Riding The Lightning

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What are the thoughts of a man in his last seconds before riding the lightning? Are they of pure terror or a resigned calm accepting the inevitable? What does he do to control his emotions as he sits firmly strapped to the death chair? Do the seconds lumber forward to their conclusion or do they fly by as in the blink of an eye? What grips his soul when the man-made bolt strikes? What is it like riding the lightning? 

Frank Stowe sat at the end of his bunk with his chin resting in his palms as he pondered what was happening to his ex-friend. The clock on the prison wall slowly wound its way toward midnight. Some prisoners in the block below him were clanging their tin coffee cups against the bars to their cells as the clock kept ticking. The whole complex had been locked down since dinner to keep everyone in control.

Two cells down from Frank the old blind man was whistling in tempo to the ringing cans. Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, Frank glanced nervously at the clock. He knew it could have been very easily him as the one strapped in the electric chair awaiting execution. If he had not turned state evidence and testified against his partner in crime, they both would have received the ultimate sentence. But by cooperating with the district attorney, and turning against his childhood friend, he had escaped with his life and was now serving a forty-year sentence. 

As the clock’s second hand crept past midnight the lights on all the cell blocks flickered and dimmed. Frank bolted straight up and grabbed the bars to his cell. The old blind prisoner, Stan Johansen, started to sing in his rich baritone voice: 

♫ Old Ed McCormick is riding the lightning,

There’s no one comin’ for to save his soul.

He’s payin’ for his wrongs,

Now it won’t be that long,

For the Devil will snatch him ’fore he grows too cold. ♫ 

Frank closed his eyes and yelled, “Stan, stop that singing!” After a minute of silence the old prisoner asked, “What’s the matter, Frank? You feeling guilty?” Fighting the rising anger he shouted, “I ain’t got nothing to feel guilty about!” 

He was about to turn back to his bunk when Stan said, “That could’ve been you.” With a disgusted look Frank muttered, “Yeah, but it wasn’t.” After a moment Stan observed, “Some folks say it should’ve been you.” Jumping onto his bed and stretching out, Frank shouted, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.” Stan yelled back, “Yeah? Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?” 

Frank bolted from his bed and yelled through the bars, “You go to hell, Stan!!” The old blind prisoner started laughing. “What’s so funny?” With a snicker he replied, “I guess that’s where old Ed is right now. In hell. He’s down there awaitin’ on you to join him.” Frank returned to his bed and muttered, “Go on and laugh, old man. You’ll be there a lot sooner than me.” 

It was not long before he fell into a fretful sleep. As he tossed and turned his dreams were full of Ed and the armed robbery which had led to the murder of the gas station attendant. After all these years he could still plainly see the man clutch his chest where the bullet had entered. The shock and fear on his face was never far from Frank’s memory of the events. Why had he not simply handed them the money like he was instructed? If he had listened to them, he would be alive today, Ed would be alive, and Frank would not be stuck in prison wasting away the best years of his life. 

Frank’s restlessness was interrupted by a guard banging on his cell. He bolted up on his bed and mumbled, “What?”

“On your feet, sunshine,” ordered the husky behemoth. Pulling himself to his feet, Frank grumbled, “What you getting me up so early for?” 

The guard yelled for his cell to be unlocked. With a bang it unbolted, and he flung the door open. “I’ve got some work for you to do,” declared the brawny guard as he smiled and looked around the small seven by nine-foot cell. 

“I ain’t volunteered for no work,” protested Frank. “Get one of your lackeys to do it for you.”

“I didn’t ask for volunteers,” sneered the guard. “You’ve been specially selected for this assignment.”

“What is it?”

“You’re to clean the chamber,” declared the guard.

“Oh, no! Oh, hell no,” Frank said as he shook his head and sat back down on the bunk. “You just go on and get somebody else.”

The guard bent over and brought his face close to Frank’s, “You’re gonna do it.”

“No, I’m not,” declared Frank as he felt the man’s spittle hit his face. Smiling the guard asked, “Why not? Your old buddy was just in there last night. Surely you don’t mind cleaning up after him.”

Frank wiped his mouth and muttered, “I said I ain’t doing it.”

The guard straighten and declared, “If you don’t then I’m gonna throw you in the hole.” Without hesitation Frank replied, “Then throw me in the hole.” 

The guard motioned with his hand out the cell door and soon was joined by two other burly men. “All right then, let’s go,” he ordered. Frank slowly rose from his bed and started out his cell when the guard smashed him in the stomach with a wooden baton. Collapsing to the floor, Frank was unable to avoid a swift boot kick to the face from one of the other guards. Lying in pain on the floor he felt blood pouring from his mouth. 

The guard bent down and sneered, “Ain’t nobody else gonna clean it while you’re in the hole. It’ll still be waiting on you.” Frank was unable to answer as he was using all his energy to try to breathe. 

After spending most of the morning in the infirmary, Frank was escorted to solitary confinement. The cell had no lights and only three small windows. A toilet, wash basin, and sleeping bag were the only luxuries allowed. He slumped to the floor as the door clanged shut behind him. The receding sound of the retreating guards were the last thing he heard as he fell asleep from exhaustion and the pain medicine he had been given. 

When he finally awoke, he had no sense of the time. It must have been daytime as light streamed in through the windows creating three rectangular beams that bounced against the opposite wall. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes he slowly pulled himself to a standing position and tried his best in the dim light to survey his cell. In the slot at the bottom of the door sat a tray of food. It was a slice of bread, chicken broth, and a glass of milk. Frank soaked the bread into the broth and settled back for his first meal in “the hole.” 

Over the following week he had plenty of time to reflect on what was happening to him. It was quite evident the guards were amusing themselves at his expense. They thought it would be funny to have the one who “ratted out” Ed to clean up the mess left from his execution. Frank failed to see the humor in this and was even repulsed by the idea. The fact is he had always been afraid of death. This was the main reason he continued to have nightmares of the gas station attendant clutching his chest as the bullet tore through his heart. It also played a large part in his willingness to testify against Ed and avoid the electric chair. He knew full well his testimony would doom Ed, but at least, he was spared the death sentence. So, now the guards were going to play their little game and try to force him to face his greatest fear. It was nothing more than a prank to them but it was a matter of gruesome apprehension to Frank. A cold chill ran down his spine and caused him to shiver at the thought of being put near death again. Watching the attendant twitching on the floor as his life drained from him had been enough for Frank. To be placed in the room where Ed spent his last agonizing moments could possibly be more than he could stand.

 As the days dragged on Frank found his mind playing games with him. He thought he saw things moving in his dimly lit cell. When he jerked around to confront whatever it was it would always disappear. Toward the end of the week, he believed he was hearing voices until he realized he was talking to himself. The food did not help either. Once a day he was delivered from the usual chicken broth and bread and was given a meal of substance. It was always cold and one day the plate was crawling with maggots. He brushed them aside and ate the rock-hard meat as his hunger overrode any revulsion he had with the insects. At the end of the week, he was mentally and physically drained and desperately wanted out of his hell hole. 

He was temporarily blinded by the bright sunshine when the guards flung open his door. Shading his eyes he saw the burly guard smiling down at him. 

“Well, well, Mr. Stowe, I see you’ve endured your week in hell,” bellowed the guard. “Are you ready to be a little more cooperative now?”

Frank licked his dry cracked lips and mumbled, “Get me out of here.”

“Sure, so long as you’re ready for your little assignment,” declared the guard as he bent down to face him. “The chamber still needs cleaning.” 

Frank turned away from the smirking man and tried to gather his thoughts. He knew he could not endure another week in solitary confinement. His fortitude was weak and he had never been a physically strong man. Yet, the thought of having to clean the very room where Ed was executed left him shaking to his core. 

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” spat the guard.

“You don’t wanna be in here another week,” offered the other guard present. “It’ll just be soup and bread if you’re lucky to get that.” 

Without looking at either man Frank muttered, “I can’t.”

“You can’t what?” bellowed the squatting guard. “You can’t clean the chair or you can’t stay here?”

“Please, I can’t,” cried Frank. “Please, just leave me alone. I can’t! Do you hear me? I can’t!!”

“Can’t or won’t?” asked the guard as he stood. “Well, it’s your choice.” 

He turned to leave but swung around and with the back of his hand smacked Frank across the side of the mouth. His already swollen and cracked lips burst open from the blow and spewed blood across the cell floor. Before he could recover the guard planted his boot directly into Frank’s rib cage. He fell over gasping for air as he was dragged by his shirt collar out of the cell. The guard pressed his baton against Frank’s neck and shouted, “I ain’t playing with you no more! You’re gonna clean the chamber and you’re gonna clean it right. Do you understand me!?” 

Frank had no strength to answer, and it was not long before he was being carried by the two guards down the hall to the chamber that housed the electric chair. With a heave he was tossed into the room where he collapsed onto the floor. 

“Over there is a bucket of water, some sponges, and disinfectant,” declared the guard. “You ain’t leaving this place ‘til it’s clean.” He walked out of the chamber and started closing the door. “Since you like this place so much I’m gonna leave you all alone.”

“No! Don’t close the door,” begged Frank as he tried to rise to his knees. “Please. I don’t know if I can stand it with the door closed.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d been a little more cooperate,” bellowed the guard. “But I’m not sure I can trust you to stay in here and do your job. So, you can have the chair all to yourself. Just like your buddy Ed did.” 

The slamming of the door shook Frank to his senses, and he slowly pulled himself to a standing position. He staggered over to it and weakly banged his fist against the metal. Wiping tears from his eyes he turned to survey the room he had been afraid of all the years he had been imprisoned. Since arriving there had been sixteen inmates who had taken their last breaths in the seat now just fifteen feet away. The first one, crazy Mel Cornisky, was executed only three days after Frank came to the prison. Of course, the sixteenth and latest one had been Ed just a week before. 

Five rows of seats lined the back of the room with each seat facing the chair. This was where the eyewitnesses to the execution would take their place. Usually the group included ones requested by the condemned, family members of the victim, the news media, and an assortment of law enforcement. Each seat was strategically placed where each person could easily see the proceedings of the execution. 

His attention invariably brought him to the main attraction in the room. It was the chair sitting alone five feet from the nearest wall. For a moment Frank was hypnotized by the sight. This was where Ed had spent the last moments of his life. He shuddered slightly as he thought of his partner-in-crime struggling against the straps as the electrical charge burned through his body. Shaking his head to clear it, Frank took a closer look at the chair designed solely for death.

It was a simple contraption made of wood. In other states prisoners had given it nicknames, such as, “Old Smokey,” “Sizzlin’ Sally,” and “Old Sparky.” Here it was simply known as “The Chair.” The armrests contained metal straps to hold the prisoner in place. There were ones for the legs, too. A wired hood with electrodes was positioned from the back on an adjustable rod. This way it could fit snugly on the head and insure a good electrical connection. Another electrode lay on the floor. It was attached to the prisoner’s leg to make sure he was properly grounded and make the connection complete. Just outside the metal door was the electrical breaker used to send the deadly jolt. At the direction of the warden a designated guard would close the circuit and send 2,000 volts passing through the condemned prisoner. Unconsciousness came within seconds and death within a couple of minutes. 

After taking a few moments to compose himself Frank gained enough courage to slowly walk over to the chair. It was smaller than he had imagined. He could not see where it needed cleaning. This only confirmed his suspicion the prisoner guards were having their fun at his expense. As he became used to his surroundings he felt his fear subsiding. There was really nothing to be afraid of. He was alone in a room and that was all. His sentence was for forty years, and it did not include having to sit in the electric chair. 

Taking a deep breath, he decided he would not give the guards any more satisfaction. If they wanted the room cleaned, then he would scrub it spotless and deny them any more entertainment. They had laughed at his fear and frailty for the last time. Besides, if they saw him working hard, they probably would become bored and let him go back to his cell as they turned their attention to some other patsy in the prison.

Grabbing the sponge Frank wetted it and started scouring the chair. Before long he was humming to himself as he was determined to make it spic and span. He was so busy working he did not hear the whisper in his left ear. It was barely audible but when it came again it was loud enough to cause him to pause. At first, he thought it was a fly buzzing or maybe a mosquito. The third time was loud and clear. 

“Know.” 

Frank’s eyes darted around the room as he tried to find the source of the sound. After a minute he became convinced the guards were trying to play with his mind. “Go on and have your fun,” he muttered to himself. “Just because a man’s in prison don’t give them no right to try and scare him to death.” Humming even louder he turned his attention back to his work. 

“Know.” 

“Okay, I know what you’re trying to do,” shouted Frank as he continued scrubbing. “It ain’t gonna work. You ain’t scaring nobody.” 

“Know.” 

“Okay, I’ll play along with your little game,” he declared. “What do you mean ‘No’?” He looked around and then broke out laughing. “No, you’re not there.” With a huff he turned back to cleaning the chair. 

“Know.” 

“All right, guys. It was funny the first time, but it’s wearing thin,” he yelled with disgust as he threw the sponge into the bucket. 

“Know.” 

“Come on, guys!” he shouted as he moved to the door. Putting his ear against the metal he listened closely as he was convinced the sound would come from the other side. 

“Know.” 

Frank swallowed hard as he realized the voice did not come from the door. It had originated in the room. Slowly he turned and scanned his surroundings. 

“Know.” 

“No, what?!?” he asked louder than he meant. 

“Know.” 

“I’ve already asked you, no, what?” he asked again as he squinted his eyes and started to slowly back around the room. He had heard the voice enough to now recognize it sounded familiar. The thought of whose voice it was made him tremble. 

“Know.” 

“Ed?!?” he asked in astonishment as he licked his drying lips. 

“Know.” 

“Oh, come on, this ain’t happening!!” he shouted in disbelief. “What am I supposed to think? A ghost is talking to me?” 

“Know, Frank.” 

Frank’s eyes widened in horror as his body began to shake with fear. He was backing toward the chair when he felt something invisible bump against him. “O! My God!!” he shouted. 

“Know, Frank.” 

“Oh, Christ!” he yelled as he turned in panic to run. Taking only a few steps, he stumbled face first onto the seat of the chair. Turning quickly, he tried to rise when he felt an invisible hand force him down into the seat. “O God, what are you doing?” he cried. 

“Know.” 

“Let me up!” he begged. “You’re dead. You can’t do anything. It’s impossible!!” 

Struggle as much as he could he was unable to rise against the force holding him down. He felt the invisible hand grab his right arm and push it down onto the armrest. In horror he watched as the metal strap moved without any visible support and clamped into place around his wrist. 

“O God, what are you doing?” he cried again. Before long, his left arm had been pushed into place and was secured by the metal strap. The same happened to his feet as they were forced into the ankle braces. 

“Come on, Ed, please don’t do this,” he begged. The hood above his head moved on its own and came to rest on his scalp. He could feel the electrode being pushed until it made contact with the skin beneath his hair. 

“Ed, I get the point, Ed,” he bellowed. “You can stop now. There’s no need to do this!” 

“Know.” 

Frank could feel the electrode being secured against the calf of his leg. “Please Ed,” he begged. “Don’t do this. What’ve I got to do to get you to stop?” 

“Know.” 

“Okay Ed, you win,” he declared as beads of sweat gathered on his brow. “I’ll tell them. I’ll them everything.”

Suddenly, there was silence as Frank sat strapped to the chair as if he was waiting to be executed. He gazed around the room looking for any sign to indicate his ordeal was over. His attention was drawn to the creaking sound of the metal door opening. When it was fully opened he could look directly at the breaker switch that was used to send the deadly electrical charge to the chair. It moved ever so slightly. 

“No, Ed, don’t do it!” begged Frank. “I’ll tell them. I promise! I’ll tell them the truth!!” 

The switch inched upward as he yelled, “Ed, please don’t!! Okay. Okay. I’ll tell them! I’ll tell them how it was me that shot that guy and not you. Please, just don’t kill me!!” 

As the switch moved again, he started crying, “I know, Ed, I know. I’m a rat. I told them you killed him, but it was me. It was me, Ed. I tried to get them to show you mercy. I really tried. They wouldn’t listen. You’ve always been the strong one, Ed. Can’t you see? I couldn’t stand the thought of them sending me to the chair. I’m afraid to die, Ed!! I’m afraid!” 

“Know.” 

“I know, Ed, I know,” he continued. “It was wrong. I was wrong for blaming you for something you didn’t do. I know that now, Ed. I’ll set it straight with everybody. Just give me a chance!” The switch continued its upward movement. “O, God, Ed, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything! Don’t kill me!! Please don’t!!” 

His attention was diverted to the seats facing the chair. Out of nowhere materialized the dead station attendant. He was holding his left hand over his chest where the bullet from Frank’s gun had entered. This time instead of a shocked look on his face he was smiling and nodding his head in anticipation. 

“Know.” 

“O, God, Ed I do know,” cried Frank as he struggled against the clamps while tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’m scared, Ed. I’m scared. I want to live, Ed! Please let me live!! Please!” 

“Know how it feels.” “Know how it feels.” “Know how it feels.” “Know how it feels.” 

The chanting grew louder as the switch closed its circuit. Frank bolted into a whole-body spasm as the charge pulsed through him. His arms and legs strained against the straps as he felt 2,000 volts surging through his body. He shook violently and screamed with pain, but no sound came from his mouth. All he could see was the smiling face of the station attendant. Finally, his eyes rolled into the back of his head as everything went black. Before long, his breathing stopped and soon so did his heart. 

Later in the afternoon the guard named Buck approached the warden’s office. After a moment’s hesitation he knocked lightly on the door. The warden ushered him in and told him to take a seat. 

“Okay, Buck, I’ve got to know what happened,” declared the warden. “How did Stowe wind up in the electric chair?”

“I don’t know boss,” replied the guard. “Me and the guys put him in the chamber to clean it up, but he was all right when I left him.”

“Why did it need cleaning?” asked the warden. “It looked okay to me after the execution.”

“Well, we were just trying to get Stowe’s attention, that’s all,” Buck answered as he lowered his head.

“Go on.”

“The talk on the block was he never really told what happened when he and McCormick robbed that gas station,” revealed Buck. “In fact, rumor has it that Stowe shot the guy and blamed it on McCormick just to save his own worthless hide.”

“So, you took it upon yourself to set things right,” muttered the warden in disgust.

“No, we didn’t do anything except put him alone in the chamber,” protested the guard. “We just wanted him to know not everybody believed his lies.”

“How’d he get a busted lip?” asked the warden as he closed his eyes with a sigh.

“Oh, well, I guess I did that,” confessed Buck. “He wasn’t exactly willing to go in there. I even had to close the door to keep him in there. It was still closed when I came back for him.”

“And you found him sitting in the chair?” inquired the warden.

“Yeah, and there wasn’t a mark on him, other than his lip,” declared the guard as he squirmed in his seat. “I swear on my father’s grave he was just sitting there clutching the armrests and staring off into space. I didn’t do anything to him.”

“Was there a pulse?”

“No, I couldn’t get one, boss,” revealed the guard. “He was as dead as they get.”

“Well, okay,” declared the warden. “When I finish my investigation, there’ll probably be a written reprimand for some of your actions. But other than that, it appears to be a cut and dried case. Just don’t you ever do anything like this again.”

“Okay, Boss. Uh, there is one thing that bothers me, though,” Buck confessed as he leaned to the front of his seat.

“What’s that?”

“Well, it was that look on his face,” declared the guard.

“What do you mean, Buck?” inquired the warden as his interest peaked.

“I know it’s impossible, boss, but I swear he had the same look as guys get right before they flip the switch,” revealed the guard. “I’ve seen a lot of guys ride the lightning since I’ve been here, and I’ve seen that look before.”

The warden laughed and said, “Buck, it might be time for you to take a vacation.”

“I know. I know,” smiled Buck. “It couldn’t happen. The main breaker downstairs in the power room was off. There’s no way any juice could get to the chair.”

“Besides, if it had, Stowe would have had to been hooked up and strapped in,” declared the warden. “You’re right, there’s no way he could’ve been electrocuted.”

“I know, boss,” offered the guard. “I’m just telling you how it looked. It was eerie. It was really strange.”

“All right, Buck, I want your written report on my desk by tomorrow morning,” ordered the warden.

“Okay, boss,” declared the guard as he stood to leave. When he reached the door he stopped, turned, and asked, “Anything on the autopsy, yet?”

“The preliminary results show a myocardial infarction,” the warden answered. “I’ll get the complete report by the end of the week.”

“Just another heart attack,” reflected Buck as he opened the door to leave. “You never know, do you boss?”

“No, Buck, you never know.” 

THE END

Copyright ©2010 by Jerry W. Crews