‘No …’
Seven.
‘I’ve done what I wanted – it’ll go in the papers. People will know. Now you have to let me go.’
Six.
He shakes his head again.
Five.
‘You have to. There’s no beating this now for me, but you can fight it in the future, just like we planned.’
Four.
‘But …’
Three.
‘Let me go, and make a better future. Promise me,’ she says.
Two.
Tears fall down his face.
‘Let me go,’ she says. ‘And promise me you’ll fight.’
One.
‘I promise,’ he breathes, and he lets go of her hand.
AFTERMATH
Martha
There’s a clunk. The lights go out.
There’s no pain.
Did I die that quickly?
I didn’t feel anything. I can’t see anything. Everything’s dark.
I just sit, not sure what’s going on. It sounds like people are moving around me. Voices are mumbling. Feet shuffling. I blink, look around, nothing changes.
Is that it? Am I dead?
Is this the afterlife I questioned?
I try to move my hands, expecting them still to be stuck, but they pass through the clasps with no effort. My ankles too.
Maybe I’m a ghost.
I lift a hand and touch my face.
I think there’s breath coming out of my mouth. I think … think … my chest’s moving up and down.
I open my mouth. ‘Isaac?’ I croak. My mouth’s dry – but I can feel it. If I can feel then that must mean …
Or my imagination?
I reach my arms and hands out, carefully take my weight on my feet and shuffle forward. My feet are still shackled. ‘Isaac?’ I say again, and I can hear my own voice.
‘Martha?’ Hands reach out. I feel his arms around me. ‘Martha, Martha, oh my God, Martha, you’re alive.’ He squeezes me tight and I hold on to him. His face is on mine and the wet of his tears too. Our bodies shake and my hands move over him to make sure it is actually him.
‘I love you,’ I say to him. ‘I love you. I love you and I’m sorry.’
‘You’re alive!’ he says again.
I smile because, yes, I am. I really am.
We collapse to the floor together, clinging to each other in the darkness.
‘How did that happen? How did it stop?’ I say.
‘It must’ve been Max,’ he replies, his fingers brushing away my tears.
‘Max?’
‘Eve’s son … It doesn’t matter … you’re out … you’re safe …’
‘What’s going to happen now? Shall we run? We should run, get out of here. Find safety. Come on, let’s go. Quick.’
Torchlight flashes. Faces leap around me like ghosts.
‘I don’t think we can,’ he says.
‘Get the emergency lights up!’ a voice booms.
Somewhere a door creaks open. More boots and shuffling bodies.
‘We can try,’ I whisper. ‘Come on!’
I go to stand but suddenly his fingers let go and his hands pull away from me.
Mumbled voices shout and the sound of boots is louder and closer.
‘Isaac?’ I say, and I reach out to him. ‘Isaac?’ I say again, but I can’t find him now.
I tumble onto all fours, groping around for him.
‘Isaac!’ I shout. Feet stand on my fingers, bodies bump into me.
I can’t find him.
‘Isaac, please, where are you?’ I shout again.
Green lighting flickers. I look up and scan through the strange half-lit shadows it’s making. It’s like I’m in a dream – no, more like a nightmare. Or maybe I am dead and this is some trick of hell.
It flashes now, the green lighting. On off on off on off so quickly like some special effect from a film or some psychological thing to disorientate or make you throw up.
But through it all, I see him.
His legs kicking out as he’s dragged backwards, his body bucking against the arms holding him, his mouth contorted in pain or frustration.
They’re pulling him to the cell door!
I stand and run at them. ‘Isaac!’ I yell.
For just one of the flashes of green lighting we make eye contact, but I stumble and slip and it’s gone. I pull myself to my feet and run towards him, watching through the flickering as he kicks out against the guards. But another guard comes, three of them now, all trying to overpower him. A hand goes over his mouth, the crook of an arm around his throat, his legs lifted from the floor as another and another and another guard join in.
‘No!’ I yell.
But behind him the cell door opens. White light tumbles in and I raise a hand in front of my eyes as it near blinds me.
For a second I peer out from behind my fingers and see the dark shape of him as he disappears into the light of the cells beyond. More shadows of guards than I can make sense of; he’s powerless.
I run at the door.
Maybe I can get a foot in, maybe I can make them stop, change their minds, let him go. But it slams shut before I get there. Solid. Dark. Immovable. The hope of white light is gone.
Barely half a metre away from him, but I may as well be in a different world.
With no shame or self-consciousness or worry that I shouldn’t, I sob and I sob and I don’t give a flying fuck who sees me or who comments. I want to batter down this door and beat the living crap out of the guards for taking him. I want to scream at the fuckers who decided on this system. Make them feel the pain of loss, the hopelessness of watching someone die who you know is innocent. I want them to feel everything I’ve felt and gone through – the grief and the hatred and the anguish and the loneliness and the confusion and fear and this interminable bloody, fucking, bastard despair.
I shout at the door.
I bang my hands on it.
I shout and scream.
I kick it.
Punch it, yank at the handle and try to shake it from its frame.
‘Bring him back to me!’ I yell. ‘Bring him back!’
I do everything to get through that door until I collapse exhausted onto the floor.
You useless cow, I tell myself. You selfish, useless cow.
‘It’s all a mistake!’ I try to shout but my throat and my mouth are dry.
But he’s guilty, isn’t he? He said so and so did I. They’ll be getting him ready for Cell 1 like they do with all the prisoners and in a week’s time it’ll be him in here, sitting in that chair, waiting for the timer and the electricity. Who’s going to vote him innocent when there are no ‘mitigating circumstances’ allowed, no grey areas?
How’s he going to fight on now?
You have to fight it, a voice in my head says. With everything you’ve got and every way you can. He’s in there now instead of you. You have to fight it!
A hand touches my shoulder. I turn and Eve is crouched next to me. I nod to her. With her is Judge Cicero – he’s telling the guards to leave me alone.
The flashing of the green slows and stops, replaced by white again, just how it was before.
Behind us the screen flickers back to life and the oversized eye blinks down at us before fading away.
Death is Justice
The studio audience sit in silence. Kristina and Joshua watch the screen with their mouths open. Kristina’s face is a rock, her eyes are cold and her body is stiff. Joshua sniffs quietly, takes a tissue from his pocket and dabs his eyes.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: We want our money back! She should’ve fried!
Applause sounds.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: She was found guilty!
AUDIENCE MEMBER 3: Who cares if she said she was innocent? Too late, I say.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 4: I say we should execute them both for lying!
Joshua raises one hand, his other to his ear. He nods cautiously.
JOSHUA (qui
etly): Ladies and gentlemen, I think there is no doubt that we’ve all been witness to something quite remarkable this evening that I don’t think even I can sum up in words. Emotions are running high. There are many issues to be debated and discussed that we must not lose track of. Accusations of corruption at the highest levels, insinuations of an inadequate legal system, demands for changes within, allegations of murder. The near-execution of a teenager who was clearly innocent. A veritable soap opera. Could you ask for any more drama? Well …
He touches his ear again.
KRISTINA (interrupting): It has indeed been a –
JOSHUA: If I may continue, Kristina? Yes, quite what happened to the power in the cell and to the death chair remains unknown, but a full investigation will doubtless be launched. However, to turn our attention to what is happening at the moment, may I direct viewers this way.
He stands and strides across the floor to the screen on the right-hand side. It blurs, flickers and a room comes into view – a bed, a sink and a toilet. A window high up on the wall. Everything white and bland. The young man in it wears white overalls with chains at his wrists and ankles. Seated as his head is shaved, he pauses and looks to camera. Isaac.
JOSHUA: Yes, ladies and gentlemen, further to the revelations that he shot Jackson Paige, Isaac Paige is now being prepared for Cell 1 of death row. Of course you can follow his journey here with daily updates. But in the meantime …
The screen changes. Martha in Cell 7, Eve and Cicero with her, the chair, a reminder of how close she came, looming behind them.
JOSHUA: I feel we are at the beginning of something. This young lady who has battled against poverty, against being an orphan, against loneliness, loss and injustice, who has been thrust into the public eye in her own private fight for right, may well be the hero we didn’t realise we were missing. A hero to guide us through troubles and to a better society. I’m sure all media will be following her closely, and I look forward to it. I can honestly say I am proud of this show for bringing her to your attention.
The audience applaud. Kristina is silent.
Martha
Everyone’s leaving.
Isaac has gone.
I’m alive.
Am I glad? I don’t know. In front of me everything looks difficult and I don’t see how I can be the person for this fight.
I don’t have any money. Nowhere to live now. I’m underage with no parents or legal guardians – they’ll put me in one of those care institutions. What future is that?
I shake my head. This is impossible. I should’ve died in there. Isaac should be here, not me. I don’t know what to do.
Listen to yourself, my head says to me. You’re not weak. You don’t give up. You never have before, so why would you now?
You know what to do – you fight and you fight and you fight, I tell myself. You’ve shown people what Jackson did. They know he killed your mum, and Isaac’s. You’ve done that – you and Isaac. You owe it to yourself to carry on. You owe him too. You can do it.
Outside
Martha takes Eve’s hand and together they walk across the floor and out of the building, Cicero at their side.
It’s dark but streetlights form pools and light streams from windows; flashes come from media cameras and people’s phones a short way off, and it all mixes together like a fairground at night time. Confusing and disorientating.
They walk along the path and stop.
‘That’s what the tree looks like from this side,’ Martha whispers. ‘I never thought I’d see it.’ She stares at it for a moment. ‘It’s much bigger than I thought.’
A sparrow rests in it. They walk on.
A crowd of people are waiting at the gates, a few journalists with cameras and microphones, some demonstrators who look like they’ve given up with their placards, but others, those demanding a fairer and better system, lift theirs high. Gus has gone, and he is nowhere to be seen.
Cicero stops at the front of the crowd.
‘What’s he doing?’ Martha asks Eve.
‘I don’t know.’
‘If I could have your attention, please,’ he says.
The crowd turn to him.
‘Are your cameras on? Microphones?’
They nod.
‘I’m sure you’re all aware of what has just happened in there, and I’m sure you will all understand when I ask for some privacy for Martha in the coming days. However, right at this moment, there is something I must do.’
He pauses and looks down to an envelope in his hands.
‘Shortly before … this evening’s events, Isaac Paige handed me this. He said that if he was unable to share it after the proceedings, then I was to in his place. I don’t know what it says, but …’
He tears open the envelope and pulls out a piece of paper. For a second his eyes scan over the words, then he takes a deep breath and looks up to the crowd.
‘I’ll read it to you. This is written by Isaac. They are his words.
‘While I was aware of what was going on in society and our judicial system, it took meeting Martha for me to really understand its impact. I saw her quiet frustration at the loss she, and others, encountered through my adoptive father’s callousness and the power he held over others, and I came to realise something must be done. I never planned to kill him, nor for Martha to take the blame. Together we had an idea – that we could seek justice for her mum, for mine, and for Oliver Barkova. We hoped that could lead to change. But this idea for fairer justice relied on perverting the course of justice to do it – for Martha to take the blame for my actions. Hypocrisy, I came to think. But I’d made a promise – in haste because there was no time to argue – but still a promise, and I would not break it.’
Cicero turns to Martha and continues reading.
‘Martha, if I don’t have chance to tell you, I need you to know a few things. Firstly, you were wrong. I know you won’t like that, but you were. You doubt yourself and your abilities but so many don’t. Take strength from those around you, accept help when needed, and always stand by what you believe. The only things stopping you are yourself, opportunity and, unfortunately, money. You can barely afford to eat, let alone study, let alone lead a fight for change. For this reason I’ve signed everything I own over to you. Not a lot for a sixteen-year-old boy, not usually, but as my father, to my surprise, left everything, bar a small living allowance for Patty, to me, I think you’ll find it will be sufficient.’
Cicero pauses to clear his throat.
‘Secondly, in this envelope is something for you that was my birth mother’s – a puzzle ring. I used to play with it as a child. It’s difficult at first, she used to tell me, but persevere and you’ll get there.
‘I hope you choose to wear it and to remember me, wherever I am right now, and I hope it inspires you to keep trying.
‘You lit my life, Martha Honeydew; now it’s time for you to light other people’s too.
‘I love you and always will, Isaac.’
Cicero reaches into the envelope and pulls out the ring, five pieces linked together but that have fallen apart.
He drops it into Martha’s hands.
‘I will,’ she whispers. ‘Always.’
Death is Justice
Joshua looks away from the screen. He takes a tissue from his pocket and again dabs his face, but can’t hide the tears. The eye logo in the corner blinks slowly and closes.
JOSHUA: Oh my, ladies and gentlemen, what a show, what a show, we’ve had for you this evening. This whole week, in fact. It’s been emotional. It’s been a rollercoaster. And I don’t mind telling you, I’m exhausted. Kristina?
Kristina’s hair and make up are still perfect and she still sits bolt upright in her usual seat at the high desk, but the audience’s eyes are now on Joshua.
KRISTINA: Indeed, but don’t forget to keep those voting fingers –
JOSHUA: And Jackson not leaving his money to Patty? What is going on there?
He looks over the audience,
takes a deep breath in and stands up. A spotlight follows him as he walks across the studio floor, leaving Kristina in shadow. He stops at the screen, staring at an oversized image of Martha in the cell, tears on her face as her eyes look upwards.
JOSHUA: Martha Honeydew … what a girl.
He looks back over the audience, a slow grin creeping across his face.
JOSHUA: Ladies and gentlemen, I can’t wait to see what our good lady Martha is going to get up to next, nor what will become of Isaac at the end of another seven days, but until then, it’s time to sign off from this monumental episode of Death is Justice. Let’s hope we’ll be able to bring you an exclusive interview with our Martha, and maybe pose the question to her – is death justice? This is An Eye For An Eye Productions saying goodnight, viewers, and thank you for tuning in.
What happens next?
Read on for a sneak peek at Day 7 …
Prologue
I should be dead.
I
should
be
dead.
I feel cold air in my lungs.
I feel somebody’s hand holding mine.
I hear shouting.
‘Martha, what …?’
‘Martha, when …?’
‘Martha, how …?’
Too loud.
Too loud.
Shut up. Please.
I can see lights –
white.
Dots of phone eyes watching me.
Massive TV cameras blinding me.
Photographs.
Bam, bam, bam.
I have no comment for them.
I’m walking.
Holding the ring you gave me, I keep walking.
Away from you, and I’m sorry.
So sorry.
I’m in pieces.
Part of me stays with you.
Part of me will die if you die.
DAY 1
TV STUDIO
10.30 a.m. Credits roll for Buzz for Justice – the latest popular TV show
A wide studio. At the rear, stepped seating is filled with the waiting audience. At the front, on the right of the stage is a black, glossy witness box on a raised platform, security glazing around the top half. On the wall to the left is a large screen.
The reality TV show to die for. Literally Page 24