8.23023 Challenge – Guilty Conscience
Wednesday“Will the defendants please rise.”
The spectators in the small packed court room leaned forward and the excited chatter rose to a crescendo in anticipation of the verdict and sentencing. The dark-haired defendant slowly rose from his chair before turning to assist their reluctant lawyer to help the struggling blonde to his feet. The presiding judge banged the gavel several times to restore order.
“Order in the court!” The deputy acting as bailiff shouted. The crowd quieted.
“A jury of your peers have rendered a verdict.”
“Not my peers, more like an angry mob,” muttered the older defendant under his breath.
“Hannibal Heyes, you have been found guilty of armed robbery of the Mercantile Bank of Lonetree and accessory to the murder of Josephine Baum and her unborn child. You are sentenced to life in prison. You will never again be a menace to society.”
Heyes stood stone-faced, dark brown eyes simmering with rage the only indication of his reaction to the verdict. He took a step to his right and stood shoulder to shoulder to his partner, needing and giving physical and emotional support through the close contact.
The judge’s harsh stare now turned to the man stiffly balancing most of his weight on the left leg. Heyes felt the tensing of Kid’s shoulders as Curry subtly shifted into his gunfighter stance in anticipation of what he would hear. All signs of distress were erased in the space of a heartbeat.
“Jedidiah Curry, you have been found guilty of armed robbery of the Mercantile Bank of Lonetree and the murder of Josephine Baum and her unborn child. I sentence you to hang by the neck until dead. May the Lord have mercy on your soul. The execution will take place in three days on Saturday at noon.”
~~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~~
Friday Night“Francis, come to bed. It’s three in the morning.” Abigail Warren stood in the doorway, peering into the dimly lit private study in the governor’s mansion.
Abigail tightened the tie of her silk dressing gown and entered the room to stand in front of her husband. She noticed the rumpled black trousers and unbuttoned white shirt, the shoes had been removed and lay haphazard under the chair. The woman nodded to the hand holding a half empty brandy snifter, the opened bottle within reaching distance on the elegant side table. “So, you thought you would drown your guilty conscious instead. The brandy won’t help, you know.” She reached out and gently pried the glass from Francis’ hand.
“My conscience has nothing to be guilty about. Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry have robbed banks and trains, plenty of them. Kid Curry didn’t get the reputation of the Fastest Gun in the West without killing a man or two and maybe more. Besides, there was an eye witness identification in Lonetree.”
“But they didn’t rob the bank in Lonetree and Kid Curry didn’t shoot an innocent woman with child and you know it. What’s more, eyewitness identifications are unreliable. Francis Warren, they wouldn’t have been anywhere near Lonetree if you hadn’t sent them on that job, which they were forced to do and completed it on time. You said yourself that it would have been impossible for them to even be in Lonetree at the time of the robbery. We may not know who committed those horrible crimes but it wasn’t Heyes and Curry.”
“What do you want me to do, Abby?” Francis raised a hand to his forehead and pressed hard against the pounding headache that had been building all night. He looked up, his eyes pleading for a way out of the messy situation.
Abby settled herself in the matching chair. Her face and tone were serious but empathetic. “You know what I think you should do. You used to listen to my advice and valued it. What changed?”
Her husband dropped his eyes to his lap. “Nothing changed. I still value your opinion. I’ve never treated you as woman incapable of understanding all aspects of our life. But Charles has been a loyal campaign manager, one of best in politics. Henry is astute and efficient as my chief of staff. They do know how to strategize and read the public.”
Abby leaned forward. Her intense gaze found her husband’s eyes and bored into him. “They’re wrong this time. I agree with their assessment of your options but they are reading the big donors and giving you political expedient advice. They don’t have the fate of those two young men in their hands. They don’t have to live with themselves if this travesty of so-called justice is allowed to proceed. You do.”
“I know. But if I do anything to stop or change the findings of the Lonetree court then I’ll have to explain how I know they’re innocent of the charges and that will open a can of worms I’m not ready to open yet. Perhaps in year or so after the election but not now. I tried having a telegram for a stay of execution to postpone the hanging sent earlier to give myself time to decide wisely. But the line out that way went down earlier in the day and won’t be repaired in time. It’s too late.”
“We don’t know why Heyes and Curry decided to renounce their criminal way of life. I suspect there were several reasons, some selfish and some truly repentant. It doesn’t matter, what does matter, Francis, is that they did. They turned their lives around and lived by honest means for a few years now. You’re the third governor who has strung them along and they haven’t given up. That shows commitment and true change. What does your conscience tell you is the right thing to do? You have to decide now when there still may be time to act or in the dark of night when you least expect it your guilt will haunt your dreams.”
Francis Warren sat staring straight ahead. He shook himself and straightened up in his chair. He rose to head over to the door, squeezing his wife’s hand briefly in thankfulness. “I’m going to find someone to go wake Sheriff Trevors up and have him and a couple of marshals meet us here as soon they can. Please stay Abby and help me draft my messages. Charlie and Henry will have to deal with the fallout.” He looked over his shoulder and winked. “You may want to put some suitable clothes on, though first.”
~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~~
Saturday“Curry, it’s time. Stand up and put your face against the back wall.” The sheriff flanked by two deputies ordered with undisguised glee.
Kid painfully swung his legs down to the floor. He scooted down to the end of the narrow cot and his right hand reached up to grab hold of the bars. Kid Curry pulled himself to his feet and balanced on his left leg. He stuck his right hand through the bars for the ritual parting handshake. His partner gripped the sweaty, fevered hand hard as if hanging on could forestall the inevitable. Blue eyes met brown for the last time and held for a long moment. Kid forcibly pulled his hand out from Hannibal Heyes’ grasp, pivoted and faced the rear wall of the jail cell.
The deputies pointed their guns at the middle of Kid Curry’s back. The sheriff unlocked the cell, entered and reached for the Kid’s arms, roughly yanking them back and binding the wrists tightly with strong rope.
“Come on, lets go. We can’t keep everyone waitin’.” The lawman glanced in the next cell. “Too bad Heyes, ya ain’t gonna see the hangin’. It’s gonna be quite a show. I want him to slowly strangle, suffer and know it. We’re short ropin’ him so he dances for a good long while for all the people to see. No way the drop is gonna kill him. Hope they can get some good pictures for the papers, too.”
The Kid’s wound-fevered flushed complexion paled noticeably.
The sheriff continued with his malicious description of the event to come, “And we’re gonna leave him swingin’ there so if the marshals get here before he rots too badly in this heat ya can say good bye on your way to prison. Your partner’s hangin’ is the biggest event Lonetree has seen in years, maybe ever. Everyone for miles around is in town today, Reporters and photographers are here from all over that could get here in time. They staked out all the good spots around the gallows. We’re gonna be famous as the place where Kid Curry met his end and Hannibal Heyes was caught for good.” The three lawmen escorted the bound prisoner to the door of the jail where two deputized townsmen that were guarding the jail door joined them for the walk to the gallows.
Heyes vibrated with barely controlled rage and frustration as he watched his injured best friend, partner, and only living family member limping badly surrounded by gloating lawmen. He had been holding out hope that the telegram the partners had sent to Trevors brought results but it was not to be. Time slowed and the last glimpse of the Kid was a vision where the torn, dirty and bloodstained clothes, bruised and swollen features, a stiff carriage from battered ribs, and the pronounced limp from a gunshot right thigh faded into the boyishly handsome features of the kind-hearted, chivalrous man who moved with athletic grace that Heyes preferred to remember him being.
The pent-up tension of their undeserved fate and their inability to change the situation became almost unbearable. The agitated frenzied pacing from the interminable previous night returned. Heyes swept his sensitive talented fingers across his face, trying to compose himself.
The partners had spent the entirety of the night sitting next to each other on their respective cots with only cold iron bars separating them. The conversation was for their ears only and ranged over the span of their lives together. For the Kid’s sake Heyes used all his legendary self-control to rein in his spiraling anger and desperation. Kid, for his part, focused his energies less on his own despair and did his best to console his cousin, who would have to face the ordeal of prison alone. Kid firmly believed that his relatively quick end was preferrable, to him, at least, over the slow death of a life lived in prison. Heyes wasn’t so sure during the dark night but was rethinking the different fates in the light of day.
When the gray light of dawn filtered through the jail windows all that could be spoken, all that needed to be shared between the lifelong friends, closer than brothers, had been said. Both men’s voices were strained from the physical act of whispering throughout the night and the gamut of emotions that coursed through the partners. Heyes laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, his mind racing with wild thoughts and plans that could never come to fruition. Kid leaned back against the stone wall of the jail cell. He consciously shut down his emotions, fear, anger, and regret chief among them. He deliberately withdrew further into himself, closing doors within his mind. Stillness enveloped the infamous gunman. The only stimulus that he acknowledged silently was pain. Pain signaled continued life.
A few minutes until noon, when the reality was hitting Heyes full bore, his heart started to race and he felt close to passing out. The smooth-talking ex-outlaw, who wasn’t able to get anyone to listen dropped heavily to the cot, burying his face in his hands. The smell of the jail heightened to cause nausea, and the muted sounds of the assembled crowd sharpened and seemed to drill into his ears.
Heyes couldn’t tell you how long he sat, elbows on knees, head in his hands, trying to block out all thoughts and senses. The sudden loud roar of the crowd permeated the enveloping shell of the ex-outlaw. A sharp pain in his gut caused him to double over. Reaching under the cot for the chamber pot, Hannibal Heyes squeezed his eyes shut tight as he vomited.
~~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was a carnival atmosphere in the packed small-town square. Strangers and locals stood shoulder to shoulder, all clamoring for a good view of the infamous gunman’s demise. Some were there for vengeance; most were merely curious. The crowd parted to let the condemned and his guards walk slowly to the hastily built gallows. Armed deputized men were liberally stationed around the town, keeping a watchful eye so that the hanging would proceed as planned.
A row of chairs had been placed in front of the gallows. The mayor and his extended family were front and off to the right as the victim was their daughter who was married to the sheriff’s son whose entire family were also there. To the left sat the rest of the town council and select guests.
Kid tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, ignoring the cheers and jeers of the assembled onlookers. A near overwhelming wave of chagrin at the idea that his death was entertainment to the vast majority caused his posture to draw in protectively. He quickly got himself under control to stand straight and tall as best he could. Blue eyes squinted in the bright noon sun and narrowed even further when Curry spotted the numerous reporters with the pads and pencils interspersed with photographers stationed directly in line of the noose both at ground level and in the back of a strategically placed wagon. Kid Curry’s blood turned to ice at the thought that although he undoubtably committed crimes and earned his title of the Fastest Gun in the West the hard way, he would be forever remembered for the heinous crime of murdering a woman and her unborn child. An act that was so antithetical to his fundamental personality and beliefs and that he could not accept.
They reached the gallows, where Curry stopped, balancing on his left leg and studied the flight up. The sheriff gave him a hard prod in the back. The prisoner’s right leg buckled and without the use of his arms he fell flat on his face against the steps. Kid felt warmth start to trickle down the side of his face from a reopened cut above his left eye and tasted the metallic tang of blood from a newly split lip. Kid managed to twist onto his side.
“If you want me up there, someone’s gonna have to get me there. You put a bullet in my right thigh. It won’t support my full weight.”
The sheriff scowled in annoyance. He gestured to his two regular deputies. “Go ahead and drag the piece of scum up there.”
The lawmen managed to position the prisoner centered on the trap door. A reverend joined them on the elevated platform of the gallows. They greeted and waved to the crowd. The sheriff indicated that the photographers could take their first round of pictures as the lawmen posed around the infamous outlaw.
“Have any last words?”
“No. You people haven’t listened to a word my partner or me have said. You won’t listen now. Anything that I needed to say, I’ve already said to only person that matters. The rest will keep until I meet my maker.”
The sheriff bent down and picked up a black hood that was previously placed on the platform. He came around to the front of the Kid and lifted the hood.
Curry jerked his head back and the sheriff missed placing in over the Kid’s head. “No hood. I want my last sight to be the blue of the sky.”
“I don’t care what ya want, Curry. My daughter-in-law can’t see the blue sky from under six feet of dirt where you put her,” growled the sheriff.
“For the last time, I didn’t shoot her. I don’t know who did but they’re still out there and they’re likely to kill some other person’s loved one in the future.”
“Shut up.” The sheriff turned hangman shot back venomously.
“Look, a condemned man is allowed one last wish, right? That’s my last wish, no hood.”
“It’s no sense lettin’ ya look up. Ya ain’t goin’ up there. Ya going down, a lot more than six feet down. Yer bein’ sent straight to hell. You’s devil’s spawn.” The deputies stepped up to keep the condemned man in place while the sheriff jammed the heavy black muslin hood over his head. The lawman then placed the hanging noose over the hooded head and roughly pulled it high and tight around the neck and under the prisoner’s jaw, the knot hard by the left ear.
The reverend opened his bible. He looked up and smiled for the cameras as the second round of pictures were taken. The cleric then proceeded to read a passage and prayed for the damned soul.
Curry took a deep slow breath. The smell of past condemned men’s fear and bodily fluids filled his nostrils and left a bitter taste in his mouth. Kid forced the rising bile back down. He ignored the drone of the reverend’s insincere and meaningless prayers. Prayers never helped in the past, they weren’t going to make a difference now.
Kid tuned out awareness of any external surroundings. All his concentration was on the sound of his fast-beating heart that somehow morphed into the pounding of horses’ hooves. The still young man shut his eyes, relaxed his muscles and envisioned a bright blue sky. A fluffy white cloud appeared with golden rays of sunshine filtering though. A majestic eagle flew out from behind the cloud soaring ever higher into the brilliant blue. It might have been a cliché but in it his mind found comfort. He dropped, the vision tunneled and slowly faded into darkness.
TBC
This was not intended to be in two parts but I reached the word limit so I'll just leave the story hanging here (groan).
I hope the reader noted that there isn't any kind of warning attached to the story.
PS - I see Racheal 741 beat me to a story post. The prompt must lead the mind in morbid directions. It wasn't my intention to be so like Racheal's, please excuse any similarities. I hadn't read it until I went to post this story.
Sat Jul 01, 2023 1:38 am
