by Todd Russell
"Please accept my apology for now. Accept my word—I know you have absolutely no reason to—that I won't hurt you ever again. I've never felt—"
"Stop. Just knock it off. If you say anymore, I'll. . .lose it. I think I'm going crazy as it is. Last night you punch-slap me around, today I find your sick proof that you knew what happened to Edward, and then, then this maniac tries to rape me. Dick, please, if you want to do me a favor, if you want to help my sanity, tell me what's going on here?"
"What's this about your husband?" Dick asked, eyebrows raised and forehead creased.
"You set his hand out in front of the bathroom by the cave. There were these bugs everywhere, crawling. . ." She could hold back the tears any more. Weeping into her hands again. She wanted to fight, be stronger, but this island was breaking her.
"Jessica, I swear to you, I didn't put Edward's hand anywhere. If I had found any proof he was dead, instead of only a strong suspicion, I would have told you."
"I came out from going the bathroom this morning and tripped over Edward's hand. But his hand, it was horrible. Bugs, bugs. . ."
"Jessica, I swear I had nothing to do with that."
She looked at him sharply.
"Really, I swear."
Long, awkward pause.
"Why do I believe you?" she said.
"Because I'm doing something new from now on: I'm telling only the truth."
"So if you didn't put his hand there, then who—" They both looked at Bobby and next in the east direction of the island.
"This isn't good at all," Dick said in an ominous tone. "Not good."
"Start talking, Dick. You start talking to me right now."
He looked at her and saw something on his face that she never expected to see: fear.
Dick was frightened too.
"We have to bury Bobby. Then we'll go back to the cave and I'll tell you everything I know. The whole story."
"Promise?"
"Yes, I promise. Swear on my mother's good name, pinky swear, scout's honor. Whatever it takes for you to believe I'm playing it straight from now on."
"Okay, Dick. I'll go back. But the second we get there you will talk. You'll answer every question I have."
"I will."
"And when you're done answering all my questions. . .." She wasn't sure what would happen after that.
He nodded and reached for Bobby's ankles.
"And another thing," she said.
"What?"
"Bury him by yourself."
* * *
Dick dug Bobby's grave without saying another word. He found a spot about twenty feet outside the clearing. He dug the dirt mostly with his hands, but when he came to hard earth he used Bobby's buck knife to loosen the dirt. It took Dick a long time to make a hole big enough. He grabbed Bobby's ankles, dragged his heavy corpse into the small pit, then stopped and took a short break. Fine rivulets of sweat rolled down his pale cheeks.
"Wouldn't it be easier burying him in the clearing?" Jessica didn't get why Dick intentionally chose a spot outside the dirt in the clearing.
Dick kept working.
"And why bother burying him, anyway?" Jessica said a bit later. The whole burial process unsettled her. A cruel thought considering she believed every human being deserved a preferred burial but she was more concerned about vacating the area as soon as possible.
"Shinin no waruguchi wa yokunai." Dick answered, wiping his brow.
"Huh?"
"A Japanese phrase, loosely interpreted to mean: 'speaking ill of the dead is not good.'"
After that, Jessica kept quiet.
He looked down into the pit one last time, shook his head, and started refilling the hole.
A few minutes later it was over.
Dick looked up. "Are you ready?"
Jessica nodded.
They went back to the cave.
* * *
He dragged another rock seat out of the corner of the cave and placed it directly across from his. He lit a small fire for light because the sun had fallen. She sat, still reluctant to be too near him. He sat down across from her.
"I have no idea where to start with telling you about this island, so I won't start with the island. I'll start with myself."
"As long as it's the truth."
"It will be."
"Okay, let's hear it."
"My real name isn't Dick. Well, not really, anyway. It's just a nickname. Just like Bobby back there. . .his real name was Robert Morris. Does that name ring any bells?"
"Should it?"
"I'll get to Bobby a little later. Anyway, my real name is Richard Templin. I didn't lie about my age. I am twenty-nine but I feel about twice as old. And regrettably this island has made me look it."
No disagreement there.
"I was born in Seattle, Washington but raised in Medina, Washington. I grew up not too far from your home in Valford. We were dirt poor. Everything I ever got as a kid was either ripped off or left behind by someone else. Before turning sixteen I'd already done some time. Petty stuff. Theft, disorderly conduct, a few fights."
The fire crackled.
"I've always had a guilty face I think. When I turned seventeen I was at a big party that the cops raided. One of my buddies, stoned out of his skull, had a gun. He opened fire on the cops and five people ended up dying. Four cops and my buddy. I had my fingerprints all over the gun, stupid, I know, don't ask me why, I was pretty stoned myself. And when it was all over, the cops pinned the deaths on me. They rushed my case through the trial with a lousy court-appointed lawyer who didn't care. I was wrongly accused and sentenced. My face, that's what I've always thought. Do you think I have a guilty face, Jessica?"
"Yes." She did. She tried to imagine him more clean-cut, if his face hadn't been ravaged by time and the island then maybe he wouldn't have looked as criminal-like.
"Every time I looked in the mirror I knew I was cursed. If you have a guilty face, you might as well write your life off. They sentenced me to die by electrocution on October 17, 1982."
"Weren't you a little young?"
"No. There have been several cases of the death sentences imposed for crimes committed while the accused was under eighteen."
"Oh my," Jessica said.
"Yes. The justice system found my crime, aggravated by the death of policemen being involved and my prior rap sheet, added up to a death sentence. The worst part of the whole ordeal was I knew the cold day in October was coming. Their treatment was so wrong, so cruel those last sixty days on death row. Opposite of what you hear it's supposed to be like. Cop killers are cool in other convict's eyes but not to the guards. You wouldn't believe some of the shitty things the guards did to me. I was pissed on, called every dirty word imaginable, I was the 'next in line' everyone said. I started feeling sorry for the guy behind me."
Richard took a tree branch spear and stoked the fire.
"I had never been more terrified. Every day I'd wake thinking that I'd be in the chair, hooked up, frying. I had nightmares, dozens of them. I told myself that I lived in the cruelest world there was. Even if I had killed those cops, I still felt capital punishment was wrong for my case. I don't know about other death row cases but I felt my case didn't deserve it."
"Doesn't everybody in prison say they're innocent?" Jessica asked.
"Most do, yes, and I'm sure most are full of it but we all know not everybody in prison did what the jury found them guilty of doing."
"Anyway, I read lots and lots of books on other death row convicts. People that were gassed, burned, hanged, shot, stoned. My fear grew day by day, hour by hour, until the day came. I went to the room with my nerves in tact but the second they strapped me in, well, I lost it. I knew, knew that it was my turn."
Jessica hadn't thought much about dying. She knew that the day would come but it all seemed far away and not something to fear or embrace yet. She spent more brainpower trying to decide what to do with her free time and what to do with Edward when he could squeeze in t
ime for them to spend together. Dying was something she figured that she'd worry about when older or if she became diagnosed with a life threatening illness.
"So I do know how you felt back there when Bobby was chasing you. I know how it feels to have your life threatened."
"But you're here now, so they didn't go through with the execution. . .?" Jessica said, puzzled.
"No," he replied. "Just before they flipped the switch they stopped the process. They told me that they had something, and this is a direct quote, 'something better' for me."
"Better?"
"Yes. I thought maybe it was some kind of experimental method of execution. It was five days later when they finally told me what their plans were."
"They changed your mind about your sentence?"
"No. Oh, God no. I told you, they had something 'better' planned for me."
"And what was that?"
He struggled to find the right words. It really bothered him.
"They sent me here."
CHAPTER 14
He had just begun his first term as President of the United States and there were already very few jobs he enjoyed. He liked living in the White House; it was not exactly how he'd imagined, but then again, what was? All the work on the campaign trail, his governor days were nothing compared to sitting in the oval office chair.
He liked the security the job provided. He liked the way he was treated; the utmost respect, honor, dignity.
He hated the way the newspapers twisted everything he said to fit their story. He hated the lies he sometimes had to tell. He hated the eyes that watched him, waited for him, the endless trivial things discussed in his private life (he wondered humorously when the following headline would hit the streets: NATION SHOCKED! PRESIDENT USING A SURPRISING AMOUNT OF TOILET PAPER!). He hated the cloud of guilt that hung above him like the dirt cloud always surrounding Charles Schultz's Pigpen.
But more than anything to date, he hated Project ADP1982.
While still a governor he heard about a classified program, held in the highest confidence and being tested at the federal level, working with several pro death penalty state governments. Even after gaining the proper clearance and reading the classified file he didn't know every player involved with ADP1982.
He began his political career a moral opponent of the death penalty and reluctant to carry out executions permitted in his state. Prosecutors pushed, prodded and poked until he signed a policy that set dates almost automatically for him. He set 70 people free, 38 whom were convicted of first degree murder. Then a Republican who labeled him soft on crime during the campaign trail, ran against and beat him.
His soft days had ended.
His revised platform included being an advocate of capital punishment and apologizing for freeing convicts in the past. His new criticism involved waffling on the issue. They always found a way to beat you down in politics.
When he ran for President last year and won, beating his Republican opponent, his tougher stance on capital punishment helped. Very little difference on the issue could be argued between his position and his opponent.
"Mr. President?"
The President looked up from his desk in the oval office. The report sat on his desk, mocking like a clown's grin. He closed it with tired, arthritic hands.
"Mr. Secretary," the President said.
"You have read the report."
"Many times."
"And your evaluation?"
The President wondered for a moment how his predecessors handled ADP1982. How could they carry the burden of knowing about this experiment? How could they greet conversations when capital punishment arose and not think about ADP1982?
"I read the report."
"No new subjects introduced in the last five years."
"I said I read the report, Mr. Secretary." And he thought 'introduced" was a cold way to put it. Why not just state the truth: we haven't sent anyone to that island hell in the last five years.
"The state of California has tested this convict, Wally Adamson, and deems him not to be insane. The families of the victims have been pushing for execution. California feels that ADP1982 would be a more adequate solution for this disturbed criminal."
"Enough. I said I've read the report."
"Sorry, Mr. President. I just felt I should emphasize some of the more important aspects of the report."
"You have carried out that task quite well, thank you." the President said. He thought about apologizing for his short temper. "I have evaluated the situation."
The word evaluation was a kind, discreet way of stating he'd made a decision.
The power. I have the power to send this man to a terrible place. As President and ruler of this great nation, I am also the executioner. I am playing God on earth, able to cast men to the unknown land beyond. Beyond rusty iron gates swimming in hungry flames. I have the power.
The power.
"Yes," The President said at last.
"Yes?"
"Yes, if the state of California feels this sentence is appropriate, I won't stand in the way of the process. However, I'm not happy with this decision or the project. Let it be known that I don't want any more candidates coming across my desk from any states as long as I'm in this office. This is the last one."
"Not happy, sir?"
There many things around the world that made him unhappy. Recently he'd ordered 23 cruise missiles to bomb Baghdad over an attempted assassination of the former President while visiting Kuwait. Three residential houses were struck and nine civilians killed. Operation Southern Watch left 12 wounded.
Casualties made him unhappy. Innocent people killed by the maniac, Wally 'Torque' Adamson, made him unhappy. The whole damn job at times—unhappy.
"I don't want to discuss this any further. What's the next item on today's agenda?"
The Secretary looked down at his array of multi-colored notes. After a brief moment he carried on.
The Secretary of Defense said: "Testing for the new Tomahawk missile. . ."
CHAPTER 15
"Beyond the death penalty?" Jessica said. "What does that mean?"
"I know it's hard to accept." Dick stood and started to pace. "When it comes to capital punishment the camps are strongly divided. Some are in favor and some passionately against. Then there are the extremist camps. A camp that believes it is wrong condemning any human being's life for any reason. And another camp that thinks that life in prison isn't enough punishment for the worst criminals."
"And what about the death row convicts who either can't be locked away or the authorities don't want to be locked away in an asylum? The ones they know are crazy but can't prove it in court. What do they do with these evil convicts?"
Dick said the word 'evil' with very little emotion but Jessica had seen the look in Bobby's eyes. Some human beings are evil. She'd seen the proof.
"One of these groups of people, or maybe a combination of several of them, I don't know, created this government experiment."
"In 1982 twenty-seven death row convicts were sent to this government owned, uninhabited island. The rumor is that the capital punishment states involved with the experiment were given a choice. Since cop-killing was considered a despicable crime in Washington State my name had risen to the top of that state's list of candidates for the program."
Jessica asked: "So there are twenty-seven people on the island?"
"No, not anymore. That's what we started with. Now our numbers have dwindled. I'm not sure exactly how many of us are left now."
Jessica thought of Bobby's recent demise and shuddered.
"Under the tightest security measures I've ever seen all twenty-seven of us were flown to a special government facility in Kentucky. There, we were briefly given lessons on parachuting and survival, because if we couldn't parachute out of the plane right, or not know how to live off the land then. . ."
"That type of execution is not what they wanted. At that same well-guarded place, we were executed on paper."
"On paper?" Jessica interrupted.
"Yes, we all have death certificates. They showed me mine. Officially we're all dead here. They told all the computers and papers and had bogus witnesses sign affidavits. I doubt most of those people even read what they swore to have seen."
"They had this project so tightly sealed that there were maybe only a couple dozen people who knew we weren't executed. And of those people, only a handful—up to and including the President I've heard—knew we were coming here. There were technicians and teachers who knew about us, but only knew what they had to know, nothing more. Like I said, it was the most tightly secured operation I've ever seen. Imagined, even."
"But what about your families?"
Dick shook his head. "The convicts chosen for this experiment don't have families. At least family that cares what happened to us. Our families are distant memories. We were easily thrown away."
Jessica tried to imagine any human being ever being deemed 'easily thrown away' and the concept only saddened her. She couldn't imagine being that dispassionate about another member of the human race to think that discarding them somewhere alive but dead to the rest of the world was any kind of good idea, much less a humane experiment.
When Jessica looked back up a minute later, Dick continued.
"After two very short weeks we were flown in groups of five to this island. I'll always remember watching America slide away beneath me. It was then that I was executed, Jessica. You know, I was actually more scared about coming to this island than dying. Death would have been quick."
"The island looks very different from above. I can't get the unusual image out of my head. It looks like a. . .face. I know that sounds strange but it does."
"So we parachuted one-by-one when we reached the island. I don't think even one of us parachuted without two hands pushing us first. Everybody knew there was an island below, but nobody knew what the island was like. Fear of the unknown. That's the worst, I say, fear of the big question mark."
"Out of twenty-seven, only nineteen parachuted safely to the ground. Three men got their parachutes tied up in the trees and hung themselves. Three were too scared to pull the rip cord. Two just. . .never made it. We figured that maybe they landed in the ocean somewhere, panicked, and drowned. But nobody ever saw them again."