The Last Kind Words

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I’d come five years and two thousand miles to stand in the rain while they prepared my brother for his own murder.

He had less than two weeks to go before they strapped him down and injected poison into his heart. I knew Collie would be divided about it, the way he was dividednte about everything. A part of him would look forward to stepping off the big ledge. He’d been looking over it his whole life in one way or another.

A different part of him would be full of rage and self-pity and fear. I had no doubt that when the time came he’d be a passive prisoner right up to the moment they tried to buckle him down. Then he’d explode into violence. He was going to hurt whoever was near him, whether it was a priest or the warden or a guard. They’d have to club him down while he laughed. The priest, if he was still capable, would have to raise his voice in prayer to cover my brother’s curses.

I was twenty minutes late for my appointment at the prison. The screw at the gate didn’t want to let me in because he’d already marked me as a no-show. I didn’t argue. I didn’t want to be there. He saw that I wanted to split and it was enough to compel him to let me stay.

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