Sing Sing Correctional Facility
The Death House, 6:37 AM
I always thought that when I grew up, I would have the proverbial American Dream. A house, a wife, and two kids—a boy and a girl.
But as I walk toward the death chamber with Davis on one side of me and Morgan on the other, a priest leading the way, I wonder how it all turned into a fucking nightmare instead.
I’m not afraid to die; fuck, it’ll be the most exciting thing I’ve done in years. I’m just afraid of leaving Gracie and Jori behind without a hand to guide them, because Millie has been useless since she was a fucking kid. Hopefully, she won’t give them too much trouble, and maybe she’ll keep her fucking mouth shut about them being blood. That’s Jori’s place to tell Gracie, and those will be his lumps to take when it finally sinks in with her.
That’s the thing about my baby girl—it always took her longer than usual to realize things and understand what was going on around her, but she’s never been given the chance to be her own person, ‘cause there was always someone bossing her the fuck around when I wasn’t looking.
“Hey, I appreciate it and all, but can you knock it off?” I call out to the priest. He turns around to look at me and nods, closing his Bible, and leading the rest of the way silently.
The only sounds in the hallway now are my chains clanging around, and I smile. I get why it’s called the Last Mile now. It seems like it takes an eternity to get to your destination, only to be sent on to eternity itself.
I glance over at Davis when I hear him sniffle, but he turns his face away. I like him—I always did. He may have been a hard ass when I first got here, but that’s because it’s his job; however, we’ve grown to be great friends over time.
“Chin up, Davis. I’ll be out of your hair soon,” I joke softly.
He looks at me, red-faced and misty-eyed, and offers a small smile.
“Just do me that favor I asked of you, alright” I remind him quietly. He nods and puts his hand on my shoulder as the door finally begins to loom closer.
I stop walking for a moment and the C.Os tighten their grips on my arms.
“I’m not gonna give you any trouble,” I say to them quietly. “I just think it’s insane how this is the last time I’ll ever do something as simple as walk through a door.”
“I’m sorry, Hoyt,” Davis says softly, before he gives my arm a tug. I smile up at him and shake my head. “I’ve heard that enough times in my life,” I reply with a chuckle. “Let’s just get this over with.”
When we finally reach the door, Morgan lets go of my arm as he unlocks it with one of the many keys on his key-ring and pushes it open. I step inside and raise an eyebrow when I see the table. It’s weird; I expected it to be much grander than it is, but it’s really nothing more than a cot with an extension for each of my arms.
Davis reaches down and starts to uncuff me and remove my chains, before grabbing my elbow and walking me over to the table. I shake my head and scoff, putting my hands on my hips for a moment.
And then I climb on and lie down in direct correlation with the way the cot is shaped, and wait. A man in a white coat steps forward and wraps a plastic tube around my arm, then slaps around the exposed flesh until he finds a vein. I raise my head slightly and watch him slide a needle in, hook it up to a tube, then step back.
The Warden walks into the room a few seconds later, hovers over me, and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“You’re a good man, Hoyt Blackburn. I’m gonna miss talking to you,” he says quietly before he takes his place next to the doctor and nods.
Morgan moves toward the small circle of curtains that were blocking the windows to another room, and I lean my head back down and sigh.
They have me strapped in and ready to go. I’m not a martyr though; I’m just a simple man trying to do the right thing, hoping it’ll knock some sense into his kids one day.
I hear a loud wail come from the other side of the window, and I turn my head toward the sound. I smile sadly when I see Gracie sitting with her face in her hands, sobbing hysterically. Jori’s sitting next to her, half slumped in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. I used to see that look on his face a lot when I would go visit him at Millie’s, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe I had just told him I was his father, things would have been different.
Other than my babies, there are a few other faces I don’t know, so I turn my eyes back toward the ceiling. Davis moves a microphone over my face, and the Warden asks me if I want to make a last statement.
I wasn’t ready for this, because I don’t think anything I could say now would make any kind of statement that would affect the lives that are so irrevocably broken already.
“Um, I just want to tell Gracie that I love her, and that I’m sorry. And I want Jori to know that I love him too, and I’m counting on him to take care of Gracie for me. That’s it,” I say, leaning my head back down and closing my eyes.
“Goddammit,” I hear Davis mumble when the Warden gives the order. I hear the machine turn on, but I keep my eyes closed. There’s nothing left worth seeing in this world, and I’d rather take the images I’ve had in my heart for years now into the unknown.
A happy little Gracie playing outside with a happy young man she never knew was connected to her in more ways than one.
Good-bye, my beautiful babies.