.

When the anesthesia wore off he found himself sitting slightly elevated in the recovery room. He could look around a little and there was no clock. A nurse came over and checked his pulse.

"You’ll be back in your room in twenty minutes." she offered.

He only thought, that’s a long time.

Back in his room, facing forward on his bed, he found someone waiting. "Judy," he said, "you came to see me."

"I heard they tried to hang you and screwed it up." Judy responded. "Figure you got some real money coming to ya, I’ll help for a share."

"That’s what I’m talking about. Can you find a good lawyer?" he asked.

"I already got a guy. He figures your good for a couple million," she said, "I want half."

"Lord knows I owe you that." William admitted. "I didn’t know they’d lock you up so long."

"Twenty five years, and not a day off for good behavior." Judy complained. "I was seventeen when I went in, a sniveling kid. Don’t mistake me for a sucker now, I’m tough as nails and twice as hard. You can’t suck me into feeling sorry for you again, and you ain’t gonna get a lick of concern from me."

"I was only twelve when you went away, you didn’t care what happened to me then, I wouldn’t imagine you could care now." William said.

"Maybe I cared more than you remember." Judy corrected. "You killed the old pervert and I took the blame cause you were so young. I knew what ever happened to you couldn’t be as bad as what they did to me."

"You thought," corrected William, "That they’d let you off because he was screwing you."

"Well they didn’t, now here we are twenty five years later, you’re still helpless and I’m still screwed." Judy carried on. "I want a guarantee that I get half, or no lawyer."

"In case you hadn’t noticed, I can’t sign anything." William taunted. "So you’ll need witnesses. and I might buy them off.

Judy grabbed her purse from the window seat and headed for the door.

"Wait," William called after her. "I think we need to work on some new family dynamics. You can have as much as you want. I’ll leave you everything in my will. You see, I don’t intend to live long after I get them back for what they did. There ain’t much to live for."

"Poor baby," Judy taunted, "Just get me some serious money and I’ll kill you myself."

"Would you?" William pleaded.

The Slowest Thing Ever

So here he was, a head on a gurney attached to a body that was of little use. He wondered what he could move. He shifted his glance around, up down and side to side. He closed and reopened his eyes. He licked his lips, puckered his lips, smiled and frowned. He tried to wrinkle his forehead and nose respectively. At once he remembered that this was important. That guy Hawkings, did all kinds of stuff by moving his face.

The doctor returned followed by a medical transport team. They started out trying to put a collar on his neck, but because of the strange angle that his head made to his body they couldn’t make it work. He protested, who did these lunk-heads think they where jerking him around like a hunk of meat.

"Just exactly what do you clowns think your doing?" he asked.

"We have to keep you immobile while we move you to a back board." One of the medics responded.

His indignation unsatisfied, he threatened. "Well get a clue and get me outta here or I’ll add you to the list of people I’m suing."

The other medic offered, "Careful Jim, the big scary killer might drool on you if you don’t treat him nice"

"Good point Phil, lets make sure he’s not HIV positive before we get our hands too close to his mouth." Jim responded.

"I’m not someone you guys want to mess with." The hanged man challenged.

Phil observed. "Must be weird for a lifelong tough guy and bully to be reduced to a helpless lump.

Pulling back into his own thoughts, knowing that these jerk-off corpsman didn’t have a clue, He again sought comfort in thinking about that Hawkings guy. He could run mental rings around these medics and he’d make them pay. First thing, find a greedy lawyer. Non of those public defender types that he’d been working with for the last fifteen years, but a real slickster. Then get the best specialists money can buy, next get him an army of henchmen and handmaids and housekeepers. A burp found itself in his mouth without warning and it tasted nasty. Maybe he should get the medical attention first. Damn, he always liked making lists of what he had to get done and cross things off and add things as he went.

The ambulance team finally got him moved onto the backboard and transferred over to their own stretcher. They where getting ready to roll him out when the doctor came over with a clipboard for them to sign. "He’s all yours," he said, "and may you never have a moments luck with him."

Jim looked over the form on the clipboard and scribbled across the bottom. "Hey Phil!" he joked, "we got us a celebrity here. This is William Groen."

"Never heard of him." Phil admitted.

"Oh, he’s a real prince of a guy. He spent four months raping a seven year old kid to death." Jim informed.

Phil puzzled. "I think I would’ve heard of that."

Jim pointed out. "It was along time ago. The only reason I remember is because when it was in the news, my wife didn’t want to name our kid after my dad because his name was William."

"Billy?" Phil questioned, "Isn’t he like fifteen by now?"

"Yeah, fifteen years ago. What a piece of shit." Jim referred to the man they were rolling out to their ambulance.

William almost said something, then remembered that these jokers weren’t worth the sweat off his... upper lip. Again he remembered that he wouldn’t know if he was sweating anywhere below his chin. God, they hadn’t covered any distance at all. They were still in the corridor outside the infirmary. He wondered if he could sleep. He closed his eyes, but thoughts just bounced around inside his head. Mostly emotional stuff. He was mad, then he felt sorry for himself. Then he worried what the medical tests would find out, and then he was mad at everything he could think of again. He found comfort in hating everyone, he’d felt that way most of his life.

Thinking about people he hated reminded him of his old man. Fredrick Groen, what a son of-o-bitch. Dragging him to church three times a week, serving as a deacon and a Sunday School teacher. Screwing his daughter every night and when he was up to it, coming into his son’s room and raping him as well. Pillar of the community his dear old dad.

He opened his eyes, he’d been rolled a whole six feet down the hall since he had closed them. He wondered if he could sleep, he closed his eye. His sister, he’d have someone get a hold of his sister, she might be able to get him a good lawyer. Man, he was going to make the world pay.

He continued thinking about his revenge and remembering things thoughout the hours it took to get into the ambulance. It took days to get to the hospital. Weeks before they got the x-rays and blood drawn. Years later he was alone in a hospital room, he hadn’t spoke a single word. Why bother, all these people were on the opposite side of his legal battle.

As the sun came up he was staring at the wall. He had been hung at midnight and morning only took six years to get here. He might have slept awhile, he wasn’t sure, he couldn’t roll over, stretch, scratch, or lift his head for that matter.

In a few weeks a nurse came in and gave him a shot. Well, there was a plus, he didn’t feel a thing. He asked, "what time is it?"

"Oh!" she started, "I didn’t know you were awake. It’s five fifteen, here let me move the clock so you can see it." She propped a twelve inch wall clock up on the table directly in the middle of his field of vision and left the room.

Five fifteen and forty one seconds. Five fifteen and forty two seconds. Five fifteen and forty three seconds. Five fifteen and forty four seconds. It was like he couldn’t look away. What a kind gesture on the part of that sweet nurse, the bitch probably did it on purpose.

No one else came in till eight thirty three and sixteen seconds, some orderly carrying on about something to do with a MRI. The orderly rolled him out of his room and down the hall, and he actually almost enjoyed the view of a wall without a clock in the way.

After the MRI, he was brought back to his room by a different dude. He asked the guy to move the clock, The shit-head just said "Not my job man, tell the nurse," and zipped out of the room.

Where Am I

His consciousness faded back into his head like a mist rising from a lake. His mind focused on his eyes. What was he seeing? Nothing, blackness, was he blind? No, he was surely dead. That’s right, his most recent memory was his execution. He had exhausted his appeals and pleaded to the Governor and every deity for mercy. But he remembered standing on the platform with a bag over his head, the hangman checking and rechecking the placement of the noose, he even remembered the sudden drop.

And now he was in blackness, he couldn’t feel anything, is this the afterlife? His first impulse was to look around for the proverbial bright light. First problem, it seemed as though he couldn’t move, or if he was moving he couldn’t tell. No feeling, no vision, no sound, no taste but his mouth was dry. Oh, wait a minute he could smell that bag on his head, as the matter of fact he could feel the bag was still on his head.

Then sounds, a blast of sounds, a door opening some beings walking in, the door closing behind them, hard shoes on a bare floor. They didn’t speak, they approached, they stopped right below him, he floated down till his head rested on something hard and smooth. They slipped the noose off over his head, he realized he had not been breathing since they came in. He gasped a great breath, and almost instantly voices rang out.

The first voice exclaimed, "Shit!" it seemed to be moving away and down.

The second voice laughed. "Man, you just jumped out of your skin, scared you silly.

"I noticed you backed up pretty quick." The other replied.

"Well shit, he breathed in," the second voice defended. "I heard them blow out before, but he breathed in."

He wondered if he should say something, if he could say something. As the laughter subsided, he ventured a question, "Am I dead?" More 'oh shiting' and moving around at a safe distance followed. He tried again, "Is this Heaven or Hell?"

"Man we better tell somebody about this." The second man said.

The beeping of a phone being dialed followed, three digits. Then the first man spoke. "I think we might have a problem, I don’t think the prisoner’s dead. Yes, it looks like his neck’s broke, his head’s laid over like it ain’t connected right. Okay, we won’t touch him till the doc gets here.

It seemed like hours, maybe days. Nobody dared speak, he because he was still in the dark, they because they didn’t care to strike up a conversation with a corpse. Finally the door opened again and footsteps once again approached. A new voice stated flatly, "he has a pulse and he’s breathing, let’s get this hood off.

The light in the room made him blink and finally settle on a squint. He saw the white coat of the doctor first, then moving his eyes up saw the face, wouldn’t you know he’d be an Indian. Then it came to him, he blurted out. "I can’t move."

"I shouldn’t wonder, your neck is badly broken." The doctor responded.

"But I’m not dead?" he asked.

The doctor got a puzzled look on his face saying. "Apparently not. Quite unusual."

As was his habit, he sought immediate gratification for his slightest needs. "My mouth is really dry, is there anything to drink around here?"

"Let’s get you immobilized first, then we can move you up to the infirmary." The doctor said.

The first man asked. "Why would you want to tie him down?"

"If his head moves it could kill him." warned the doctor.

The second man, obviously thinking along the same lines as the other guy asked. "And that would be bad because he’s not supposed to be dead?"

"He’s already been hung, we’re not allowed to kill him." The words left the doctor’s mouth and struck like a knife into the hanged man’s consciousness. He couldn’t be executed twice for the same crime.

Straps were placed around his forehead and the doctor spent a lot of time working on straps around his arms and chest although he could only see the process, he didn’t feel a thing. When the strapping was completed they rolled him out the door down the hall and into an elevator. He had time to think. Thinking about it he realized he had lots of time to think. Pretty much all he could do is think, for the rest of his life. Then he remembered the father of his victim at the sentencing hearing. How he bawled and complained that death was to good for him. That he should suffer the way he made that father’s young son suffer. Then he prayed that God would send him to an especially hot corner of Hell. Of course that was fifteen years ago, right now it seemed like yesterday.

They got off the elevator and rolled down the hall to the infirmary. Inside, the doctor slipped on a glove and stuck an ice cube into the paralyzed mans mouth. "Try not to choke on that," he said, "until we can determine weather your digestive system is functioning, that’s all you get."

He hadn’t realized that he might not be able to eat.

He had never wished he was dead in his life. Before the hanging, the lousy priest that they sent to talk to him told him to accept his fate, and embrace death. He never believed in God, at least not since he was 'like' nine. His mother believed in God big time and she died believing that he would heal her. No he wouldn’t listen to that lousy priest then and by God they better not bring that stinking bible merchant in to see him now.

The doctor was on the phone, he woke up the warden. Evidently the warden told the doctor that the law was clear, he’s a free man. The doctor came over and asked him what he wanted to do.

"Check me out and see if I can eat," was his immediate response.

"I’m afraid that you are no longer under our jurisdiction, so I’m not authorized to treat you." the doctor avoided liability. "I can call for an ambulance to transport you wherever you want to go."

"Where the hell can I go? I got no money and I don’t know anybody I can ask for help." He growled.

"County General it is then," the doctor said and left the room.

Alone again, the man was once more forced to review his helplessness. That sappy father from fifteen years ago could just find him and kill him and there was nothing he could do about it. Hell, that might be better than the life he had to look forward to. First thing tomorrow he was going to get him a lawyer and get the legal ball rolling over them prison people for botching his execution. If he was going to veg’ in some whole, he may as well have enough coin to get him a nice whole. Maybe a hot private nurse, or would that be more frustration then it’s worth. Damn, this was sucking more at every turn, and as much as it started out sucking that was hard to believe.