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Short Stories from Wing's Authors.
Final Conviction by J. D. Webb
“We, the jury in the entitled case, find Wesley Fletcher guilty of first
degree murder.” The gangly white girl swallowed hard and refused to look
him in the eye as she read the verdict.
Less than three months later, a doddering old coot in a judge’s robe
three sizes too big sentenced Wes to die by lethal injection. Just
another black man condemned to pay for a crime. Only one hour to live
and no one seemed to care that he was innocent.
The sun’s rays streamed through the barred windows and created geometric
patterns on short stubby fingers and heavily callused palms. Those hands
had sustained him in anything he had done. For sixty-four years he'd
labored as a grave digger, night-watchman, janitor, and dishwasher,
supporting a family, being a loving husband. Not a murderer. How could
anyone believe he could put those hands around a pretty white woman’s
neck and strangle her?
Pastor Johnson shifted position on the cot beside him and asked, “How
are you doing, Wesley?”
“Pastor, I’ve made my peace with God. It’s my family I worry about. They
endured the nightmare of a trial, stood by me for the appeal and
retrial, kept courage through another appeal and suffered the
devastation of the final sentence. If nothing else it’ll allow me some
peace. I just pray my sons will be able to take care of my beautiful
Sarah.” He had watched her fade from a vivacious, smiling lady to a
frail and sad woman who could barely shuffle into the courtroom or
visitation room.
“She will have a lot of help from your family and our congregation,
Wes.”
“I know, Pastor, but she’s given up. No matter what I say to encourage
her, she refuses to listen. And she’s not reading her Bible. That’s not
Sarah.”
“I’ve talked to her about that and I intend to be there to encourage
her.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Footsteps announced the arrival of Stan, the guard who had taken a
liking to Wes. Four more guards accompanied his friend.
“Sorry, Wes. It’s time. You can walk with him, Pastor.” Pastor Johnson
nodded and stood.
Wes rose and looked around his home of the past fourteen years. He
picked up the crumpled photograph of his wife and carefully placed it in
his shirt pocket. “Let’s go, gents.”
The freshly scrubbed death-row hallway echoed as the entourage shuffled
along. Wes spotted the open room at the end of the hall and the white
sheet covering the cot that would be his final conscious resting spot.
Arthritic knees almost refused to function, but he was determined to go
out dignified. As his daddy always said, “Be a man whatever you do. Live
a good life and you hold your head up high.”
Warden Spooner stood at the doorway, looking sad.
Wes nodded, “Hello, Warden.”
“Waiting and praying for a call from the governor, Wes. Got ten minutes
yet. Plenty of time for it to come through.”
“Whatever happens, Warden, I thank you for believing in me. I got no
complaints. You folks are just doin’ your job. I’m ready.”
Wes, the warden, a doctor in a white smock, and Pastor Johnson entered
the light-flooded room. Wes squinted against the brightness. His heart
beat loudly in his chest and sweat dripped from his brow. He wished he
had a handkerchief. What a relief when they sat him on the side of the
cot. He couldn’t have remained standing any longer.
All eyes were focused on him. Was that a tear on Stan the guard’s face?
Probably not. Numbness traveled down Wes’ right arm. It wouldn’t move.
They gently laid him on the cot and began preparation for his final
minutes. A roaring in his ears drowned out whatever the warden was
saying. Who cares anyway? Just get it over with.
The phone rang and the warden rushed out and answered.
“Yes, sir. I see. I understand. Just a second, sir.” He hesitated and
then looked over at Wes. “Wes, I’m afraid the Supreme Court has denied a
motion to suspend the execution.”
Through the roaring noise, Wes heard his final verdict. No stay of
execution.
“Yes, Governor. Yes, I understand. That’s great. Thank you, sir. Thank
you.” The warden hung up the phone and raced into the room. “Wes, the
Governor says that after reviewing your case he has issued a special
order to stop the execution on the grounds of cruel and unusual
punishment.”
Warden Spooner took Wesley Fletcher’s hand and smiled down at him. “We
won, Wes.” The convict stared back with dead, unseeing eyes, his heart a stalled and lifeless pump - his guilt, even his hope, no longer an issue.
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