The reality TV show to die for. Literally

by Kerry Drewery

  She glances to Joshua and back to Kristina.

  EVE: … a younger co-host – you are surplus to requirement.

  Kristina’s face stiffens.

  A few audience members snigger.

  EVE: You can either accept that with grace and dignity or fight it and look a fool. I can’t say I’ve enjoyed every minute of being a designated counsellor – it’s been tough, but it’s been hugely rewarding. However, I’m done now, and as I’m done, this is my last chance to come on this icon of a television programme.

  JOSHUA: Well, it’s delightful to have you, and we’d welcome you back any time, wouldn’t we, viewers?

  They applaud again.

  JOSHUA: But tell me, the accused, do they talk of their crimes? Do they share all the juicy details?

  The audience sucks in a breath. Eve bites her lip and glances around.

  EVE: I shouldn’t tell you really, should I? That would be betraying a confidence.

  She glances around again. Kristina opens her mouth to speak, but Eve breaks in.

  EVE: Yes, Joshua, they do. Often. Sometimes it gives me nightmares. Sometimes it makes me feel physically sick.

  JOSHUA: Even those who say they’re innocent?

  EVE: Of course! Didn’t you know – everyone on death row is innocent!

  She laughs at her own joke and the whole studio joins in.

  EVE: But on a serious note, it reminds me why they are where they are, and why we’re doing what we’re doing. It reminds me also of how, and why, the death penalty has evolved over the years: from firing squad, to hanging, to electrocution; from years, months and weeks spent in cells to a slim-line seven days; from battles in courts between lawyers, difficulties with juries and judges, claims over malpractice, inadequate evidence, faked or tampered evidence, to a sleek, efficient system. The system is a life force and it evolves as every life force does.

  She pauses, looks over enrapt audience faces.

  EVE: And now, even though for these crimes the court system has finally been done away with, the whole system will still keep evolving. Why? So our streets and our homes are safer places to live. So our children can walk home from school, our grandparents can go to the shop, our daughters can be out alone and our sons don’t fear gangs.

  The audience applaud wildly, a few stand up. Joshua nods his head and claps. Kristina does nothing.

  Slowly the audience noise dies down.

  KRISTINA: Eve, let me ask your opinion on this landmark case here. Martha Honeydew. She’s the same age as your son, Max, I believe. How would you feel if it was your son facing execution tonight?

  EVE: I wouldn’t be happy. Not because he’d be facing execution, but because he’d committed a crime that warranted it. I’d feel I’d failed as a mother.

  JOSHUA: Something we were talking about only the other day. This girl, this child, her upbringing has been –

  EVE: She’s not a child, she’s a young woman.

  KRISTINA: So you believe she should be executed?

  Eve looks down, holding the tissue over her mouth.

  KRISTINA: Sorry, Mrs Stanton, I didn’t hear your reply.

  Eve looks up to the audience.

  EVE: I’ve been a designated counsellor for six years and in that time I’ve been counsellor for more than 250 accused who’ve gone on to be executed and fewer than twenty who’ve gone on to be released. Before I was designated counsellor I was prosecutor for the Crown. Over all those years I’ve seen, met, spoken to, dealt with, some truly horrible people, but I’ve watched them cry like babies at the prospect of death. I’ve seen them beg for mercy, look to God for forgiveness. I’ve also been unfortunate enough to meet some genuinely nice people in my time. And I say unfortunate because for whatever reason, these people have fallen foul of the law. Some have been guilty, circumstance pushing them somehow into terrible situations – defending their child, for example. Wouldn’t we all do whatever it took to defend our child?

  A murmur of agreement sounds around the audience.

  EVE: Others, few, have been wrongly accused.

  JOSHUA: Terrible.

  KRISTINA: How can you know that?

  Eve ignores her, still looking out to the audience, then to the camera.

  EVE: With all the experience I’ve had prosecuting and as a counsellor, and the experience of being fooled by someone close to me, I can say, with all certainty, that I am now a good judge of people. I can see it in them.

  The audience hang on her every word.

  EVE: I can see the madness of some who don’t truly understand what they’ve done. I can see the anger in others that has driven them to it. I can see the hate, the downright nastiness, the ugliness of a personality that just wants to hurt, or the greed of someone killing for their own gain. But …

  She raises a hand, sits up, looks over every single face and right down the lens of the camera.

  EVE: I can see remorse in those who didn’t mean to do it, I can see the guilt in those who thought it was their only choice and I can see the frustration in someone who is innocent.

  JOSHUA: Tell us what you saw in Martha’s eyes.

  Kristina tuts and folds her arms across her chest.

  EVE: I saw none of those things.

  She lets the words hang. The audience, Joshua and Kristina are enrapt.

  EVE: I saw desperation.

  JOSHUA: Desperation?

  EVE: I saw a young woman who’d been pushed to despair. Not anger or frustration, madness or ugliness or greed or any of those things. I saw someone in a corner. Who’s fought through everything life’s thrown at her until she could take no more and has stood up, in desperation, and said ‘Fuck it’.

  The audience gasp at her language. Joshua titters awkwardly.

  JOSHUA: Eve, I have to remind you that we’re before the watershed, please …

  EVE: I apologise, I would hate to offend any of your viewers, but sometimes –

  JOSHUA: I understand, please continue. Without the profanity.

  EVE: I, and this will sound controversial …

  JOSHUA: Go ahead.

  The camera zooms in on Eve. Her eyes are closed, her head lowered. Anticipation drapes over the studio, the audience and the viewers at home.

  Eve lifts her head and opens her eyes, the watery blueness of them reaching out to people’s souls.

  EVE: I believe she is innocent.

  The audience gasp.

  EVE: I believe she is covering for whoever did kill Jackson Paige. Something about it doesn’t add up.

  JOSHUA: Yet …

  He stops, gasps, looks at the audience, then Kristina. He touches his ear.

  JOSHUA: Control? Yes, can you search through yesterday’s clips, please?

  KRISTINA (hissing): What are you doing?

  JOSHUA: Viewers, I’m not sure if you remember, but …

  He focuses back on the voice in his ear.

  JOSHUA: Yes, the section with Martha Honeydew in the new VC room, please, yes, search it for the word ‘secret’.

  The audience gasps, a murmur rolls over them. Joshua looks to the audience.

  JOSHUA: Yes, I’m not sure if you will remember but, yesterday in the new virtual counselling room, Martha had something very interesting to say. And this could quite easily tie in with the claims of our esteemed guest here.

  He puts a finger to his ear.

  JOSHUA: Yes, we have it, thank you, control.

  Yesterday’s footage of the virtual counselling room appears on the screen – Martha shaking her head at the computer screen.

  MARTHA: No. I’ll tell you my secret, everything I know, before I die tomorrow.

  It replays again. And one more time. The third pausing on her face looking into the camera. The studio falls silent.

  JOSHUA: Suppose that secret is who the killer really is. Suppose she is innocent.

  In a million homes across the country, in bars and restaurants and shop displays, viewers pause and stare at the face of Martha Honeydew.

&nbs
p; JOSHUA: We can but wait.

  Martha

  ‘The time is: 4 p.m. You have: five hours until your possible execution. The current stats are: 76.4% in favour, 23.6% against. We will update you in: one hour.’

  Shit, I must’ve fallen asleep.

  God, it’s dark outside. I’ve slept on my last day. Four o’clock, did that say? Hell.

  Oh, my head’s spinning. I feel sick.

  Five hours left. That’s 300 minutes. That’s … 18,000 seconds? Is that right? Less now. I’m glad there’s no clock in here.

  Jesus, it’s cold on the floor. I should stand up. I’ll get ill. Huh, what’s that matter any more? I could do all those things you’re not supposed to now. I could walk around outside without socks on, or a hat – that’s where you lose most heat, of course, weren’t we all told that as kids? I could stand in the rain – you’ll catch your death, Mum used to say. Well, guess what, Mum? Yeah, I caught it, but not like that!

  I could smoke, take drugs, cross the road without looking, ignore the train barriers, do whatever!

  Hang on, what did it say? Seventy-six percent in favour? That’s not what it was before. It was higher. It was ninety something when I came in here. What’s going on? Why’s it gone down?

  Because you’re innocent.

  Shut up.

  You didn’t do it. You know who did.

  Shut the fuck up.

  I rub my eyes and the door behind me slams. I spin around.

  ‘Thought you might like an early dinner, miss,’ a guard says. ‘Seeing as … well, y’know …’

  I stand and walk over to him. I feel unsteady. Dizzy.

  ‘Thank you,’ I mutter. I’ve not seen this guard before. They don’t normally come into the cells, but I suppose this is different. ‘It smells wonderful,’ I tell him.

  ‘Chicken tikka masala, pilau rice, peshwari naan. Followed by sticky toffee pudding an’ custard.’

  ‘They’re all my favourites,’ I say.

  He grins. ‘Good that, in’t it? Like yer mum used to treat you to when she were alive.’

  I feel a smile coming over me. I look down to the food, steaming hot, and back to the guard, but he’s not there. Mum is instead.

  Sickness pours through me. ‘Mum?’ I say. ‘God, Mum, I’ve missed you so much.’ She smiles at me, and my eyes fill with tears. I wipe them roughly with my hand and everything blurs. I blink, wipe them again and again, and as my vision clears I realise that nobody is standing there. There is no Mum, no food, no nothing.

  My head clears. I stumble across the room and sit on the death chair.

  As I pull my knees to my chest, I look out across the empty room.

  ‘I’m scared,’ I say. ‘But that’s OK.’

  Eve

  Eve stumbles backstage. Max takes hold of her and hugs her tight as she cries in his arms.

  ‘I didn’t mean it,’ she whispers in his ear. ‘About your father. I didn’t mean a word.’

  ‘I know, Mum,’ he replies, gently rocking her. ‘And so does he.’

  She pulls away from him, tears pouring down her face, but he takes her hand and leads her away from the hubbub of people and into the shadows.

  ‘You got the audience on your side. They were eating out of your hand.’

  ‘I hated saying those terrible things, but I had to make them believe me,’ she replies. ‘What is the vote doing?’

  ‘It’s going down,’ he says, nodding.

  ‘I hope it’s enough. And all the time we’re doing this, she’s still got something up her sleeve and she’s still saying she’s guilty. I don’t understand it. She and Isaac, they’re up to something.’

  Isaac

  A long white limousine pulls up at the manicured lawns of the Paige house. Isaac adjusts his tie, brushes down his suit and strides to the front of the house.

  ‘They’re here!’ he shouts.

  As he opens the door to a uniformed man and woman, his mother drifts down the elaborate staircase behind him.

  ‘Please,’ he says, ‘come in.’

  They nod, step into the house and go to shake his mother’s hand. As Isaac turns and sees her he stops abruptly, staring at her. ‘You can’t go in that,’ he says.

  ‘Isaac,’ she replies, ‘please, we have guests.’

  ‘It’s inappropriate,’ he splutters.

  The guests look away. ‘The skirt is too short,’ he says, ‘and it’s pink, and the blouse thing is …’ he gestures towards a frilly white top, see-through and low, ‘is … Mother, you can see your bra!’

  ‘So?’ she says.

  ‘We’re going to an execution,’ he hisses. ‘You should show some respect.’

  ‘To her? The girl who killed my husband? Took away my happiness?’ Her voice becomes louder and higher as she speaks.

  ‘Mrs Paige,’ the man says, ‘there are a few things we need to go through. We’re the security officers who are going to accompany you both during your difficult time today. If we could sit down somewhere, and perhaps you and your son could discuss this later.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ll sit down with you because I don’t need to discuss anything with my son.’ She turns to Isaac. ‘Honestly, you need to lighten up.’

  ‘Mother …’

  Patty’s high heels click on the marble floor as she strides away, leading the guests into the living room. Isaac follows, shaking his head.

  ‘Mrs Paige,’ the woman says, ‘we work for the company that runs Death is Justice, the programme which, as I’m sure you’re aware, has exclusive rights regarding the cases on death row including, but not limited to, the running of the voting system, dealing with prisoners and all relevant interviews, and the management of both the accused leading up to execution day and the execution itself, and by natural inclusion of that, all aspects relating to the relatives of the deceased and management of the rights regarding the attendance of the execution.’

  ‘OK,’ Patty replies.

  ‘We’ve come here to run through with you precisely what will happen and answer any of your questions. It is our utmost priority that the procedure this evening runs as smoothly as possible, and you and your son are not put under any undue stress or hardship. Having worked with many grieving families in the past we understand what a difficult time this can be for you.’

  ‘Seeing that girl die will be one of the happiest moments of my life.’

  The security officer takes a breath and shuffles in her seat. ‘I do have a responsibility to you, Mrs Paige, to remind you that it isn’t a certainty that she will be executed. You do need to bear that in mind. We have, in the past, seen some quite surprising changes in the last few hours, or even minutes.’

  ‘She’s dead. You mark my words.’

  ‘Mother, the stats have changed a lot today.’

  ‘They have?’

  ‘They have, Mrs Paige.’ The woman taps away at a hand-held device. ‘The “guilty” votes have fallen by 23% in the last eight hours. The current stats are 74% for execution.

  Patty’s painted eyebrows lift. ‘Well, that’s a surprise.’ She gives a nervous laugh. ‘If you good people could excuse me just one moment.’ As she stands up and strides from the room, she takes her phone out of her pocket, pressing in a number, and before she is out of the room, she’s speaking into it.

  ‘Yes, this is Patty Paige, I need to speak to my husband’s lawyer, William Crawford, right now. No, it won’t wait.’

  Isaac watches the security officers. He knows what’s going on, he knows what his mother is doing; he’s sure they do too, yet they say nothing.

  Their heads are low, as if their bodies are there but their minds aren’t.

  ‘William? Yes … Now, you listen to me, I pay your wage …’ For a moment his mother’s voice quietens and he has to strain to hear, and even then all he can make out is mumbles.

  ‘YOU WILL!’ Patty shouts those two words. The guests jump and look up, first to Isaac then to each other.

  ‘I don’t care what it takes!’ his
mother yells. ‘Or what you have to do. My husband and I have been loyal to you, we set you up in business, and you owe us. This is how you repay us?… and do I need to remind you of the information I hold?’

  ‘You know what she’s doing, don’t you?’ Isaac asks the officers.

  ‘As neither myself nor my partner here are officers of the law, whatever it is your mother is doing is not our concern,’ the woman says.

  ‘She’s rigging the votes.’

  ‘It’s not our concern.’

  ‘You’re not interested in justice, then?’

  ‘Justice is served by the people. A million voices giving a truly democratic decision.’

  ‘This is a joke.’

  ‘What’s a joke?’ Patty comes back into the room, a lighter step, a smile creeping to her face.

  ‘Nothing,’ he mutters.

  She sits down next to Isaac. ‘Now, where were we?’

  ‘Mrs Paige, I just have a few questions to ask you to ensure the smooth running of this evening’s procedures. We have a number of viewing options available to you and your son and it’s simpler if we talk through these now.’

  ‘I want to see her face,’ she says.

  The man stares at her. ‘OK. That would be the answer to one question, but if I can run through the actual event with you …’

  ‘No need,’ she replies. ‘I’ve watched the programme. There’s a screen, is there not? A glass wall or something? I noticed sometimes it’s there and sometimes it isn’t.’

  ‘That’s changed now,’ he says. ‘There is a window of safety glass between the audience and the accused, but we found removing it caused issues.’

  ‘I don’t mind issues!’

  ‘There were problems with associated smells …’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘And the accused has been known to spit into the audience.’

  ‘Let her try it and I’ll spit back in her face.’

  ‘Either way,’ the officer continues, ‘the screen is now locked in place from the central computer system.’

  Isaac looks away. On the sofa next to him is a folder; he rests a hand on it.

  ‘One question though, Mrs Paige, if you don’t mind,’ the man says. ‘Would either of you like to say a few words to the guests and the press at the execution?’