36: A Novel Read online

  “I’m innocent,” he said in a drug slurred voice.

  He lay his head back and closed his eyes. The woman began sobbing again. After a brief pause, the Warden spoke.

  “Robert Hammond Tracy, by order of the Supreme Court of Arizona, your sentence shall now be carried out.”

  The Warden turned off the intercom and nodded to someone that could not be seen from the viewing room. At first it seemed as if nothing was happening. Then, the heart rate displayed on the monitor began to drop. Slowly at first, just a few beats per minute, then it quickly declined. Robert Hammond Tracy never moved, never indicated he felt anything amiss. Ten minutes later the attending physician pronounced him dead.

  4

  Six Weeks Later

  I woke up with a splitting headache. The kind that feels like a splinter of molten steel is being driven into your temple. What the hell was going on? Was I in the infirmary? Then it came flooding back.

  The final meal. The uncomfortable visit by the Catholic Priest who I had sent on his way. Then the small pill that had made me relax before being wheeled to the execution chamber. The pinch on first one arm, then the other, as IVs were started. The warden saying something, to which I think I responded, then darkness. I was dead!

  With a sharp intake of breath, I tried to sit up. Something was restricting my movement. I couldn’t see, either. Was this death? But if I was dead, why could I feel my body and the restraints that were holding me down? Why was I thirsty? Why did my face itch? And what the hell was that beeping sound? Was I just not dead yet? Was I still on the table in the execution chamber? Oh fuck me! Please just let it be over with.

  There was a sucking sound, like a door with a tight seal being opened, then a set of footsteps approached. I jumped when someone lightly touched my shoulder.

  “What’s happening? Where am I?” I croaked, feeling my upper lip split open as it moved.

  “You’re safe,” a female voice said. “Just lay still. I’m going to put some balm on your lips. They’re very dry.”

  The sound of a metal lid being twisted off a glass jar. A moment later she lightly rubbed something that felt oily onto my lips. The burning from where the upper one had cracked immediately eased.

  “Who are you? What’s happening?”

  “You’re being taken care of,” she said. “Don’t try to talk. Just rest. The Doctor will be in to see you in a moment.”

  I heard the lid twist back onto the jar, then her footsteps began to retreat.

  “Wait,” I wailed. “What the hell is going on? Where am I? What happened to me?”

  She didn’t respond, and by the sound I could tell her steps didn’t falter. The door closed with a pneumatic hiss and I was left alone with my thoughts and the goddamn infernal beeping. I didn’t know what it was, but it was driving me nuts.

  It wasn’t long before the door opened again. This time, two people entered. Both were wearing harder soled shoes than what I assumed had been a nurse. And by the sound, I was guessing both were male. I didn’t know how I could tell this by ear, but I was pretty sure.

  “Who are you? Where am I? What the fuck is going on?”

  I was shouting in a hoarse voice. Fear was leading to panic and I yanked against the soft restraints that kept my arms at my side.

  “You’re fine,” a gentle male voice said. “My name is Doctor Freeman. You’re in the hospital. You’re alive and well. I’m going to touch your face now. Don’t be frightened.”

  Despite the warning, I sucked in a breath and flinched when his fingers came into contact with my head. I didn’t feel the touch, rather only the pressure. There was the sound of tape being pulled free. Then something that I hadn’t realized was wrapped around me began being unwound.

  It seemed like it took him forever to finish removing what I now thought was a bandage. Cool air caressed my skin as the last turn came off, but I still couldn’t see.

  “Get the lights,” he said.

  The other person walked away a few steps, then I heard a faint hum from overhead. I recognized the sound light bulbs make when they are dimmed.

  “There is a shield over each of your eyes,” the Doctor said. “I’m going to slowly remove one at a time. Close your eyes until I tell you to open them. OK?”

  “OK,” I said, tightly squeezing my eyes closed.

  He carefully removed something covering my right eye, reminding me to keep my lids shut. Next came the left, then a damp cloth was gently rubbed around each orbit.

  “These are artificial tears,” the Doctor said a moment before I felt several drops on the inside corner of each eye.

  “OK, I want you to slowly open your eyes,” he finally said.

  Even though I was pretty sure the lights were dimmed to their lowest setting, my eyes hurt when I opened them. Blinking rapidly, I reflexively tried to raise a hand to shield them, but my restraints hadn’t been removed. As I kept blinking, the drops spread out and eased the feeling of gritty sand beneath my lids.

  After almost half a minute I was able to keep them open, but everything was blurry. Like looking through a fogged windshield. The Doctor leaned over me and I could see the shape of his head but not make out his features. He held a hand up and there was a soft click preceding a brilliant light shining in my left eye.

  “I’m just checking to make sure you’re healing properly,” he said as he leaned closer and held the instrument only inches from my face.

  “What happened?” I asked, noting the smell of garlic and cigarettes on his breath.

  “Excellent,” he said, ignoring my question. “Let’s look at the other one.”

  The light moved, and when it did the vision in the eye he had just been examining was improved. I could make out some of his features, noting a jagged scar that ran horizontally across his forehead.

  “Also coming along very nicely,” he declared after a long moment of peering through the instrument. “You’re almost fully healed.”

  “Healed? What the fuck happened, doc?”

  “I’ll leave that to my colleague,” he smiled, then quickly left the room.

  The door hissed as he pulled it closed behind him. A shadow moved to my right and I turned to look at an imposing figure standing a few feet away.

  “I’m going to turn the lights up a bit,” a baritone voice said as the figure stepped to the wall next to the door. “Let me know if they’re too bright.”

  A moment later, panels set in the ceiling flared and I had to squint and blink as pain stabbed into my skull. The discomfort passed quickly and I looked up at the man as he dragged a chair across the floor and sat down next to me.

  I was lying in a bed. Looking down, I saw that each wrist and ankle was locked in a leather band that was secured to the metal frame. A broad strap was across my chest, preventing me from sitting up.

  “How are you feeling?” He asked.

  I turned and stared at him, realizing for the first time that he was a black man. Even seated, he was a huge presence in the room. He wore a nicely tailored suit and had highly polished wingtips on his feet. Despite the clothing, I could tell that his size was muscle, not fat. I suspected that underneath the expensive finery he looked like he’d been carved from a slab of obsidian. He smiled when our eyes met, perfect teeth flashing brightly in contrast to his skin.

  “I’m FBI Special Agent William Johnson,” he said.

  “Feds? What the fuck is going on and where am I?”

  “You’re in a very special government facility.”

  He leaned back and crossed his legs, taking a moment to ensure the crease in his trouser leg was straight. A microscopic piece of lint was flicked off the sleeve of his suit coat, then he looked back up at me.

  “I’m supposed to be dead,” I said, fear and anger causing me to raise my voice. “What the hell have you done to me?”

  “Done to you? I haven’t personally done anything to you. But if you mean all this? You’re alive and receiving the best medical care available. Isn’t that enou
gh for now? If it wasn’t for me, you’d be rotting in the grave.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not ready to tell you everything. Yet. You’re alive because I intervened. A powerful cocktail was substituted for the lethal dose of chemicals you were supposed to receive. Synthetic poisons based on the chemical composition of the venom of the puffer fish. They suppressed your heart rate and respiration to the point that you appeared dead, even to the medical equipment and the prison medical staff.

  “My team intercepted you at the mortuary after you were released to your family for burial. You were retrieved and another body was placed in your casket. As far as the world knows, Mr. Tracy, you are dead and buried.”

  I stared at him in shock for a long moment. Maybe I really was dead and he was the devil, just fucking with me. Or maybe my brain was reacting to the lethal injection and I was hallucinating this whole thing in my final moments on Earth.

  I didn’t want to believe him. I had accepted my impending demise. Prepared for it emotionally. Whatever game was being played, either by him or my drug addled mind, was just plain cruel.

  “I assure you, this is all quite real,” he said, as if he could read my thoughts. “You’re not dead. I’m not playing some sick game.”

  “Where did you get another body to replace me?”

  I asked the first thing that popped into my head.

  “That’s not important,” he said. “All you need to know is that your funeral has already happened and you are officially no longer among the living.”

  We both turned when the door opened. It was a nurse, probably the same one from earlier, but I had no way of knowing. She carried a small, white plastic tray with two filled syringes resting on its surface. Stepping into the room she paused and looked at Agent Johnson as if asking permission.

  He stood and scraped the chair across the floor back to its original position, then spent a moment adjusting his jacket so it hung perfectly on his powerful frame.

  “We will talk further. You have some healing to do.”

  “Tell me now!” I shouted, panic at all the unanswered questions coursing through me.

  “All in good time,” he said, already heading for the door.

  The nurse stepped forward and placed the tray on a small table next to my bed. Cranking my head around I could see her reaching for an IV bag and noticed the tube connecting it to my arm for the first time. Beyond, a small machine monitored my vital signs. It was where the damn beeping was coming from.

  She removed the cap from the first syringe. After cleaning a port on the IV tubing with an alcohol swab, she inserted the needle and depressed the plunger. A feeling of warmth began to spread through my body and by the time she inserted the second needle my eyes were closed and I was rapidly drifting towards unconsciousness.

  5

  I woke up feeling better than I did the last time I could remember being conscious. My head didn’t hurt and my face only itched a little. The worst thing was my fingers. They were burning, like I’d grabbed something out of the oven without using mitts to protect myself. I started to raise my right hand to examine it, but it came up short against the restraints.

  Fuck! I’d forgotten about that little detail. Looking around in frustration, I noticed that the IV was gone as well as the electronic equipment monitoring my vital signs. That left exactly two objects in the stark hospital room. The bed I was strapped to and the chair the Fed had sat in when he’d talked to me.

  And just exactly what the fuck was he talking about? I was dead and buried? The FBI had cooked the execution so I survived, then spirited my unconscious body out of the mortuary? Why? What the hell did they want with me? I’d been in prison for ten years, three of those on death row. I didn’t know anyone or anything, so what the hell did they want?

  The door opened with its sucking sound and the nurse walked in carrying a small tray. She saw me looking at her and smiled. I smiled back. She was a good looking woman. At least I think she was. I hadn’t seen a lot of women in the past decade. Right now they all looked good to me.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Good to see you awake,” she said, pulling the sheet off my body and placing the tray on the bed next to my hip. “It’s time to remove your catheter.”

  She opened a package and withdrew a pair of latex gloves.

  “My what?”

  “Catheter,” she said, snapping the wrist of one of the gloves into place. “It’s a tube in your bladder so you don’t have to get up to urinate.”

  “I know what the fuck it is,” I said. “Just didn’t know I had one.”

  She raised the hem of the hospital gown until my privates were exposed and I could see the large, white tube protruding from the end of my cock. I stared in surprise for several moments. I’d had no idea.

  “This will be uncomfortable,” she said, attaching an empty syringe to part of the tubing and drawing what looked like water into it.

  “What the hell is that?” I asked, starting to freak out a little.

  “The catheter has a small bulb inflated with sterile water that keeps it in place. OK, now hold still and this will be over in a second.”

  She grasped me with one hand, the tube in the other, and smoothly pulled it out of my body. It didn’t hurt, just felt really odd and left me with the sensation that I needed to take a piss. Quickly and efficiently she bundled everything up and stuffed it in a plastic bag.

  “While you’re down there,” I said, grinning at her.

  She just smiled, patting my leg before pulling the gown down and covering me with the sheet. Gathering everything, she opened the door and nodded at someone I couldn’t see before disappearing down the corridor outside my room. A moment later the Fed walked in and closed the door.

  He was dressed similarly to the last time I’d seen him. Immaculate suit and tie, shoes gleaming in the overhead lighting. He carried a round mirror in his right hand, holding it up as he approached.

  “Take a look,” he said, holding it so I could see my reflection.

  Only it wasn’t my reflection. It was someone I didn’t recognize. I was stunned into silence, staring at the man I didn’t know.

  “What the fuck?” I was finally able to mumble. Then, “what the fuck did you do to me?”

  I shouted the last, but was unable to take my eyes off the mirror. Everything was completely different. My brow, my cheekbones, nose, chin. Fuck me but even my eyes were a different color. The only thing they didn’t change was my hair, which I’d let grow in prison. It was full and thick, hanging well below my shoulders. At the moment it was in a tight ponytail.

  “Your new face, Mr. Whitman,” the Fed said.

  He took the mirror away and dragged the chair across the floor until it was next to my bed. He sat, crossing his legs at the knees. After he adjusted the creases on his pants, he looked up and smiled at me.

  I was in shock. Mind whirling, but unable to comprehend what I’d just seen. What I’d just heard.

  “What?” I sputtered.

  “Your new face and name,” he said calmly. “Whitman, Joseph Ryan. Born in Germany on Ramstein Air Base to an Air Force Captain named Gloria Whitman. Unknown father. You moved around, growing up, as your mother’s career advanced. You attended school at various Air Force Bases around the world until graduating from high school. Your mother retired soon after you graduated, then passed away three years later. You have no siblings. Your mother having been an only child, you have no living family.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I shouted, yanking my arms against my restraints.

  “Relax, Mr. Whitman. If you get too agitated, I’ll have to call the nurse to administer a sedative.”

  “Fuck you, relax! What the hell have you done to me?”

  My blood was pounding in my ears and if I could have gotten free I would have attacked the FBI agent. He most assuredly knew that and just sat there smiling at me. I wanted to wipe that fucking smile off his face for him.

  “S
hall I continue, or should I call the nurse?” He asked after nearly a minute of watching me struggle against my restraints.

  “Why don’t you just get to the point, you fucking…” I paused. “Asshole!”

  “Going to say nigger, weren’t you?” He asked as easily as if he’d inquired about the time of day.

  “Fuck you!” I said, after a beat.

  “That’s quite all right, Mr. Whitman. Human nature in fact. You can’t hurt me with words. Worse men than you have tried. If it helps you accept what I have to tell you, by all means call me whatever names you like.”

  I lay there panting from exertion and anger. He remained completely composed, watching me as if he didn’t have a care in the world. For the first time since waking I began to feel in control of my emotions. Perhaps I was starting to process what was being said to me, or maybe it was just the drugs they’d used to keep me unconscious were wearing off.

  “Very good,” he smiled. “I’ll continue, then. Now, where was I?”

  He tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling as if trying to remember what he had been talking about. I recognized it as an affectation. This guy was sharp. He remembered precisely what he had been saying.

  “Ah, yes. No living family. So after high school, you took a job working in the oil fields in west Texas. You stayed there for nine years before relocating to Dallas where you began driving a truck for a freight company. Traveled all over the US, but mostly in the southeastern portion of the country. That’s what you are now. A long haul truck driver.”

  “Are you going to get to the point anytime soon? I’m not a fucking moron. You pulled me out of an execution chamber, changed my face, and now you’re sitting here telling me all about a life I never had. You’re creating a new identity so I can do something. What? You want someone killed? Is that it?”

  “We’ll get to all that in due time,” he said. “First, let’s talk more about you. The other you. The one who was on death row.”