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Ian Jeffreys entered the
double glass doors of the hospital into the foyer, sat down in one of the well
worn chairs and waited. He looked
at the magazines on the table in front of him, but was in no mood to read.
Instead, he wished that this experience would be over with.
It had been an unusual request
that was made of him, but he was getting familiar with unusual things now.
The sound of footfalls down a
nearby hallway signified the arrival of Dr Wood, who spotted Ian immediately and
went over to him, arm outstretched. Ian
stood, the two men shook hands and then made their way out of the foyer without
a word. Once they were alone in the
corridor, Ian couldn't help but ask the question that had been pounding in his
mind since Dr Wood had called him the previous afternoon.
"Why does Judge Davis
want to see me?"
"I think you know why, Mr
Jeffreys."
"He honestly doesn't
believe ..."
"All men, educated and
otherwise, believe strange things when they are on their death bed, Mr Jeffreys.
The deaths that have preceded his condition have only made his thinking
more ... broad."
"But the cancer, how long
has he had it?"
"Four months at
least."
"Then how could he think
that ..."
Dr Wood stopped in the hall
and faced Ian, a strange mix of confusion and seriousness across his face.
"Look, everyone knows there's something weird going on here.
You haven't said it in your stories in the paper, but anyone who knows
anything about Wilhemina Morecroft - and that's the entire county - has read
between the lines. And now anyone
who had anything to do with her going to the gas chamber is ... a little
nervous. Even you, I can see it in your face. You haven't been sleeping, you've chewed your nails, and I'll
bet everyone else is like that as well. Of
course no-one thought anything of it when she blurt out a curse just before she
died - hell, half the town thought you'd made it up to make the story more
interesting - but I'll tell you now, Judge Davis is lying there in a hospital
bed dying fast of a tumor in his pancreas and he's sure as hell Wilhemina put it
there. And there's something else
too."
Ian raised an eyebrow and
expected the worse.
"Said he dreamed of her
the other night. More than a dream
- a vision, he supposes. That's why
he wanted to see you, thinks you're the big Wicked Willie expert and wants to
know what you think of it. Now I
can tell you some people who are dying go through some scary things - delusions,
weird dreams and the like. But he
was so adamant that I get you down here that I couldn't say no.
I'm glad you came down. Hopefully
it will calm him down a bit to talk it out, maybe let him ... well, die in
peace."
Ian's head was spinning.
As they made their way down the corridor to Judge Davis' room, it felt as
if the walls were moving around him and for a moment he thought he might pass
out. Then Dr Wood stopped.
"This is his room.
I'll leave you to it. Thank
you again, Mr Jeffreys."
Ian stood in the corridor for
a few moments, his hand on the door handle, breathing deep.
He wasn't sure that he really wanted to do this, but he really had no
choice. How can you say no to the
last wish of a dying man, and a judge at that?
No, he had to do it. This
idea that Wilhemina came to the judge, in a dream or otherwise, was powerfully
intriguing, and the journalist in him couldn't let a story like that go.
The terrified man in him, on the other hand, wasn't so willing.
But he pushed open the door anyway and went in.
It smelt the same as any other
hospital room, like death and disinfectant.
But this room had another smell has well, one that Ian wouldn't have been
able to pin down a few months ago but knew very well now:
fear.
Judge Davis lay still on the
bed as though he were already dead. But
he heard Ian enter and slowly opened his eyes.
"I'm glad you're here,
lad," the Judge croaked, "I need ... someone ..." but coughs
broke up his plea.
Ian rushed to the side of the
bed. "Water?" he fumbled,
"Do you need some water?"
Judge Davis nodded, and gladly
took a sip of the water that Ian held out for him. The coughing slowly subsided, and the Judge breathed deep to
catch his breath.
"Sorry son, that happens
sometimes." He gave a sharp cough and continued. "It's the damn medications they give me, dry out my
throat and do god knows what else to the rest of me." He started fumbling to sit up, and Ian helped prop him up
with three pillows.
The judge was almost yellow in
color, his eyes bloodshot and veins protruded from his neck.
How his aching bones managed to keep him upright even in bed was a
miracle, but Judge Davis had a mission, and wasn't going to let his dying body
stop him just yet. Ian handed him
the glass of water and the judge gladly took it and held onto it with both bony
hands.
"This is gonna hurt like
hell, son, so I'll make it as quick as I can," the judge rasped slowly in
between sharp breaths, "I'll warn you though, it's going to scare the hell
out of you."
"I expected as much, sir.
I do have to ask though, why did you want to tell me, in
particular?"
"Because everyone else
thinks I'm nuts, that's why." He
coughed again and took a quick sip of water.
"My wife is ready to have me shot up with enough morphine to meet my
maker, and Dr Wood looks just about ready to agree with her."
He looked Ian square in the eye. "You,
on the other hand, will know what I mean. You
were there when she died. You saw
the look in her face. She meant
every word she said, and she's fulfilling it, by god."
"You think Wilhemina
Morecroft's curse, as it were, is what's ..."
"Cancer my foot.
She put this death in me the moment she said those words in her death
chair. Why else would I be dying so
quick? I've known other men who
have had tumors in worse places and lived ten times as long as me.
What other explanation do you have?"
"I'm just about ready to
believe anything, sir. There's been
strange things happening the last few months."
"Damn right!"
The judge nodded his feeble head, winced, then took another sip of water.
"So what happened?"
"Saw her, plain as day,
standing right there, looking at me with those black eyes." He pointed to
end of his bed as if he still saw her there.
Ian stared at the empty space, saw nothing, but still felt a shiver down
his spine. "No way on earth I
was dreaming. That window there was
wide open, and the moonlight shone right through her. I felt the breeze on me.
I was awake all right, and she was right there, no doubt about it."
"Did ... did she say
anything?"
"Laughed.
Cackled at me like an old witch. It
was so loud, I thought my ears were going to burst.
Don't know how no-one else heard it.
Still rings in my ears."
"Was there anything
else?"
"Yes."
He leaned slightly closer to Ian, as much as his withered body would
allow. "She said 'You are the
fifth, and more will meet my curse. All
those who damned me are damned themselves.
You will pay.' I'll remember those exact words for as long as I live."
He coughed hard again, and when he recovered said, "Granted, that
won't be much longer."
"She didn't say how many
more would die?"
"You think she'll come
for you too?"
"I honestly don't know
what to think, sir. My brain is
telling me this is all insane, but in the back of my mind ..."
"The world is a strange
place, lad. Some things came
through my court room that I wouldn't have believed possible. This is quite something else, of course, but you soon learn
you can't discount everything you hear."
"Yes sir, I'm believing
that more every day."
"Her lawyer, the DA, the
warden, Mr. Cody from the drug store - none of those were freak accidents.
All those men had a hand in putting her in that death chair, as well as
plenty more. She swore revenge on
all of us, and I wouldn't put it past any woman to do what she has to do, even
from beyond the grave. She swore like hell she was innocent, and an innocent person
will do anything to prove themselves."
"Do you believe she was
innocent, sir?"
"Hell no.
She blatantly poisoned her husband.
He had no heart condition to speak of, so why did she give him heart
stimulants, and plenty of them? To
kill him, get him out of her life, that's why.
Oh sure, he was a drinker and beat her on occasion, but murder is murder.
You can't justify it in any way."
"There's a lot of women
who feel that she was quite justified, especially considering that he'd also
beat their son, and that the police did nothing to help her."
"Yes, well, as much as I
hate what happened to her, it's a fact that it happens, quite regularly in fact.
But my place, as the judge at her trial, was to see that the State won
against a murderer, woman or not, justified or not.
She killed a man, end of story."
"It seems it's not."
Ian said quietly as he left the judge exhausted, but purged, from his efforts.
He closed the door quietly, knowing somehow that he would be one of the
last to see Judge Davis alive.
© Cynthia M. Piromalli 2003
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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