There are things that happen in a man's life that makes him different. I am not talking about getting married or having kids. Those things are great, but they only cause him to grow up and become responsible. Let's face it, the man really doesn't know how to take care of himself, but suddenly he is left to head a family. So he has to change.
What I am talking about is something entirely different. I am talking about something so cosmic or supernatural that happens to him, causing not only a change in lifestyle but in character also. As if a man was heading north and suddenly changes course and goes south. This event is so powerful, it can make even the hardest criminals weep like a little baby. At least, that is what happened to me.
Looking in the mirror, I saw the same poorly bleached, unkept hair. The same goatee and tan skinned face that was Marshall Pruitt. A man hated and despised by most, that is me. Yet, I was not suppose to be alive. I should not be walking freely as if nothing happened. But for some reason, someone migthier than myself decided I should have a second chance. But why? I had done horrible things, ruined so many innocent lives. The only thing in life I deserved was death.
I did my best to get dressed. My black suit needed cleaned, and my white shirt ironed. I carefully studied my hand movements in the mirror as I tightened the knot on my tie. Making sure it was the right length, I tightened it around my neck, centering it perfectly between the collar.
My mind began to go over the events leading up to this moment again. Instead of a tie, it should have been a noose. How had my world gotten so twisted.
****
Staring at the fresh concrete floor in the basement, I was very pleased with my work. Perhaps I had gone into the wrong business, maybe I should go into flooring. Then I remembered I didn't have a job.
Twenty-six years, that is what I had given the factory. How did they repay me? By sacking my sorry hide so they could ship the company to Mexico, saving costs on labor.
Since that moment, my life had went on a downward spiral. One night, I decided to go drown my sorrows at the tavern. The dense smoke and a bottle of Jack Daniels quickly lightened the mood. I even got drunk enough to ask out the brunette on the other side of the bar. It really didn't matter to me what she looked like, I couldn't see straight.
She asked what I did for a living, too drunk to be smart enough to lie, I told her the truth, I was a bum. And gave her the sap story about the company dumping me for dirty Mexicans. The girl, who I still cannot remember her name, laughed in my face. She would have nothing to do with an unemployed failure like me.
I may have been wasted, but I didn't take too kindly to being disrespected. And to make matters worse, I've always been an angry drunk. So, I left the bar and went outside to wait for her. When she finally did, around midnight, I followed her to the car and knocked her unconscious.
After that, I did what comes natural to a man. I took her back to my place and got what I wanted. Of course, I had to tie her to the bed and tape her mouth shut. When I was finished with her, I took the twelve gauge from my closet and beat her with the butt of the shotgun until she was dead.
Five victims later, I got a new basement floor. If I ever got the urge again, I would have to devise a new plan. But that could wait until the time comes.
Grabbing the half-empty bottle of Jack, I headed up the old wooden stairs, making my way into the kitchen. I went down the hall and up another set of stairs to the second floor, taking a few swigs as I walked. I continued down the hall, shaking my head as I noticed a trail of blood coming from my bedroom. I really needed to learn how to keep things neat.
Going into the bedroom, I was even more disturbed. I had cleared the sheets off the bed, but there was still a dark red stain on the faded white mattress. Later I would have to burn it.
On the dresser across the room, I saw the red and white Marlboro box. Immediately my brain began to tell me I needed one. With the lighter nearby, I pulled a cigarette out. Taking a puff, I walked over to the window as I exhaled. A thick cloud of smoke bounced off the window and rolled up to the ceiling.
Looking out into the beautiful spring afternoon below, a large van caught my attention. It looked like a UPS truck with men dancing around it. They were carrying something, that is when I noticed they were dressed in heavy black body armor, and packing guns. It was the cops, they must have figured out what I had been doing.
Not wanting to go to prison, I threw the cigarette out of my mouth and darted down the stairs into the kitchen. As I neared the bottom, I tripped over my own feet and fell face first onto the floor. My glasses fell off and were crushed beneath my chest.
With no time to stall, I jumped back up, dusting myself off. My vision was blurry, but I knew this house like the back of my hand. I grabbed the back door, just as I heard them burst through the front. Hearing them rush in, I threw open the back door and headed towards freedom.
I looked out only to see a big black fist coming at me. It thundered into my nose, knocking me backwards and onto the ground. Blood poured from my nose as the cold metal cuffs were place on my hands. I lay still, ashamed and defeated, with an officer's knee uncomfortably placed in the middle of my back. Life as I knew it was over.
****
The night was cold, dark and lonely. There were several inmates across the hall from me, locked in their own cage. But they knew who I was and what I did. Some had hurled insults and threatened my life.
I tried to sleep, but the bed was more like a stone. It was dark in the cell, but just by feeling the blankets, I could tell they weren't clean. Several times I got up to pee in the little can toilet because I was too afraid to use it during the day.
Morning finally came, although I was unaware. Exhaustion had finally caught up with me, and I drifted into a deep sleep, lying on my stomach, arm dangling off the bed. I lay there until I felt an arm shaking me, and heard a voice telling me to get up.
"Marshall," said the voice, "Get up, you have a visitor."
"A visitor?" I said, rolling over to see a blurry image of a guard, "I thought no one like me around here."
"They don't," said the guard, "You raped and killed five innocent women. If I wasn't wearing a badge, I would have already popped a cap in your worthless skull."
"That's good to know," I said, unsure how to respond, "We've all done things we're not proud of." The guard shook his head.
"Your lawyer is waiting for you," he said, placing cuffs on my hands.
He led me from my cell down the concrete corridor to another cell. Only this one was a lot larger. I saw the shape of a table and a man sitting at it.
"Good morning, Marshall," said the man, sliding something to me from across the table, "I figured you might need these. They found yours smashed at the bottom of the stairs."
Putting on the thick black framed glasses, I got a good glimpse of my lawyer. He was a plump, bald little man with a faded brown mustache. He had a brief case open and was reaching in to take papers
out.
out.
"Have a seat, we don't have much time," said the man. Following his advice, I sat down into a hard wooden chair.
"So, who are you?" I said, "You probably already know so much about me."
"My name is Richard Knapp," he said, "I've been a criminal defense lawyer for a long time. In all that time, I have never had a client quite like you."
"I don't know whether to thank you or say I'm sorry," I replied.
"Well, it definitely wasn't a compliment. To be frank, Marshall, I think you are scum," Knapp said. At this point, I realized I was in serious trouble, my own lawyer didn't like me. "I have three daughters, two of them were the age of the girls that you killed. If I were in those parents' shoes, I would kill you."
"Sounds like you and the guard back there should start a club."
"So," continued Knapp, ignoring what I said, "to be fair, all you have to do is sign this and its all over. No trial, no death penalty." He pushed a paper and fancy pen towards me. Looking down at the paper, all I saw was a bunch of legal jargon, way above my education level.
"What is this?" I asked.
"It's a statement saying you are guilty of all crimes committed," He answered.
"Oh, so it's a guilty plea!" I shouted, really pissed. We both knew I as guilty, but I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in prison. "No, I am not signing that piece of trash."
"Marshall, you can't win this case. The bodies were found in your basement. Blood was found on the mattress in your bedroom. Your semen was found in the victims. You see where this is going? That is a portion of the evidence against you," argued Knapp. "Signing this document is the only hope you have of not getting the death penalty." I realized that lawyers were paid to argue, not listen.
"That is a risk I'm willing to take," I said, "You are getting paid to defend me, so do your job. Defend me, find something."
"Marshall," said Knapp, changing his tone to sound more sympathetic. "Please sign the paper." I grabbed the pen and looked at it again. I wouldn't do it. I threw the pen across the room and tore the paper into pieces, launching them into the air.
"Well," said Knapp, particles floating down around him, "I'll see you in court."
****
I sat in the court room, all dressed up, right next to my buddy Richard. The prosecutor, Arthur Powell, was quickly becoming my least favorite person.
"The prosecution would like to call Dr. Melvin Bishop to the stand." A small geeky looking fellow walked up and was sworn in before taking a seat on the platform, right next to Judge Avery.
"Dr. Bishop, please tell the court what it is you do for a living?" asked Powell.
The nerdy looking chap cleared his throat, and nervously began to speak. "I am a forensic anaylst with the FBI. Hearing he was from the FBI made me smile. I was nationally known! Since I was too poor to afford a tv, I hadn't seen all the efforts the authorities made to catch me.
"Dr. Bishop," said Powell, "Please tell the court how the forensic evidence links Mr. Pruitt to the crime."
The little turd went on to explain how I left some of my swimmers in the victims. Then he found Tina Brown's blood, I didn't know that was the girl's name, on my sheets. As well as the others. Powell asked Dr. Bishop a few more questions before sitting down. He was succeeding in making me like like a scoundrel.
I looked at Richard Knapp, it was his turn to get up and present my side. We hadn't discussed any strategy. He hadn't asked me to act crazy, so I was anxious to see his tactics.
"Go get'em tiger," I whispered to him. Knapp looked at me and then back at the judge, making no effort to get up.
"No questions, your honor," He said. My mouth dropped open. I looked at him and grabbed hold of a pen in my pocket, seriously thinking about jabbing it into his throat.
"You suck," I whispered, realizing it wasn't worth it. Richard Knapp was right when he told me I had no shot at winning, especially with no defense lawyer.
There were several more witnesses, but they were not necessary. No one was on my side. So when the jury came back only an hour later, I was not surprised. The guilty verdict was inevitable. Prison lay in front of my, but the question was for how long?
****
I sat there, trying to be expressionless as possible. Each family member was getting a chance to speak a word to me. A few of them told me they forgave me, and they were praying for me. Pathetic idiots, I wasn't sorry.
Of course, I preferred them over the majority. Most of them couldn't wait to watch me die. After the first one spoke, I started to give him the finger, but Knapp stopped me.
Then came the moment of truth. Judge Avery solemnly, almost menacingly, stared at me.
"Would the defendant please rise," he said, building needless suspense. "This court hereby sentences you to death by lethal injection. May God have mercy on your soul." Judge Avery rose the gavel, ready to bring this mockery of a trial to a close. My fate was about to be sealed.
"Your honor, wait," shouted a man from the back of the court room. Everyone stopped and looked at him. The Judge appeared irritated. The man stepped through the gate that separated the onlookers from those at trial. He was tall and muscular, his hair short, black, and neatly kept. This matched his stylish black suit and tie. Just by guessing, he appeared to be of middle eastern descent. Long dark scars marked his forehead.
"Sir, we are ready to bring this matter to a close," said the Judge, "So what ever grievance you have against Mr. Pruitt, please state it quickly."
"Your honor, I have no grievance against this man," said the stranger, "I know he has committed an atrocious act in sight of God and against these families, but I think this man deserves a second chance."
Judge Avery sat stunned. The onlookers murmured amongst themselves, while the victims' families protested. No one was more shocked then me. Why would anyone want that for me?
"Sir," said Judge Avery, finally breaking the silence, "this man brutally raped and killed women. He had no remorse, he deserves death."
"Your honor, this man's fate will be mine," said the stranger, "I will die in his place." The Judge pleaded with the man, but to no avail. This man would be executed in exchange for my freedom.
*****
As I pulled into the parking lot, still confused about everything that happened, months ago, I got out and headed into the state penitentiary. Guilt weighed heavy on my heart. I had killed innocent people, but that didn't bother me. Everyone I talked to had wished me dead, yet that didn't bother me. Even my sentence hadn't bothered me, I had received what I had deserved. But now an innocent man I didn't know was taking my place. He was taking the punishment for my sins. I should be overjoyed, I was getting away scott free.
No matter what anyone said, no one could talk the unknown man out of it. They argued with him, some laughed and made fun of him, while others thought he was nuts, including me. Now here I was, sitting in a little room, watching them strap him to a long table. Peering through the protective glass, I could see his arms stretched wide.
A doctor in a white coat walked over and forced the needle into the man's arm. I couldn't hear him, but the look on his face showed pain. Tears filled my eyes as the man slowly began to fade. And then, he stopped breathing, his eyes went black and lifeless. I put my head in my hands and wept.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw a guard standing over me. He handed me a piece of paper, saying the man wanted me to have it.
Opening it up, I read what it said, "For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life." I had no idea what he meant, but I would search to find its meaning. The stranger had given me a great gift. A second chance at life, even though I hadn't deserved it.
