The theme tune fades out.
KRISTINA (smiling): Good evening, viewers, and welcome to your very special Saturday edition of Death is Justice.
A gentle applause from the audience.
KRISTINA: Joining us today is our usually roving reporter, Joshua Decker, allowed inside from the winter weather.
The audience applause is louder, a gentle ripple of female voices.
JOSHUA: Thank you, Kristina, it’s a pleasure to be here.
KRISTINA: Indeed. Well, as always on Saturdays, viewers, we aim to bring you something special, and this week is no exception as we have two guests joining myself and Joshua today! Firstly we have none other than Rafi Mannan, CEO of the media corporation Life Visions, the company that has taken our justice system and turned it into the world-leading, innovative system it is today. The fairest, many say, in the world, where each and every one of you, our public, is juror and decision maker. Good evening, Rafi.
The camera pans out to show Rafi at the other sofa: loose, floppy hair, jeans and a sweater.
RAFI: Good evening, Kristina, Joshua.
JOSHUA: And secondly we have editor-in-chief of the National News, Albert DeLonzo.
A slender man in a white shirt and grey waistcoat leans in from the other end of the sofa, raises a hand and smiles.
ALBERT: Pleasure to be here.
KRISTINA: Thank you both for joining us. Rafi, if I can turn to you first, I believe you have some exciting news to deliver to our viewers.
RAFI: Some very exciting news, yes. As you may be aware, Life Visions are constantly examining ways to enhance the viewing experience of the cells, looking at how to bring voters closer to the accused and to death row and thus enabling them to make informed choices upon their votes. Collating and analysing results of viewer feedback, it became evident that viewers weren’t engaging completely with the experience and thus to ameliorate this I am very pleased to announce that we are now able to offer an innovative and far more inclusive system, allowing for intimate involvement from viewers wherever they are.
JOSHUA: You’re keeping us in suspense …
RAFI: From this very moment, we are launching the start of twenty-four-hour viewing of all of the seven cells!
The audience applaud. Rafi grins and bows his head. On the other side of the sofa DeLonzo nods.
RAFI: For a monthly premium, viewers will be able to connect via their televisions, computers, phones, whatever system they use, getting up close and personal with our accused as they languish in their cells. Never before in history has this been seen. You’ll be able to watch every movement, every facial expression, see every chink and flaw in their characters and any defence, excuse, reason, or innocence you think they may have.
KRISTINA: Rafi, this is something I’ve been suggesting for a long time. I’m so pleased to see it finally come to fruition.
RAFI: At Life Visions, we’ve always taken our responsibility to the viewers, and the accused, seriously. We understand the devastation a voter could feel if they, at some future point and for whatever reason, discovered they had voted incorrectly, and of course, the implication of that upon the accused. This is akin to putting the accused in your homes but, of course, without the danger!
JOSHUA: And I believe you have an exclusive offer for us right now, Rafi.
RAFI: That we do. To launch this exciting development, we are offering this service free for the next seventy-two hours. That is to say that you can tune in now, choose whichever cell you wish to view by pressing the red button, change cells as many times as you wish, and continue watching non-stop until Tuesday evening, at which time you can choose to take the package at a reduced introductory rate, available for subscription today. Taking advantage of this offer will, of course, enable you to watch Martha Honeydew’s time in Cell 7 – the last cell.
KRISTINA: Watching her as time leads up to that all-important decision. Watching what could to all intents and purposes be her final hours. And what excellent timing – introducing this during the landmark case of the first female teenager ever on death row.
RAFI: We are blessed with having the opportunity to be an active part of the whole justice system, especially in such a case. It truly is democracy in action. We demanded a safer world, we were presented with one, but with the added responsibility of ensuring we consider not only the lost life of the victim, but also the threatened life of the accused.
JOSHUA: Well, viewers, before the end of the programme we’ll be having an exclusive sneak peek of this new system and tuning in directly to Cell 4 with Martha Honeydew, so do stay tuned. But before we go to that, let’s turn to our second guest, editor-in-chief of the National News, Albert DeLonzo. It’s a pleasure to have you here, Albert.
ALBERT: The pleasure’s all mine and I must say I am massively excited about this new project from Life Visions! Wow, is that going to be good, and I just know my readers are going to be chomping at the bit to sign up. There’s nothing quite like people-watching, is there?
JOSHUA (smiling): Oh, I love it!
KRISTINA: Albert, you have your finger on the pulse of society; tell me, what are the people thinking about this now? How are they feeling?
ALBERT: That’s an interesting question, Kristina, and this is a fascinating case.
JOSHUA: Yet open and shut, surely?
ALBERT: You would think so. There is a great deal of anger and resentment towards Honeydew. We’ve witnessed public outpourings of grief. There has, for example, been a candlelit parade through the streets, culminating in the gathering of approximately five thousand people at the gates of Jackson’s mansion, a book of condolences has been opened at the cathedral with a queue of people stretching over a mile waiting to sign it, and there has been – perhaps the most striking thing of all – an ever-growing collection of flowers and gifts left at the murder site that is becoming a veritable carpet of grief.
KRISTINA: I believe we have a photograph of that coming up on your screens now.
The camera pans out. In the smaller weekend studio the screen to the right seems larger. A photograph of the murder scene fills it – in the background the hard, bland concrete of the High Rises, a dull, grey sky, and a tarmac road; in the foreground an explosion of colour. Flowers, soft toys, hand-painted banners with Paige’s name emblazoned on, potted plants, shining crosses, photographs of his smiling face, candlelight flickering on all of them.
A police officer stands vigil near a group of people with their hands in prayer.
ALBERT (whispered): Would you look at that! There is no truer marker of a man than how one thinks of him upon death. Hundreds and thousands of people are making the pilgrimage to the Rises, an area where before they would probably have feared to tread. And look at them now.
On the screen the camera zooms in on a small child holding a red rose, a tear leaking from under her closed eyelids and down her cheek.
The studio is silent. The picture fades. The camera turns back to the sofa, Kristina dabbing her eyes and Albert replacing a tissue in his pocket while the other two men shake their heads in shared exasperation.
ALBERT: A hero of our time has been stolen from us.
JOSHUA: A tragedy affecting so many lives.
RAFI: We can only be thankful that, due to our system, acts like these are relatively rare and most heavily punished.
KRISTINA: I believe you have some gossip for us though, Albert – something you’ve picked up on the grapevine.
ALBERT: Well, Kristina, not exactly picked up on the grapevine, but something I’ve seen myself.
KRISTINA: Do tell!
He leans forward; the camera zooms in on him.
ALBERT: Yesterday I believe I witnessed a meeting of important minds who’ve spoken out in the past against our current system. None other than Justice Cicero.
KRISTINA: Mr Cicero.
ALBERT (laughing): Of course, Mr Cicero sharing coffee with designated counsellor to the accused, Mrs Eve Stanton. One of my photographers managed to take thi
s photograph.
The camera pans out again and the screen on the right is filled with the image of Cicero and Eve in the coffee shop. He’s leaning towards her, eyes peering over his glasses, while she rests her head in her hands looking down.
JOSHUA: A sad photograph.
ALBERT: I wonder what they’re talking about. Martha’s crime, the justice system, the unavoidable fact that she is likely to be the first teenage female executed on death row? Or how they could get her off?
KRISTINA: That is quite a scoop you managed there, Albert. Mr Cicero was quite clear in his views when he appeared here on the show.
ALBERT: Yet Eve Stanton is somewhat of an enigma. Famously, her husband was executed following killing a man he claimed to be attacking them. She petitioned for the role of Counsellor to be introduced citing humanity laws.
KRISTINA: Prisoners aren’t allowed visitors.
ALBERT: Precisely her argument, that it was inhumane to disallow human contact.
RAFI: Yet they’ve killed someone – what do they expect?
ALBERT: To speak with her, now that would be a scoop.
KRISTINA: Something I do find puzzling in all this, is the lack of comment from Paige’s family. The morning following the murder, a brief statement was released from his publicist, but we’ve heard nothing from his wife or his son.
JOSHUA: Perhaps they are literally overwhelmed with grief.
ALBERT: Yes, I agree with you, Josh. That their grief is most probably stifling them and rendering them incapable of comment. We, as the public, must respect their privacy in this, the most terrible of times for them, and we must wait patiently in the wings for their comment. Presently, I have a number of journalists camped outside their mansion, waiting for that moment when they are ready to talk. Yet what comment can they give except to express their shock, horror and feelings of interminable loss at this tragic killing. A senseless killing by a child, no less – a girl, who, by society’s expectations, should be in the prime of her innocence.
On the screen two photographs appear. On the left, Martha in her school uniform: freckles, a smile and her long hair tied back. On the right, a police mug-shot of her: white prison overalls, a tear-streaked face and a newly shaved head.
ALBERT: I raise a few questions to finish on, Kristina: is this typical of a single-parent family; is this what happens when only one role model is present in the home, and if so, what does the future hold for us? And, looking at our two photographs of her, school-girl Martha and Murderer Martha, how could the mother fail so badly as to allow her to become that girl on the right?
KRISTINA: A truly fascinating insight there, Albert, thank you.
She turns back to the camera.
KRISTINA: And now as promised we have that exclusive for you. Rafi, isn’t this exciting?
RAFI: I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, Kristina.
KRISTINA: And I’m sure our viewers and our audience are just as excited as we are.
A murmur sounds over the audience. Kristina places a hand to her ear.
KRISTINA: Yes, we’re able to go live to Cell 4 right now, and discover, with potentially only seventy-eight hours of her life remaining, what Honeydew is doing.
The screen fills with something off-white – darker in places, crumpled and creased in others.
KRISTINA: We seem to have a technical issue, ladies and gentlemen. If you could bear with us …
She puts a finger to her ear again, listening, and frowns.
KRISTINA: We don’t appear to have …
The off-white moves, shuffles, sweeps across the screen and is taken away. What is revealed behind it blurs then re-focuses. Standing in the middle of Cell 4 is Martha, bloodied fingers and hands holding the off-white bed sheet she’s just pulled from the camera.
Kristina’s hand slaps over her mouth.
JOSHUA: Oh my …
RAFI: Shit.
ALBERT: Whoa!
Martha’s bed is turned over and thrown against the door. Clearly visible are all the names previously hidden, and above them, in blurry, blotched, greasy red, with a few runs and drips are the words ‘HOW MANY INNOCENT?’
The camera zooms to the names, to Martha’s face, then to her hands and fingers covered in blood. She drops the sheet and collapses on the floor. The camera freeze-frames on her closed eyes.
JOSHUA: Someone get her a medic.
Within minutes the switchboard for cell viewing subscription is jammed.
Martha
He woke me from a sleep I didn’t even know I was in.
He gave me back a reason to get up every morning and reminded me why I should breathe in and out.
He lit me.
I smiled for the first time I could remember.
He made it possible for me to save myself.
If only it could’ve stayed that way.
For eight months life was good.
You’d leave your car at the boundary and walk down. You’d bring cakes or takeaway with you sometimes and we’d sit on the floor in my flat and eat them like having a picnic. Or we’d walk, explore through the woods, which became our place, a deer once passing in front of us while on the horizon the sun was rising and a beautiful orange-pink light warmed our faces as we watched in awe.
Spring came and I finally felt strong enough to sort through Mum’s things. But warm memories stirred by photographs and cards disappeared when I found those letters. Meeting you that night I could barely speak.
‘What’s wrong?’ you asked, and I passed you what I’d found.
My fingers and wrists are bandaged. The words I wrote, and the names that were hidden, are scrubbed clean. Is that a camera up on the wall? If it is, who’s watching it and who saw what I did?
I could ask Eve, if they’d let me see her.
I heard her shouting on the other side of the door when some medic was wrapping bandages around me. I was hoping she’d have another message for me. I still see the words of the other when I close my eyes – Please don’t do this. Tell Eve you want to change your plea. Tell her the truth. I love you. I want to be with you. I xx
What good did the truth ever do?
Ollie told the truth.
This is the way.
Some things are more important than being together, and we could never stay together. We had our time and now it’s gone. Nothing but memories.
My fingers hurt. My wrists. My head.
My soul is too tired for anyone to bear.
When I’m sitting in that chair, the straps around me, waiting for the electricity to hit me, it’s your face I’ll see.
In this life we can’t be together, but I’ll wait for you in the next.
Eve
Eve pours a large glass of red wine and slumps down on the sofa. Max has lit the fire, made dinner and tidied up.
I’m blessed with a son like him, she thinks.
There’s a soft knock at the living-room door and he peers around.
‘Mum, he’s back again.’
Eve takes a glug of wine and sits up. ‘Show him in, Max.’
‘You know what this could look like? It’s not a good idea.’
She places the glass on the table. ‘Thank you,’ she says, her tone clipped. ‘I understand, but –’
‘And that guy from the newspaper has got someone following you. They had a photo of you on the TV. If they get a photo of you and –’
‘Thanks, Max, but you can show him in.’
She hears his tutting and his mumbling and muttering under his breath as he disappears again, and she hears his gruff voice at the door, and his words telling the visitor to take off his shoes.
There’s another gentle tap at the door and Eve stands up.
A young man in a hooded jacket steps inside. His shoes are off. As he extends one hand to her, he pulls down his hood with the other.
‘Thank you, Mrs Stanton,’ he says, and bows his head a little.
She shakes his hand. ‘Sit down, Mr Paige.’
‘Please.’ He gives an awkward laugh. ‘It sounds like you’re talking to my father.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she replies as she sits. ‘That must still be very painful.’
He looks to her with eyes full of confusion, and they hold each other’s gaze for a fraction too long before he looks away and sits down on the sofa opposite her.
‘Call me Isaac,’ he says.
‘Would you like a glass of wine, Isaac?’
‘No, thank you, Mrs Stanton.’
‘Eve.’
He nods.
‘It’s been a shit day, Isaac,’ she says, lifting the glass to her mouth again.
‘I saw the show earlier, with Martha. She …’ He stops, his words lost.
‘What they do to the prisoners in the cells is shocking. It’s no form of justice or entertainment I want to be associated with but I’m scared for the future and I can’t walk away.’ Half a bottle of wine has made her talkative. ‘This government pretends to be acting on behalf of its people, but it’s lies. The PM and his cronies manipulate us to behave just how they want us to.’ She downs the rest of the glass and pours another.
‘And anyone says something against it, you know what happens?’
She doesn’t wait for Isaac to reply.
‘Of course you do. They rule by fear and our fear gives them ever more power. And I’m sorry for your father, because whoever did kill him, and I’m certain it wasn’t Martha, will no doubt never be found. And that, Mr Paige, Isaac, is a tragedy for both of them. But we both know there’s no justice here any more.’
He says nothing.
They sit in silence. The light from the open fire flickers around the room and on their faces, everything obscured by shadows and half-light.
‘I’m glad you came back,’ she says. ‘Though Max – he’s not so glad.’
‘Sounds like he worries about you.’
Eve takes another mouthful of wine and looks into the fire, feeling the heat on her face and skin and blanching from the white of the flame at the base of the coal. ‘Have you seen Mrs B since she was on the programme?’ she asks quietly.
The reality TV show to die for. Literally Page 11