Final Thoughts

Final Thoughts: A Short Story

Anyway, nothing happened.

Then the investigation started. They assigned this guy, Detective Gerald Bryce. I've been reading up on him while I'm locked up. Turns out he's considered something of a psychic. They call him The Empathic Detective.

So I had the misfortune to get this superstar cop assigned to my case. It turns out some of the components in my bomb could only be procured from a few places in Central Texas. Long story short, Bryce used his mojo and he and his partner tracked me down through good old-fashioned detective skills combined with his psychic powers. Which don't seem fair, really, but that's the government for you.

So here I am, on Death Row. It shouldn't be long now. I'm going to take a nap.

-+-

Doc raps on the barrier.

Go away.

We're getting close. It's time you decided on the method of your demise.

How about I just stay living and we all go home.

Doc doesn't laugh.

Come on, Doc. Gallows humor.

At the moment, the state offers three methods of execution from which you may choose.

That's mighty nice of them.

Injection is the traditional one, and the majority of convicts choose this method. You essentially go to sleep and never wake up.

That's fine. I'll go that way.

It's my duty to list the others and discuss them with you. Another method available as an option to you is firing squad. Death is sudden and swift via simultaneous shots to both your head and heart. It's not without some initial pain, though.

Yeah I'm good with injection.

The third option is the guillotine.

What? You can't be serious. What is this, Revolutionary France?

The latest research shows it is quick and efficient.

More like cruel and unusual.

No, the courts have ruled it to be neither cruel nor unusual. It is an option afforded to you.

Yeah, I'll go with the tried and true injection method. Let's get this show on the road, Doc.

Now wait, before you make up your mind, I'd like to discuss the science with you.

The science of death?

Yes. Well, sort of. One of the reasons the courts approved the guillotine is for the cultivation of organs. No one wants organs that have been poisoned in the injection process. And a firing squad ruins the heart, eyes, and lungs. But a guillotine leaves everything intact.

It's true, I wouldn't mind someone getting my organs. At least this body could be useful after I'm gone. Maybe a politician will need a heart transplant and I can come back and cause a stroke or something. Why aren't you smiling, Doc?

Let's stay serious for a moment. There hasn't been a lot of research on death by guillotine. France last used one for an execution in 1977. But we have a remarkable opportunity here. With the chip implanted in your brain, we can record everything you are thinking up to the moment of death. And, maybe we can get a glimpse of what happens immediately after.

So?

So, think of the research potential. There are some old records of people continuing to have facial reactions to stimuli after their heads were separated from their bodies.

Probably just reflexes, Doc.

That's just it! We don't know for sure. But, with your chip we have an opportunity to find out!

He seems so excited about the possibilities to advance science. Like a little boy the night before Christmas.

Okay, Doc. I'll do it. For you. For science, whatever. Now go away, I'd like some peace and quiet before they take me away.

-+-

They're putting me in a straightjacket. They said the state has never done this before, and the death penalty committee suggested a straightjacket would be a good idea.

This is humiliating. I want that on the record of my final thoughts.

Although, I suppose being strapped down for the injection is humiliating, too.

Scratch that thought. I don't want it in the record. I want the record to show that being put in a straightjacket for the guillotine is humiliating. I don't care if they do something similar for the needle.

Doc is arguing with somebody. I can barely hear them. Wait, they're getting closer.

Every organ will be left intact and reusable. The pain quotient will be virtually non-existent. The blade slices off his head, and that's it.

How can you say that, Doctor? Of course he'll feel pain. His head is getting cut off!

The neural pathways will be disconnected from the body. Besides, with his implant we'll be able to discern exactly what goes on at the point of separation and death. If there is indeed an abnormal amount of pain or suffering . . .

They're walking away, still discussing me. I thought Doc said it would be quick and relatively painless.

A couple of big guys are making me lie down on a gurney.

Now I'm being wheeled into the death chamber. Three white walls. The fourth wall is devoted to a one-way mirror. I suppose observers are there, behind the glass. I can't see them, but they can watch me die. That's typical of the State. Deny a man the chance to look at people in the eye before they kill him.

I'm starting to get seriously pissed off. About the straightjacket. About the one-way mirror. Even the doc, with his scientific discussions like I'm some piece of meat.

The big guys move me from the gurney, flip me over on my stomach, and place my neck down in a slotted groove. They pull straps across my back and legs so I can't flop away in my straightjacket and avoid the guillotine's blade.

Everything's white, everywhere I look. Floors, walls, sheets. It looks so clean and sanitary. But it's about to get bloody. With MY blood.

I can barely make out Doc, in the corner of my eye. He's nothing but a lackey for the State. They're not going to get any great scientific knowledge with my last thoughts. They're just interested in undamaged organs. And like an idiot, I agreed to this. If all goes well they'll encourage more executions by guillotine and stock up on fresh organs. Hearts, livers, and lungs for the rich! What have I done?

Do you have any last words?

I spit at the priest. He jumps out of the way and I miss. God's own luck, I guess.

The priest is nodding. Doc is nodding. I guess they're giving the okay to the guy who flips the switch.

A click. A whoosh of air.

CHUNK!

The world's spinning. I see the one-way mirror going round and round in a blur of white.

I'm stunned.

Doc rushes over, grabs my hair, and pulls my face up even to his.

He's got a wild look in his eyes, like someone on the verge of a major discovery or something.

CAN YOU HEAR ME?

Yeah. Yeah, I can hear you, you son of a bitch. I'm just not going to give you the pleasure. The State can take that and I'll just . . .

End transmission.

For more in this universe, check out Jaxon Reed's novels The Empathic Detective and Ghostsuit, on Amazon.