Chapter 24

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Recap- "No one was due to be executed for the next month, so who had been moved up on the list?

My stomach dropped, as did the coffee in my hand.

There was only one person who my father would authorize an early execution for. There was only one person my father hated so much that he would authorize his death.

George."

"Gentleman, I have one last piece of advice. Look away. This will not be pretty to see."

- Marcel André Henri Félix Petiot was a French doctor and serial killer. He was convicted of multiple murders after the discovery of the remains of 23 people in his home in Paris during World War II.Petiot was convicted of 26 murders and confessed to killing 60 people.

Chapter 24

My legs took off before I even thought about running. I pushed passed the guards, not caring about the consequences.

My brain was in autopilot, weaving passed a mass gathering of guards and through the long hallways of the prison basement. I stumbled to a halt at the doorway to the viewing room, opposite to the execution chamber. Guards spilled out of the doorway of the room, making it impossible for me to confirm my terror with a simple glance.

I shoved my way through the crowd, desperate to find my way to the front of the room. My heart fluttered like a hummingbird's wings as I began to panic, thinking of all the ways in which my life would be worse without George. My airways were suddenly constricted by fear, the fear of losing someone you love.

I finally squeezed passed the last two bulky security guards, but not without risk. Tripped unintentionally by the tall legs of one of the guards, I fell onto the glass window, jarring my wrists upon the impact. My hands smacked on the hard surface, causing a loud boom to ripple across the surface of the glass. I looked to the ground as I caught myself, my breathing finally calming.

I slowly lifted my head, hands still plastered to the glass, and time stopped.

The world around me dropped away and I was propelled forwards into the image that would be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.

In the room behind the glass, George's body lay on a green gurney, immobilized by black leather straps, which were bound around his body like a spider wraps its victims. His skin was pale and pulled gaunt over his bones, making the dark circles around his eyes seem darker and larger. His hair, usually washed clean, was slick with sweat. Beads of it licked the sides of his face as they slipped down onto the gurney, forming a damp puddle under his head.

George's execution had started and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Once the order had been made, it was inevitable. I always knew, deep down, that one day I'd have to watch my friend, my uncle, be executed, but I could never have predicted it to be so soon.

The people who witnessed it would not see the death of an innocent man; they would see the death of a criminal. No one would feel sympathy, no one would mourn, no one would cry. No one but me.

I didn't realize I had stopped breathing until a guard's elbow nudged into my side and I began gasping for air, aware of the lack of oxygen in my lungs. I grasped my throat with one hand, the other holding myself up on the glass screen.

This can't be happening.

You're just imagining things, Emily.

Calm down. Pinch yourself. George is fine.

I squeezed my eyes shut and willed it to be dream, but the occasional bump and shove by guards made it all too real.

This wasn't in my head; George was going to die.

A whimper escaped my throat upon the realization. But no one else heard the sound, as it was quickly absorbed in the excited shouts and jeers of the guards. Metal clanking could also faintly be heard, most likely the chains of prisoners who were forced to witness the death of another inmate. It was a cruel punishment the guards bestowed upon a few unlucky prisoners whenever someone was about to be executed to remind them of their impending doom.

The noises, as loud as they were, did not drown out my racing subconscious, which threatened to spill out into the world through the shaking of my lips.

My body began to shake. I had never before experienced an emotion response so obscure; every limb trembled with a life of its own. From afar, it probably looked as if I had been electrocuted, even tasered for that matter, but the erratic thumbing in my chest told me this was something more familiar to the human body; it was a panic attack.

My breathing became shallow and ice ran through my veins, freezing my blood in its path. It felt like the walls of the room were closing in towards me and I was being forced closer and closer to George's conscious body. My vision tunneled, and all I could see was the green coloured gurney and the machines that were being wheeled into the sealed room. If someone had even nudged me in that moment, I was sure I would have collapsed onto the ground and never been able to get up again.

Fat tears flowed freely from my eyes, unstoppable, disappearing into my trembling mouth. My breathing became louder, louder, and louder still, until it was so loud that it was the only thing I could hear. I didn't feel the steadying hand of a guard on my shoulder and I didn't feel my legs give out beneath me. But, I did feel the pain.

Every memory of George hit me like a slap to the face.

I remembered him teaching me how to use my recorder. I remembered him laughing with me over the donuts I brought into work and how the sugar stuck to his stubble. I remembered him teaching me to trust myself, teaching me how to love, and teaching me how to live without it.

"You were the daughter I never got to have."

The memory of his words echoed excruciatingly inside of my skull.

And before I could stop myself, I let out an ear-shattering scream that left the room in a deafening silence. All heads turned in my direction and I was left shrouded the light caused by my emotional alienation; no one else could understand what I was feeling; no one wanted to understand.

Suddenly, an arm was pulling me up, up, and up until my feet touched the ground again. I would have stumbled if it had not been for the steading hand on my back, the same hand that pulled me from the ground. Hot breath engulfed my neck in a sickening embrace, and my poor heart beat more rapidly than before.

"You shouldn't be here." The familiar voice caused sharp stabs of hatred to enter my heart, and in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to rid the world of its sound.

I had never before felt the amount of loathing towards another person than I did in that moment. Somehow, it calmed my breathing, and my vision broadened; I was able to see and feel everything around me, including the scowling face of my father.

"I have every right to be here, father." The word felt like poison in my mouth; I wanted to spit it out, purge myself of it, and cure it from my existence.

His hand tightened painfully on my shoulder, a reminder of his superior physical strength. I wrenched myself free with a muscle-tearing jerk of my arm, falling onto the glass wall in the process. My shoulder throbbed in agony and my heart quickened once again. I was sure that if my heart withstood any more shocks, I would suffer a heart attack and drop dead on the spot.

"I am, and always have been the official witness of the executions by your order." The fact rolled off my tongue without effort, and I didn't need any self-assurance to know that I was right. By law, there is always an official witness who must see the execution and sign forms stating that it had taken place. "I don't see anyone else who can take the job," my eyes quickly scanned the area, finding only prisoners and guards present "so it has to be me."

His eyes narrowed as he too did a quick sweep of the room. He did not find anyone to take my place, as I knew he wouldn't. His gaze found mine once again and then skimmed to the execution chamber. There was no remorse in his eyes, no guilt, no pain; only a flicker of sheer satisfaction.

Although my body already knew my father was responsible, my brain had yet to receive the message. But, when it did, everything begun to fall apart.

"It was you, wasn't it? You moved up his execution." My temper snapped like a whip cracked after too many years in confinement.

My father's eyes did not meet my own, but instead stayed fixated on George's immobilized body.

"Answer me!" I was yelling (screaming even, if you had young ears that had not yet been burst from the sound of heavy metal or rock music), the muscles in my face clenching and unclenching almost systematically.

His eyes finally tore away from George and his deathly gaze narrowed in on my own. From an observer, we would have looked quite childish; two adults, one significantly larger than the other, engaged in an angry stare, waiting for the other to break away and admit defeat. But, in reality, it was more than just a staring contest. This was a battle of responsibility; who had to take responsibility for George's death? Was it me, who had failed to gather the correct information in time to prove his innocence? Or was it my fathers, who had moved George's execution up on the list, ultimately flicking the kill switch?

And then, just as quickly as he blinked, he spoke the word:

"Yes."

My brain hardly had the time to process his response as silence crept through the viewing room. The guards stopped nudging each other, the prisoners stopped clanking their chains in protest, and I shut my mouth before I yelled the derogatory terms that were planned to reach my fathers ears.

I pressed hands to the glass as two men walked into the execution chamber, followed by another two guards, their hands already gloved with white plastic. As they began to hook tubes to the machines and clean the crook of Georges arm, I saw the first sign of consciousness. His hands curled into fists and he cranked his neck upwards as they jabbed a needle into his right arm.

Overcome by a fit of emotion, I pounded my fists onto the glass, desperate to see his crystal eyes one last time before the their light stopped shining. Though the class was thick and strong, the sound must have passed through, because a moment later his eyes found mine.

As soon as our gazes locked, George's face sunk in agony and he began to sob. Tears fell rapidly from his eyes as his entire body began to shake in an attempt to free himself of the restraints. He tried to lift his chest, but the leather held him in place and he was once again hopeless.

The guards in the room quickly rushed to hold his shoulders down as he struggled, and the doctors got the anesthetic ready.

Then there came a sound that touched even the darkest hearts in the room, a sound that could only be described as a wail of grief from a man who knew he was going to die.

It felt as if my heart had been ripped from my body, as my chest ached with guilt and the love that would be lost. My father forgotten, my bottom lip trembled and soon my tears fell in the same rhythm as George's, dripping down my neck, soaking into shirt.

"I'm so sorry, George. I'm so, so sorry." My words were broken by the sobs that racked through my body.

Another heartbreaking wail sounded around the chamber, as we all watched the doctor inject the anesthetic into George's arm. When it was done, the doctor stepped away calmly, his conscious unaffected.

George stopped struggling and his limbs began to relax into the gurney, unable to fight against the weakening drugs. It didn't matter that his muscles had grown weak in the years of confinement, it didn't matter that his hair had greyed with the stress of constantly being fearful of the men in the showers, and it didn't matter that his mind had become unstable with the thoughts of his child who refused to see him, because even the strongest man alive couldn't resist the effects of coma-inducing drug.

As the drug paralyzed his body limb from limb, working its way through his veins, his head rolled to the side, unable to move again. I wanted so badly to look away, but the childish thought in my mind that somehow he would be okay would not leave me, and I was stuck in a state of suspense. His eyes caught mine and I saw, just for a moment, the man he had always been. Within the silver of his iris' he was a man who feared the loneliness of death more than anything in the world.

His eyes fluttered shut, and his mouth moved in a final attempt to speak. Through the thickness of the glass, the sound was void and his lips were almost unreadable.

There was only one word that I was able to recognize; 'love'.

Time passed quickly after that. The tears dried on my cheeks and the guards began to filter out of the room. The moment he was unconscious the doctors gave him the lethal injection. I watched as his body began to stiffen. It was painless, free from suffering, but that didn't change the fact that he was dead and it was my fathers fault.

As if he sensed my thoughts were on him, my father's presence became felt at my side. My eye twitched, almost letting a stray tear escape free from the clutches of my eyelashes, and my hands clenched at my sides. His hand fell on my shoulder and a great fire ignited throughout my core, spreading through my body like wildfire.

"Don't touch me!" My voice, which was dried up and sore from crying, sounded animalistic as I flinched away from his touch. "Don't ever touch me again." My voice lowered and an inhuman growl followed my words.

My father, whom I thought would attempt to argue with me, looked pained and took a large step backwards, leaving a large space between us. I squared my shoulders, refusing to show any more love for my father than I would show a vermin rat in the sewers. I curled my lips in disgust as the full weight of what my father had done processed in my mind.

He was the worst killer of them all.

My eyes met my fathers one final time before I turned away from the vessel of a body, which no longer contained George. With each step I took away from my father, a part of my heart froze over until all the pain was gone. I was numb.

My heart was sealed with the closing of George's eyes.

A man waited at the door with the official witness papers that I was needed to sign. I plucked the pen from his hand and scrawled my signature effortlessly. There was a shout from within the room, a calling of my name, but I did not turn to greet the face. If I did, I knew that a chip of ice would fall from my heart and he would be able to find his way inside.

But if that happened, and my heart opened once again, I would feel the pain of losing not only someone I loved, but someone who loved me too, all over again. And somehow, I knew that would be the one thing that would destroy me.

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Overall, I'm not very happy with this chapter and I feel I didn't really show what I wanted to.

Was her change in emotions from anger to panic to grief to anger realistic? 

Anyways,

Appreciate the time you spend with your loved ones. Sometimes, that time is shorter than you may think x. 

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