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Not three weeks had passed on
Judge Davis' death before the headline on the front page of Ian's paper - Ian's
story of course - read:
GOVERNOR STANTON DIES IN
CAR CRASH
An horrific automobile
accident late last night claimed the life of Californian Governor James Henry
Stanton. With him in the car was
Thomas Breymer, Justice of the Supreme Court.
The men had been dining
together at the Royal Restaurant on Midway Avenue yesterday evening discussing
matters on crime policies for the upcoming election. Following their meal, both men were being chauffeured in the
Governor's car to the his residence when the vehicle lost control and hit a tree
on the side of the road. Both men
died instantly. The crash site was
not discovered until the early hours of this morning by a passing motorist.
The chauffer of the vehicle
who survived the crash, Mr. Prescott, claimed that he veered to avoid hitting a
woman who was standing in the middle of the road, but who disappeared from the
scene immediately after the crash. Police
are urging anyone who may have witnessed the accident to come forward with their
accounts.
Both victims will be
remembered for the tough stance they took on crime in this state.
One of Justice Breymer's last duties was to hold up the death penalty
verdict in the murder trial of Wilhemina Morecroft, a decision also upheld by
Governor Stanton.
The Honorable Mr. Stanton
leaves behind a wife and two daughters. Justice
Breymer leaves behind a wife, a daughter and two sons.
Ian flicked the paper to the
side of his desk. He couldn't read
any more of his own rubbish. He had
wanted to say much more. If it had
been up to him, the headline would have read 'TWO MORE MEN MEET THE CURSE OF
WICKED WILLIE', with the side bar of And I'm probably next.
But no, as much as Bob loved a story, he would allow not Ian to write
anything as "unconfirmed" as that.
But what more confirmation
would he need? Since Wilhemina's
execution, seven men had died in sudden and strange circumstances.
All of them who had something to do with putting her in the gas chamber:
two Judges who upheld the guilty verdict, the DA that pressed charges
against her, the chemist who cottoned on to her strange request for drugs, the
court appointed lawyer who had represented her so badly, the Warden who had
dropped the cyanide pellets into the gas chamber and the Governor of the State
who had upheld her sentence to the last. Who
else would she want to damn? It
could be anyone.
Ian was going crazy.
His hair had started to go gray, the bags under his eyes grew darker and
at times he felt like he couldn't breathe.
Surely he was one of the ones she wanted dead.
He who had given her the title of 'Wicked Willie,' a witty attempt to
grab the public's eye about her case so that it stood out from the other crime
stories in the same paper. He knew
she was coming for him. She had
looked him right in the eye when she had uttered her curse with her last breath.
He couldn't take it anymore.
He jumped up from his chair at
his cluttered work desk and left the office without a word to anyone.
He knocked on the door softly,
unsure if this was the right thing to do. But
he could think of nothing else that might save his life, so when there was no
answer he knocked again, a little louder. At
last the door opened, and there stood young Daniel.
Wilhemina's dear beloved Daniel, with the eyes of his mother and the
innocence of anyone of his young age. Not
yet five years old, he had no idea who Ian was, and smiled at him.
If only he knew! Ian tried
to smile back, but couldn't quite manage it.
Wilhemina's sister Felicity
came up behind Daniel and gently nudged him aside to see who was calling.
When she saw it was Ian, she went to slam the door in his face, but he
caught it before it closed.
"I'm sorry, I'm
sorry," he muttered, "I have to talk to you, just for a moment,
please."
"And why should I do that
for you? You're a swine, Mr.
Jeffreys, and I will not have you in my house."
She went to close the door on him once more, but again he caught it in
time.
"Please," he tried
one more time, "it's about your sister."
"It always is."
She hissed at him. But when she looked him up and down and saw how pitiful he
looked, something in her allowed him in. "You
have five minutes." She said
as he entered.
Felicity Henderson looked a
great deal like her sister, though taller and bigger boned.
She looked just as overcome with grief as she did the day Wilhemina died
in the gas chamber. After seating Ian, she shooed Daniel out to play with his
toys in another room, adamant not to let the poor boy hear anything more about
his dead mother.
"What is it you want, Mr.
Jeffreys?"
"Your sister, she's
fulfilling her curse."
"Rubbish!"
Felicity scowled and looked away from him and out the window.
"Surely you've heard of
all these recent deaths, Mrs. Henderson. All
of these men that have died so suddenly had something to do with your sister's
trial."
"Pure coincidence.
How can you suggest something as ridiculous as people being killed by a
ghost? Besides," she glared at
him, "my sister was not a killer when she was alive, and she isn't now
she's dead."
"I ... I think I damned
her into becoming one." The
words sounded so foolish coming out of Ian's mouth, but he had said what he
wanted to say: the truth.
"What on earth do you
mean? I don't have time for any of
this idiocy, Mr. Jeffreys...."
"No, I know.
But, I just had to tell you. It's
my fault. I apologize."
"You're apologizing for
her death?"
He looked down at his hands,
so pale and bony. "Not
exactly. She would have probably
gone to the death chamber anyway, despite what I'd done.
Maybe, I don't know. What
I'm saying is," he looked up at her, looked her right in the eyes, "I
made her out to be a callous killer in my stories. She wasn't. I
know that now. But you have to
understand the nature of my work," he shook his head, "no, that's no
excuse. I named her what I did, for
whatever stupid reason, and she hated me for it, I know that.
But somehow in death, she's living up to it."
"You sound as though you
truly believe that." Felicity said slowly.
"Yes, I do.
And I believe also, because of what I did, that these other deaths are my
fault. But I can't stop it now, I
don't know how to."
"And you think I
do?"
He nodded slowly, but wasn't
sure that's what he really thought. Either
way, it made no difference. He was
just desperate.
"Well, I don't.
I find all this very hard to believe, I don't know what to make of what
you're saying. If you've come to me
asking the best way to make amends for what you've done, I have no answers for
you, except to say that it's too late. My
sister is gone," tears welled in her eyes, "and nothing will bring her
back. Whoever dies in the meantime,
I really don't care about."
She was silent for what seemed
like hours as she regarded him slowly, taking in his weary frame and his
exhausted eyes. Then she sighed,
looked out the window again and continued.
"Not long after the
execution, Matron Jones called me to come collect her belongings.
She said something very peculiar to me, but I hadn't thought about it
again until now."
Ian's eyebrows raised and he
leaned slightly forward. Silently
he urged her to go on, but Felicity seemed embarrassed at what she had to say.
"Please, what did she
say?"
"She said that, as they
were waiting to take her ..." she couldn't say the words, swallowed hard,
and continued, "when they were saying goodbye to her, Wilhemina told the
Matrons not to be sad because she was not leaving. They thought she was going to try to escape or something at
the last moment. But after that she
said, 'I'm not leaving this earth until justice is done.' They didn't understand of course, and neither did I ..."
But Ian did, and now Felicity
did. Ian had to smile at the irony
of it, the amazing ability that someone could actually do it.
He felt callous in smiling, but was shocked when he heard Felicity's
laughter.
"Well, they can't kill
her twice, can they?" Then the
laughter melted into tears.
Ian stood, realizing he had
been there long enough and that nothing more could be said.
It was true, all of it was true, and he had to be next.
To say goodbye, he gently
placed a hand on Felicity's shoulder. As
he went to pull it away, she reached up and touched it, as if to say goodbye to
him.
He left without another word.
© Cynthia M. Piromalli 2003
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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