By teols2016
"Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair, the midnight murderer bursts the faithless bar; invades the sacred hour of silent rest and leaves, unseen, a dagger in your breast."
Samuel Johnson, 1709-1784
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Prologue
1996:
... Her footsteps audible through the quiet neighborhood, Sarah Inez Griffin left her family's house and sprinted across to the Parkers' home. The early evening was quiet, decorated with a slight breeze and a sun just starting to descend. Eager to accomplish her chore, Sarah didn't pause to admire the orange glow cast over her.
Up and down the street, the colonial-style houses were quiet. Children were long-since home from school and engaged in homework while parents either prepped dinner or were still entangled in the evening commuter traffic. No one, including Sarah, had any reason to suspect anything was amiss in this definition of suburbia.
Arriving on the Parkers' front porch, Sarah noticed a strange green car in their driveway, parked right behind the all-too-familiar gray minivan. They must have company, she concluded, promising she'd be quick. Pushing some stray red strands out of her face, she rang the bell.
As she waited, Sarah considered when she'd have time to get a haircut. Her spring break wasn't cluttered with events and appointments, but she also wanted to keep it that way. She'd go once she got back to school. There was no rush. Plus, she liked that salon near her school. Maybe she could live in Washington and incorporate the place into her life.
There was no answer. Sarah waited half a minute and tried again. Still, no one came to the door. She listened but heard nothing inside. Was anyone even home? This was weird.
She tried a third time and was about to give up when the door opened. Dr. Ben Parker peered out at her. He was trying to catch his breath and Sarah could smell sweat. The surprised and distracted look on his face indicated she was interrupting something. The dirty sweatshirt and jeans didn't suggest he was entertaining. What was going on?
"Hello," Dr. Parker said in a quiet voice, still breathing heavily.
"Hi," Sarah said, forcing a smile. "Sorry to interrupt but my mom needs to borrow a bag of flour."
Baking was a pastime for Mrs. Elaine Parker and everyone knew she always had extra supplies in stock.
"Oh, sure," Dr. Parker said, sounding relieved. "Wait here a minute. I'll go get some. Just ... wait here please."
Leaving the front door open, he turned and headed down a hallway towards the garage, where Sarah knew the family stored their extra supplies. He looked at her over his shoulder every few steps. It was as though he wanted to make sure she stayed put. He was soon out of sight.
He was acting odd, or at least odder than usual. Being a dentist by trade, he always took too much of an interest in anything involving Sarah's mouth. Just a bit taller than her, he always had a good vantage point.
Then there was the fact he was attracted to her to an inappropriate level. He never passed up an opportunity to stare at her, often moving in too close without good cause. The feelings weren't mutual. With his persistent stubble, unkempt dark hair, and few extra pounds, Sarah did not find him attractive. He was just very plain-looking and she'd never see him any other way, his leering behavior closing the case for her distaste. In their interactions, he did all the staring.
Not today though. Dr. Parker hadn't even looked at her chest yet, not that this wasn't a nice change of pace. Sarah was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, an attire which normally caught his eye when she was out running and he was on his way to work. Now, she might as well be wearing a medieval suit of armor.
Wonder what I interrupted, she thought, unable to hear any other voices. Was anyone else even here?
Straining to hear anything, she caught the tell-tale sounds of a television playing cartoons. So, the kids are here, she concluded. She figured it'd be okay to go say "hello." She used to baby-sit them all the time until leaving for American University. Now a junior, she still sometimes watched them when she was home, like the previous Tuesday. But those occasions were infrequent and Alan and Stacey were crushed by her absence. They adored her and It seemed none of their current sitters measured up.
This will be a nice surprise, Sarah thought, seeing no harm in it. She stepped inside and headed down another hallway, somewhat surprised the kids hadn't already come running while she was speaking with their father. Must be one heck of a cartoon, she figured, passing an open door and stepping around Alan's discarded baseball glove.
She noted the familiar photos on the wall. There were shots featuring the kids' first day at Arlington's Long Branch Elementary School. There was a picture of the family during an excursion to nearby Washington, D.C. Other photos featured birthday parties and similar gatherings. One had Sarah in it, though she couldn't recall the occasion.
Not paying attention, Sarah bumped into a small side table the Parkers kept in the hallway. She heard something hit the floor with a clatter.
What the, she wondered, looking down. She saw a kitchen knife lying at her feet. It looked like the ones her father used to cut meat.
Why is this out here, she pondered. She picked it up and took it with her. It smelled a little weird, but she couldn't place the odor. The stench did seem familiar.
She walked into the nearby kitchen and set the knife down on the counter next to some grocery bags. Poking out of one paper bag was a bulging bag of flour.
Why didn't he give me this one? Sarah wondered. She looked back towards the door, considering the possibility Dr. Parker may have remembered these groceries and was returning from the garage.
Deciding not to dwell on the mystery of the flour bags, Sarah headed back out of the kitchen and further down the hallway towards the den, still hearing the television. She thought it was a cartoon but she wasn't familiar with it. As she got closer, she noticed an odd smell coming from the room. She realized it was the same smell as the knife and its source hit her.
She'd needed to have her appendix taken out when she was twelve. Waiting for the operating room to be prepped, she complained about the strong, chlorine-like smell. A nurse sympathized, explaining it was the industrial cleaner the hospital's maintenance staff used.
"I haven't gotten it out of my nose for the past five years," she'd remarked.
Sarah wondered about this. Had Dr. Parker moved his office to the house? She could not recall any other context for the sterile disinfectant smell. Sure, Mrs. Parker kept a clean house, but she wasn't obsessed or anything. Still, even eight years later, Sarah recognized that nauseating smell. She fought to suppress her discomfort.
"Hey, you guys," she said, turning into the den. "What are you ..."
She froze. Her heart rate sped up and her hands trembled. Getting her voice back, she screamed.
Lying on the floor on several plastic tarps, their throats slit and their chests bloody, were the bodies of Mrs. Parker and the kids, Alan and Stacey. A container of industrial cleaner stood near the corpses, along with supplies like sponges and paper towels. Despite there being pale spots on the black tarps where someone had already cleaned up, there was blood all around, some of it trickling off onto the hardwood floor.
The green rug on which Sarah had so often played with the kids was rolled up and moved against one wall. The tall lamp in the corner had been knocked over, its shade askew. Stacey's stuffed cow and Alan's Captain America action figure lay on the couch along with the TV remote. The cartoon was still playing. It showed some kids climbing onto a bus with wings. A milk crate next to the couch was also on its side, the toys kept in it strewn across the floor.
Horrified, Sarah backed towards the door. understanding what she'd interrupted, she had to get out. She needed help. Having surely heard her screams, Dr. Parker would be back any second. She had to get away. Somehow, she could not take her eyes off the bodies. She couldn't believe this.
She felt someone breathing onto the back of her head and realized Dr. Parker was already back. Whirling around and moving away, she saw him standing in the doorway, wielding a large kitchen knife like the one she'd picked up earlier. The light from the ceiling reflected off its blade and it looked sharp. In his other hand was the bag of flour she'd asked for.
Sarah took a few steps back but stopped when she realized she was getting close to the bodies, already stepping in the blood on the tarps. It felt somewhat sticky as she moved again and the plastic crunched as she put her feet on it. Looking down, she saw the dark red prints she was making with her sneakers. She froze, too stunned to speak.
"You weren't supposed to see this," Dr. Parker said in a low voice. "You were not supposed to see this."
Though he was only about half a foot taller than Sarah, he now seemed to tower over her as he stepped forward, wielding the knife. Menacing as he looked and sounded, his face a mixture of anger and determination, he didn't come at her. Sarah couldn't understand his hesitation and didn't stop to analyze it. She tried to figure out how to save herself, forgetting the blood on her shoes.
"How ... how could you?" she asked, hoping to buy time and come up with an escape plan. "How could you do this?! They're your family!"
Dr. Parker didn't reply. Instead, he took a few steps into the room, closing the gap between them, the knife grasped in his hand. Sarah saw her partial reflection in its blade and she felt as though the knife itself marked her for death.
She charged forward, hoping to slip around him and reach the door. Then she'd make it out. Once outside, she could scream and get the attention of anyone on the street who was home. Dr. Parker wasn't muscular at all while she ran every day to stay in shape, so she had the advantage. She was sure she could take this guy, murders or no murders.
But Dr. Parker swung one of his arms forward, hitting Sarah across the head with the bag of flour. With a dull thump and a tearing sound, the bag ripped upon impact. Sarah was coated in the white powder as she stumbled backwards, stunned by the blow to her skull. Her vision was hazy and the entire room was a blur as stars flashed before her eyes. It was as though she was temporarily blinded by the flash of a camera. Only here, the camera also caused a dull pain in her head.
Some of the flour got into her eyes, further blinding her. Wiping them with her hands wasn't helping as they too had flour on them. The stuff stung. Hearing Dr. Parker moving somewhere, Sarah stepped back again.
The back of her leg hit the couch. Trying to clear her vision and ignoring the pain in her head, she felt around behind her. She needed something to get the flour out of her eyes.
Her hand found Stacey's stuffed cow. Creeped out but having no other option, she yanked the cherished animal up and wiped her face with it.
Her vision clear again, she saw Dr. Parker advancing. Taking another shot, she charged forward and slipped past him this time, ducking under his outstretched arm. Escape being the only goal, she kept going and reached the hallway. Her breathing was short and rapid while her heart pounded in her ears. desperate thoughts bounced around in her brain, colliding with one another, but she could see the front door at the end of the hallway. She was almost there.
Her dash for safety came to a screeching halt when she crashed into the small side table, falling on the overturned piece of furniture and reducing it to splintered pieces of wood. A solitary crack illustrated how disastrous the collision was.
Dazed from the fall, Sarah shakily got to her feet, brushing wooden fragments off herself as Dr. Parker came out of the den. He repositioned himself, leaving her trapped between him and the wall.
He came at her once again. Sarah did the only thing she could think of and brought her knee up into his groin as hard as she could. Her aim was good and Dr. Parker stumbled backwards, hunched over and groaning in pain as he grabbed his crotch with his free hand.
Despite his obvious discomfort, he came at her yet again. Sarah pushed him back as hard as she could. Only then did she see the open door and remember it led to the basement stairs. It was right behind him.
"Look out!" she cried.
It was sheer impulse. When you saw someone about to fall, you warned them.
It all seemed to happen in slow-motion. Dr. Parker fell back again and let out a strangled cry as gravity took over, pulling him down the stairs. Desperate, he waved his hands through the air, trying to grab onto something to save himself. He found nothing and disappeared, crashing down into the basement. The knife hit the floor with an echoing clatter.
Sarah heard a sickening crack, after which everything was silent. It felt like time stopped. There was no sound. Not even the air was moving. Sarah was frozen, her feet not cooperating with her now-available escape route.
An eerie silence remained as time seemed to move again. Then, a train rumbled by outside, its horn letting out one long note. It was the Orange Line of the Washington Metro. Though the tracks were over a mile away, it sounded as though the train was going right past Sarah, its rumbling and the horn's blare filling her ears.
She looked back and forth between the front door and the door to the basement stairs. It was so easy to get out now. She could yell and scream and alarm the whole neighborhood. If her parents were home by now, they'd get her in the house and barricade the door while calling the police. Mr. Powell, two doors down, would come running with a hunting rifle in his hands and two pistols clipped to his belt. Mr. and Mrs. Quigley, who lived next door and used a walker and scooter respectively, would let her in to call for help.
But Sarah didn't know if any of these people were home. And, what if, even now, Dr. Parker was getting to his feet to come after her again? What if he wasn't? Could she leave him down there, alone and likely hurt?
Then, she remembered the knife. The knife he'd been holding, intending to kill her with. It had fallen with him. She'd heard its clatter. She needed to make sure he couldn't get it again.
Sarah gathered her senses and hurried towards the door and down the stairs. Things became even quieter. There was only the squeaking of the steps as she kept going. The dim light, which someone had left on, cast her shadow behind her. It was as though she had a silent observer accompanying her through the tableau.
Her foot hit something and she froze. Hearing the clatter, she realized she'd kicked the knife. It had landed on one of the steps and she just sent it down a few more. She kept going, moving even slower as to not repeat her previous action.
She found the knife a few steps further down and picked it up. With the weapon in hand, she could turn back and get away. But could she leave Dr. Parker down there?
Taking a deep breath, she knew she needed to keep going. She needed to know what happened to him. Raising the knife in front of her, she kept descending.
Dr. Parker was lying motionless at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on his chest, his fingers slightly curled. The sight disarmed Sarah as though he'd leapt up and grabbed the knife out of her hand.
She moved closer, tightening her grip on the knife, wanting to convey the message that she didn't intend to hurt him more but she would if he tried anything. She noticed blood trickling onto the concrete floor from the back of his head.
"Dr. Parker?" she asked, not knowing what else to say. What did people say in this situation?
His eyes were still moving and they focused on her, registering fear. Sarah froze, holding the knife out in front of her. She didn't know what she should do ... what she could do. Was it too late?
Dr. Parker remained still. He let out a low, rattling groan and his eyes seemed to lose all sense of awareness. Then, there was a long hiss, the sound of air being let out of a balloon.
"Oh God!" Sarah exclaimed, trying hard not to vomit as she stepped back. "Oh God!"
She scrambled up the stairs, stumbling on almost every step. Seeing her own bloody shoeprints as she went didn't help. Her wails drowned out all other sounds and she lost her grip on the knife, her hands trembling. She didn't even try to go back for it despite the clatter ringing in her ears.
Once she reached the top, she broke down sobbing. She knew she needed to get help. Stumbling back into the kitchen, she grabbed the phone, tears streaming down her face as she drew in deep, shuddering breaths. With trembling fingers, she began pushing buttons, misdialing on the first three tries.
"Come on," she pleaded as she again heard the voice telling her the call did not go through. "Come on."
She tried again.
"9-1-1," The operator said, answering her call when she finally got it right. "What is your emergency?"
Sarah was stunned by how calm this person sounded. Four people were dead. How could anyone be calm now?
"Hello?" the operator asked. "Is anyone there?
Now there was a note of concern. Sarah realized she had to say something.
"I ... I need the police," she said. "My neighbor just tried to kill me and I pushed him down the stairs. I think he's dead! His family's dead too. Oh God! Oh God! I need help! Please come quick!"
Unable to hold it back any longer, she gagged, heaved, and vomited all over the kitchen floor. As she gagged and groaned, the operator tried to get her attention again, saying help was on the way.
"I'm tracing your call," he was saying. "Stay with me. Stay on the line. Help is on the way ..."
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Sarah Griffin: resident of Arlington, VA, and student at American University. Walked in on her neighbor, who had just murdered his wife and children, and pushed him down a flight of stairs. Dr. Ben Parker: local dentist in Arlington, VA. Murdered his wife and two children and tried to kill Sarah. Died when Sarah pushed him down a flight of stairs. |
By teols2016
2014:
"... What are you doing?" Sheldon Forest Alexander asked, coming into the fire station's kitchen and seeing someone almost climbing into the large refrigerator, humming as he rummaged through the shelves.
"Checking the fridge," Frank Milkey replied, not withdrawing his head from inside the appliance. "We're out of butter."
"And you need a theme song to determine that?"
"It's the theme from Inspector Gadget."
"Great choice."
"Come on. That show's a classic."
Sheldon thought it quite possible that Frank was the only one in the firehouse who'd watched the show when it was first coming out on TV. He himself was an infant at the time. Where Shelden had a full head of dark-brown hair, Frank now had a one-inch bald spot parting his whitening mop.
Sheldon knew Frank was eligible to retire from the Baltimore City Fire Department with a full pension and that he was approaching the mandatory retirement age. But, so far, the man refused the former and didn't seem bothered by the latter.
"The butter?" Frank asked.
"Put it on the list," Sheldon said. "I'll send Kevin and Lewis to the store in a little while."
Frank jotted the item on a piece of paper stuck to the refrigerator door.
"Make sure they can read your handwriting," Sheldon added.
"Oh, now I'm hurt," Frank said, pretending to sulk for a moment. "It's fine. Hey, Suzanne."
Sheldon turned to see Suzanne Moss coming into the kitchen, dressed in her workout gear and running her fingers through her shoulder-length raven hair. The smell of sweat suggested she'd been up in the gym.
"New perfume?" Frank asked, resuming his examination of the fridge's contents.
"Kevin's still in the shower," Suzanne replied. "I know because I can hear him all the way down the hallway."
"Is he singing again?" Frank asked with a groan.
"That's not singing. That's a dying cat being run down by an ice cream truck while it's playing one of those God-awful jingles over and over and over again. Can't you do something about him?"
"Anything I try will probably violate his first amendment right to free speech," Sheldon remarked, not interested. Since their company's commander, Lieutenant Miles Barnett, spent most of his free time in his office, he was the go-to guy, even when it came to less-than-important matters like this. He was the latest in a long family line of Baltimore City firefighters and possessed a natural ability to lead, instruct, and delegate. He knew more going into the fire academy than most graduates and was sure to succeed Lieutenant Barnett upon the latter's retirement in a few years.
"Anybody seen Lewis?" Suzanne asked, reaching over Frank to grab a bottle of water from the open fridge.
"Laundry room," Frank replied, still rummaging. "He's doing a load of towels."
"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't get mine in there in time."
Like the others, Suzanne took a certain level of enjoyment out of riding the new guy, even though their newest member, Lewis Donald Griffin, had been with the department for about six years. He was their new guy because of his recent transfer. Suzanne shrugged and drank a few gulps of water.
"I put in a good workout," she remarked, setting the bottle down on the table. "Guess that's why Kevin is still in the shower. He wanted to be sure to avoid laundry duty."
The station's alarm rang and the conversation halted. All three hurried out of the kitchen, Frank lagging behind just long enough to slam the refrigerator door shut. Suzanne's water bottle remained on the kitchen table.
* * *
"One-alarm fire at Box 39," the dispatcher announced over the loudspeakers in fire stations across Baltimore as the alarm shrieked. "Please respond ... Battalion 2, Battalion 3, Engine 2, Engine 4, Engine 5, Engine 6, Engine 8, Truck 1, Truck 10, Truck 29, Medic 15, Squad 26, Airflex 2, Collapse 1, Safety 2. One-alarm fire at four-story residence at 51 Woodsburk Avenue. Please respond ... Battalion 2, Battalion 3, Engine 2, Engine 4, Engine 5, Engine 6, Engine 8, Truck 1, Truck 10, Truck 29, Medic 15, Squad 26, Airflex 2, Collapse 1, Safety 2."
* * *
Sheldon, Frank, and Suzanne hurried down to the garage bay. Like many fire stations around Baltimore and the rest of the country, their station on Cold Spring Lane got rid of its fire pole a few years ago, citing the dangers and injuries associated with the otherwise symbolic structure. Instead, the firefighters raced down several flights of stairs to reach their rigs.
Lewis was already there, pulling on his gear. Lieutenant Barnett was right behind the trio.
"I'm coming!" their final member, Kevin Foley, called from somewhere above.
Quick and efficient, everyone pulled on their gear and hopped onto the truck, the station's screeching alarm not hindering them.
As he moved amongst the fray, Lewis was a bit nervous about his first call with his new company. He nevertheless got into gear just as always. Within a minute, he was sitting in one of the seats on the rear bench in the truck's cab, making it right behind Frank and Sheldon. Seconds later, the other three members of the company joined them. They pulled the doors shut and Lieutenant Barnett gave the "all clear". Sheldon drove out of the garage bay, lights flashing and sirens wailing as he accelerated. Truck 29 was on its way, Engine 4 pulling out right behind them.
It was still early in the afternoon, so there wouldn't be too much traffic. In another era, it would have been Lieutenant Barnett's responsibility to study a map and advise Sheldon, the company's designated Emergency vehicle driver. Now, the truck's GPS system took care of navigating and, once he saw smoke, Lieutenant Barnett would always tell Sheldon to head in that direction, a running gag which never quite made sense. For now, the lieutenant listened for updates on the situation via his radio earpiece.
They raced down Cold Spring Lane and turned left onto Charles Street, a main thoroughfare which would take them all the way to the neighborhood where the burning building was located. Woodsburk Avenue was just a few side streets away from Charles Street, just off Warren Avenue. It wasn't a long drive.
With Sheldon and Lieutenant Barnett occupying the two front seats, Frank, Lewis, Suzanne, and Kevin filled the back row. Kevin and Lewis made faces, having wound up on either side of Suzanne, though they tried to hide them from her. Kevin did lower his window and the cold air rushed through the rig's cab. Suzanne wasn't bothered. After all, it was Kevin's fault she hadn't gotten a chance to shower. Or maybe it was the department's fault for not having men's and women's showers at the station, requiring them to shower in shifts by gender. Nothing could be done about it now though.
During his years with the department, Lewis saw a variety of behaviors from firefighters during the drive to the scene. These ranged from cracking jokes to remaining silent in mental preparation for the task ahead. Sheldon was the very definition of the latter, not saying a word as he drove. In his mind, he was already planning how he, and everyone else, would act upon their arrival. Frank was the opposite. He remained easy going and liked to chat.
"Bet it's an electrical fire," he was saying as they turned onto St. Paul Street. "That street is on the south side of Fed Hill. The neighborhood has a lot of older buildings. The circuit breakers probably malfunctioned and the whole system overloaded and blew. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it still had fuses."
The others took him at his word. He'd been in the department longer than any of them. His experience enabled him to rise through the ranks years ago, but he refused many promotions, stating he wanted to fight fires without having to worry about the paperwork. Over the years, his hair grew white and his face looked more and more worn, even as he remained as enthusiastic as ever.
"I'm not going against you on that," Suzanne said. She and Frank had become close friends back on their tumultuous first day together. Thirty minutes into their shift, Suzanne had threatened to castrate Frank with a fire ax for looking down on her for being a woman. Hours later, the incident was a thing of the past when she pushed him out of the way of a collapsing beam during a call, saving both their lives.
In his seat, Kevin was smiling. Thanks to Lewis's transfer, he'd rid himself of the "rookie" designation.
"Ready to go, 'Rookie'?" he called out over the wail of the truck's siren, grinning at Lewis.
"We should be fine as long as we're not headed for a bar," Lewis said, feeling comfortable retaliating against him as opposed to the more senior firefighters. After all, he had five years in the department over this kid, even if he was the "rookie" on this rig.
"Well," Kevin said, "we know I'll get more girls than you."
The others chuckled at the exchange as Sheldon turned the truck onto Light Street. Kevin had the misfortune of looking younger than he was. This situation became especially amusing when he was asked to show photo ID in order to drink in bars and restaurants. But the jokes were all good fun and Kevin took them well. Besides, his boyish good looks did attract plenty of attention from women. Some people said he looked like a young Will Smith ... a very young Will Smith.
"Better not let your old man hear you talking like that," Frank admonished.
Despite his short stint in the department, Kevin had gained respect for his discipline ... at least, when it showed. It was a trait he'd inherited from his father, a career marine. upon completion of his probationary period, Kevin had learned how to work Truck 29's ladder, becoming its designated operator at calls. He never failed to have it ready wherever it was needed.
Now that he was sitting in the truck, Lewis felt less nervous about what was coming. It felt almost as though he was still riding on the engine. A fire was a fire and they were all firefighters. Their job was to extinguish the flames and make sure nobody got hurt.
The thoughts and banter were interrupted when Lieutenant Barnett saw a rising stream of black smoke over the roofs on their left as they sped down Warren Avenue.
"That way," he declared, pointing. "Everybody be ready."
* * *
Truck 29 arrived at the scene and everyone saw the burning four-story wood and brick apartment building. Flames were already shooting out of multiple windows and thick smoke was billowing out and rising over the roof, piercing the clear-blue sky. They felt the heat all the way by the rig. The firefighters piled out and put on their oxygen tanks and masks, knowing they were going into the dwelling.
"Listen up," Lieutenant Barnett called out, getting his company's attention. "Truck 10's venting the roof! Truck 1 is searching the first two floors, so you guys split up and search the top two! The basement's already clear!"
The firefighters nodded and moved forward, careful not to impede their colleagues on the engines who were trying to douse the flames. Large puddles of water littered the street and sidewalk as the hoses were directed from window to window. The water sprays struck wherever the blaze sprouted, the firefighters aiming at the base of the flames to extinguish them. The thin strip of grass in front of the building had been reduced to a brown, muddy mess. A slight breeze was blowing and some companies were spraying the neighboring buildings to prevent the fire from spreading.
The team entered the building through the front door, which had been removed, and headed up the stairs. It was much hotter here and the flames were much more prevalent. A brilliant mixture of red, orange, and yellow mingled with the black smoke and filled everyone's field of vision.
On the third floor, the group split up with Kevin and Frank staying behind to search the four apartments there. the others continued to the top floor.
"Start on the left," Sheldon told Lewis and Suzanne, his voice somewhat muffled by his oxygen mask. "I'll take the two on the right. Maintain radio contact."
Lewis and Suzanne acknowledged this and moved towards the nearest apartment. They first checked the door to see if it was hot, indicating a possible backdraft with potentially lethal consequences. Finding no sign of that possibility, they entered the burning dwelling, calling out for anyone who might be there.
"Fire department!" they shouted repeatedly, trying their best not to interrupt each other. "Is anyone in here?! Call out!"
Seeing only burning furniture, photographs, and clothes, they determined this apartment was empty and moved to the next one. This door was locked, so Lewis raised his Halligan Bar and swung it through the air. His first hit splintered the door with a loud crack. Lewis pulled the bar back and swung again. With another crack, the door splintered further but still stood. Feeling confident about the door's new lack of structural integrity, Suzanne kicked it with her heavy boot. The wooden pieces fell and scattered across the floor inside the apartment.
"Fire department!" Lewis and Suzanne shouted, entering the burning apartment. "Call out!"
This apartment was also empty, but the flames were brighter, stronger, and hotter here and the smoke thicker and darker. The rooms further back were already fully engulfed. No one would be alive in there.
The pair soon had to retreat, hurrying through what remained of the splintered door. They met Sheldon in the hallway, seeing he'd found a frightened teenage girl, who was coughing and spluttering.
"Take her down," He told them. "I'll keep searching up here."
Suzanne took the girl's arm. She and Lewis got her through the thick smoke, down the stairs, and out of the building, where a pair of paramedics took charge of her. By this time, the teenager was crying while still coughing. But she otherwise seemed to be unharmed.
Lewis and Suzanne headed back inside to reunite with Sheldon. As they were climbing up the stairs again, they heard a crash below them. It sounded like a wrecking ball hit the side of the building. They froze, wondering if the staircase they were on was in danger of collapsing. Then, another firefighter called out over the radio.
"Mayday! Mayday! Two firefighters down!" he reported. "Mayday! Mayday! Two firefighters down!"
As the radio traffic fell silent, he explained the situation, describing how two firefighters from Truck 1, Kathy Gates and Tom Hurson, had fallen through a weak spot in the floor. They had landed in the basement. Neither was responding to radio calls and Suzanne and Lewis heard the pair's PASS devices emitting their signature high-pitched screeching noises, indicating their positions and that they weren't moving. They were possibly unconscious and most likely trapped.
"Top floor's clear," Shelden then reported over the radio. "I'm on my way down."
Taking the hint, Lewis and Suzanne turned around and headed back downstairs to see how they could help. They reached the entrance to the basement, which the firefighters of Squad 26 were trying to open. However, the door was stuck, and the heat being emitted suggested the basement stairs were burning. Taking the door down could cause a backdraft, a potential disaster for everyone in the lobby as well as Hurson and Gates.
"We gotta make a new door," Frank said, also coming down the stairs with Kevin behind him. "Get a saw in here now!"
As someone ran out to get the saw, he and Sheldon surveyed the floor beneath their feet, determining the best spot to cut. The saw arrived, and, under their direction, the squad company took charge of creating the hole, cutting strategically as to prevent the entire floor from collapsing.
Meanwhile two more firefighters from Truck 1 brought in a ladder. The company's fifth firefighter was down the hallway, near the hole where his colleagues had fallen. Using the powerful beam on his flashlight, he located the pair. They weren't moving or responding to the light. They were partially buried under some rubble and more debris was coming down around them. As their situation was being relayed over the radio, other firefighters interjected with their own reports as they continued dousing the flames and searching for any other trapped civilians.
* * *
Outside, the battalion chief in charge of the operation was putting in a radio call for two more ambulances when the department's elite Rescue Unit arrived. Upon being summoned, they'd raced across town from where they had just finished another call. The firefighters piled out and the chief ran over to meet them.
"We've got two of ours not moving in the basement," he told them.
"Got it," the commander, Captain Harvey Stephens, replied. This was the purpose for his unit. Department protocol dictated they be called to any situation involving trapped persons, regardless of the circumstances.
He turned to his men and called out, "Let's go!"
The Rescue Unit entered the lobby, where the others had just finished making the hole in the floor and were lowering the ladder.
"Stay here," Captain Stephens instructed, going down first. While two of his firefighters stayed behind, the rest followed him down into the basement.
They confirmed the stairs going back up were engulfed in flames. Thanks to the flashlight beam from above, they found Gates and Hurson with little effort. The pair's PASS devices also helped as the piercing screeches were still audible. They seemed to be conscious, but they were unable to help themselves out of their predicament.
"Let's get them secured," Captain Stephens instructed. "We're gonna have to pull them out from above."
His voice was muffled by his oxygen mask, but his men understood every word. Knowing they couldn't just pull the trapped pair free, they set to work tying ropes around each one's chest and shoulders. With the makeshift harnesses secure, they fed the ropes back up the ladder. Their comrades up top coordinated the firefighters of Trucks 1 and 29, preparing them to help pull.
"Bulldozing time," Captain Stephens announced. "Sit tight, you two. We'll have you out in a sec."
He and his men worked to get as much debris off Gates and Hurson as they could. This included a wooden beam pinning down Hurson's leg.
"Let's hustle, guys," Captain Stephens said, setting some wooden debris aside. "Don't wanna be buried or barbecued. Mills, help Zisken with that chunk of concrete. Come on. Come on!"
They had to work quickly but carefully. Any wrong move could lead to them all being buried alive while taking too long came with the possibility of the fire on the stairs spreading and engulfing them.
They soon cleared away as much as they could and were able to hold aloft the remaining debris for brief periods. Captain Stephens gave a signal to the firefighters waiting up in the lobby. They pulled Hurson out, two of the Rescue Unit's members helping him as he was hauled up the ladder and received by Sheldon and a firefighter from Truck 1.
"Next one!" Captain Stephens called.
They repeated the process for Gates, after which the Rescue Unit scampered back up the ladder behind her.
By the time Gates and Hurson were brought outside, two more ambulances had arrived. The paramedics took charge, saying they'd be taken to the Johns Hopkins Medical Center for tests. Though both firefighters were conscious and somewhat walking, they did not seem fully aware of their surroundings. the commander of Truck 1 agreed with the paramedics' assessment.
As the ambulances pulled away, Lewis headed back to Truck 29 and stored away his oxygen tank and mask. Now that everyone was out of the building, He and the rest of the company would do what was needed to help the guys on the engines extinguish the blaze.
"Lewis!" someone called. "Hey, Lewis!"
Lewis turned to see his friend, Sam Jackson, coming towards him. He and Sam were on Engine 4 together until Sam transferred after being accepted into the Rescue Unit.
"Hey, man," Sam said, reaching him. "Heard you were on the truck now. This your first call with them?"
"Yeah," Lewis replied.
"Nothing like starting out with a bang. Glad Gates and Hurson are still with us. Paramedics said the fact they're sort of talking and walked out of there somewhat under their own power is a good sign. They might only be out a couple of days ... a week at most."
Lewis nodded. They'd both been to their fair share of firefighters' funerals. But even one was already too much. Plus, they knew Tom Hurson, having once served with him on Engine 4.
"How's the family?" Sam asked.
"Everyone's good," Lewis told him. "Sarah's up in New York, visiting with Amelia and some other folks. How are Ashley and the kids?"
"They're good. Ashley hasn't quite come around to me being on the Rescue Unit yet but she's getting there."
Lewis understood. His family had never been that thrilled with him becoming a firefighter, but they'd accepted his desire to pursue the career. He doubted they'd be on board if he ever tried to get onto the Rescue Unit, though he had no plans to pursue such a venture anytime soon. So far, he liked his new place on Truck 29.
"Well," Sam continued, "I've gotta run. We're gonna head back ... wait for the next call."
"Last in, first out," Lewis remarked. "Hard life you guys lead on the Rescue Unit."
"Can you blame us? We are just that awesome."
"If you say so."
They made plans to go grab a beer and catch up after their shift. With the details set, Sam hurried back to his rig. the Rescue Unit headed out and Lewis got back to work. Though the residents and firefighters were out of harm's way, the flames still needed to be extinguished.
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Lewis Griffin: Sarah's brother and a Baltimore City firefighter on Truck 29. Formerly a member of Engine 4. Sheldon Alexander: Baltimore City firefighter and driver of Truck 29. Frank Milkey: Baltimore City firefighter and oldest member of Truck 29. Suzanne Moss: Baltimore City firefighter and member of Truck 29. Kevin Foley: Baltimore City firefighter and youngest member of Truck 29. Held the title of "rookie" until Lewis's transfer from Engine 4. Operates the truck's ladder. Lieutenant Miles Barnett: Baltimore City firefighter and leader of Truck 29. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "2nd Time Around":
In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family.
2014:
Sitting in the back of the car, Sarah dug through her handbag for her cell phone. She found it, pulling it out from beneath her pack of Tic Tacs. It was a simple model as she had never gotten used to those fancy computer phones that everyone had these days. For that matter, she had never quite gotten used to cell phones. She did come around to seeing the value of being able to reach her friends and family while she was on the go and vice-versa. That still took a few years considering how a cell phone had done its part to screw up over a decade of her life and then some. Still, she understood the value.
True, the device's simplicity meant it wasn't exactly up-to-date with its accessible features, but Sarah didn't mind. She didn't text. There was a little bump on the number 5 key as was the case with every phone on Earth. She could use that to orient herself on the keypad. Plus, any number she needed was written in Braille on a piece of paper in her handbag. She knew half of those by heart. She didn't need her cheat sheet for this one, dialing the number and waiting for an answer. The other people in the car let her be.
The call was soon answered. His tone indicated immediate recognition.
"Hey."
"Hi, Lewis," Sarah said.
"How's everything?" Lewis asked.
Sarah proceeded to catch her brother up on everything since her arrival at Long Island's McArthur Airport in Central Islip the previous evening, where her older sister, Amelia, had met her.
"How's everybody doing?" Lewis asked. "You got a good reunion going on up there?"
"Sort of," Sarah said. "As always, it's tricky to get everyone together. How are you doing? Today's your first day on the new job, right?"
"Yeah. I'm at the station now. I got back from my first call a little while ago."
"Really? How did it go?"
"Same as always. A fire's a fire. I'm just fighting it in a different way now."
"So, how's the new way working out for you?"
"It's definitely different. It's kind of weird because the engine company's still responding every time some idiot college kids set off a smoke detector because they're too dumb to make popcorn. In all honesty, I don't miss those days."
Lewis chuckled.
"I do still look up when the alarm goes off," he admitted. "But I don't jump up or anything like that."
"Well," Sarah said, "be careful, please."
"Always am. Listen, I've gotta run. A bunch of the guys are setting up a game of darts and I've got money on this. Fifty bucks are in my pocket if Kevin doesn't even hit the board."
Hearing someone complaining in the background, Sarah laughed and said they'd chat some other time. They bid each other well and the call ended.
"How's he doing?" Grace Collins asked from the car's front passenger seat.
"He's good," Sarah replied. "He's starting in a truck company now."
Her younger brother, Lewis Donald Griffin, was a firefighter with the Baltimore City Fire Department, assigned to Battalion 4. He had been with Engine 4 for the past six Some-odd years, ever since his graduation from the fire academy. He had just transferred to Truck 29, which was coincidentally quartered in the same fire station on Cold Spring Lane.
Sarah was close with her brother. They talked on the phone all the time and he had come and visited her at Fluvanna down in Virginia as often as he could. His visits were even more frequent now that she was living in an assisted living center in Baltimore. She worked in the library at Towson University, which was near his fire station. While she was locked up, he sent money whenever he could, a gesture which was never easy given his career choice. Their older sister had been in a better financial situation and could therefore spare more. Sarah appreciated everything she had gotten and was later able to pay it back with plenty of interest.
Her older sister, Amelia Janet Kelmer, was a public relations representative. Ten years ago, she'd received a lucrative job offer with an advertising firm in New York. she and her husband, Michael, moved to Long Island with their son, later adding two baby girls to the batch. Sarah didn't resent her sister for the move as she would have probably done the same thing if the roles were reversed. But she did miss her and was thankful for the time they were able to spend together, brief as it was.
"We'll be there in about ten minutes," The driver, Doug Ernest Walker, said as he stopped at a red light. Apart from his greeting during the pickup at Amelia's house, this was the only thing he'd said. It was just his way.
Sarah nodded. Her thoughts turned to what was to come. She had been to a dozen or so events like this. All of them had her as the guest of honor and she was to talk about her life and the challenges she'd faced over the past eighteen years.
Sarah still remembered most of what happened. These days, some events were fuzzier than others. She could no longer recall the full day when the jury handed down their shocking verdict.
"We find the defendant guilty, Your Honor," The jury forewoman had stated.
That line would be imprinted in Sarah's brain forever. The forewoman, four other women, and seven men came to this unanimous decision after two days of deliberations. Sarah remembered that horrific phrase as though she were hearing it all over again. Everything else from that day remained fuzzy.
The jury would make an even more terrible decision a few weeks later. This would change the course of Sarah's life forever. She remembered a little more about this part ...
1998:
"... Miss Griffin," The judge said, "please rise so I may pronounce your sentence."
Sarah did so with some difficulty due to the handcuffs and leg irons now required. Ever since the jury had found her guilty of killing all four members of the Parker family, security in the courtroom had become a bigger concern. any presumption of innocence the constitution afforded her was moot and the court officers were taking extra precautions.
Next to Sarah, the defense attorney, Emily Walters, also rose and briefly locked eyes with her client. They exchanged a brief, almost indiscernible nod. For the past several weeks, they had been in court together, trying to ward off what was now inevitable. Before that, they'd spent months together as they prepared for the trial.
At the prosecution's table, the assistant Commonwealth's Attorney, Heath Knowles, sat quietly, waiting. He looked confident and this was unnerving. He'd given a strong performance when presenting his case and had already gotten his way once. Many expected he would again.
"Miss Griffin," The judge said, "Do you have anything you'd like to say before I pronounce your sentence?"
"I just want to say I'm really sorry that any of this ever happened," Sarah replied, turning her head as best she could to survey the spectators in the courtroom. "I wish things had been different ... I wish I could turn back the clock. But all I can do now is ask you for some measure of forgiveness and maybe some mercy."
She looked back at the judge and fell silent, waiting.
"Miss Griffin," the judge said. "Throughout the course of this trial, you have expressed sorrow and remorse for your actions. You have apologized for the harm you have caused and for the pain you have inflicted. However, you have never fully owned up to the crimes of which you have now been convicted in spite of the evidence against you. You have instead chosen to deny certain charges outright. You have never shown a sense of responsibility for the totality of this tragedy and the heinous and cold-blooded nature with which it was carried out. For this reason, I cannot responsibly consider any feelings of sorrow and remorse which you exhibit here today, regardless of their authenticity."
Sarah blinked. Emily had prepared her for the possibility of this rebuke, but these words still stung. It was clear the judge did not understand and wouldn't hear her out now.
Therefore," the judge continued, "by the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Virginia, I am upholding the jury's recommendation. I hereby sentence you to death by means of lethal injection or, by your own election, electrocution in accordance with the law of this commonwealth. You are to be transferred to the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women to await execution, to be on a date set by this court once you have exhausted all avenues of appeal."
He banged his gavel, the sound reverberating throughout the room. A low murmur erupted as people discussed what they had just seen and heard.
Though she knew this was the most likely outcome of this court appearance, Sarah was still stunned. Who wouldn't be? Behind her, her sister and mother wept. She took a quick glance back at them before the court officers marched her away from the table. Words failed all three of them. She also saw her father and brother, both of whom tried to look stoic, though Lewis also looked ready to dart out of the room to cry in private.
Before the court officers pulled her along, Sarah again locked eyes with Emily Walters. The woman had tried so hard to prevent any of this. She looked crushed. She had never stated whether she believed Sarah's version of events or if she was only defending her out of a sense of civic duty. With the verdict and sentence official, any beliefs in guilt or innocence didn't matter anymore. Emily Walters looked remorseful for having failed her client.
"I'm sorry," She said.
"It's okay," Sarah told her. "It's not your fault."
She wished the woman had found some way to prevent this. There had to be something she missed. But Sarah couldn't stay mad at her. She tried. The prosecution somehow just had a better case. Sarah wanted to know how that happened. After all, she was innocent.
"Let's go," a court officer insisted.
As she was taken away, Sarah heard someone running out of the courtroom ...
2014:
"... There it is," Grace said, pointing out the building. It wasn't tough for her to recognize the Touro Law Center in Central Islip. The giant sign on the side of the road did help.
Doug turned into the building's parking lot. He drove around, looking for two adjacent empty spaces. Sarah had a placard which would allow him to park in a handicapped spot, but it was only valid in Maryland. They could probably get away with using it here, but Doug didn't want to risk it in a rental car. He didn't want to deal with the paperwork and the issue was avoided when he found a pair of spots in the far corner of the lot.
"We should exercise more anyway," Grace remarked as she and Doug got out of the car. "It's a sign."
Even Sarah knew the woman didn't have an ounce of fat on her despite her love for French fries. It really wasn't fair. Sarah wasn't overweight, but due to her physical circumstances, she had to watch what she ate or she could make herself very sick.
Sarah made sure her phone was back in her handbag while Doug popped open the trunk and removed her folded-up wheelchair. He took a minute to set it up, its metallic pieces clinking as he fumbled with them, and pushed it over to her door. The irony was that the adjacent empty space gave them more room to open the door than a handicapped spot would have.
Sarah reached out and felt for the chair as Doug put on its brakes. Last thing they needed was for the thing to just roll away on them.
Having done this so often before, Sarah slid to the edge of the seat and swung her legs out onto the pavement. Knowing they wouldn't support her at all, she grabbed the car door with one hand. With her other hand, she reached out across her wheelchair to grab the far armrest. She then pulled herself up and around, bracing herself on the armrest until she was in the right spot to let gravity take over so she'd plop down in the chair. When she was first learning how to do this, she often landed on one of the chair's armrests instead of the seat. Despite her lack of feeling anything from these impacts, they were never fun. Now, she knew how to judge her position in relation to her chair based on how her arms were bent.
When she was seated, she adjusted herself on the cushions and pulled the seatbelt across her lap. She couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't fall out and appreciated this preventative measure. She'd experienced more than enough falls in her life.
One leg at a time, she used her hands to lift her feet into the chair's footrests. Once she was settled, she stopped to catch her breath and rest her arms. Transferring in and out of her chair was always strenuous.
When she felt better again, she unfolded her white cane and indicated she was all set, keeping her handbag on her lap.
"We're gonna head over this way," Doug told her, knowing the phrase "this way" wouldn't help her on its own. "Turn right and go straight."
Following his instructions and the sound of his voice, Sarah used a joystick to operate the motorized wheelchair. She swung the cane out in front of her to check for possible obstacles.
As they reached the curb, Doug walked up the cut-in portion, stomping with one large foot to indicate its location for Sarah. She came over and ran the tip of her cane along the edge of the curb, being sure to know exactly where the ramp was before she proceeded.
Having once run for exercise, Sarah at first found it difficult to slow down. She'd use the cane to know what was around her and almost always missed something due to hasty, haphazard inspections. She'd learned her lesson when she hadn't properly determined the position of a curb cut and she and her wheelchair tipped over as she attempted to ascend it. She'd managed to get one arm up to absorb the worst of the fall and only suffered what doctors referred to as a "bone bruise". But the fall, the ambulance ride, and the brief stay in the emergency room were enough of a wake-up call. She still had a scar on her wrist from the accident and was lucky to not add more reminders.
Sarah thought about the scar on the inside of her other wrist. That injury had been much more serious and brought back many more bad memories. She pushed them away, wanting to have a good time today.
"Looks like the others are already here," Grace commented, looking ahead through the building's glass front doors.
"The ramp's coming up on your right," Doug said as he headed for the three steps in front of the building.
Sarah paused. Wasn't the ramp on the left? Had she remembered wrong?
"It's to the left," Grace said over her shoulder. "You're confusing her."
"Oh, sorry," Doug said. "I'm flipping my directions too many times. Gets confusing when I'm looking back at you."
"I knew there was a reason you kept her around," Sarah remarked as she adjusted her course and found the ramp, swinging her cane so it struck the metal railing with a dull clang.
They entered the building and met Matthew Kellie, Donna Alexandra Smith, Richard Romer, and Andrew Emil Daines.
"Glad you're all here," Matthew said. "We've got a mad rush in the auditorium. We'll just wait a minute."
Everyone murmured their agreement and Doug cleaned his sunglasses, which no one could ever convince him to remove. his colleagues understood He had good reason to refuse and had abandoned their arguments years ago.
As they all greeted one another and caught up, Sarah reflected on the diversities within their little group. It was a collection of characteristics and contradictions.
There was Doug, who, even after forty or more years, still carried the build and large stature that hinted at his college football days. While he was excellent at speaking in any professional capacity, such as making an argument in court, he was lousy at small talk and just listened as Andrew told him about a recent conference he'd attended.
Grace looked every bit the blonde-haired, blue-eyed California girl, though she hailed from North Carolina and had a slight southern accent to prove it. While she'd once been an intern, she was long-since considered an equal amongst her peers in the legal community. That seemed doubtful at the moment as she was busy admiring Donna's new shoes.
"How have I never come across those?" she was squealing. "They are gorgeous."
Richard was the know-it-all of the group, a title he unfortunately justified by seeming to know everything. Being the tallest while remaining as slim as a telephone pole, he also seemed to see more than others. Sarah sometimes compared him to prison guard towers. It wasn't a far-off comparison as his expertise was in prisons and the death penalty.
"What do you think?" he was asking Matthew, referring to a case from Florida which would be argued in front of the Supreme Court next month. "I hope they change the discretion given to states on this. I mean, a person scores a seventy-one instead of seventy on an IQ test and we're supposed to think he's on par with a normal person's intelligence and let him be executed? Its nuts."
Matthew was nodding and murmuring at this. His stance on the death penalty wasn't as passionate as Richard's, but Richard made a living defending those facing execution.
There was Donna, whose skill set differed so much from everyone else, she having never been involved in criminal litigation before meeting Sarah. She was nevertheless invaluable from the beginning. With her elegant glasses and simple ponytail, she looked like that quiet but friendly neighbor whom everyone could just somehow count on when they needed to. Even Sarah was quick to trust her.
Her value and dependability had its mysteries. Despite her professionalism and legal competence, Donna was often described as "timid" and the others almost needed to strong-arm her into coming today. She was not a fan of public speaking and would prefer to be home, reading a book or reviewing documents for a case. Unlike Doug, who just didn't talk much, she couldn't bring herself to say much. But she came and smiled shyly as Grace continued adoring her shoes.
Andrew was the legal nerd, baring the physical characteristics of a thin, glasses-wearing geek who had excelled in Ivy League schools and as a Civil Rights attorney. Nevertheless, he was known to have a joke to share whenever the timing seemed right. But sometimes, the joke was stupid.
"What does a ghost wear when it's raining?" he asked. "Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooots!"
Sarah rolled her eyes. Thank God his legal expertise was far above his comedic talent. He wouldn't survive on any stage in any club.
Matthew was the local, having been brought on when his geographic proximity became an important asset. He also looked kind of nerdy, though he claimed to be out of Andrew's league.
"I played JV soccer in high school and college," he always said by way of defending this contrast.
He was however the shortest in the group, which included Donna, who was five-foot-six in heels. And, according to Grace, he had the thickest hair Sarah had ever come across, though she'd never touched it to verify the claim.
Sarah rounded out the group. Before she lost the use of her legs her height would have made her a little taller than Grace but shorter than Doug and Richard. She had long red hair, though it wasn't as long as Grace's and instead more like Donna's mousy brown mane. She formerly had green eyes but had changed them to blue when ocular prostheses became a necessity. While her nose had once been straight, it was now slightly crooked due to her breaking it in a fall several years ago. According to others, it "didn't look bad." Sarah wasn't sure but couldn't see for herself.
Over the years, everyone had described themselves, and sometimes each other, for Sarah's benefit, leading to the weird physical traits and comparisons in her head. She'd only ever seen Doug before going blind. She doubted he'd ever change. No, he'd be that same big, dark-haired, clean-shaven, quiet man until the day he died, even if he claimed to be developing a few gray strands. He'd never get rid of those sunglasses ... that was for sure. In fact, could he get rid of those?
The group chatted amongst themselves, catching up on their lives. Normally, when they were invited to various organizations and schools to talk about Sarah's case, only Sarah and one or two others were able to make it. However, since Matthew had been part of the team, they all always made the extra effort to achieve a perfect attendance record when they visited Touro.
Spotting the group, the school's dean came over to greet them. Darleen Wesley had been the dean for eight years and had known Sarah for five of them. She'd also been an interested observer during Matthew's involvement in the case.
"Great to have you all here again," she said. "Traffic in the auditorium is dying down. If you want to head in, we'll get started in just a few minutes."
With Doug once again giving Sarah verbal directions, the group followed the dean into the auditorium. Some people watched Sarah make her way towards the stage and up a ramp erected next to it. Many of the upper-level students and nearly the entire faculty knew who she was, so most of the gawkers were first and second-year students with an occasional new professor mixed in.
Sarah made her way to the end of a long table set up on the stage, locked her brakes, and folded up her cane. Grace helped her set both it and her handbag on the floor while everyone else took their seats.
Darleen Wesley stepped to a lectern which stood near the table and greeted the students. Knowing how this part of the program ran, Sarah waited, running her thumb across the tips of her fingernails.
"We're quite honored to have this group of extraordinary individuals visit us once again," Darleen Wesley was saying. "To make the introductions, I will turn it over to Professor Kellie."
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Sarah Griffin: resident of Arlington, VA, and student at American University. Walked in on her neighbor, who had just murdered his wife and children, and pushed him down a flight of stairs. Is now blind and uses a wheelchair. Doug Walker: Attorney in Richmond, VA. Sarah's lead attorney in the appeals process. Grace Collins: legal intern for Doug during Sarah's appeals. Later graduates from law school and earns her law license. Richard Romer: attorney in Virginia. Specilizes in defending people facing the death penalty. Donna Smith: Disability Rights attorney in Richmond, VA. Andrew Daines: Civil rights attorney in Richmond, VA. Helped Doug with Sarah's appeals. Matthew Kellie: attorney and law professor in NY. Helped Doug with Sarah's appeals. Amelia Kelmer: Sarah's older sister. Moved from VA to NY with her husband and children. Lewis Griffin: Sarah's younger brother and a Baltimore City firefighter on Truck 29. Formerly a member of Engine 4. Emily Walters: Sarah's defense attorney at her 1998 murder trial. Heath Knowles: assistant Commonwealthâ??s Attorney in Arlington, VA. Prosicuter at Sarah's 1998 murder trial. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "2nd Time Around":
In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family. in 1998, she was convicted and sentenced to death for these killings.
2014:
Everyone applauded as Matthew stepped to the lectern. Sarah took a deep breath. She had never been one hundred percent on board with giving these presentations. But she owed it to the team to do it. So, she dealt with her distaste.
"Good afternoon," Matthew said. "Many of you know me. I'm Professor Kellie. I teach Criminal Law here and I am also a graduate of this school, though many years ago ... in fact, the school was still in Manhattan when I pulled my all-nighters in the library."
There were murmurs and a few chuckles. Touro hadn't been in Manhattan since at least the 1980s.
"As Dean Wesley said, these folks have visited us before," Matthew continued. "We are indeed honored they are here again today to share their incredible story. I had the privilege of working with them for a portion of this historic case, but you can hear about all of that by taking my classes."
There was a chorus of laughter in the audience. Having all heard the remark before, Sarah and the other lawyers laughed politely.
"So, without any further ado, I will turn it over to the lady of the hour," Matthew said. "Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Sarah Griffin."
Everyone applauded as Grace handed Sarah a microphone that was lying on the table. Declining more help, Sarah took a moment to figure out how to turn the thing on. A short squawk indicated she'd succeeded.
"Thank you," she said. "Good afternoon and thank you for having us all here today. My name is Sarah Griffin. I work as a reference librarian at Towson University in Baltimore, Maryland. I'm originally from Arlington Virginia ... well, technically it's Arlington County, Virginia."
She paused, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. Even after all these years and making dozens of speeches just like this, she still paused when she got to the heart of the matter.
"In 1998, I was sentenced to death in Virginia for four counts of first degree murder," she continued. "I walked in on my neighbor just after he'd murdered his wife and children. He tried to kill me, and I accidentally killed him. The police and prosecutors believed me at first, but things changed soon after. I spent ten years on Death Row at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women ... all for crimes I did not commit ... at least, not entirely ..."
2006:
... A corrections officer stepped to the cell door and placed a food tray on the slot set in the bars. Nearby, another corrections officer sat at a desk, making a record of all movements and activity on a computer. Since Sarah was in a Death Watch cell, just meters from the execution chamber, she was supervised around the clock. Her every move and interaction were logged into the record.
Sarah got up from her bunk and stepped over to the cell door. On the tray was her requested last meal ... Orange Chicken, Wonton Soup, two egg rolls, rice, and a cup of Sprite. The whole meal came from some local Chinese takeout place, though the Sprite had been poured from its can or bottle into a plastic cup from the prison's kitchen. No one wanted a bottle or can, which could become a weapon, near Sarah. For the same reason, she'd been given plastic utensils instead of chopsticks.
Sarah considered the meal. She was starting high school when Amelia left for college. When she visited her sister at The Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C., they often shared a meal of Chinese takeout in her dorm. The tradition stuck when Lewis visited Sarah during her years at American University. Sarah wondered if he'd ever shared such a meal with anyone at Virginia Tech. After all, he was the youngest of their trio.
With three hours left until the execution, Sarah sat down in a chair bolted to the floor in the middle of the cell and began to eat. She supposed those good memories made the concept of this being her last meal bearable. Otherwise, she was sure to lose her mind.
* * *
At 7:00, two corrections officers took Sarah out of the cell and over to a nearby shower stall. Next to the stall was a bench, bolted to the wall, with a towel and a fresh set of prison clothes on it.
Being all too used to being watched, even during showers, Sarah ignored the corrections officers as she undressed and stepped under the stream of water which some unseen person was operating. She washed herself, using the bar of soap and bottle of shampoo someone left there. Both were the cheapest in existence, but she was long used to that too.
After the shower, Sarah stepped out, dried herself off, and put on the fresh orange t-shirt and matching pants, which had an elastic waistband, drawstrings being another thing not allowed in prison. These garments were the same as the clothes Sarah wore since her arrival on Death Row eight years earlier. The only difference was these didn't have her Department of Corrections-issued prisoner identification number stamped on them. They were just ... orange.
Once Sarah was dressed, the corrections officers took her back to the cell. When the barred door slid shut, she sat down on the bunk and waited.
Half an hour later, three more corrections officers appeared, one carrying a bucket. He instructed her to sit on the chair before the cell door was opened. Once the bars slid aside, one officer stepped into the cell, his colleagues waiting on the threshold. He handcuffed Sarah, maneuvering her arms around the back of the chair. Once she was secure, the officer with the bucket entered. He walked around so he was standing behind her, his colleagues positioning themselves by the door, one holding a baton and the other a can of mace. Neither of them seemed ready to use these weapons, instead showing them to Sarah as a warning of what any attempt at resistance could cause.
Spreading the supplies he'd brought in the bucket out on the bunk, the officer filled it up with water from the cell's sink. He next placed a towel across the back of Sarah's neck and shoulders. He grabbed a pair of scissors, gathered her long red hair in one hand, and cut as close to her scalp as he could. His colleagues watched and waited.
Virginia protocol dictated an inmate had to have their head shaved prior to an execution in the electric chair. Some other protocol required all female inmates to keep their hair at most at shoulder-length, shorter than how Sarah had kept it in the free world. She'd gotten permission from the warden to grow her hair out over the past year so it could be donated to make wigs for cancer patients. As he cut, the corrections officer put the donation into a plastic bag.
When the job was done, Sarah looked like she got a boys' haircut that was lopsided in the back. The officer set the scissors down far out of reach and shaved the rest of her hair off with an electric razor. In another few minutes, Sarah was bald.
The officer next pulled up her right pant leg and shaved her calf, another requirement for an execution in the electric chair. When that was done, he dumped the water in the sink and gathered up his supplies, being careful to account for every single item. He didn't want to leave a blade within this condemned woman's reach. When he was certain, he left the cell. One of the Other officers then came to uncuff Sarah. When the cell was closed, the group left, the officer seated at the table made a note about their departure.
Sarah checked the clock on the wall beyond the bars. 7:57. An hour to go. She sat down on her bunk and stared at the wall.
* * *
At 8:15, a corrections officer delivered another set of fresh clothes to Sarah's cell. These would be her final set, meeting the state-mandated attire for her execution. There was a black sleeveless t-shirt and beige pants. The right pant leg was a few inches shorter than the left. This was so, when Sarah was sitting in the electric chair, one electrode could be attached to her freshly shaved calf to complete the circuit.
Also in the pile was a diaper. At the moment of death, an inmate's body would become incontinent. The purpose of the diaper was to make the corrections officers' cleanup job much easier after the process was done. There were no fresh plastic slippers, so Sarah just kept on the ones she had.
A few minutes after Sarah changed, the prison doctor came to offer a sedative meant to calm her nerves. Sarah declined.
After the doctor, the prison warden, Luther Mills, came to check on her. Sarah told him she was fine. He responded by telling her he and his officers would take her to the execution chamber in about twenty minutes. He asked if she needed anything and left when Sarah repeated that she was fine.
Once the warden was gone, Sarah stared at the wall of the cell. 8:36. Twenty-four minutes left. She still did not understand why this was So.
She didn't do everything people said she did. It wasn't true. She was not the monster they were portraying. She had not killed Mrs. Parker and the two children. But no one listened to that version. She was the cold-blooded mistress. That's what sold papers and got ratings. That's what convinced jurors and appellate judges.
The media was getting plenty of mileage out of this execution before it had even happened. Sarah was the first woman to be put to death in the state in almost a hundred years, ever since Virginia Christian in 1912. On top of that, there was the fact Sarah chose to die in the electric chair. This option was often overshadowed by the more modern-day method of lethal injection. Of the thirty some-odd executions performed so far this year, Sarah was only the second person nationwide to choose the chair. Rapist and murderer Brandon Wayne Hedrick was put to death back in April for killing a woman on the shore of the James River in Appomattox County. Sarah was also only the fifth person in the state to make the choice since lethal injection became the default method in 1994. The reporters were eating all of this up and they still wanted more.
Sarah declined to grant any interviews in the days leading up to her execution. She knew several reporters were allowed to witness the evening's proceedings, but that was all she'd let them get from her. That was all anyone would get from her. No one would witness the proceedings on her behalf, so she had no reason to look at anyone in the hope for a friendly face.
* * *
At 8:50, Warden Mills returned with an entourage of corrections officers, informing Sarah it was time to go to the execution chamber. Sarah rose and stepped out of the cell. The corrections officers surrounded her as she walked the few yards to the nearby door.
It was wide open. The gurney used for lethal injections had been moved aside and folded. The chair was straight ahead. Sarah stopped and stared at it. At a prompt from an officer, she walked towards it, stepping up onto the platform where it was fixed in place.
Three feet from the chair, she stopped again. She stared at the apparatus, its straps and open clamps hanging off its oak arms, legs, and seat, waiting for an occupant. The cap meant for the inmate's head was hanging on a hook on the wall behind it, its wires snaking down to the floor and disappearing beneath a tall, black leather curtain.
It was a few seconds before Sarah took those final two steps. At the warden's instruction, she turned around and sat down. The corrections officers strapped her in, one of them attaching the electrode to her right calf. Her forearms were held down on the chair's thick oak arms by the metal clamps and her ankles were clamped to the two front legs. Straps held her upright against the back of the chair by her shoulders, upper arms, chest, and waist.
Warden Mills stepped forward. He was holding Sarah's death warrant in his hand. Through two mirrored, one-way windows on either side of the chamber, the witnesses watched everything as he began to read.
"Sarah Inez Griffin. You have been condemned to die in accordance with the law of the Commonwealth of Virginia for the crime of first degree murder with aggravating circumstances. The aggravating circumstances, as determined by a jury, are as follows ... The murder was committed against more than one person as a part of the same act or transaction. The murder was committed against more than one person within a three-year period. The sentence, as decided by the jury and upheld by a Circuit Court judge in Arlington County, will be carried out on August 17, 2006, at 9:00 p.m. at the Greensville Correctional Center in Greensville County, Virginia. This execution shall be carried out by electrocution in accordance with the law of the commonwealth of Virginia."
He looked at Sarah.
"There are no stays or cause to halt this execution from the courts or governor," he said. "Do you wish to make a statement?"
Sarah took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry," she said, staring straight ahead. "I don't know if this makes everything all right, but I am sorry for what I've done. I hope there can be closure after tonight. I wish it hadn't come to this, but I thank everyone who tried to help me. It's not their fault."
She fell silent. Since she had no witnesses and anyone she cared about would only hear her words second-hand, she saw no reason to expand on anything or address anyone individually. She'd said what she needed to say when she'd had her final visit earlier that day. These people wouldn't get more out of her. They would not see her break.
Warden Mills waited a minute to see if she wanted to add anything else. When Sarah didn't say anything, he nodded to one of the officers. This officer stepped forward and pulled down the metal cap, fitting it on Sarah's head and tightening its chin strap so both were snug. When these were secure, another officer pulled down a black mask attached to the bottom of the cap, covering her face. This was followed by a black vail, which remained out of sheer tradition despite the mask serving the same purpose in a more efficient manner.
Warden Mills stepped back and swept the chamber with his eyes. Everything was in order. he folded Sarah's death warrant.
"Turn it on," he instructed.
At this signal, an executioner, unseen thanks to the tall, thick leather curtain which separated him from everyone else in the chamber, turned a key. This switched on the current which powered the chair. A low hum filled the chamber. In the chair itself, Sarah dug her fingernails into its wooden arms, gripping it like all those who sat there before her. She was breathing rapidly, and her heart was racing.
Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, Warden Mills said, "Proceed."
The executioner pushed a button. The humming intensified, and Sarah's body lurched forward as much as the chair's restraints allowed, caught in the powerful current surging through her from head to calve. Her fingers released the chair's armrests and splayed out in all directions.
This first cycle was meant to render her unconscious. The next two cycles were meant to do the actual killing, with the second cycle being run in case the first one didn't do the job.
Suddenly, sparks appeared at the top of the cap, right where the thick wires carrying the electricity fed into it. The humming became irregular and more sparks flew out of both the cap and the electrode on Sarah's calf.
Then, a scream erupted from underneath the black hood. It sounded somewhat strangled but that didn't lessen its blood-curdling effect. Sarah was being electrocuted in a non-sanctioned way, feeling more pain than anyone could imagine. Her body still lurched forward, but her arms and legs jerked, violently fighting against the chair's restraints. All around, corrections officers protested what was happening.
Hearing the screaming was all Warden Mills needed. Being somehow able to make himself heard over the pandemonium, he yelled for the executioner to kill the current.
All sound in the chamber ceased almost instantaneously. No longer caught in the current, Sarah's body gave in to the chair's restraints and slammed back against its wooden frame. She sat there, somewhat slumped over while the straps and clamps still held her upright. Her fingers came back down to relax on the armrests. Smoke was rising from the electrode on her calf and the cap which now sat askew on her head.
After ordering one of his officers to shut the blinds to the two windows where the witnesses were still watching, Warden Mills stepped forward and examined Sarah. He wouldn't be able to touch her for a few minutes. Her body was too hot for any physical contact thanks to the electricity which just surged through her. He did not know where the prison doctor was, and he didn't intend to go find him. But from looking at Sarah, he couldn't be sure if she were still alive. If she was, she was definitely unconscious and in a lot of pain. If any of that was the case, he couldn't try to execute her again tonight.
No, he'd inform the Department of Corrections, the Attorney General's office, and the governor and let them figure out everything. If he tried to execute her now, he and everyone above and below him in the department would be the defendants in a massive civil rights lawsuit. He hoped she was dead, for her sake more than anyone else's.â??
After about five minutes, Warden Mills decided he couldn't wait anymore. By this time, two of his officers had wheeled a stretcher into the room. Its original purpose was to take the condemned's body out to the hearse after the execution. But now, no one was sure what would happen next.
Warden Mills undid the clamp on Sarah's right forearm. Hesitating a moment, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, noticing that her arm was bleeding from having fought so hard against the restraints during the electrocution. It was still warm but not too hot to touch. He found a pulse.
"She's still alive!" he reported. whirling around, he saw everyone was standing still, unsure of what to do.
"Get that stretcher over here now," he demanded ...
| Author Notes |
This chapter is meant to be a little blander than the others. Future chapters will explain why.
Cast of characters: Sarah Griffin: resident of Arlington, VA, and student at American University. Walked in on her neighbor, who had just murdered his wife and children, and pushed him down a flight of stairs. She was convicted and sentenced to death for all four killings. Is now blind and uses a wheelchair. Grace Collins: legal intern for Doug during Sarah's appeals. Later graduates from law school and earns her law license. Amelia Kelmer: Sarah's older sister. Moved from VA to NY with her husband and children. Lewis Griffin: Sarah's younger brother and a Baltimore City firefighter on Truck 29. Formerly a member of Engine 4. Luther Mills: prison warden who oversaw Sarah's execution in the electric chair. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "2nd Time Around":
In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family. in 1998, she was convicted and sentenced to death for these killings.
2014:
"... Alarm report at Box 15," the dispatcher announced over the loudspeakers in fire stations across Baltimore as the alarm shrieked. "Please respond ... Engine 6, Truck 29, Medic 10. Accident at the intersection of Northern Parkway and Reistertown Road. Please respond ... Engine 6, Truck 29, Medic 10."
* * *
"Great," Lewis muttered as he switched off the television in the station's dayroom. He'd managed to catch End of Days and was about ten minutes into the film when the alarm rang. These emergencies just had no consideration.
* * *
Engine 6 pulled in behind Truck 29 as both made their way along Reistertown Road. The companies reached the intersection to find a sedan had t-boned a van with the words "SunnyDale Living" on its side. A woman ran over as the firefighters climbed out of the rigs. She appeared agitated but seemed otherwise unharmed as she began pleading.
"You've gotta help them!" she cried.
"Who?" Lieutenant Barnett asked. "Ma'am, is there someone in those vehicles?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Crane. The ramp's broken. I can't get them out."
A police officer came over.
"A couple in the back," he explained. "Wife uses a scooter and seems to have problems speaking. Husband uses a walker. We haven't been able to assess their condition yet.
He pointed at the woman, who was wearing blue pants, a black winter coat, and an orange polo with a logo which bore the letters "SDL".
"This is Lisa White," he explained. "She says she works at the retirement home where the couple lives."
"They were visiting their daughter and her family in Hunt Valley," Lisa White added. "I picked them up and was driving them back when that other car hit us."
"The second driver ran a red light. He's nowhere to be seen, but there are several open beer cans and the car smells like a brewery. He can't have gone far. I've got guys out looking for him."
"Okay," Lieutenant Barnett said. "You said you couldn't get the Cranes out?"
"The car smashed into the rear sliding door," the police officer explained. "We can't have them climbing out through the windows."
Lisa White could only nod in agreement.
"We'll take it from here," Lieutenant Barnett said, turning to his company. "I'll tell the guys on the engine to worry about the cars. Check on the occupants."
The firefighters grabbed some tools and hurried to the van. The driver's door was open. Lewis climbed inside and through to the back. An elderly woman was sitting in a scooter which was strapped to the floor. Next to her, an elderly man sat in a seat. Lewis saw he was clutching his chest with his right hand and groaning.
"Sir?" he asked. "Are you all right?"
"My chest," the man wheezed. "It ... hurts."
"His heart," the woman said in a weak, slurred voice. "It's ... his ... heart."
"Don't worry," Lewis said, noticing Mr. Crane was sweating. "We'll have you both out of here soon. Everything's going to be fine."
He saw Kevin climbing in and waved him back.
"Get Suzanne in here," he said, trying to stay as calm as he could for the elderly couple's benefit.
While they all had plenty of first aid training, Suzanne was the company's only dually-certified EMT. Lewis wanted her here now.
Suzanne didn't need to be briefed on the situation. She too recognized the signs of Mr. Crane's possible heart attack.
"Kevin," she instructed, "pass me the first aid kit and get the defibrillator."
Leaving the first aid kit on the driver's seat for Lewis to reach, Kevin hurried back to the truck. As he was returning, he stopped and looked at the van. Seeing the growing puddle under it, he cursed under his breath.
"It's dumping gas!" he called.
Some of the crew from Engine 6 hurried over to contain the spill. Kevin gave Lewis the defibrillator and went to help them. Sheldon and Frank began working out how they'd extract the couple.
"How much you wanna bet those seats in the van are removable in some way," Frank asked.
Sheldon nodded. As Kevin and the crew of Engine 6 worked to contain the leaking gasoline with sand, he and Frank opened the van's rear doors and began pulling out the supplies kept back there.
Ignoring the defibrillator on the front seat for the moment, Suzanne dug a bottle out of the first aid kit while having Lewis search for the man's wallet. He found it in his pants pocket and withdrew an in Case of Emergency card. Seven years ago, the Baltimore City Department of Health made them available for all senior citizens. First responders were trained to look for these ICE cards, which listed a person's name, medications they were taking, allergies, and emergency contact information. Lewis needed to complete a ten-hour course on these cards during his time in the fire academy. He knew what to watch out for as he studied this one, emblazoned with the familiar bold letters across the top.
"Doesn't look like there's anything we need to worry about," he reported.
Suzanne nodded, opening the bottle and shaking out a pill.
"Mr. Crane," she said, "this is an aspirin. I need you to chew and swallow it. Please open your mouth."
The old man did as instructed and she plopped the pill in.
"Chew and swallow it," she instructed. "It'll help."
Neither she nor Lewis had the qualifications necessary to more thoroughly address the situation and they didn't carry more specific medications, like nitroglycerin, in the kit. but it was well-established that having the victim of a heart attack take an aspirin as soon as possible was potentially life-saving. Thus, their training called for this action.
Suzanne turned back to Lewis.
"Where's the ambulance?" she asked.
"I think they're stuck in traffic," Sheldon reported from the back of the van. "Probably tried to take the parkway. ETA's two minutes."
"Anyone call for a second bus?"
"The lieutenant did a little while ago. Not sure where they're coming from though."
"What's the latest on the gas spill?" Lewis asked.â??
"They've got it stopped and contained. It's just a couple of gallons."
"Excuse me, folks," Frank said. "Gotta get in here."
Since he was taller and had a larger frame than Lewis or Suzanne, climbing across the driver's seat and into the back was a little more difficult. But he managed.
"Gotta squeeze around you, Ma'am," he said to Mrs. Crane. "There are some hooks I gotta undo to get this seat out."
He made his way past the scooter and crouched down in front of the van's rear bench. As everyone heard the first of the two ambulances arrive, he undid all three hooks. With Sheldon and Kevin lifting from the other side, he moved the seat back and out of the van, where it was set aside on the sidewalk with the supplies they'd unloaded earlier.
"All right Ma'am," Frank said, turning to Mrs. Crane. "Let's get you out of here."
"My ... husband ..." Mrs. Crane protested. "My ... husband ..."
"Don't you worry. He's in good hands and he'll be right behind you."
With help from the crew of Engine6, Kevin managed to remove the wheelchair ramp from its mechanism beneath the van's undercarriage. He and Sheldon set it down against the van's rear bumper, four of them holding it in place.
"Mind if I take the wheel for a moment?" Frank asked. "The terrain's a bit tricky."
Mrs. Crane didn't say anything and he used the scooter's joystick to move it backwards out of the van. She moaned as she rolled backwards down the ramp.
"Don't you worry," Frank assured her as the second ambulance arrived. "We've got you."
He helped the paramedics lift her out of the scooter and onto the stretcher.
"All right," Suzanne said. "Your turn, Mr. Crane."
She unbuckled his seatbelt and draped one of his arms around her shoulders. Lewis did the same and they helped him towards the back of the van. The ramp had been taken away and Sheldon and two more paramedics helped him out and onto the stretcher. Suzanne reported giving him the aspirin while Lewis handed over his ICE card.
"He's conscious and talking," one of the paramedics said, fitting an oxygen mask on the man's face. "That's a good sign."
He and his partner wheeled the stretcher to the nearby ambulance. Meanwhile, a sedan with the same SunnyDale Living logo had arrived and a man was speaking with Lisa White.
"He came out of nowhere," she was saying. "I never saw him."
Lieutenant Barnette approached the pair and the man whirled around to face him.
"How are they?" the man asked.
"Mr. Crane seems to have suffered a minor cardiac episode," Lieutenant Barnette explained. "The paramedics are confident about his chances. They're taking Mrs. Crane out of an abundance of caution."
The man sighed.
"We're supposed to keep our residents safe," he muttered.
"This couldn't have been predicted," Lieutenant Barnette assured him. "Your driver got herself out of the wreck and informed us of the situation. The Cranes are lucky to have had her there."
A police officer beckoned him over and the lieutenant excused himself. As he stepped away, he noticed two firefighters from Engine 6 sweeping up the sand which they'd used to absorb the spilled gasoline, depositing it all in a plastic bin. It really was an easy matter to deal with, provided no one started smoking in the immediate area of the spill.
"We found the other driver," the officer reported, getting the lieutenant's attention again. "He was stumbling down the sidewalk about half a block away. Guy smells worse than his car. He's been read his rights and they're driving him to the hospital ... 'abundance of caution'."
Lieutenant Barnette nodded, withholding a laugh.
"Guess everyone was lucky here," the officer remarked. "Heck, we've all seen a lot worse."
Lieutenant Barnette nodded again, noticing two tow trucks arriving.
"Guys!" he called. "Get all that stuff back in the van! Make sure it doesn't rattle!"
"The cleanup," Frank muttered. "Always the hassle of the job."
"Too bad we can't pawn it all off on our new guy," Kevin said.
"That bench is too heavy for one person to lift," Sheldon pointed out. "We could get sued. You can help him with that."
He added a slight smirk as Kevin groaned.
"Make sure it's hooked in again!" Frank called after him.
Kevin acknowledged this with a wave of his hand. He and Lewis lifted the bench off the sidewalk. Suzanne was kind enough to stand in the van and direct them as they worked.
"Little to the left ..." she said, "a little more ... little more ... too far. Back to the right ... little more ... wait. That's good."
"So," Kevin asked as they secured the hooks of the bench, "how's the first day going?"
"It's good," Lewis said. "Got a few calls under my belt already and you guys haven't hazed me too badly yet."
"We'll have to work on that," Kevin remarked as they climbed out to retrieve the rest of the van's contents.
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Lewis Griffin: Sarah's younger brother and a Baltimore City firefighter on Truck 29. Formerly a member of Engine 4. Sheldon Alexander: Baltimore City firefighter and driver of Truck 29. Frank Milkey: Baltimore City firefighter and oldest member of Truck 29. Suzanne Moss: Baltimore City firefighter and member of Truck 29. Kevin Foley: Baltimore City firefighter and youngest member of Truck 29. Held the title of "rookie" until Lewis's transfer from Engine 4. Operates the truck's ladder. Lieutenant Miles Barnett: Baltimore City firefighter and leader of Truck 29. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "2nd Time Around":
In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family. in 1998, she was convicted and sentenced to death for these killings.
2014:
"I don't actually remember anything about that day," Sarah told the audience of Touro students and faculty. "In fact, that whole week is gone. The last thing I remember before then is sitting in my cell at Fluvanna in Troy, a different town than Jarratt. Most of the following month is gone as well. That's in part thanks to the pain medication they were pumping into my body ... guess it was good stuff."
The large auditorium was silent as everyone listened to this account of the botched execution. Even those who heard the story before were wrapped up in the horror and morbidity. Sarah wouldn't let their interest in this plight get to her. She was here to inform, not entertain.
"About three or four days before an execution in Virginia, the condemned inmate is taken from whatever prison they're on Death Row in," she explained. "They're brought to the Greensville Correctional Center to sit in a Death Watch cell, where they are supervised around the clock until the time comes. Their every move and word are recorded, as are the actions of anyone around them. Names are often left out because the Department of Corrections wants to keep people's anonymity intact. During the investigation into what went wrong, we got some information. When we filed our multi-claim lawsuit against the state back in 2009, we got a subpoena for all the records from the execution. Both times, certain names were kept out, which the judge allowed despite our protests against it. It didn't matter. Even though we never got everyone's names, those records painted a pretty clear picture of what happened. I've been able to construct a memory from that, using some common sense to fill in the gaps."
Sarah stopped and asked for some water, which Grace gave her. She took a few gulps while everyone absorbed what she said. Had bits and pieces of it not made national headlines over the years, they might not believe her today. In truth, Sarah didn't care one way or the other.
"To this day, I don't know which is scarier ..." she continued, "knowing I survived or not remembering what happened."
Finished, she held the microphone out for Grace, who passed it down to Doug so he could tell his part of the story.
"Hello," the big man said, speaking in his usual deep, raspy southern drawl. "My name is Doug Walker. I'm an attorney with the firm of Wheeler, Lex, & Sutton in Richmond, Virginia. I've been an attorney for fourteen years now, working in our firm's criminal defense division, specifically overseeing pro bono cases. Before that, I was in the Coast Guard for six years. I also served seven years with the Richmond Police Department and another eight with the Virginia State Police, during which time I attended the University of Virginia School of Law in Charlottesville. I first met Sarah in 2004 when my firm took her on as a pro bono case and dropped the file on my desk. Now, I had studied capital punishment since law school and I was against the practice, but this was my first actual death penalty case. I guess my story begins a couple of days before Sarah's first execution ..."
2006:
... A corrections officer led Doug into the Death Watch area at the Greensville Correctional Center. The state of Virginia housed its condemned men at the Sussex State Prison in Waverly and the women at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women in Troy, but all executions were carried out here. The prison was in Greensville County, just outside the town of Jarratt. Official reports produced somewhere at some point said keeping Death Row and the execution chamber in separate facilities was less stressful for the condemned and the officers assigned to guard them throughout the years it took for appeals to make it through the court system. Doug didn't care if this was true. He still didn't like the process, regardless of any attempts to reduce stress.
The Commonwealth of Virginia had executed just under a hundred inmates since the U.S. Supreme Court allowed the resumption of capital punishment under new, stricter laws in 1976. Along the way, the state developed a well-known history with the electric chair. Lagging only behind Texas in the volume of executions performed, Virginia's legislature changed its laws in 1994 to make lethal injection the primary method of execution. Despite this change, inmates could still choose the chair if they wanted to go that way. If an inmate didn't choose, lethal injection was the default method. Since this change, about half a dozen inmates chose the chair over the needle.
For reasons only she knew and understood, Sarah chose to die in Virginia's electric chair. Doug remembered the day he came to visit, about a week after the execution date was set, and she told him she wanted to die that way, asking him to clear it with the courts and prison officials. He tried to pry an explanation out of her, but she wouldn't give one. Resigned, he did as requested and focused on preventing the execution altogether.
Doug thought this area looked a lot different from Sarah's description of the cell block where she lived back at Fluvanna. It was certainly smaller than those tiers while the cells seemed to be larger. Two cells lined one wall with a wide corridor affording the prison staff an open space on the other side of the bars from the inmate. A desk was set up opposite from the cells. On it was a standard desktop computer. A corrections officer sat there, watching Sarah and making a record of everything going on in the Death Watch area. The computer's keys clicked like those on any other keyboard as the officer typed, pausing when the young woman cast a wary glance at the visitor, a mountain of a man. This record was kept to protect the Department of Corrections from libelous claims that an inmate was treated harshly or otherwise in a negative manner prior to their execution. In an unofficial capacity, it satisfied the public's morbid interest in things such as the last meal and final statement.
Across the room was another door. It was a solid metal door which seemed to be locked. Doug knew this was the door through which an inmate would be taken when their time came. The room on the other side was the prison's execution chamber. As if to make this point any more obvious, a sign was mounted on the door, reading "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" in large black letters.
Sarah occupied the second of the two cells. Having been playing Solitaire on her bunk, she stopped and looked up when Doug stepped across the threshold.
"Hello," she said, watching him walked towards the cell. He was stopped by a yellow line which ran across the floor about five feet from the bars.
"Your cancer project seems to be coming along nicely," Doug observed.
Sarah's red hair was now longer than in the photos he'd seen of her before her incarceration. It ran almost all the way down her back.
"Yeah," Sarah said. "Looks like it's going to work out ... for somebody."
Doug had spent three months convincing the Department of Corrections to allow this despite the hair length violating their rules. But he'd been successful and Sarah had spent the past year growing it out.
"What about you?" Doug asked. "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay," Sarah replied. She set down her cards, stood, and stepped to the bars of the cell door. She looked up at Doug.
"How are things going with the courts?" she inquired.
"The 4th circuit turned us down without comment," Doug replied. "I've already filed with the U.S. Supreme Court. We've also still got claims in the Federal District Court for the eastern district of Virginia in Richmond and the Supreme Court of Virginia. Contrary to popular belief, we're not down for the count."
"What about the governor? Did he reconsider his decision?"
A few days earlier, Virginia Governor Joshua Leffat declined to grant clemency. Doug had previously expressed his doubts about him changing his mind. Governor Leffat was a vocal proponent of the death penalty.
"Guess I gotta start wrapping my head around that this is really gonna happen," Sarah concluded, looking at one of the walls in the cell.
"Don't give up," Doug implored. He'd often contended with Sarah's swinging opinions about the execution. The woman was still dealing with what happened the night of the murders. She still switched back and forth from blaming herself to accepting her actions were either accidental or an act of self-defense. In all honesty, Doug did not have time to bring her around to the latter idea. Instead, he studied her through the bars.
"Listen," he said, "this could literally come down to the wire. I anticipate I will be running from one courthouse to the next for the entire time we have left. I don't know when I'll be able to make it back here. But I promise I'll have my phone on me at all times. You can call me anytime and I'll call as often as I can."
He pointed to the phone mounted on the wall by the corrections officer and the computer.
"Don't give up on me," he encouraged.
Gripping the bars of the cell door, Sarah nodded, her mouth a thin, straight line.
* * *
"She's very lucky," the doctor was saying. "I don't need to tell all of you most people wouldn't even have survived what happened to her."
"What's the prognosis?" Doug asked, still reliving the past few hours. He was driving to Greensville, knowing Sarah's death would be announced any minute, when he heard something startlingly different over his truck's radio.
"What was supposed to be a routine execution at the Greensville Correctional Center turned into what death penalty opponents are already calling 'unimaginable torture'," a news anchor was saying. "Just thirty minutes ago, the state of Virginia went ahead with the execution of Sarah Inez Griffin when an unknown mishap occurred. We do not have many details at this time. What we do know is that an ambulance left the prison, its sirens wailing. Prison officials admitted the execution did not proceed as planned but did not go into further detail. Word from the witnesses ..."
When he'd arrived at the prison, Doug began threatening whomever he could with a lawsuit. This got him some information. Sarah was taken to the Ernest King Medical Center in Jarratt, the warden ensuring her family could follow the ambulance. From there, she was airlifted to the Richmond General Hospital two hours away. This facility was better equipped to handle her injuries.
When he arrived at the second hospital's waiting room, Doug was met by Sarah's parents, Ruth and George, and her siblings, Amelia and Lewis. Sarah's long-time boyfriend, Jerry Baker, was also there, accompanied by his guide dog, a Black Labrador/Golden Retriever mix named Nemo. When Doug asked, none of them had any information about what happened. All they'd ascertained from their seats in the waiting area at the prison was something went wrong in the execution chamber. Next thing they knew, Sarah was being rushed to a hospital. All they were told was she was unconscious and being treated for injuries related to being electrocuted. Like Doug, they followed the trail of information to Richmond, where they were still in the dark.
No one had thought to call him during their frantic drive from hospital to hospital. This was in part due to their forgetting to reclaim their cell phones at the prison. The only reason they got the keys to the van back was because the corrections officer on duty in the parking lot had held on to those. The phones and other personal belongings were in a box with "Griffin" scrawled across its side, which the warden had given Doug. It was still on the passenger seat in the big man's truck.
Within minutes of Doug's arrival, a representative from the Department of Corrections entered the hospital's waiting area. He attempted to appease everyone by saying there had been an unforeseen mishap and it was already being investigated.
"We hold ourselves to high constitutional standards," he added. "We only intend to follow the law as it is ..."
Doug thought the guy was making this speech up as he went along, but he couldn't stop to think about this. George had risen to his feet, anger flashing across his face. Lewis was also getting up, his whole body shaking as he moved to block his father's path. Doug stepped forward and put a hand on the man's shoulder.
The representative was stepping back, nervously adjusting his tie. He darted to the right when he realized he almost stepped on the sleeping Nemo's paw. Jerry remained silent, glaring in the man's direction as he reached down to ensure Nemo was unharmed.
Nearby, Ruth was crying and Amelia had her arms around her. It looked like the taller woman was using her body to shield her mother as silent tears rolled down her own cheeks.
George whirled around and glared up at Doug. The big man shook his head.
"No," he said in a soft voice.
He understood this man's anger. This was his daughter. But it wasn't the time to assault some pencil-pushing bureaucrat who, from the looks of him, had never set foot in a prison. Already worn down by the night's events, a defeated George sank into the nearest chair as Doug released him.
Another representative, this one from the Attorney General's office, arrived soon after, but he had the good sense to keep quiet. He and the corrections representative man conferred near the entrance, leaving the family alone.
When the doctor came out to report on Sarah's condition, everyone surrounded her, demanding answers. Startled, she recovered and gave them as much as she could.
"We've placed her in a medically-induced coma," she explained. "Her body is receptive to painful stimuli and she is in pain. Her vital signs aren't stable yet. We're still running tests to determine what sort of neurological and internal damage has been done."
"Are you giving her pain medication?" Ruth asked.
"Some. We can't overdo it, or she'll only slip deeper into the coma. We want to bring her back as soon as possible so we can learn more about her prognosis."
"Then what do you know now?" Ruth asked, desperate for a coherent answer.
"The burns to her head and leg were minor and are easily treatable. Since the electrodes directed the flow of electricity into her body, this type of injury is much less severe than what we would expect. There are a few other burns on her skin, but again, they are minor in comparison."
She stopped, taking a breath.
"There is one more thing we know," she said. "I am not sure if you are aware, but electricity affects the body's softest tissues first. Because of this, Sarah's eyes sustained massive damage. I don't mean to be blunt, but they've literally melted. There was nothing we could do for her but remove what was left."
Doug's jaw clenched and his stomach lurched. He knew the masks and veils prison officials used to cover the faces of the condemned in the electric chair weren't just for ceremony. Still, knowing this wasn't comforting.
"So ... So, she's blind?" Amelia asked. She looked at Jerry and Nemo, her face pale.
"Yes," The doctor replied. "We're uncertain about what other damage was done. But we will let you know once we know. She is still in critical condition, so we'll watch her closely for the next few hours."
She left the waiting area.
"Okay," The representative from the Department of Corrections chimed in, speaking to no one in particular. "We'll need to coordinate security ..."
Doug steered the Griffin family off to another part of the waiting area so they wouldn't have to listen to this. They shouldn't have to hear about Sarah being considered a dangerous prisoner needing guards around her. People were already casting wary glances their way. To expedite the relocation, he himself led Jerry along rather than leaving the task up to Nemo. After all, neither the man nor the dog knew their way around this hospital.
As they moved, Doug noticed signs of extra security already being established. When he arrived, he saw a uniformed security guard standing near the hospital's entrance. Now, there were three milling around the waiting area. Someone in a suit came down a nearby corridor and was speaking with various personnel, including the woman behind the reception desk and one of the guards. It wouldn't be long before everyone knew a convicted quadruple murderer was in the hospital.
"This is unbelievable," Ruth said, sitting down again. "I really thought this nightmare couldn't get any worse."
She buried her face in her hands.
"Are we gonna be able to see her?" George asked, his face ashen.
"I don't know," Doug replied, glancing back at the government representatives. "Honestly, I don't think so. They're already making security arrangements. She'll be surrounded within the hour."
He took off his sunglasses and wiped the lenses with a tissue, doing this more to stop his hands from shaking than anything else. Replacing the lenses on his face, he glanced over his shoulder when he overheard a comment about the "ax murderer" being here. The speaker was an old, white-haired woman with a walker who was sitting nearby, speaking to a younger woman, perhaps her daughter. No one else seemed to have heard the remark and Doug let it go.â??
"I need to call Michael," Amelia said and excused herself. Her husband was with their children back at the hotel. In all the craziness, she hadn't had time to do this earlier.
"Maybe you should all go back to your hotel," Doug suggested. "I'm getting the feeling it'll be a while before we know anything else. I can stay here, and you can go back to Jarratt and get your stuff so you can stay in a place close to the hospital."
It seemed like a reasonable idea. Jarratt was a far drive for going back and forth over the next few days.
"I can make arrangements with a hotel here while you go," Doug offered.
Everyone agreed, though Amelia griped about having to wake up and relocate her five-year-old and one-year-old. Nevertheless, she left with Jerry, Nemo, Lewis, and their parents while Doug went to the nearby hotels to find them rooms. Since it was two in the morning, he was sure his search wouldn't be the easiest.
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Sarah Griffin: resident of Arlington, VA, and student at American University. Walked in on her neighbor, who had just murdered his wife and children, and pushed him down a flight of stairs. She was convicted and sentenced to death for all four killings. Is now blind and uses a wheelchair. Doug Walker: Attorney in Richmond, VA. Sarah's lead attorney in the appeals process. Amelia Kelmer: Sarah's older sister. Moved from VA to NY with her husband and children. Michael Kelmer: Amelia's husband and Sarah's brother-in-law. David Kelmer: Amelia's and Michael's son and Sarah's nephew. Rose Kelmer: Amelia's and Michael's daughter and Sarah's niece. Ruth Griffin: Sarah's mother. George Griffin: Sarah's father. Jerry Baker: Sarah's ex-boyfriend from college. Lewis Griffin: Sarah's younger brother and a Baltimore City firefighter on Truck 29. Formerly a member of Engine 4. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "2nd Time Around":
In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family. in 1998, she was convicted and sentenced to death for these killings.
2006:
"She looks so weak," Ruth said, still trying to process it all.
Thanks to some pressure from Doug, the Department of Corrections allowed Sarah's family to see her in her hospital room via the window in the corridor. Corrections officers stood guard all around the area, one of them stationed in a chair inside the room. They all watched the visitors closely, particularly wary of Doug and Amelia, who towered over the others and most of the corrections and hospital personnel. Doug took it upon himself to describe the scene to Jerry while Nemo took the opportunity to take a nap.
Sarah was still unconscious. She had been moved to the room just a little while ago, about twelve hours after her arrival. She was hooked up to a heart rate monitor, a respirator, and many pieces of medical equipment which the group didn't recognize. Though the window blocked out most of the sounds inside the room, the group could hear the faint beeping of the heart rate monitor. No one could miss the light reflecting off the metal handcuffs securing one of Sarah's wrists to the bed's rail.
The family had relocated to a hotel two blocks from the hospital. Except for Amelia's and Michael's children and Nemo, no one slept. They only stored their things and, leaving Michael to once again watch the kids, headed right back to the hospital. He joined them later with the little boy and baby girl in tow.
The doctors determined the electrocution had caused damage to Sarah's heart. This wasn't surprising as the point of an execution in the electric chair was to stimulate the inmate's heart to race, thus inducing cardiac arrest. Sarah was receiving Natrecor, a medication meant to ease the stress on her cardiac muscles, via one of her intravenous lines, though she would need to continue taking something similar orally once she was awake.
The news only got worse from there. The electrical surge had damaged Sarah's spinal cord, causing partial paralysis. Though they already had a good idea as to the extent of the damage, the doctors couldn't be sure about it until Sarah was brought out of the coma.
Sarah's kidneys and liver were also impacted. Even though the organs hadn't been destroyed and she was receiving medication to help sustain their functionality, the doctors predicted transplants would be necessary someday. Thankfully, none of Sarah's other internal organs sustained such serious damage.
"Can I see her?" Amelia's and Michael's five-year-old son, David, asked, being too short to look through the window.
The adults held a brief and hushed debate about the matter before Michael obliged and lifted the boy to see his aunt. David's eyes widened at the sight.
"Is she hurt really badly?" he asked.
"Yes, she is," Amelia admitted. "But the doctors are taking good care of her."
Michael set David down again. the boy looked up at his mother.
"How'd she get hurt?" he queried.
"It's hard to explain," Amelia said. "We can talk about it later."
Doug could read Amelia's nervous facial expression. She was hoping and praying the boy's absent-minded five-year-old brain would forget all about wanting to know the explanation soon enough. She would have to explain it all someday, but Doug understood she and her husband preferred to put that conversation off for as long as possible.
"How are you doing?" the big man asked in a soft voice, moving over to stand next to Jerry.
"I don't know," the young man admitted, wiping his eyes with his shirtsleeve. "It's ... it doesn't seem real. I mean, how many people would understand what we're looking at right now. Who would get what they did to her?"
"I don't know. I really don't know."
Meanwhile, Nemo was no longer sleeping. He had taken an interest in Amelia's and Michael's one-year-old daughter, Rose. The baby girl was in a carrier which Amelia had set down by her feet in the hospital corridor. Curious, Nemo stretched his neck out to sniff the girl's feet, which were covered by tiny, orange socks. Delighted by this brief contact, Rose giggled wildly. Looking down, Amelia also giggled. It was a rather funny sight.
Glancing over, Doug thought about alerting Jerry to what was happening. Nemo, like Jerry's previous guide dog, a German Shepard named Granite, wasn't supposed to be doing this sort of meet-and-greet. Doug recalled how many friendly looks he'd gotten from the Retriever over the years. Nemo was, as Jerry put it, just eager for someone to pet him so they'd be the one breaking the cardinal rule of not petting an on-duty guide dog. Such an action could distract the dog from their work and cause harm to the blind handler.
Watching the scene, Doug decided to keep his mouth shut. Nemo wasn't doing more than sniffing the baby's feet. Heck, he wasn't even moving off anywhere. It was the sort of whimsical scenario needed in this grim time. It pulled people away from the looming question ... what would happen next? Doug wasn't even close to an answer, but he'd have to figure it out soon.
* * *
"You understand the rules?" a corrections officer asked.
Doug nodded, allowing himself to be patted down and searched. Leaving his briefcase by the door, he entered the hospital room. Though he tried to get all of Sarah's family and Jerry admitted, the Department of Corrections balked. The compromise was they could see Sarah from the corridor. Doug, being her attorney, could go in, though, for the time being, he could not expect attorney/client privilege. For one thing, his client was still unconscious, so there would not be an opportunity for a privileged conversation. Doug waited until the others left before taking advantage of these terms.
Despite their security concerns, the officers were being respectful. They understood Sarah, who had never committed a serious infraction behind bars, was no danger to anyone while comatose. Plus, they were far within the hospital's inner sanctum, many layers of brick, wood, and plaster between them and the outside world now latching onto the case. Then, there was the fact Doug, like the officers, was a lawman, albeit retired. They all pegged him, though some knew his name from mutual friends in the Richmond and State Police. While their behavior never indicated a willingness to look the other way while on this detail, they didn't treat Doug with the scorn received by so many attorneys visiting their incarcerated clients.
Sarah had now been hospitalized for a week. Needing to get back to Arlington, Baltimore, Mount Sinai, and Philadelphia, her family and Jerry returned home. George and Ruth still often returned, but they couldn't stay around the clock. Since he lived in Richmond, Doug promised to check in whenever he could and would call with any updates.
Pulling a chair over, He sat down next to the bed. He was forbidden to touch Sarah and an officer was in the room, watching him. He placed his hands on his knees and looked at her through his sunglasses.
Sarah was still unconscious, though the doctors found she could breathe on her own. They removed the respirator, leaving only a tube in her nose which delivered oxygen. Her wrist was still cuffed to the bed's rail and she was dressed in a standard hospital gown and covered by a blanket. Her hair was already growing back in places, showing up in little red fuzzy patches, while thick bandages covered her eyes. By now, the burns had mostly healed, though Some dark spots were visible where bandages had already been removed. The low rasp of her breathing was accompanied by the steady beeps from the heart rate monitor.
"Hey," Doug said. "I hope you can hear this, though I'm not sure you want to hear it. I've managed to pry the incident report out of the iron fists of the Virginia Department of Corrections. They did not want to let that go, but the attorney of the inmate who is the subject of the incident has some pull with the courts, even in Virginia."
He paused, taking in the rasps and beeps. It was all so eerie for him. For one thing, he was never much of a conversationalist, so this one-sided chat wasn't for him. And this setting made things worse.
"It was a faulty circuit board, Doug explained. "It was supposed to regulate the flow of electricity. When they turned on the juice, it was fried first and you got a shock, but not one strong enough to do the job."
While the execution procedure was once one long, continuous surge of electricity meant to go on until the inmate was dead, it wasn't so anymore. Virginia employed three cycles. Cycle One, consisting of 2,400 volts for fifteen seconds, was meant to first render the condemned unconscious and then go on to causing their death. The second and third cycles, each consisting of 1,800 volts for another fifteen seconds, were run to ensure death. According to the report, Sarah received 1,500 volts of electricity.
"They killed it after fifteen seconds as always," Doug continued, again wondering why Sarah chose to go out like this. "But the whole circuitry was so charred, they couldn't have run it again if they tried. They've already got electricians replacing everything but the chair itself."
Virginia officials were pushing to put this behind them and continue the business of executions. Doug had no intention of making it so easy for them. In fact, the idea of letting that happen made him sick. He swallowed, trying to get rid of the taste of bile in the back of his throat.
"The doctors say you're lucky to be alive," he continued. "Of course, the press is all over this. The streets outside are lined with news vans and all the local hotels are filled with reporters, their cameramen and producers, print journalists, and those blogger people ... then there are the protesters ... both for and against. It's nuts out there."
Doug shook his head. Setting aside their current whereabouts, this topic wasn't easing his tension any bit either. He just wanted to be done with it.
"I'm already working on a claim for a lawsuit," he said. "Nothing's official yet, but negligence will be a part of it. I'll also try for battery. On top of that, there are already hints going around that the state will want to try to execute you again once you're declared healthy enough for that. Believe me ... I'm gonna fight it with every fiber of my being. You shouldn't have gone to the chair in the first place and I'm sorry I ever let it happen. It will not happen again ... I promise you."
There he was, making promises again. He might never learn his lesson. Still, the state couldn't really think of killing Sarah now. What court would allow that in this day and age?
Doug noticed Sarah's uncuffed hand lying motionless on top of the blanket. Acting on instinct, he reached out to take it. He stopped at the warning cough from the nearby officer. Giving a flat apology, he rested his broad hand on his knee again.
"You come back, you hear," he encouraged. "I'm no good at talking to you like this. And ... I need you here. I want your strength to drive me forward. I've only known you for a couple of years, but I know you're too strong to give up now. So, you come back just as quickly as possible, all right?"
* * *
Sarah stayed in the hospital for eight days before the doctors decided to reduce the dosage of the anesthetic keeping her in the medically-induced coma. The Department of Corrections didn't waste any time and stationed more officers along the corridor and inside her hospital room. At his own insistence, Doug was also present as much as visiting hours allowed, making it a tight squeeze for everyone.
Two days later, after random twitches and mumblings, Sarah began showing signs of awareness. Not trusting the corrections officers, the doctor brought her own team of orderlies to restrain her if necessary.
Since Doug was the only one allowed to be in the room, Sarah's family made him her health care proxy. he could control what she was given, though it didn't seem to be necessary at this point. He watched as Sarah's hand twitched again. she groaned and clenched her fingers, though her fist was weak. She relaxed again and turned her head.
"H ... hello?" she asked, Her voice weak.
Doug swallowed a lump in his throat. It was the first time she'd spoken.
"Sarah?" the doctor asked.
"Ye ... yes?" Sarah replied. "W ... who's the ... there? Wh ... where a ... am I?"
"You're at the Richmond General Hospital. you were brought here for treatment."
"Wh ... What kind of tr ... treat ... treatment?"
Sarah was becoming more aware. She seemed to realize something was wrong.
"Wha ... What's happening?" she asked, sounding scared and confused. "Wh ... why can't I see?"
She tried to raise her left arm but realized she was cuffed to the bed. She raised her right hand to her face and found the bandages. An orderly stepped forward, ready to grab her arm if she began tearing at them.
"Sarah," Doug said. "listen. There was ..."
"D ... Doug?" Sarah asked and tried to find him, waving her free hand through the air. But, due to all the people in the room, he was out of reach. She became more desperate.
"What ... What's g ... going on?" she demanded. "why c ... can't I see? Why are there bandages all over my face? Doug?!"
She tried to move but realized nothing happened.
"What happened to me?!" she cried. "I can't move my legs!"
She began shaking violently and turning over in the bed as best she could. The orderlies rushed forward, cutting off the corrections officers' path as they held the struggling patient. It wasn't long before Sarah was still again, her face turned up to the ceiling. Her breathing was soft and relaxed. She looked peaceful again.
"Is she asleep?" Doug asked.
"Yes," The doctor replied. "she wore herself out. The anesthetic isn't completely out of her system yet."
"How much longer is she going to stay like that?"
"We'll keep reducing it slowly. she's got a lot of adjustments to make. Time and patience are key to any sort of success."
Doug wondered how far this hospital was willing to go to help Sarah. After all, she was condemned for four murders. If transplants ever became necessary, could they even get any? Sarah would be alive for a few more years while this mess was sorted out and, if Doug got his way, for a lot longer afterward. Someday, her kidneys, liver, and maybe her heart, would fail. Could the doctors turn their backs on her then? Doug predicted a turbulent collision between "first do no harm" and the law's assertion that Virginia officials could snuff out those they placed on the lowest rungs of society.
* * *
Over the next few days, the hospital staff continued lowering the anesthetic, being slow and methodic about it. As she became more aware of her surroundings, Sarah learned about what had happened and her prognosis.
After two weeks, she was aware enough to realize when Doug came into the room. She didn't say anything, instead staring up in his general direction. Someone had raised the end of her bed so she was sitting up, causing her blanket to fall from her shoulders and bunch up around her waist. the bandages were gone except for those covering her eyes. Her head sported what looked like a two-week-old red beard. She was still handcuffed to the rail on her left side.
"Hello," Doug said. "Mind if I sit down?"
He wanted to give her some sense of control in all this. If she wanted him to leave, he'd walk out the door without a fuss and come back another time. He knew she was being cooperative as the nurses began having her take her medication orally. He doubted she'd make him leave. Still, she ought to make this call. She deserved it.
"Go ahead," Sarah murmured.
Doug sat down and waited. He wasn't going to start this conversation, the first real one they'd have since her execution. Saying "how are you" would be the dumbest thing he could do.
"They ... they t ... took my eyes, Doug ..." Sarah said in a shaky voice.
"I know," Doug said. "They had no choice. There was too much damage."
"I ... I c ... can't m ... move my le ... legs. I ... I c ... can't feel Th ... them. Ar ... are they even sti ... still th ... there? I c ... can't re ... reach out and t ... touch them with ... without it hur ... hurting."
"They're there," Doug assured her, glancing at the two long lumps under the blanket.
"The ... They s ... said it w ... was a mi ... miracle I even s ... survived. D ... doesn't fe ... feel m ... much like a m ... miracle to me."
As he listened to her breathing becoming more choked and rapid, Doug could sense a breakdown on its way. He looked at the bandages over Sarah's face, concerned about what damage tears might do.
"Wh ... why'd th ... this h ... happen?" Sarah asked between sobs. "Wh ... why'd Th ... this h ... happen to me ... me?"
Doug did not know what to say.
"I ... I shou ... should be de ... dead," Sarah insisted. "Wh ... why cou ... couldn't the ... they d ... do it ri ... right?"
She raised her uncuffed hand and touched the bandages over her eye sockets. This made it worse. Wincing, she pulled her pillow out from behind her head and mashed it over her face, alternatively gasping and sobbing. Even her obvious discomfort didn't impede these motions.
Despite the many warnings he'd received from corrections officers, Doug reached out and clasped Sarah's hand in his. When the officer in the corner jumped up from his seat to protest, he glared at the young man.
"Back off," he snarled.
He'd taken Sarah's hand in his own many times before during their visits in the attorney/client visitation rooms at Fluvanna. No one ever stopped him then and nothing ever happened. So, he wasn't going to let now be any different. Besides, he'd searched before coming into the room, so the corrections officers would have found anything he'd be smuggling.
The young officer sat down again. Nevertheless, he watched the situation more attentively. It didn't look like he'd be reporting anything though.
"It'll be all right," Doug said to a weeping Sarah. "I'm gonna help you. It'll be all right."
Sarah's only reply was muffled sobs, gasps, and sniffles.
* * *
Doug stood in the corridor, watching through the window as Sarah, now dressed in standard orange prison clothes, was loaded onto a stretcher, her wrists cuffed and legs shackled.
This was her eighteenth day in the Richmond General Hospital. Since she was improving health-wise, she was to be transferred back to Fluvanna. The prison had its own on-site hospital where she could continue receiving the treatment she needed.
Doug thought it was ironic his condemned client was receiving all the medical care necessary to keep her alive and relatively healthy. He'd heard of cases where medical intervention was required for an inmate to make it to their execution on time. Government officials and proponents of the death penalty said this was done to not violate anyone's Constitutional rights. Denying an inmate medical care just because they were set to die anyway had been rebuked in court on several occasions.
Doug checked his watch. It was almost midnight. Due to the continuing press attention, the Department of Corrections had decided to transfer his client at night. A decoy convoy had left an hour earlier, and any lurking reporters would still be following it out to Troy while Sarah was loaded into an ambulance in the hospital's underground garage. By the time anyone figured out the ruse, she'd be on the road and easy enough to miss in the dark. Having once served on the governor's protective detail, Doug was struck by the similarities he now noticed.
Not unlike the governor, Sarah's presence had presented serious security problems. Protesters on both sides of the death penalty argument picketed outside the hospital, kept somewhat at bay by police barricades. The challenge was that sick and injured people and their loved ones still needed access to the facility. Several people took advantage of this only to discover their performances didn't get them past the emergency room and instead wasted hospital resources and aggravated doctors and their support staff. Doug sympathized, understanding it was stressful for everyone.
The reporters were just as sneaky, and many were ejected. Virginia state troopers and Richmond police officers escorted Doug and Sarah's family to and from their cars as even the underground garage wasn't off limits to anyone wanting to get in a few questions or a couple photos. For Sarah's transfer, the garage was locked down and heavily guarded, but it couldn't be kept like that around the clock.
Many officials released statements, expressing their indignation over how things had gone and promising a full investigation and evaluation as to what would happen next. Governor Joshua Leffat made a recorded plea from his office for calm, but death penalty opponents began protesting outside his mansion and the state capital, holding him personally accountable as he'd allowed the execution to proceed. Virginia Attorney General Zackary Hutchinson addressed the issue more directly, giving a live press conference outside his office in Richmond. But his statements were identical to what his office had earlier released in writing, neither version offering any solace.
Federal officials maintained a peripheral position in the situation, releasing generic statements which went pretty much unnoticed. The Department of Justice would step in to investigate if it seemed state officials weren't proceeding in a professional manner. So far, there didn't seem to be a problem.
With Sarah's consent, Doug had made a statement a couple days earlier, asking the media to respect his client and her family's privacy. He didn't elaborate on Sarah's injuries, though a lot of that had already been leaked, probably through gossiping nurses.
Doug explained he was petitioning the courts for a stay. Though it seemed redundant, it needed to be done. If the courts weren't prompted to intervene, even in such obvious circumstances, state officials might try to set another execution date as soon as possible. Doug had filed the paperwork and it was expected the Supreme Court of Virginia would grant the request without question.
Some reporters and legal experts were already talking about Francis versus Resweber. Doug had just started his research into the matter, but he already knew this would present a big problem. When asked what he would do, he declined to give a definitive answer.
"We're all still regrouping from what happened," he said. "Rest assured I am already considering the best approach for my client. We will not let this be swept away without a thorough investigation of what happened as well as an examination of all avenues available to Sarah from here on out."
A reporter asked if he planned to renew claims of his client's innocence. Doug said this was not the time for that, adding there were higher priorities. He knew, since taking on the case two years ago, he'd been the first appellate lawyer to raise the possibility that Sarah wasn't a cold-blooded killer. That issue had been dormant since her trial. Why would anyone have reason to dredge it up? Sarah's fingerprints were on the knife and the cell phone. The victims' blood was on her shoes and the corresponding bloody shoeprints were by the bodies. So far, no court had found fault in this evidence and fighting it only wasted time that no one had to spare. Virginia liked to keep the time between sentencing and execution short. All but the most compelling claims of innocence were generally ignored.
Doug first agreed to take the case when asked because he believed Sarah's version of that night's events wasn't given enough credence. If she would, one way or another, spend the rest of her life in prison, every possible scenario needed to be explored. It was two years' worth of meetings with the young woman which convinced him she was innocent. Having interrogated enough suspects, he was never able to sync Sarah's behavior up to anything displayed by those guilty men and women. She stuck to her story and, though some minor details were inconsistent due to the fluidity of human memory, the vital ones never changed. She expressed genuine remorse for killing Ben Parker and for not being able to do anything for his wife and children. She never made excuses for her actions, even when pressed on things she could have done differently that evening, like not entering the house. No, Sarah Griffin was not a perp trying to beat a murder rap ... or four, to be precise.
Whether they believed in Sarah's innocence or not, plenty of lawyers were already contacting Doug, offering their services and often throwing in some strong condemnation for what happened or about capital punishment in general. The Virginia Defenders Project, the organization who handed over the case when Sarah's previous attorney died, now wanted to be part of it again, suddenly no longer overworked. The partners at Wheeler, Lex, & Sutton again offered Doug the use of any associates, paralegals, investigators, and interns he needed. He had used them as necessary over the past two years but knew the matter now required resources beyond the criminal law firm's capabilities. Plus, he'd had enough of interns.
Almost since the execution, Doug made quiet inquiries, gathering names and doing research. He'd sometimes printed out material and reviewed it while visiting the comatose Sarah. He later shared his ideas with her, though she just deferred to his judgement rather than offering an actual opinion. Now, he was close to a short list of names he needed to learn more about to get his client the help she needed.
Doug continued watching as the corrections officers wheeled the stretcher with Sarah on it out of the room and down the corridor. He wouldn't be allowed to follow her but would be granted access to the prison hospital later in the morning. There wouldn't be time to sleep, though he wasn't tired. As the officers rounded a corner, Sarah's doctor came over to him.
"I just want you to know, I know who she is and what she's done," she said. "But I don't believe in capital punishment and I certainly don't approve of what they did to her."
"Thank you, Ma'am," Doug said, giving her a slight smile. "that's very kind of you."
"Good luck to you," The doctor said. "And good luck to her ..."
2008:
Doug looked up and down the long conference table where Donna, Grace, Richard, Matthew, and Andrew were seated. The term "motley crew" came to mind, but he was grateful they were all here for Sarah. They were as determined as him. He remained standing and adjusted his sunglasses.
"All right," he said. "We've got a lot of work to do. Let's get started ..."
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Sarah Griffin: resident of Arlington, VA, and student at American University. Walked in on her neighbor, who had just murdered his wife and children, and pushed him down a flight of stairs. She was convicted and sentenced to death for all four killings. Is now blind and uses a wheelchair. Doug Walker: Attorney in Richmond, VA. Sarah's lead attorney in the appeals process. Grace Collins: legal intern for Doug during Sarah's appeals. Later graduates from law school and earns her law license. Richard Romer: attorney in Virginia. Specilizes in defending people facing the death penalty. Donna Smith: Disability Rights attorney in Richmond, VA. Andrew Daines: Civil rights attorney in Richmond, VA. Helped Doug with Sarah's appeals. Matthew Kellie: attorney and law professor in NY. Helped Doug with Sarah's appeals. Amelia Kelmer: Sarah's older sister. Moved from VA to NY with her husband and children. Michael Kelmer: Amelia's husband and Sarah's brother-in-law. David Kelmer: Amelia's and Michael's son and Sarah's nephew. Rose Kelmer: Amelia's and Michael's daughter and Sarah's niece. Ruth Griffin: Sarah's mother. George Griffin: Sarah's father. Jerry Baker: Sarah's ex-boyfriend from college. Lewis Griffin: Sarah's younger brother and a Baltimore City firefighter on Truck 29. Formerly a member of Engine 4. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "2nd Time Around":
In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family. in 1998, she was convicted and sentenced to death for these killings.
2014:
"... I never did get that doctor's name," Doug said. "oh, I'm sure she told me what it was, or I probably read it somewhere, but heck if I remember."
At the end of the table, Sarah considered what Doug wasn't sharing and what he wouldn't share. He still carried a lot of guilt over everything that happened, despite everyone, including her, telling him it wasn't his fault. He was facing an impossible choice that night. Sarah would never blame him for what he did. She just wished he'd come to terms with it.
But even her reassurances and encouragement didn't sway him on the matter, despite her own experiences and the advice he'd often given her. He didn't practice what he preached, no matter how often he was reminded not to blame himself.
Finished with this part of the tale, Doug passed the microphone back to Grace. The youngest in their group, she long ago got over any feelings of intimidation and thanked this elder lawyer like the long-time colleague he was. Tucking a stray hair back behind her ear, she began speaking into the microphone, her faint southern accent evident as always.
"Hello," she said, "my name is Grace Collins. I'm from Raleigh, North Carolina. A lot of you are on the verge of leaving law school and entering the world of legal practice, which is where my story begins ..."
2006:
... Double-checking the address, Grace took the ticket from the machine and pulled into the garage beneath the SunTrust Plaza building in downtown Richmond. She found a space and paused to pluck a stray thread off her skirt. She then got out and headed for the nearby elevators.
She'd taken maybe a dozen paces before realizing she forgot to lock the vehicle. Once the car made the quick beep, she pocketed her key and started walking again.
She took the elevator to the lobby. Greeting the security guard at the front desk as she signed in, she walked down the corridor towards another bank of elevators. One came upon being summoned and she rode it up to the eighteenth floor. She listened to the rumble of the machinery at work, hoping to settle her nerves. Passing her leather portfolio back and forth between her hands, she made sure her navy-blue suit jacket was neat and straight and her long, blonde hair, secured by bobby pins, didn't threaten to fall across her face. Her experience told her such a thing was consider enticing on a date, not during a job interview.
Once on the eighteenth floor, Grace walked down the corridor, locating the law firm Wheeler, Lex, & Sutton.
She pressed a button next to the door and somebody buzzed her in, releasing the electronic locking mechanism. For one eerie second, Grace thought of this place as a prison but forced herself to let that go. She needed to focus.
She found herself in a well-appointed waiting area. It was adorned with plush chairs and paintings by people she didn't know of subjects she didn't quite understand. She approached the long reception desk which ran along one side of the room.
"My name is Grace Collins," she said. "I have a 10:00 appointment with Mr. Doug Walker."
The receptionist took a moment to look up the information.
"May I see your photo ID?" she asked.
Grace handed over her driver's license and the receptionist made a copy. As she took back the license, Grace noticed a surveillance camera watching them from overhead. She understood it was all for security so no sensitive information about the firm's clients got out. Such an incident could ruin a law firm and its lawyers. Still, she couldn't help thinking of prisons again.
"Have a seat," the receptionist invited, gesturing towards some nearby armchairs.
"Thank you," Grace said and sat, waiting. She heard the receptionist calling Mr. Walker's office to announce her arrival. She stayed silent, clutching her leather portfolio in both hands.
Soon, a tall, thin man with light-gray hair came into the lobby. Based on her research, Grace concluded this was not Mr. Walker. But he came over to her.
"Miss Collins?" he inquired.
"Yes?" Grace asked, confused. She couldn't figure out where she went wrong in her research, but that seemed to be the case. It took an enormous amount of effort to keep her face from turning red.
"Hello," the man said. "I'm Clark Wolf, another associate here. Doug got caught up on a phone call and asked that I bring you to his office."
Relieved about not being wrong, Grace rose and shook his hand. He led the way into the firm.
They walked down several corridors which looked as nice as the lobby with more paintings, decorations, clean white walls, and elegant wooden carvings. They also passed multiple closed office doors, all made of neat, polished wood and equipped with shiny metal handles and equally shiny plaques proclaiming the names of the occupants.
Mr. Wolf greeted a few people along the way, though he didn't stop and introduce Grace. This was just fine with her as she probably wouldn't be able to respond to any greetings right then. Her nerves had shut down her vocal cords and she focused on walking and smiling at those they passed. She was just as thankful that Mr. Wolf didn't seem interested in making small talk.
Mr. Wolf led Grace to a staircase, which was also elegantly-carved and well-polished. Grace was glad she hadn't gone with heels today. They climbed up to the building's nineteenth floor, a large portion of which the firm also occupied.
Grace understood the firm had money. For one thing, her father was a client, though it was the firm's prestige that drew him as opposed to the other way around. The SunTrust Plaza building was not only one of the tallest structures in Richmond's city skyline but also one of the tallest buildings in Virginia.
Grace wasn't sure why she was as nervous as she was. She'd been on plenty of interviews, mock and real. Her performance was consistently praised. Plus, her father was a client of this firm. But she wanted this job more than any before it and she knew name recognition wouldn't carry her all the way.
At the top, they headed down a few more corridors until they reached an office door with the name "DOUG ERNEST WALKER" on it in big, bold letters. Mr. Wolf had Grace Sit in a nearby chair and stuck his head into the office to let Mr. Walker know she was there.
"He'll be right with you," he reported and left.
Grace sat there. She could no longer try and fix her appearance. For all she knew, Mr. Walker could already be watching her via some sort of closed-circuit camera setup. Not sure about the possibility of this, she could only sit there, continue to look professional, and wait until the man himself summoned her. She hoped she'd be able to speak again by then.
Grace didn't have to wait long. Mr. Doug Ernest Walker opened the door, told her to come in, and returned to his desk, leaving the door wide open. This man matched the subject of Grace's research, putting her somewhat at ease. She took a moment to collect herself and stepped inside.
The lights were dim but grew brighter as she entered. Noting the University of Kentucky football and Coast Guard memorabilia on the wall, Grace again knew what she'd read about the man was correct. She also saw patches from the Richmond Police Department and the Virginia State Police. They were hanging on the wall along with Doug's diplomas from the University of Kentucky and the University of Virginia School of Law. On a high shelf behind the desk, Grace noticed what looked like the lockboxes her uncle sold to gunowners.
There were also photos of various people, including a snapshot of Sarah Griffin. It was obviously taken before the execution because she was looking straight at the camera and had a full head of red hair and green eyes. Her orange prison uniform was visible, but Grace couldn't see any restraints. Still, they had to be there. This was just a shot of Sarah's head and shoulders.
Sitting behind his desk, a coat draped over the back of his tall swivel chair, Doug pulled his hand away from a sliding switch on the wall.
"Have a seat," he said and began rifling through the papers covering his desk. "Do you have a copy of your resume with you?"
Approaching the three chairs facing his desk, Grace withdrew one from her portfolio and held it out to him.
"You know Oscar Lex?" Doug asked, snatching the document.
"My father does," Grace clarified as she sat in the leather chair directly opposite him. "They play golf together whenever Mr. Lex comes to your firm's office in Durham."
It was this connection which got her the interview when so many other candidates were ignored. She wasn't sure, but it seemed Doug wasn't impressed by this information. His face remained expressionless as he skimmed her resume from behind his sunglasses.
"Grace Collins," he recited. "Third year student at Duke ... studied pre-law and political science at Chapel Hill ... graduated third in the class ... editor of the Duke Law Journal ... currently ranked fourth in the class ... internships at the North Carolina Capital Defense League and the Innocence Project ..."
He reeled off a few more facts as Grace realized he wasn't reading the document. He was speaking too fast to logically be taking them in off the sheet of paper. He was instead reciting them from memory. This made her wonder if his asking her for a copy had just been a test of some sort. She knew all too well that having a copy of one's resume was a mandatory way to make a good impression at any job interview ... up there with keeping one's hair out of one's face.
"You live in Raleigh?" Doug asked, tapping the résumé's letterhead with one finger.
"Yes, Sir," Grace said. "I'm staying with my parents while I finish law school. It's only about a ten-minute drive to Durham."
"And a two-and-a-half-hour drive from there to my office here in Richmond. Explain why you were willing to make such a trip."
Doug seemed very eager for an answer. Grace swallowed a lump in her throat. She felt as though the photo of Sarah was also watching her. It was probably easier to talk to that than this big man.
"I want to help Ms. Griffin," she said. "I heard what happened. I'm against the death penalty ..."
"I've heard that one before," Doug said.
"... and I think that what happened to her is unacceptable."
Grace barely registered Doug's interruption.
"She's back on Death Row now, right?" she asked.
"Yes," Doug said. "That's public knowledge."
"She shouldn't be there."
Grace paused, wondering if she ought to have said something so obvious.
"Miss Collins," Doug said with a sigh. "I'll just be blunt. There's no denying that your resume more than impresses me. But I haven't even spoken to people with the same credentials and speeches. The only reason we're talking right now is because of who your father knows. Frankly, I don't care who your father knows. I'm just doing this to satisfy my boss. But I'm going to humor this thing ... why should I hire you?"
Grace took a deep breath.
"I have experience with death penalty cases and my research skills are impeccable," she described. "I only have classes on Mondays and Thursdays this semester, so I can drive up here during the remainder of the week."
"That alone makes you crazy," Doug said. "North Carolina has the death penalty and plenty of people on Death Row. Why this case?"
Grace looked at the photo of Sarah on the wall.
"I hate what happened to her," she said.
Doug took a breath.
"Miss Collins," he said, "seventy percent of our firm's clients have more money than they need. When they get into trouble, they call us to get them out of it and they're willing to pay well to make it happen. That's how we're able to afford this nice location with its fancy decorations and everything else. That's also why the remaining thirty percent of our clients can be taken on as pro bono cases and can receive competent legal services for nothing."
Grace nodded, unsure of what to say. So far, she was keeping her nerves about talking to this skilled lawyer in check, but she didn't know how much longer that would last.
"We took Sarah on as a pro bono client in 2004," Doug continued. "specifically, I began working on her case in 2004. At that time, the firm gave me an intern to help. No execution date was set yet, so there was no rush to do anything. He was a second-year student at my former law school, so that, combined with his own impressive resume, convinced me to take him on. About a month into it, I noticed him slacking off with his assignments. I confronted him, and he asked me how I could defend someone like Sarah Griffin. He had read the police reports, the trial transcript ... everything, and he had decided she was guilty and deserved to die. Basically, he stopped doing anything I gave him because he didn't agree with whom I was representing. I don't care what people believe about Sarah, but that sort of behavior is disrespectful to me and an insult to her. I fired him immediately and reported him to the school. I don't know what they did with him and I don't care. It doesn't matter. I don't want another time-waster
."
"I wouldn't ..." Grace began.
"I'll tell you what's going to happen," Doug said, writing something on a piece of paper. "Before the end of the week, you'll drive out to the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women. You are going to sit down with Sarah ... in the general visitation area. Before then, you will read this."
He withdrew a thick manila folder from a desk drawer and set it down in front of Grace.
"An overview of the case," he described. "Nothing which would violate attorney/client privilege, but there are police reports, details about the evidence, and a summary of the appeals filed and what happened to them. I haven't had a chance to update it since the execution, but it should tell you plenty."
"Yes, Sir," Grace said and waited to see if he had more. He did.
"Then," Doug added, "come back and see me this time next week."
Grace nodded.
"Thank you," she said. "I won't let you down."
"Don't believe you're in on this case yet," Doug advised. "just do as you're told. I'll call the prison and let them know you're coming. Here's the information."
He handed her the paper on which he had been writing. On it were the facility's address, phone number, and instructions for arranging the visit.
"You have to call them yourself to actually schedule it," Doug explained. "Security reasons."
Grace nodded, taking the paper. She wondered what the point of this was. If Doug had never been interested in meeting with her, why was he sending her to meet Sarah? Again, his face was inscrutable.
* * *
With The case file lying on the car's front passenger seat, Grace drove up to the guardhouse by the prison's main gate. She turned the radio down as the officer looked at her through the window.
"Your reason for visiting?" the officer asked, addressing her via a speaker next to his window.
"I'm here to see Sarah Griffin," Grace explained, assuming he could hear her. There was no sign of a button she had to push to talk.
"Your license, please," the officer said, indicating the thin slot in the window.
Grace pushed her driver's license through and he examined it, also reading something on a computer screen next to him. When everything checked out, she got her license back and was permitted to drive into the sally port, where more officers checked her car for hidden contraband and weapons. They even pushed a large mirror on a long handle beneath the undercarriage.
"Turn right and go to the first parking lot," another officer told her when the inspection was complete. "go to the building marked 'VISITORS'. They'll instruct you from there."
He handed her a yellow parking pass.
"And hang this on your mirror before you leave your car," he added.
Grace did as she was told and found the parking lot. She took a minute to check herself in the rearview mirror before grabbing her shoulder bag and getting out. Before closing the door, she double-checked to be sure the parking pass was hanging where it was supposed to.
Grace was wearing a pantsuit like the one she wore to her interview with Doug, though this one was cheaper and she wore pants instead of a skirt. prison regulations forbade the latter. Her hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, which she wasn't fond of. But bobby pins were also forbidden, and this seemed like the easiest alternative for keeping her long strands out of her face. Even though Sarah Griffin was blind, she wanted to make a good impression.
Entering the lobby of the visitor's center, Grace again identified herself and gave the reason for her visit. She was given a form to fill out and sat on a nearby bench. It was just a straight-forward liability waiver which stated she couldn't sue the Department of Corrections if she was injured or killed while inside the facility. Grace already knew how easy it was to circumvent these boilerplate legal documents. she signed it without hesitation.
The room was rather plain-looking with off-white walls and dirty windows with a view onto the parking lot. The corrections employee who dispensed and received the forms was sitting behind a sheet of bulletproof Plexiglas with a speaker and a sliding drawer built into it. Grace and Some other visitors were sitting on plain wooden benches, waiting to be taken into the actual visitation room. Since the prison housed maximum security inmates in some of its buildings, all outsiders needed to be escorted from this point onwards. But despite the location, this room looked like the indoor waiting area of a bus station. There was even an intercom speaker on the ceiling which crackled with static and indiscernible chatter from time to time.
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Sarah Griffin: resident of Arlington, VA, and student at American University. Walked in on her neighbor, who had just murdered his wife and children, and pushed him down a flight of stairs. She was convicted and sentenced to death for all four killings. Is now blind and uses a wheelchair. Doug Walker: Attorney in Richmond, VA. Sarah's lead attorney in the appeals process. Grace Collins: legal intern for Doug during Sarah's appeals. Later graduates from law school and earns her law license. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "2nd Time Around":
In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family. in 1998, she was convicted and sentenced to death for these killings. In 2006, the state of Virginia failed to execute Sarah in the electric chair.
2006:
"Grace Collins!" a corrections officer called. "Grace Collins!"
Grace rose and approached him. Confirming her name, he recited the visitation procedure and the rules with it. The visit would be no-contact, and nothing would be exchanged between the inmate and her visitor. Officers would be monitoring the visit the entire time and any criminal activity discussed could be used in court. The visitor would remain in their seat until an officer came to take them out.
"You understand all that?" the officer asked.
"Yes, Sir," Grace replied.
"Let's go."
He led her through a door and they arrived at another security checkpoint. Grace handed over her bag, which was searched, and she was patted down and wanded with a handheld metal detector. She presented her license again and, after the search was completed, was deemed to not have any contraband.
"This way," the officer said, leading her down a corridor.
As they walked, Grace noticed the multiple security cameras mounted on the ceiling, staring down at her. She felt like these cameras were someone who wasn't sure why they felt suspicious about her but knew they ought to be suspicious nonetheless.
Grace wasn't sure why she was nervous. She'd been to prisons before, though she was always accompanied by a full-fledged attorney. This was admittedly her first time at a prison for a death penalty case. her prior work against capital punishment had been purely research and writing ... no human involvement.
"So," The officer inquired, glancing over his shoulder, "you're here to see Sarah Griffin?"
His query sounded more curious than anything else.
"Yes, Sir," Grace replied.
"She took quite some electricity a few weeks ago," the officer remarked. "She only just came out of our hospital here."
Grace nodded, not sure if the first part of that statement was meant to be witty. She didn't think it was.
"You know what she did, right?" the officer asked. "The way she cut up those kids and their mama up in Arlington?"
"I've read about the case," Grace replied.
"The dad tried to stop her. Even though she was his gal on the side, he didn't want her killing his family. She threw him down some stairs to shut him up and then blamed it all on him."
Grace nodded again. These were some of the rumors and semi-proven facts surrounding Sarah Inez Griffin. Between being one of the few women ever condemned in Virginia and then surviving her own execution, she'd risen from being a prominent figure to one of the most infamous inmates in the state, male or female.
"I ain't a fan of what happened to her," the officer admitted as they reached the visitation room. "But she deserves to die for what she did. There's no doubt in my mind about that. Deep down, she's evil ... just plain evil."
Grace figured he'd never interacted with Sarah Griffin. She knew the personnel assigned to guard the men and women sentenced to die generally became uncomfortable with the prospect, having formed friendly bonds with some of these inmates. That was why the Execution Chamber was housed in another prison far from here.
This officer led Grace down a long line of visitation booths to the one at the end. It differed from the others in that the inmate's side was enclosed by a cage. The officer explained this booth was reserved for inmates held in administrative segregation or on Death Row.
"Have a seat," he said. "Sarah will be right out."
Grace sat and looked through the glass which, with its wooden frame, split the booth in half. There was a speaker built into the frame to allow the inmate to communicate with their visitor. There was no way to make physical contact or pass along anything ... not that Grace wanted to try. She thought the glass could use a serious dose of Windex.
Grace reached into her bag as a nearby corrections officer became alert and watched her for signs of trouble. She withdrew a sheet of paper, having jotted down some questions while reviewing the case file. The officer relaxed again, surveying the room. The way his eyes swept up and down the row of booths reminded Grace of the sweeping shots her cousin took with his video camera. Back and forth across the row ... back and forth. It was unnerving and Grace wished she had some French fries to nibble on.
There were three other visits going on and a fourth inmate was soon brought out to meet with an older woman ... maybe her mother. Grace glanced over before returning to her questions.
She looked up, hearing a squeaking sound. The cage on the other side of the glass was being opened and she saw yet another corrections officer, along with a portion of a wheelchair and a leg covered by the standard orange, state-issued prison pants.
Sarah Griffin came into view as the officer and a colleague lifted her out of the chair and into the booth. Though she knew little about disabilities, Grace could tell the officers weren't doing a good job as Sarah nearly landed on the floor in the process. They finally got her onto the bench inside the cage, one of them shoving from behind to finish the task before shutting the door. No one removed the handcuffs on her wrists, though someone had thought it'd be easier on Sarah if she were cuffed in front. Small favors.
Unable to stay upright on her own, Sarah reached out and found the bars of the cage, grabbing them for support. She did not look thrilled to be there and Grace made a silent vow not to keep her there long.
"Hello," she said, but she didn't know how to continue. Being in this woman's presence seemed to mute her.
"So," Sarah said, her voice peppered with static from the speaker, "you're the law student here to impress Doug. Grace Collins, right?"
She didn't sound impressed and Grace felt she'd be passing along an unfavorable report no matter what. Still, Grace was determined to try.
"Yes," she said, figuring Doug had told his client her name. She noticed Sarah was looking down and felt sure she knew why.
"You don't have to do that," she said. "You can pick your head up."
"You'll run screaming," Sarah remarked. "I'm not a pretty sight these days. It's probably the only thing that spares me from any abuse or intimidation in this place. People around here don't even wanna look at me ... then again, I've never been the most popular. Killers of children aren't high up on the prison totem pole, especially in a women's prison ... lots of moms and all that. You'd wish they'd cared so much on the outside."
Grace could tell Sarah had what most would consider a boy's haircut. It almost reached her ears and was probably still growing back.
"I won't go anywhere," Grace promised.
Sarah considered this and raised her head, keeping her eyes wide open.
Grace was speechless. The most noticeable feature on the condemned woman's face was the two empty eye sockets, each looking like a small dark vortex which led into vast nothingness. The skin looked red and raw while scabs were visible around the rims.
Grace must have been silent longer than she thought because Sarah suddenly called out for an officer. She seemed to believe the woman had fled and wanted to go back to her cell.
"No, no," Grace said, hurrying to stop her. "I'm sorry. I'm still here."
"Shocking, isn't it?" Sarah asked, looking down again. she seemed unaware of her choice of words. Nevertheless, Grace cringed.
"Please don't," she said. "you don't have to do that. It's okay. You can pick your head up."
"What do you want?" Sarah asked, straightening up again.
Grace took another moment to collect herself. The sight wasn't so shocking the second time around ... there was that word again. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
"I want to help you," she said.
"Uh-huh," Sarah remarked, and Grace could tell she wasn't buying it.
"Really. You don't deserve to be on Death Row."
"What, the blind and crippled shouldn't be executed?" Sarah asked. "should that be the next Supreme Court case? The underage and the mentally handicapped already got theirs. You suppose it's my turn now? Hmm?"
"I'm saying you don't deserve to be in prison."
"What makes you say that?" Sarah asked, sounding mildly curious.
"Did you kill all those people? Did you murder that entire family?"
Sarah said nothing.
"I've read the case file," Grace added.
"Then what do you think?" Sarah queried.
"No."
Sarah took a deep breath.
"That's not true," she said. "I killed that man. Monster or not, I killed Ben Parker."
"It was an accident," Grace pointed out. "self-defense at worst."
"I still killed him. I can't change that. No facts can change that."
"You don't deserve to be in prison."
Grace's prepared questions were forgotten.
"Wouldn't make a difference now," Sarah said. "I can't even sit up on my own. My body has become my prison."
She paused, her hands flexing as she gripped the cage's bars a little tighter. It was as though this gesture was meant to emphasize her point.
"You don't deserve that either," Grace said. "I think it's terrible what they did to you."
"Well, riding in on your ambitions isn't going to change anything," Sarah said. "They have me cold for these four murders. It stinks, but no one's been able to do anything about it yet, so I'm not ready to believe that'll change now. Oh, I'm sure you're smart. You sound like you've got a good head on your shoulders. But they want to fix their screw-up ... killing me is the only way. I just have to bide my time before they convince the courts to let them do it. They'll find a way. Nothing can change that."
She glanced over her shoulder.
"C-O!" she called out.
A corrections officer came over.
"What's the matter?" he asked, sounding annoyed about being summoned.
"I'm tired of this," Sarah said. "I want to go back to My cell."
Grace said this was fine and added a "good-bye."
"I'd like to come back and see you again," she said.
The condemned woman didn't respond. The officer had called over one of his colleagues while lifting her by her shoulders and pulling her back across the bench. Her limp feet hit the linoleum floor as another officer arrived to grab her legs. They got her back into her wheelchair and She was taken away.
Grace worked to collect herself as she waited for another officer to come and escort her out. She had to concentrate in order not to cry ... not in this place.
* * *
Doug seemed to have quite some pull within Wheeler, Lex, & Sutton. This was evident when he recruited yet another associate to bring Grace to him on her second visit, even though he wasn't stuck on the phone this time.
He looked up as she stepped into the office, once again wearing her navy-blue skirt and jacket. Her hair was down again, held back by pins.
"I heard about your visit with Sarah," Doug said. "Guess you caught her on a bad day. She's had more of those since the execution."
He sighed and adjusted his sunglasses. Grace nodded as she sat in the same place as last time.
"She doesn't deserve any of what happened to her," she said, her voice shaking. She noticed the photo of Sarah on the wall and burst into tears, remembering the broken, frustrated, sad woman in the prison. She thought about how simple it had been for her to leave that place and get back in her car. She'd stared back at the foreboding, brick building, understanding Sarah wasn't given such a luxury.
Doug passed a box of tissues and across his desk. He waited for Grace to collect herself, seeming patient this time.
"I don't have all the funding in the world available," he said. "I can only pay you minimum wage."
Being a private firm, Wheeler, Lex, & Sutton was required by law to pay its interns, even if it was minimum wage.
"I'll see if I can reimburse you for gas to drive back and forth from North Carolina," Doug added. "Since your dad knows one of the partners, it won't be the hardest sell in the world to my bosses."
"Y ... you're giving me the job?" Grace stammered, surprised. "w ... why?"
"You came back. After my disastrous first intern, I did try it with two others. Sent them both to meet Sarah. One couldn't bring herself to drive into the prison while the other nearly wet himself in the parking lot, and that was all before the execution. The fact that you are sitting here, genuinely upset, tells me more than anything you reeled off last week. For one thing, you came back, which is more than I can say for those other two. They mailed me back her file."
Grace then remembered. She pulled the thick manila folder from her shoulder bag and set it down on his desk.
"I really do want to help her," she said. She took yet another look at the photo of Sarah. Doug looked at it as well, his stern expression making it clear he wouldn't explain when, where, or how it was taken. It wasn't a mug shot, but that was the only obvious attribute. Grace looked at Doug and nodded. She wouldn't ask.
"thank you for this opportunity," she said instead.
Doug still didn't say anything.
"So," Grace continued, "when do I start?"
"Now," Doug replied, passing her some forms. "Fill these out so you are officially among the ranks of the employed. Then, I've got some stuff for you to do."
"What kind of stuff?" Grace asked, curious and eager.
"Strange as it may be, the potential of Sarah being executed is not the most pressing concern for us right now. I've filed a petition for a stay until the investigation into the botched electrocution is officially concluded. The state's Supreme Court granted it and the Attorney General isn't running off anywhere to get that overturned right now."
"Are you working on a lawsuit against the Department of Corrections?"
"I am, but that is also not the most pressing concern."
"Then what is?"
Doug paused, seeming to consider how to explain his point.
"You may have noticed some of the problems Sarah is having," he replied. "She was just released from the hospital over at Fluvanna and she's not adjusting well to her current living arrangements. I've gotten calls about more than one accident."
He grabbed a piece of paper, wrote down a name, and handed it to Grace.
"When you're finished with those forms, give them to the secretary down the hall," he instructed. "She'll give you a security badge, which you will keep with you whenever you are here. Then, park yourself up in our law library and look up everything about this woman. And I mean I want to know absolutely everything. Right down to the name of the cereal she has for breakfast and the type of shampoo she uses to wash her dog."
He paused and stared at Grace.
"It's not going to be easy ... any of this. Prosecutors don't like to admit they've put an innocent person on Death Row. Anything we get has got to be rock-solid to get us any results. We've got a lot of uphill battles coming."
Grace nodded.
* * *
"Sign here," The corrections officer said, pointing out the spot on the second form. "It states I examined the contents you are carrying without in any way violating attorney/client privilege."
Doug and Grace signed it. Neither of them was carrying anything sensitive in their respective briefcase and bag anyway. As Doug put it, they only brought them along to annoy the officers who had to go through them for security purposes, no matter what was inside. He seemed to like messing with these people a little bit.
They were led down a corridor and into a small room meant for attorneys and their clients. Sarah was already there, cuffed to the table and propping herself up on her elbows. She looked up at her visitors.
"Your hair's growing back nicely," Doug commented. "Soon you'll actually need a trip to the salon."
Sarah smiled. Two and a half months after the execution, her hair was indeed starting to look feminine again.
"Having a good day today?" Doug asked.
"I guess," Sarah said, shrugging her shoulders as best she could.
"Then let's get down to business. you remember Grace Collins, right?"
Sarah nodded and tried to wave off a question about a long scratch on her cheek. When Doug kept pressing, she admitted she got it while dealing with her disability in her cell but refused to elaborate ...
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Sarah Griffin: resident of Arlington, VA, and student at American University. Walked in on her neighbor, who had just murdered his wife and children, and pushed him down a flight of stairs. She was convicted and sentenced to death for all four killings. Is now blind and uses a wheelchair. Doug Walker: Attorney in Richmond, VA. Sarah's lead attorney in the appeals process. Grace Collins: legal intern for Doug during Sarah's appeals. Later graduates from law school and earns her law license. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "2nd Time Around":
In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family. in 1998, she was convicted and sentenced to death for these killings. In 2006, the state of Virginia failed to execute Sarah in the electric chair.
2014:
... When Grace finished with her part of the account, she passed the microphone down the table to Donna. The older woman took a deep breath and adjusted her glasses, determined to keep her nerves in check. After all, this was a professional setting, even if on the borderline of that.
"My name is Donna Smith," she said, hoping she wouldn't have to repeat herself. "I attended Drexel University and the Earle Mack School of Law in Pennsylvania. unlike these other folks, I am not a criminal attorney. In fact, I'm not the greatest at public speaking and I don't often appear in a courtroom. I specialize in disability law and education law. I deal with getting the necessary accommodations which students need in their schools, an issue that becomes more prevalent with more and more disabled students now being mainstreamed."
She stopped to drink some water.
"Doug recruited me for this unique case based on my reputation," she continued. "I had never been inside of a prison, but when I met Sarah for the first time, I wished I had gotten there a lot sooner ..."
2006:
"... My name is Ryan Duffy," The corrections officer said, approaching the two women in the corridor. "I'm the captain of this unit. This is Officer Mike Cook. He'll take you through the tier."
He pointed towards his colleague. Neither man moved to shake hands, so Grace and Donna didn't try. Everyone wanted to get this business finished.
It took a lot of pushing on Doug's part and a court order to grease the wheels. After the wrangling, the women were granted permission to visit Sarah in her cell. Given her profession, Donna insisted on seeing the environment where her new client lived, not willing to compromise on this issue. She and Grace needed to undergo extensive searches before they were admitted, with the prison staff conducting almost everything but cavity checks.
Being unfamiliar with the prison, Donna had asked Doug for someone more knowledgeable about that world to accompany her. Thus, Grace was selected. The younger woman had peppered Donna with facts about prisons and the death penalty throughout the hour-long drive from Richmond. Donna hadn't found it entirely annoying, though this new information troubled her.
Now, they were just outside the maximum security unit, receiving final instructions from Captain Duffy, who was saying it was all for their safety.
"She's on the bottom tier," he described. "The last cell on the right. You stay to the center until you get right in front of it. Officer Cook will escort you the whole way. You stay by the cell until you are both ready to leave and you stay right with him both ways. You do not go near or talk to another inmate. You do not exchange items with any other inmate. Is that understood?"
Both women nodded, understanding why he was being so firm about these rules. Having people going onto the cell block wasn't a common occurrence. Every possible precaution was being taken to ensure their safety, though they did have to sign liability waivers. After all, this was a maximum security facility, home to the prison's toughest inmates.
"All right," Captain Duffy said, turning to Officer Cook. "They're all yours."
He returned to his office.
"Follow me please," Officer Cook said, his tone all business. He led the way to a large metal door, which another corrections officer in a nearby booth opened remotely. A loud buzzer sounded as the heavy door slid aside, making groaning and metallic clicking noises as it moved along its track. Following Officer Cook's lead, the two women stepped across the threshold.
"Civilians on the tier!" a corrections officer called out. This seemed to be a warning for everyone in uniform to be on alert.
But it didn't seem to change anything. The officers continued patrolling the three or four levels of the unit, occasionally speaking with inmates. Two officers were further down on the second tier, escorting a woman in handcuffs. Inmates kept calling out to one another from their cells while someone was saying something over a P.A. system. The entire structure was made of metal and concrete, looking more like a warehouse than a place where people lived.
Donna was reminded of the trips she took to Sam's Club to stock up for parties and events. Those excursions were much more pleasant than coming here. As she walked deeper into the place, she felt surrounded. There were cells on both sides, ten or more on each. The space between the two sides measured about ten feet across. Donna knew she'd have to drift a lot to be in range for someone to be able to reach out and grab her. But she remembered Captain Duffy's instructions and stayed in the center.
As they walked, a foul smell hit her, though she couldn't place it. She could see inmates in their cells, mostly two women being housed together in the sixty-square-foot spaces while a few were by themselves.
Some women looked back at Donna and Grace, curious about these visitors. Others were reading or applying makeup while others were just lying or sitting on their bunks, not doing anything. One brunette came up to the bars of her cell and sneered at the visitors. They were all wearing orange t-shirts and pants with black numbers stenciled across every article of clothing. On everyone's left wrist were bracelets similar to those for hospital patients.
"These are the toughest gals we've got in the system," Officer Cook said. "Most have a murder charge on their sheet, but almost everyone here has drugs in their history. They're pretty calm most of the time, but it's always a powder keg in here ... you never know when something might blow. I mean, these are women who are potentially spending the rest of their lives in here. They've got little to lose in a situation like that and, in this population, power and respect is everything. Many will do just about anything to get it and keep it. It's a means of survival for them."
Donna wasn't really listening. She was noticing everything around her and it only made her cringe even more. Grace's descriptions had not prepared her for this. Before Doug solicited her, she had worked primarily with students and schools, making plenty of on-site visits to those institutions. But even the dreariest, gloomiest, most dilapidated schools and group homes couldn't compare to this place. Donna's heart raced as she wondered what exactly she had gotten herself into by agreeing to take this case.
She glanced over her shoulder at Grace. The girl seemed to be less scared than she was or maybe she was just better at hiding it. Then again, she was studying criminal law, so this might not be her first time in a prison. as far as she knew, Donna had never even driven past a prison. Deciding to follow whatever sort of example Grace might be setting, she wiped her sweaty hands inside the pockets of her pants and put on the bravest face she could muster.
After what felt like the longest walk of Donna's life, they reached the last cell on the right side of the bottom tier. Sarah was there, lying face-down on her bunk. She was one of the few women to have a cell to herself. Since she was the state's only condemned woman, and the first to face execution in Virginia in nearly a hundred years, the prison did not have an official section dubbed "Death Row". According to Doug, the officers instead applied a few extra security measures, such as not assigning her a cellmate.
"Open 36!" Officer Cook said into his radio.
As the bars slid aside, he looked at Sarah.
"Griffin, your visitors are here."
Sarah didn't move or speak.
"She's in her own little world again," a dark-haired woman in the neighboring cell said, stepping up to the bars. "She thinks she's too good for this place. Why does she get people coming to her cell anyway? The baby-killer's that special?"
"Mind your own business," Officer Cook cautioned.
Donna watched as the woman glared at him, baring teeth which a dentist would be interested in fixing. She glanced back down the row of cells, wondering how long it'd take to reach the end.
"Bet it's because she's now a cripple," the woman remarked. "Doesn't make her special in my book."
She turned towards Sarah's cell, barred from being able to see into it by a concrete wall.
"You hear that?" she hissed loudly. "You ain't special. You're a rotten, whoring baby-killer and you deserve everything that's coming at you. Mark my words."
"Mind your own business," Officer Cook repeated, "or I'll write you up."
The woman glared at him.
"That's supposed to scare me?" she queried. "I'll be collecting social security when I get out of here. You gonna push that back because I'm exercising my right to speak freely?"
She then noticed Donna and was about to add something.
"I can have your visiting privileges yanked," Officer Cook replied, his even tone and stern expression never wavering. "Maybe for a month or two."
The woman's eyes narrowed as she looked at him again.
"Fine," she said, "but tell Ms. Cripple she ought to have just killed her boyfriend ... lot less messy. Being the jilted woman ain't worth killing some innocent babies."
She retreated to her bunk and picked up a magazine. Sarah was still face-down, seemingly oblivious to everything that just happened.
Donna swallowed, trying to stay calm. Her legs wouldn't stop shaking. She glanced at Grace. The younger woman's eyes were darting back and forth, but she showed no other signs indicating fear or concern.
Officer Cook stepped away from Sarah's cell, adding that he'd be watching everything from nearby. Sarah still didn't acknowledge anyone's presence.
To Donna, the cell's layout looked exactly as Doug had described. A single bunk ran along the entire wall on the right side with a small shelf bolted into the concrete by one end. A pillow was on the end closest to the bars, currently mashed against Sarah's face. A thin, gray blanket lay crumpled against the wall. Across from the bunk were a sink and toilet. Donna noticed some things stored underneath the bunk, though she couldn't tell what they were. She could see the hairbrush, toothbrush, soap, and toothpaste crowded around the sink's faucet.
Unsure if her legs would support her, Donna stepped into the cell while Grace stayed by the door, watching. She approached the bunk. Sarah remained face-down, her face buried in her pillow. She was breathing but Donna couldn't imagine she'd be sleeping. How could anyone sleep in a place like this?
"Hello, Sarah," she said. "My name is Donna Smith. I'm the attorney who Doug told you about. Can we talk?"
"Sure," Sarah said, her voice muffled as she kept her face buried in the pillow.
"Can you look at me?"
Sarah didn't move.
"I've heard you've been getting some injuries in here because you're not getting the help you need," Donna said, crouching down. "I wanna know what's going on."
Sarah still didn't move or speak.
"Sarah," Donna tried, "I know nothing about capital punishment. I could not help you in that regard in any way. I am a disability rights attorney. I am here because Doug told me that you need help. If I'm going to help you, I need to really look at you."
Sarah said something, but it was successfully rendered unintelligible because of the pillow.
"What was that?" Donna queried, remaining patient.
"Can you help me get up?" Sarah asked.
"Sure."
Donna had fulfilled requests like this before. Her concerns about being in a prison forgotten, she moved forward to help this disabled woman who was her client.
She took hold of Sarah's shoulders and pulled her up from the mattress. She slid her legs over the side of the bunk and turned her torso so they were facing one another. She kept her hands on Sarah's shoulders to help her stay upright as she crouched down in front of her again. The two women were now at eye-level with one another.
Though she had never seen anyone without eyeballs, this wasn't the most startling sight for Donna. She already found things which were much more concerning. Sarah had cuts and scratches on her face, hands, and arms. She also had a bruise under her right eye socket and some dried blood on her cheek. Donna realized the foul smell she had noticed earlier was stronger in here and she also realized what it was. Sarah probably hadn't had a real chance to clean herself up since she was returned to this cell. Her teeth also looked like they could use a stronger acquaintance with a toothbrush. They weren't as bad as her neighbor's, but they were getting there. There wasn't a white one in the bunch.
Donna gasped but was otherwise able to hold her tongue. Commenting on Sarah's condition wouldn't help the budding trust between them. For her part, Sarah said nothing. Grace stood frozen outside the cell door, watching them both. Donna noticed Her hand reflexively moving towards her pocket as if to get her phone. They had to leave those in the car before entering the building, so this gesture wouldn't help.
"What happened to you?" Donna asked, focusing on Sarah again.
"Where do I start?" Sarah asked.
"Wherever. Just tell me everything."
Sarah sniffled.
"I regularly fall out of bed," she described. "I then have to pull myself back up into it all by myself, something I do not have the strength for all the time. Sometimes, I just continue sleeping on the floor. I can't use the showers because I can't get in there in a wheelchair. Occasionally, they'll bring a bucket for me to get cleaned with in here. I hurt myself on the stone walls and this metal bunk all the time. If I need to use the bathroom, I have to crawl over there and it takes all my effort and willpower to not fall off the toilet. The only thing that gets done around here is the delivery of my pills."
She began to cry.
"It's worse than ever in here," she continued. "I can't do anything. I just wanna die."
She broke down sobbing. Donna carefully set her back on her bunk so she was lying on her side. She stepped back into the corridor and walked up to Officer Cook, demanding he summon Captain Duffy right away. She could hear the woman snickering in the neighboring cell, but she ignored this.
The captain soon arrived, wondering what the cause of this sudden uproar was.
"What ... on ... Earth?" Donna asked through gritted teeth, still absorbing what she just saw and heard.
Captain Duffy seemed unable to come up with a reply. Donna heard the woman in the neighboring cell snicker again, but she kept ignoring this.
"How can you let her do this to herself?" she asked, pointing at Sarah, still lying in her cell, some of her injuries now visible. "This is no place for her. she cannot live like this."
She watched Grace go into the cell and crouch down by the bunk. the younger woman said something to Sarah but was speaking too softly for Donna to hear.
"I've put in reports about it," Captain Duffy said. "I'm aware that there are problems."
Donna whirled to face him again.
"We're way beyond 'problems'," she snapped. "She is endangering her life and health like this. I wouldn't be surprised if she already has an infection of some kind."
"Miss," Captain Duffy replied, "I have done everything I could do."
"Then let me speak to your supervisor."
* * *
Donna wasn't entirely surprised when Captain Duffy's supervisor passed her along to his own supervisor. She simply demanded to speak to the next person up the chain of command and got the same run-around as the first time. This happened again before Grace suggested they just go straight to the warden. Donna demanded such a meeting, all concerns about being inside a prison forgotten.
The prison warden, Susan Cryer, agreed to meet with them at 3:00 that afternoon. Donna made sure to be outside her office by two and made it clear she was fine waiting. When she was admitted and seated, she proceeded to repeat all the problems Sarah was having. Warden Cryer said she hadn't received any reports, but Donna didn't care about what might have happened to the paperwork.
"You are endangering Sarah's health," she said. "I am not leaving this prison until I know her situation has begun improving."
She briefly wondered if the warden would call this bluff and stick her in a cell.
"There are procedures and protocols ..." Warden Cryer began.
"You allowed Sarah to grow her hair out before her last execution so it could be donated to make wigs for cancer patients," Donna pointed out, having heard about this from Doug.
"Allowances can be made in certain cases."
"In 1998, the warden of this prison refused to enforce a state-wide ban on cosmetics for female inmates. she did it because she felt that the women had a right to these cosmetics if they wanted them. This is a far more serious infraction on someone's rights than withholding makeup and you are sitting there telling me that you can't do anything?"
"The department was concerned about drugs being smuggled into the facility in the cosmetic cases. we already had the equipment available for us to pick up on these sorts of attempts, so it didn't ..."
"You are killing Sarah's spirit. The state sentenced her to die and you are now killing her spirit So that when the execution date rolls around, she's nothing but an empty shell wanting to go ... that is if she doesn't accidentally kill herself first because of your negligence."
"State protocol mandates a Death Row inmate is held in a maximum security unit. our maximum security unit isn't equipped to handle ..."
"I don't want to hear it. one of three things is going to happen today. Sarah's accommodations are improved, she is transferred to a location that can properly accommodate her basic needs, or I file a lawsuit against this department, this facility, and you."
Having made her point, Donna crossed her arms, waiting for a response. This was no different than the cases she'd handled on behalf of disabled students. She understood Sarah would not be leaving this prison, but there had to be a better place within the facility for her.
Warden Cryer took a minute or so to think things over before she reached for a radio on her desk.
"Warden to base," she said, watching Donna as she spoke.
"Base here," A voice responded.
"Have a stretcher sent down to the maximum security unit. Have Sarah Griffin transferred to the infirmary. I want her held there until further notice."
"Copy."
Warden Cryer put the radio back and surveyed Donna.
"It's a temporary solution," she pointed out. "We don't have the expertise."
"Leave that to me," Donna said. "You'll just work with what I put together."
Warden Cryer didn't say anything, So Donna ended things with a terse "thank you" and left the office.
* * *
Having left Grace with Sarah, Donna found them in the prison hospital's main room. She was struck by how much this place looked like any other hospital. Tall curtains partitioned the area, each space having a stretcher and various medical equipment. The only noticeable difference was a row of cells along one wall.
Sarah was lying on a stretcher, one wrist cuffed to its side, as a nurse examined her. It turned out she'd contracted a minor infection in one eye socket.
"We'll start her on some antibiotics," The nurse said.
Donna nodded, indicating she wanted to be alone with her client. The nurse walked away. Out of the corner of her eye, Donna noticed a corrections officer watching them from across the room.
"I've spoken with the warden," she reported, stepping up to the side of the stretcher. "you're gonna stay here until I come up with a way to keep you safe and everyone else happy."
"Okay," Sarah said flatly. "thanks, I guess."
"Sarah, why did you not say anything when this first started? Doug and your family saw your injuries and you avoided explaining them."
"They've got enough on their plate."
"That's no excuse. Look, my job is to get people what they need to be as independent as possible. That includes you. Now it's gonna take time, so you'll have to rely on the folks around here for a little while. If anything goes wrong or you feel you're not getting what you need, I want you to say something to Doug or Grace or anyone else immediately. It is my job to come running. I do not know the first thing about filing any appeals in your case, so this is my only responsibility. You got that?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
Sarah didn't sound convinced, but Donna would take it for now.
* * *
"I knew things weren't rainbows and puppies for her in there, but I didn't realize it was this bad," Doug said with a scowl. "I wish she'd told me something."
"Forget it," Donna said with a wave of her hand. "she knows to tell you from here on out."
They were sitting in Doug's office, recapping Donna's first meeting with Sarah. Grace had to go back to North Carolina, so the women parted company shortly after leaving the prison.
"The only thing which is working is that she's getting the heart, liver, and kidney medication she needs," Donna continued, frustrated. "just enough to keep her alive for the time being. Everything else the department is doing is garbage. It's not helping her whatsoever."
"So, what happens now?" Doug asked.
"We'll need to install support rails in Sarah's cell. I doubt the Department of Corrections will ever be game for letting her keep a wheelchair in there and I got the distinct impression that they don't want to transfer her, as much as having her where she is now only serves as a major inconvenience for everybody."
"To them, she's a condemned killer. one of the most high-profile women in the state, especially with this mess still brewing."
It had been three months since the botched electrocution and the story was still mentioned across the various news networks, mainly because the investigation into what happened was ongoing.
"we'll have to compromise," Donna concluded. "Don't worry. That's my specialty."
Disability rights and education law cases didn't often go to court. They were instead settled via other means, such as mediation.
"The Department of Corrections won't be too keen on putting anything in Sarah's cell that can be deemed a potential weapon," Doug cautioned. "You're talking about installing support rails while they're thinking about how she'd use those rails to assault corrections officers."
Donna understood he didn't mean to sound pessimistic, but he was right. The Department of Corrections had to consider the risks. Even she understood that.
"We'll just have to find a way to appease them," she said. "I'll make some calls."
"What about Sarah herself?" Doug asked. "What can we do for her?"
"Her living circumstances set aside, it's kind of a unique situation. sure, plenty of people have more than one disability, but they don't often start out with more than one so severe at the same time. We're looking at a real cross-section. I know Braille So I can teach her."
"She's known a blind guy for years. she might know some already."
"She'll need to learn how to manage herself," Donna continued, not concerned with Sarah's history with blindness. "hygiene, organization, etc. I can round up an occupational therapist for that. The most important thing is she'll need physical therapy. She needs to gain some upper-body strength and learn how to move around without hurting herself."
Doug raised an eyebrow so it arched over the lens of his sunglasses.
"How many physical therapists do you know?" he queried.
"Plenty," Donna replied. "Not too many will be keen about entering a prison to do their work. Plus, Sarah's paralysis is pretty advanced, so we'll need someone who can work with her. I know a guy I might be able to convince."
* * *
"Let me get this straight," Garrett White said, his slight southern drawl evident as he spoke. "You want me to load up my equipment, take it all into a maximum security prison, and work with a woman who butchered three people and threw a fourth down some stairs and who could very well die for all of it? Did I get that right?"
"Yes," Donna said as though this wasn't so strange. "Though she didn't really butcher anyone. The victims were stabbed and their throats were slit."
"Much better."
Donna, Doug, and Garrett were in Garrett's office, where Donna was outlining Sarah's condition for the physical therapist, waiting until the end of her narrative to mention where this new client lived.
Garret White was a bald man of average height. Though he looked almost as thin as her, Donna knew he was pretty strong ... at least strong enough to move his clients as needed. Deceiving appearances. He wore glasses, which he secured with a band around the back of his head while he worked. He always wore blue pants and some sort of dark-colored polo shirt. Today's color was forest green.
"You're crazy," Garrett said, folding his arms across his chest.
"Hey," Donna shot back. "A week ago, I never thought I'd walk into a prison. It's not much more of a stretch for you to do the same now."
"No way."
"Oh, come on. You'll just turn this woman away because of where she is?"
"Yes."
Garrett said this with a note of finality. His tone was much like what Donna used with Warden Cryer. He said it as though his response wasn't strange at all.
"Garrett, this is me," Donna said. "How many clients have I sent your way over the years?"
"Don't get me wrong," Garrett said. "I'm grateful. I've even managed to kick a few folks back to you. But this is above and beyond any of that. This woman is a killer."
Doug was about to say something when Donna asked him to wait outside. Reluctant, he left and she turned on Garrett.
"Look," she said, "I don't care what you think about her guilt or innocence. I don't care what the crime that landed her on Death Row was. I don't care. But this girl is scared and upset. She thinks the next trip to the toilet in her own cell could get her killed."
Donna could tell Garrett's willpower was beginning to falter.
"Please," she said. "Just help her. If you think the state should kill her, fine. Just don't let her die now because she didn't get the help she needed."
Garrett looked at her for a long time. Then, his shoulders slumped.
"Fine," he conceded, "but if she tries to shank me, I'm out of there."
Donna couldn't tell if he was being serious or sarcastic, but she didn't care.
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you."
If she didn't have the good sense to remain professional, she'd have hugged him. That, and if the idea of doing so didn't make her very uncomfortable. Why couldn't she be so confident in social situations?
"When do I start?" Garrett asked in a defeated tone.
"I'll call you," Donna replied. "I just need to work out the details with the Department of Corrections. Thanks again."
She left the physical therapy clinic, keeping her pace down to a brisk walk.
"You owe me big for this!" Garrett called after her.
Donna waved her hand back at him.
* * *
Doug was finishing up a phone call and swearing when Donna came outside. His angry expression turned to skepticism when she told him Garrett was on board.
"Really?" he queried. "That guy?"
"I know," Donna agreed. "But he knows what he's doing and he won't sabotage Sarah because of what he thinks, so I'll take his beliefs along with his skills. We don't have many other options."
"Okay," Doug said cautiously as they got into his car.
"So, what was that call all about just now?"
Doug swore again.
"I spoke to Richard. He went out to see Sarah today. He got there and found out she was moved back to her cell last night."
"What?!" Donna asked in shock as Doug began driving. "It's been less than a week. They haven't done anything to help her, right?"
Doug nodded.
"It gets worse," he continued. "Last night, she accidentally rolled off her bunk and broke her nose and chipped a tooth ..."
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Sarah Griffin: resident of Arlington, VA, and student at American University. Walked in on her neighbor, who had just murdered his wife and children, and pushed him down a flight of stairs. She was convicted and sentenced to death for all four killings. Is now blind and uses a wheelchair. Doug Walker: Attorney in Richmond, VA. Sarah's lead attorney in the appeals process. Grace Collins: legal intern for Doug during Sarah's appeals. Later graduates from law school and earns her law license. Richard Romer: attorney in Virginia. Specilizes in defending people facing the death penalty. Donna Smith: Disability Rights attorney in Richmond, VA. Ryan Duffy: captain of the prison housing unit where Sarah lives. Garrett White: physical therapist recruited by Donna to help Sarah improve her mobility. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "2nd Time Around":
In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family. in 1998, she was convicted and sentenced to death for these killings. In 2006, the state of Virginia failed to execute Sarah in the electric chair.
2014:
... Richard rose to his feet. Even while seated, he was the tallest in the group, so standing wasn't necessary. Nevertheless, he liked to stand and be heard.
"The name's Richard Romer," he said. "I guess I'm what my friends from the south call a 'Yank' or 'Yankee'. I grew up in Brooklyn. I attended Stony Brook University and SUNY at Buffalo Law School. I devoted myself to fighting the death penalty and headed south right after graduating."
He was loud and enthusiastic, leaving the microphone lying on the table in front of him. Despite being from Brooklyn, he did not have an accent.
He did have enthusiasm. For as long as he could remember, he wanted his words remembered. He excelled at public speaking and always looked to give anyone who'd listen an answer. A notable example was when the teacher in health class asked for the four bodily fluids which could transmit HIV and AIDS.
"Breast milk," the teenage Richard replied. Many of His classmates snickered, only to be silenced by the teacher's announcement that he was right and had named the one they most often forgot.
Whether it was a jury or an audience, Richard was ready to address them. The students of the Touro Law Center were no different.
"I suppose I should explain how I came into the picture," Richard said. "Doug and I met after Grace but before Donna came along. Unlike Doug, I believe in the concept of 'ladies first' so I'm willing to let things go out of order."
He received some chuckles for this remark. After a few seconds, he got going again.
"Like I said, my name is Richard Roemer. I attended the State University of New York at Buffalo Law School a long time ago and I've been fighting the death penalty ever since, primarily practicing in the mid-Atlantic region. I suppose my getting involved in Sarah's case could best be described as 'ambulance-chasing', though I'll never admit that to the Bar ..."
2006:
"... Are you sure?" Richard asked, remaining calm. He liked to save his more boisterous side for public appearances and lectures. There was no point in bringing it out here.
"Yes," His client, Sharon Cassidy, said, sliding the newly-signed form back to him.
Resigned, Richard tucked the document into his briefcase, promising to file it with the courts. He and his now-former client bid each other farewell and he left the room.
As a corrections officer led him back to the lobby of the visitor's center at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women, Richard tried to put his former client out of his mind. Though he managed to arrange a plea bargain that didn't include the death penalty, Sharon Cassidy was nonetheless convicted of first degree murder. That wasn't surprising. The evidence showed this woman gunned down her husband and his mistress in cold blood at a gas station in Virginia Beach.
But Sharon Cassidy was the sole remaining person who believed in her own innocence and she didn't like it when Richard told her he wouldn't be able to get her out of prison. He promised to continue filing appeals for her in the hopes of reducing her two consecutive sentences of life imprisonment, but she still fired him. He had asked her to sleep on the decision but she was just as adamant the next day, so he gave in and presented her with the proper form to sign, terminating their attorney/client relationship.
"Oh well," He muttered. "plenty more where she came from. God bless this country's love for executions."
Sure, that love was waning, but there were still over three thousand people on Death Row nationwide. In 2005 alone, sixty people were executed. 2006 was matching this pace, even with the botched electrocution. No, the love wasn't gone.
As he passed the visitation room for inmates and their non-attorney guests, Richard happened to look in through the window and stopped in surprise. A woman with very short red hair was sitting inside the cage reserved for dangerous inmates as well as the state's condemned.
He had of course heard of Sarah Griffin when she was first sentenced to death back in 1998, but he had never seen her in person. Granted, his view wasn't the greatest, but he was pretty sure it was her. She seemed to be clinging to the bars of the cage as she spoke to a young man who somewhat resembled her. As he watched them, Richard began to wonder.
"Let's go," The corrections officer escorting him insisted. "I Haven't got time for a tour."
Richard offered a half-hearted apology and kept walking. He was brought back to the lobby, where he collected his possessions. For Some odd reason, he was allowed to bring his briefcase into a visit with an inmate client, but the prison staff insisted on collecting things like his cell phone, his watch, his raincoat, etc.
As he was getting his things back and signing for them, Richard noticed the young man who resembled Sarah Griffin come out. He wordlessly stepped aside and pretended to tie his shoe while the young man collected his belongings.
When the latter was all set to go, Richard followed him out of the building.
"Excuse me!" he called, keeping a brisk pace. "Excuse me!"
The young man stopped and turned around, enabling Richard to catch up with him. The morning's rain had stopped, so their raincoats were no longer necessary. It was still chilly, not surprising for late October, but it wasn't too bad.
"I saw you in the visitation room, Richard said. "How do you know Sarah Griffin?"
"What do you want with my sister?" the young man asked with crossed arms and narrowed eyes.
"Please, I don't mean any harm. My name's Richard Roemer. I'm an attorney. I can help your sister."
Richard produced a business card from his pocket.
"I specialize in death penalty cases," he explained. "What's happening to your sister is wrong. I just want to help."
The young man shook his head.
"My sister has a lawyer," he said.
"Please just consider it," Richard said. "You don't have to pay me."
He paused.
"She shouldn't die," he finished.
Having said his bit, He walked away towards his own car.
* * *
About a week after his encounter with Sarah's brother, whose name he learned was Lewis, Richard got a call at his office. It was Doug Walker, demanding to see him.
Richard knew of Doug Ernest Walker and his firm, Wheeler, Lex, & Sutton, through what he read about the case. After meeting Lewis, he did some more thorough research on the big man and learned he had only been an attorney for four years when he took on Sarah, his first and, So far, only condemned client. He was supervised by one of the firm's more experienced attorneys in the beginning, but it seemed he'd been doing it on his own for the last year and a half when that supervisor retired.
Richard's experience with the death penalty was quite extensive. Three of his clients were executed but he got another eight off Death Row. He'd also represented two dozen or so men and women during their capital murder trials and felt his experience vastly outweighed Doug's. Getting the attorney to hand over the case wouldn't be the most challenging thing in the world. Richard would make sure Sarah never got anywhere near another execution.
But when he researched the case history and read the appellate briefs and decisions on Westlaw, Richard's self-confidence deflated like a balloon used for target practice by an Uzi. Skimming through court decision after court decision and more pages of transcripts than he could count, he was forced to conclude that, while Doug Walker had less experience in this field than him, the former had done things right. Richard couldn't think of anything he himself could have done better.
So, Richard was forced to enter Doug's office in the SunTrust Plaza building with his humility exposed. When he arrived, being escorted by some associate in the firm, he saw Doug talking to a young woman with long, blonde hair who was showing him a document and commenting about someone who didn't have a dog but did own a cat. They both looked up when he entered.
"Grace," Doug said. "give us a minute, please."
"Sure," The young woman said. "I'll be in the library."
She didn't acknowledge Richard as she left the office.
"Man," Richard said when she was gone, "give me that in a string bikini and I'll retire tomorrow ... right down to a shack in the Bahamas."
Doug's deep frown made it clear the attempt to lighten the mood fell flat ... very flat.
"Retirement may be a pipe dream for you right now," the big man said in a low, raspy tone. "You wanna explain why you tried to solicit my client? Or should I skip any explanation on your part and go straight to the state bar?"
"You spoke to Sarah's brother?" Richard asked.
"Yes. You're not the first attorney to go around me to try and take Sarah's case. Sarah and her family made it clear they trust me and don't appreciate the intrusions. They've been reporting guys like you for months. I'll be honest ... I don't appreciate the intrusion either. I've got work to do."
"I'm sorry," Richard said, unable to come up with a better response. "I just thought ..."
"I'm sure I know what you thought. you're the hot shot death penalty lawyer around here. You thought you could do better than me. Well, I've worried every time I went into a courtroom. But I wasn't worried about myself. I was worried about Sarah, because my screw-ups could very well cost her everything, including her life. Look what she lost already."
"That wasn't your fault. You did a fine job. I truly am sorry I ever got in the way."
While exhibiting modesty and honesty had been his planned ploys to stay out of trouble, Richard now found himself telling Doug all this because it was how he actually felt.
"You know," Doug said, "when I first got her file after her previous appellate attorney died, I wasn't sure she was innocent. I thought she didn't get a fair shot at telling her side of the story, so I stuck with it after she agreed to let me represent her, but I had my doubts about her innocence. I went to see her for the first time in one of those rooms after she signed on with my firm. That surprised her as the last guy barely called, let alone visited. The lawyer may have been good at his job, but he missed any lectures on people skills ... ever. We spoke for a little while ... well, she did most of the talking. Anyway, I left that prison wondering how a sweet girl like that could kill four people. That's when I really reviewed the file and began to believe her. That was 2004. I suppose the rest is history."
Richard nodded, finally deciding to sit in a chair across the desk from Doug.
"I only heard about her case on the news," he said. "I was busy enough with the clients I already had."
At the time, he was handling the appeals of Greg Foster, who was condemned for shooting a sheriff's deputy during a traffic stop in Denwiddie County. He was also preparing for the capital murder trial of Aaron Sanford, an Abingdon resident charged with drowning his girlfriend's infant son in the kitchen sink when the baby wouldn't stop crying. In addition, there was a cue of clients, convicted and awaiting trial, seeking his services. Virginia's Death Row was a lot more crowded in the 90s and he couldn't have squeezed Sarah in if he tried.
"Since no one dropped her file on my desk, I assumed she was guilty," Richard admitted, "even if I didn't think she deserved to die."
He looked at Doug, who returned the stare from behind his sunglasses.
"Do you really believe she didn't kill those people?" he asked.
"She killed the husband," Doug said. "No doubt in my mind about that. There's no doubt in her mind about that either. But there is also no doubt in my mind that it was in self-defense. He would have killed her otherwise and we might now be talking about a completely different person."
"You figure out what to do about the cell phone or what it even has to do with her?"
"Not yet, but it's on my list."
Richard nodded again.
"Carry on then," he said. "I'm sorry to have gotten in the way. Good luck to all of you."
He rose and turned to go. Doug stopped him.
"Do you know Francis versus Resweber?" he asked.
Richard turned to face him again.
"Sure," he said, "1947 ... Supreme Court case ... they just made some sort of film about it."
He also understood its relevance and how the justices' decision back then was bad news for Sarah today.
"I need to figure out how to get around that," Doug said. "Any ideas?"
"Not off the top of my head. I could do some research and come up with something. That is ... if you're suggesting we work together."
Doug nodded.
"I'd rather have you on my team than running loose out there, doing God knows what. And I don't have the time or patience to deal with the paperwork required to make you the Bar's problem."
Richard was taken aback.
"All right," he said. "Thank you."
Inside, he was supremely relieved not to be facing disciplinary sanctions.
"Just one rule," Doug cautioned. "you try any sneaky tactics on Sarah behind my back and I'll personally throw you out my window."
With one thick thumb, He indicated the large window behind him, which offered an enviable view of the Richmond cityscape. It didn't look like it could be opened.
"Understood," Richard promised. He realized Doug had researched him as well. In his own way, the big man was asking for his expertise.
* * *
For Richard, the attorney/client visitation rooms at Fluvanna all looked alike, with their gray walls, bolted-down furniture, and doors without handles on the inside. For all he knew, he was sitting in the same room where Sharon Cassidy fired him, or terminated his services, as the legal document put it, a few weeks ago.
Doug and Grace had prepared him for his first meeting with Sarah, the latter schooling him on her disabilities and capabilities, which she admitted they themselves were still trying to figure out.
"We're getting someone for that," she'd said.
Richard was surprised by Sarah's appearance when she was brought in, an officer pushing the wheelchair, but that surprise soon gave way to anger at his having to wait ninety minutes before she arrived. The corrections officers' responses to his inquiries about the delay were reminders to stay seated as they secured Sarah's cuffed wrists to the table. He obeyed with great reluctance, remembering his promise to Doug to not cause trouble.
"Press the red button when you're done," one of the officers said, pointing out the intercom behind Richard before leaving and locking the door.
When they were alone, Richard introduced himself as he always did. He found it a bit odd how simple it seemed to slip into his usual role. Was Sarah just another client? He didn't know, but he couldn't help looking into those dark spaces on her face. Amazing what a difference the absence of two little orbs made.
"What happened, anyway?" he asked, figuring she wouldn't feel bound to keep the nature of her delay a secret.
"A woman a few cells down from me lit her mattress on fire," Sarah explained without a trace of shock. "She then held a shiv to her cellmate's neck to try and keep the guards back. They used pepper spray and a hose to bring her down."
"The cellmate all right?"
Sarah shrugged her shoulders as best she could.
"I think so," she said. "I didn't hear anything about needing paramedics or something like that."
Richard knew incidents like this weren't unusual in prison. Some very volatile people were crammed into some very tight spaces. And, with Sarah being the sole condemned woman in Virginia, it made sense she'd be in the same area as other maximum security inmates, at least some of whom would have cellmates, whether that was a good idea or not.
"So, you're the new guy on my legal team, huh?" Sarah asked. "Thought Grace would hold on to that title a little longer."
Richard knew the other not-unusual thing in prison was how people, inmates and staff alike, soon moved on after an incident. Those who needed medical attention got it ... kind of, the incident was documented, the scene was cleaned up, and everyone returned to the routine.
"Well, things can have a way of surprising you," Richard replied, sorting through some papers he'd placed on the table, moving on as well. "But don't worry. I'm answering to Doug. He's still the big boss. He brought me in so I wouldn't be running wild out there, doing God knows what. Right now, I'm not to make a move without his approval."
This was one of Doug's conditions for him being kept out of trouble with the state Bar. As far as Richard was concerned, he'd obey the rules as long as he was kept involved. So far, things were proceeding to his satisfaction. He studied Sarah, who nodded but didn't smile.
"Doug sent me to update you," he continued. "He thought I was the best choice to explain the status of your case ... well, the murder case, anyway. You ever hear of Francis versus Resweber?"
Sarah's neutral face took on a slight frown as her eyebrows furrowed. Were she not cuffed to the table, Richard was sure she would have brought a finger or two to her chin or forehead while she contemplated. With her eyelids closed, he almost forgot about her missing eyeballs ... almost.
"Doug's mentioned it here and there," Sarah said when her face relaxed again. "He never said much about it before except how it could be bad news for me."
"He wasn't kidding," Richard affirmed. "As shocking as your experience in the electric chair is ... pardon my choice of phrase ... it's not unprecedented."
Sarah's eyes seemed to widen. He couldn't be sure, but he supposed the black spaces enlarged a little.
"Heh?" she asked. "Are you saying I'm not the first person this has happened to?"
"Unfortunately, not," Richard said. "Back in 1945, a sixteen-year-old kid named Willie Francis was arrested for the murder of Andrew Thomas, a Cajun pharmacy owner in St. Martinville, Louisiana."
"Did he do it?"
"He confessed in two written statements. I'm not sure though. The gun and bullets used to kill the pharmacist disappeared from the evidence room before the trial. The gun is said to have belonged to a local Sheriff's deputy down there who allegedly threatened to kill the pharmacist at one point. There were rumors going around that Andrew Thomas was sexually abusive and Willie Francis, who worked for him at some point, made a statement which may have suggested it, though none of that was ever proven."
"I thought I got dealt a bad hand."
Sarah shook her head in dismay.
"Willie Francis was a black kid in Louisiana in 1945," Richard reminded her. "the prosecution, the judge and jury, and probably his own attorney saw his race first and foremost. The cops found the victim's wallet on him during an arrest in Texas for an unrelated crime. Willie Francis led them to the holster, claiming he carried the murder weapon in it. All that was gravy for the prosecution's case. The jury didn't hesitate to convict, and he got the death penalty. His court-appointed defense attorneys offered no objections, called no witnesses and put up no defense. They didn't even question the validity of the kid's confessions."
Sarah nodded. Richard knew She'd always done well in social studies and, prior to becoming blind, often requested biographies and books on historical events from the prison library. She knew all about the history of race relations in America. But there was one thing that wouldn't make sense to her and Richard waited for the question.
"How exactly does his case impact mine?" Sarah asked, right on cue.
There wasn't an obvious connection. For one thing, she was white and, on top of that, quite pale thanks to her lack of extensive outdoor exposure. Richard didn't know much about a redhead's ability to tan and wasn't going to hurry and research the subject.
"Back then, Louisiana used a portable electric chair to carry out executions. It worked just like the one here in Virginia does, except for it being portable. It was called 'Gruesome Gertie' and they took it from county to county, or 'parish' to 'parish' as they're known down there. Each parish carried out their own death sentences at the time. The state didn't take over the process until 1957, when it began carrying out all executions in an immovable electric chair at the Louisiana State Penitentiary in Angola. Lethal injection followed about forty or forty-five years later."
Sarah nodded again. They both knew Virginia's electric chair, nicknamed "Old Sparky", had thick oak arms and legs which probably made it hard to move. Plus, it was bolted down on a platform, which in turn was bolted down to the floor of the execution chamber at Greensville.
"On May 3, 1946, that chair failed to kill Willie Francis," Richard said.
He took a moment to clarify how the appeals process was much shorter back then compared to the eight years Sarah spent on Death Row before her execution. He noted that the eight years, while normal for Virginia, was below the current national average of twelve to thirteen. He also pointed out how a black kid like Willie Francis was not likely to get any real attention or sympathy from the courts.
"What happened?" Sarah asked. "Why didn't the chair work on him?"
"Not sure," Richard replied. "They did find out it was set up by a corrections officer and prison trustee from Angola, both of whom were allegedly drunk during the process. Willie Francis screamed, 'Take it off! Take it off! Let me breathe!' as they were trying to kill him ... that's what the witnesses at the execution reported later, though I don't believe that."
"Why not?"
Richard understood why Sarah might be confused. Though she couldn't remember her own execution, a reaction like that seemed perfectly natural. Plus, Doug had read her the reports about her own electrocution.
"Electricity causes your muscles to contract and become stiff," he explained. "You wouldn't have been able to move your jaw up or down until a little while after they turned off the juice ... think of someone going through a seizure ... same thing. You can't open the person's mouth with the Jaws of Life. Plus, when they strap that cap onto your head, it's so tight that you can't move your lower jawbone anyway."
Richard reached across the table, put his hand underneath Sarah's chin, and pushed it up hard to demonstrate. Though he obviously wasn't as strong as an electrical current or a cap's chin strap, Sarah seemed to get the idea. However, Richard could tell one thing was still bothering her.
"The reports said I screamed," Sarah pointed out, again right on cue.
"They called it a 'strangled cry' in the reports," Richard reminded her. "yes, you were screaming, but you couldn't open your mouth to complete the task. It was kind of like you were screaming through a gag."
Sarah nodded, looking a little queasy.
"That's why I believe what happened to Willie Francis but why I simultaneously do not entirely believe the witness reports," Richard continued. "people were saying all kinds of things after the execution. The sheriff, E. L. Resweber, was later quoted as saying, 'This boy really got a shock when they turned that machine on'."
He could tell Sarah now saw the similarities. Even though no one was drunk at her execution, the incidents were still essentially the same. Richard didn't think she would like where this was going.
"A lawyer named Bertrand DeBlanc took on Willie Francis's case," he narrated. "He was out of his league for sure. He was just a kid himself really. Anyway, they were able to get the attention of the United States Supreme Court. The lawyer, DeBlanc, argued that Willie Francis's 5th, 8th, and 14th Amendment rights of double jeopardy, cruel and unusual punishment, and due process were violated. Long story short, they lost five to four."
"What?" Sarah asked. "Why? How?"
Richard studied the astonished look on Sarah's face. Even he couldn't fully fathom how Willie Francis could go through her current real-life nightmare sixty years earlier and then lose in the U.S. Supreme Court. It made some sense to him, though only some.
"Again, a poor black kid in the south in the 1940s. It certainly didn't help him. The court ruled putting someone on trial again after they were acquitted for the same crime was double jeopardy. Executing them again after the first try was a bust wasn't. They compared it to someone being retried after their first conviction was thrown out ... doesn't constitute the 'legal hardship' on the defendant that would merit the imposition of double jeopardy. After that, Willie Francis was successfully executed on May 9, 1947, again in the electric chair."
Sarah paused, her brows furrowed again as she processed this.
"But Virginia stopped using the chair," she said, still contemplating. "If they execute me again, it'd be by lethal injection."
After the botched execution, Virginia suspended the use of the electric chair for the course of the investigation. It was by no means eliminated, but for the time being, an inmate couldn't choose between it and lethal injection as the statute normally allowed.
"Doesn't matter," Richard corrected. "the court was talking about the process of executing someone in general. The fact that the players were Willie Francis, Louisiana, and the electric chair is irrelevant in the long run ... the same decision might have been made if it was the gas chamber in California or the firing squad in Utah."
Sarah nodded, frowning. She understood but didn't like his answer.
"This is unbelievable," she muttered. "They can do this to me and then just go ahead and try to kill me all over again because some court said it was okay sixty years ago?"
She shook her head.
"Case law never dies," Richard told her. "it just gets overshadowed by newer case law. It's all about the precedent that's been set. You just have the misfortune of being only the second person to whom this has happened to ... ever."
"Lucky me," Sarah muttered.
She looked at Richard. The lawyer had to remind himself of what Grace had said. Sarah used a person's voice to determine where they were. He stared at those dark spaces again, fascinated by how she was managing with these impairments.
"Is there anything we can do?" Sarah asked. "Anything at all?"
Focusing again, Richard nodded before remembering she couldn't see this.
"We're certainly gonna try," he said. "We'll ask the courts to take another look at that decision. Sixty years is a long time ... a lot of attitudes can change. And the Supreme Court has a history of reversed decisions on certain issues ... sodomy and capital punishment, for example. If we present a strong enough argument on how times and lower court rulings have changed, we could get the case overturned. Then we'll work on getting you out of here once and for all."
Sarah smiled a little.
"Tell me something," Richard said. "why did you choose the chair over injection to begin with?"
Sarah said nothing and he decided to drop it ...
| Author Notes |
The Supreme Court case Richard discribes is a real case.
Cast of characters: Sarah Griffin: resident of Arlington, VA, and student at American University. Walked in on her neighbor, who had just murdered his wife and children, and pushed him down a flight of stairs. She was convicted and sentenced to death for all four killings. Is now blind and uses a wheelchair. Doug Walker: Attorney in Richmond, VA. Sarah's lead attorney in the appeals process. Grace Collins: legal intern for Doug during Sarah's appeals. Later graduates from law school and earns her law license. Richard Romer: attorney in Virginia. Specilizes in defending people facing the death penalty. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "2nd Time Around":
In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family. in 1998, she was convicted and sentenced to death for these killings. In 2006, the state of Virginia failed to execute Sarah in the electric chair.
2014:
"... My name is Andrew Daines. I'm a civil rights attorney, having graduated from Yale for both my Bachelor of Arts in Sociology and my Juris Doctor. The beauty of being really good at your job, like I am, is that you end up being on a first-name basis with people whom you have never met before in your life."
He paused and got a few chuckles. Unlike Richard, he did use the microphone and remained seated. It wasn't that he wanted to hide that he was over half a foot shorter than his colleague. He just didn't want to stand. He pushed his glasses back up his nose.
"It also lets you get away with really bad jokes," he continued. "For example, why don't sharks eat lawyers?"
He paused for dramatic effect.
"Professional courtesy," he finished with a slight grin.
The resulting laughter sounded polite and forced. Andrew didn't mind.
"Doug recruited me towards the end of 2006," he went on. "Unlike some people who wormed their way into the case, I was invited."
He mockingly glared at Grace and Richard before flashing a friendly smile in Donna's direction.
"She knows what I mean," he said. "Anyway, before I could address the possible civil rights violations that come with trying to execute someone for a second time after the first round failed, I was given a more pressing task. I guess my story begins when I first went to court to argue this point in January of ..."
2007:
... Andrew and Donna arrived at the federal courthouse in Richmond at 8:15 in the morning. Since they were claiming Sarah's problems inside the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women amounted to a violation of her civil rights, their case automatically fell under federal jurisdiction. They were arriving for a hearing in front of Judge Martha Peters of the federal district Court for the eastern district of Virginia.
"She's a tough one," Andrew said as they walked down the corridor. "she'll hear us out though. Plus, she doesn't hate me that much."
Donna stopped. Not noticing, Andrew kept going and she had to hurry and catch up. Only then did he notice the perplexed expression on her face.
"Relax," he said. "We'll be fine."
Having to go through the courthouse's security checkpoint and everything related to it, they arrived at the courtroom at 8:45. Their hearing was the first thing on Judge Peters' docket, scheduled for 9:00 a.m. Having some time to wait, the lawyers sat down in the courtroom's spectator gallery.
"What do you think our chances are?" Donna asked.
Andrew considered this. He was admittedly more adept at writing legal briefs for appeals and other matters requiring documents which rivaled the length of War and Peace. One brief even received strong praise from a Supreme Court Justice for its clarity and logic. he was a decent orator when he had to be. It was more that he preferred writing what he wanted people, especially judges, to know. But these cases were the type where long, complex arguments written in the proper font with the correct margins were not the preferred method of achieving one's goals.
"We have a good shot at the TRO," Andrew said. "it's the long-term plans which will be trickier."
"We just have to keep applying pressure," Donna said. "Someone will crack sooner or later."
Andrew nodded. In that way, Disability Law and Civil Rights Law weren't so different.
Donna looked at Andrew.
"What did you mean when you said Judge Peters didn't 'hate' you that much?" she queried.
"I have a reputation for being relentless to the point where it's 'pretty annoying'," Andrew clarified. "'hate' might be a bit strong, but my relationship with Judge Peters is decent in comparison to some of her colleagues."
Donna nodded as the court clerk came into the courtroom from a side door. He came right over to them so there was no time to get any further elaborations.
"Are you here for the temporary restraining order?" he asked.
"Yes," Andrew confirmed, introducing himself and Donna.
"Judge Peters will be out in a few minutes. you can step forward now if you like."
Thanking him, Andrew and Donna rose and moved to the petitioner's table. Once there, they took out their papers and held a last-minute discussion in hushed voices. The earlier topic was now forgotten.
At 8:59, the clerk called for everyone to rise for the Honorable Judge Martha Peters. Andrew and Donna rose, as did the few people who'd filtered in and took seats in the spectators' gallery. They were mainly litigants for the next case. Since hearings regarding temporary restraining orders often didn't take long, it was sensible to show up before they even began. Judges frowned on anyone being late when they were trying to keep up with crowded calendars.
Sarah's legal team hadn't made their plans public, so the press and curious gawkers were nowhere to be found. True, Donna and Andrew could have used the reporters to rally support, but they were too early in the game to pull such a stunt. For now, a quiet maneuver was the best idea.
Gray-haired and very fit, Judge Peters strode into the courtroom and sat down behind the bench, inviting everyone to sit as well. She took a moment to turn on her laptop before looking down at Andrew and Donna.
"You're seeking a temporary restraining order, correct?" she asked.
"Yes, Your Honor," Andrew confirmed, stepping up to the lectern and speaking into the microphone. "our client, Sarah Inez Griffin, is developing a pattern of injuries due to the lack of proper care in the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women where she is housed. We have asked the Virginia Department of Corrections on multiple occasions to take steps to prevent these injuries, but they have only made temporary adjustments, mainly transferring Ms. Griffin to their hospital for treatment when she is injured. We are seeking a temporary restraining order to keep her there until a more permanent solution can be implemented."
"What sort of injuries are we talking about here?"
Andrew understood the judge would be unwilling to even consider this request if they were just going to bring up minor cuts, bruises, and scratches.
"Your Honor," Donna said, rising from her seat. "we have records going as far back as the date Sarah Griffin was returned to the Fluvanna Correctional Center after being hospitalized in Richmond. Just last month, our client broke her nose and chipped a tooth falling out of her bed. Last week, she injured one of her elbows when she again fell out of bed and cut her wrist on the bed's metal frame while trying to climb back into it. Your Honor, the Department of Corrections now incorrectly believes that this was an attempt by our client to take her own life and have placed her on a suicide watch. She is now even more restricted."
Judge Peters knew who Sarah Griffin was and what was most likely causing her to fall out of bed. Anyone with some kind of quantifiable IQ could determine that. Though the judge couldn't know the specifics regarding Sarah's disabilities, Andrew knew this lack of knowledge didn't matter.
"What are your ultimate goals regarding this order?" Judge Peters asked.
"We're looking to get reasonable accommodations for our client," Andrew replied. "Until that can happen, she cannot safely function in the environment of a maximum security prison. We just want her kept in the hospital until these accommodations are in place ... for her own safety and well-being."
"And you're sure these accommodations you're asking for can be implemented?"
Andrew just said, "They have to be."
The law was on their side. Something needed to be done.
Judge Peters considered his words.
"All right," she said. "I'll grant you the order to keep Ms. Griffin out of the general prison population and instead have her housed in the hospital at the Fluvanna Correctional Center until further notice. Understand that this order only extends to a hearing where it will be determined if it should be continued."
"I understand," Andrew said, knowing the Department of Corrections would be able to have their say at that time. That was how these things worked. The petitioner filed the request, much like someone would file a lawsuit. Provided the situation was deemed serious enough and explained in a coherent manner, judges generally granted these requests. The respondent would be served notice of the TRO and, usually within a week's time, would have the opportunity to challenge the order if they chose to respond. all such orders were only valid until the scheduled date and time of that next hearing, where it would be decided if they would be extended.
"Then we'll set the hearing for next Tuesday, January 30th, at 9:00 a.m.," Judge Peters said.
* * *
Less than a week later, Andrew and Donna were back in court, taking Grace along this time. Doug and Richard stayed behind in the latter's office as they were busy preparing their appeal for Sarah in which they wanted to argue that attempting to execute her a second time would indeed be a violation of her constitutional rights. Andrew planned to be back later to check on their progress and help however he could. True, this was why Doug had recruited him, but they had to address one civil rights violation at a time. There needed to be priorities.
This time, two lawyers were present to represent the Virginia Department of Corrections. From afar, they looked more like covert government agents, complete with black suits and matching black ties. Neither said anything to anyone as they sat down at the respondent's table.
"No sign of earpieces," Grace cracked in a low voice, craning her neck to study the pair.
Right on time, the court rose, Judge Peters entered, and the clerk called the case. The judge summarized the situation and the nature of the hearing before asking the petitioner to begin.
"Has anything changed from your last petition?" she asked.
"No, Your Honor," Andrew replied, having stepped up to the lectern. "We wish for our client, Sarah Griffin, to be housed in the hospital on the grounds of the Fluvanna Correctional Center until proper accommodations can be put in place to enable her to live safely in the prison's maximum security unit, which is where the Department of Corrections wants to continue housing her."
"Your Honor," one of the attorneys for the Department of Corrections said, rising to his feet, "the prison's hospital does not have the facilities necessary for the long-term housing of a maximum-security inmate."
"I do not think Sarah Griffin poses much of a security risk these days. Housing her in a cell is riskier as she is obviously not safe there."
"Tell me, Mr. Daines," Judge Peters asked. "What makes the hospital a better option?"
"The staff," Andrew replied as though this were obvious. "They've proven to be helpful with her before. I understand it's not ideal, but it shouldn't be for more than a few weeks, provided the department is accommodating with what Sarah needs."
"How can you be so sure?" the attorney asked.
Before Andrew or Donna could say anything, he added, "It could be months. Your Honor, we do not know what accommodations the petitioners would be asking for nor how they might be implemented. the prison's hospital cannot be tied down like that for someone who is not sick."
"She goes there every time she injures herself in her cell," Donna pointed out from the petitioner's table. "Keeping up that cycle is what's causing the problem. Sarah isn't safe in her cell."
"We're not here to debate the safest and most convenient long-term location to house Ms. Griffin," Judge Peters pointed out. "We're looking to determine what best suits her rather unique needs right now. In any case, I agree with Mr. Daines. The extension of the restraining order is granted. Ms. Griffin is to remain in the hospital at the Fluvanna Correctional Center until further notice. We will schedule another hearing in a month to determine what progress has been made to ensure her safety while any concerns regarding security are addressed."
She banged her gavel. Everyone began gathering their things to allow the litigants in the next case to come forward.
Resigned to the judge's ruling, the two attorneys from the Department of Corrections packed up their briefcases, looking to make a quick and quiet exit. But Andrew stopped them.
"You tell your bosses that if they want this to be resolved quickly, we're willing to mediate," he told them.
* * *
Three weeks after the hearing, Doug pulled his car into the parking lot outside the headquarters of the Virginia Department of Corrections in Richmond. He, Donna, and Andrew got out and headed for the building's front doors.
Following the instructions from the security guard in the lobby, they took the elevator up to the fourth floor and walked down a long hallway to room 428. Doug knocked once and pushed the door open without waiting for a reply.
The room was a conference room with a long table occupying most of the space. Several high-backed Swivel chairs surrounded this table, five of them already occupied. These five individuals, all together on one side, watched as the newcomers entered, their faces expressionless.
As Donna, Doug, and Andrew sat down on the unoccupied side of the table, the group's leader introduced himself as Duke Grover, the department's Chief of Corrections Operations. He explained how part of his job was to see if the prison was in compliance with the Americans with Disabilities Act. Andrew considered pointing out the poor job he was doing So far but held his tongue. Treating these people, and the department they represented, as villainous wouldn't accomplish anything. It was best to think of them all as uneducated, an understandable trait considering these very unique circumstances, and hope they were very open-minded. Like Doug, Duke Grover had gone to law school at the University of Virginia, so one had to assume he was well-versed in the legal aspect of his job ... just not enough. Plus, both their names started with "D". Was that really just a coincidence?
A few minutes later, the mediator, a local attorney named Wallace Silver, arrived, accompanied by a stenographer. He was a short man in his late sixties with chalk-white hair and an elegant black pair of glasses. He took a few minutes to organize some papers and set up a digital recorder which would keep a record of the meeting alongside the stenographer's notes.
"Good morning," he said before reciting the date, time, and case name and number for the record. He then asked everyone to state their names and roles in the case, starting with himself.
Everyone did as asked. the other four representatives from the Department of Corrections were identified as Ronald Jones, an attorney for the department, Debra Kinsely, a structural engineer and expert on the design of prisons, Eric McKane, a disability rights expert, probably freelance, and Patrick Dogard, a representative from the Corrections Officers Union.
With introductions complete, Wallace Silver recited the facts of the case.
"Will the petitioners please state their grievances," he prompted.
Taking charge, Donna laid out the nature of Sarah's disabilities. She elaborated on the difficulties she was having since the execution, emphasizing the problems which came up once she was returned to her cell in the maximum security unit. She finished by outlining the accommodations Sarah would need in order to function in her current environment. Donna spoke non-stop for almost thirty minutes, more than Andrew had ever heard from her at one time.
When she was finished, Wallace Silver asked the department's representatives if they had a response they'd like to put on the record. Duke Grover immediately denied ever getting any reports which were said to have been filed by corrections staff after each of Sarah's injuries. He explained the department could not just grant all the accommodations Sarah's attorneys were asking for.
"They are all reasonable accommodations," Donna pointed out. "in line with the Americans with Disabilities Act."
She paused for a moment, checking the notes Andrew had compiled for this meeting.
"In the case of the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections versus Yeskey," she recited, "the United States Supreme Court held the Americans with Disabilities Act and its previsions and protections extend to state prisoners. That's precisely in your job description, Mr. Grover."
Duke Grover's face remained neutral.
"There are security concerns," Patrick Dogard, the union representative, chimed in. "Your client's been sentenced to die. Extra precautions need to be taken. The corrections officers who interact with her need to be protected as they are in the most danger ..."
"The world in which Sarah Griffin could be considered a serious threat to anyone's safety would be the world in which your prisons could be surrounded by white picket fences," Andrew retorted. "There's no mystery here. Our client's rights, as granted to her by the Americans with Disabilities Act, are being blatantly violated and you are trying to hide behind poor excuses to justify yourselves. We're willing to accept you and your officers probably do not fully understand what Sarah is capable of and what she needs, but that line of thinking cannot put this matter to rest."
"These are all important points," Wallace Silver interjected. "I think the appropriate avenue is to evaluate the merits of each of the petitioner's requests one-by-one."
Everyone agreed, and Donna began by explaining how Sarah needed physical therapy, which was one of the most important accommodations they were asking for. She described Sarah's paralysis and said she needed to know things like how to roll over in bed to prevent bedsores.
"Your client already knows how to roll," Patrick Dogard said. "isn't that why she's been falling out of bed so often?"
Andrew hoped his face didn't betray his anger at that last comment. he really preferred to do his arguing on paper.
"She needs to learn how to control it and not fall out of her bed," Donna corrected, shooting Duke Grover a brief, dirty look. "She'll also need to learn how to get in and out of her wheelchair and how to have her upper body compensate for the loss of her legs, which will be hard for her to do since she does not have full use of her upper body either."
"We have a physical therapist who is willing to come in and work with her," Doug added, speaking for the first time since introductions were recited and recorded. "They'll just need to do it in an open space, like the prison's gymnasium."
"How do we know this won't be a cover for an escape attempt?" Patrick Dogard asked.
Donna groaned. Andrew began to wonder if this man was just here to state stupid questions and remarks.
"You gotta be kidding me," she said.
"Wouldn't be the first time someone's conspired to break out a Death Row inmate," Patrick Dogard remarked.
Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong. In 1988, a woman drove up to the Washington State Penitentiary to pick up her condemned husband, who intended to put on a hospital orderly's uniform and leave the prison with the aid of the warden's secretary. The plan was foiled when corrections officers caught the secretary attempting to steal the uniform from the hospital's supply closet. There'd been about a half dozen other such plans, all foiled long before coming to fruition thanks to prisons' security measures.
"Our physical therapist will be happy to undergo a background check," Andrew offered, eager to put a reasonable, substantive option out there for consideration. "He was fingerprinted when he registered with the state."
"Due to the severe nature of Sarah's paralysis, we need someone who specifically knows how to work with her," Donna elaborated. "That limits who we can recruit for the job."
"Mr. Grover?" Wallace Silver asked.
Duke Grover was silent, his face still neutral. Andrew supposed the man had been through tense meetings many times before and knew how to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself.
"We'd be willing to accommodate this," Duke Grover finally conceded. "But we'd like at least one officer to stay and supervise these physical therapy sessions. And your man and any equipment he'll bring will be searched before and after every session, as will the inmate."
"We can agree to that," Donna said, thrilled about this first success.
Andrew wasn't sure what the physical therapist, Garrett White, would think of all this, but Donna didn't seem worried. He supposed she'd already worked out everything with the man, reluctant as the latter seemed to be to even become involved in the case.
* * *
Accounting for a lunch break, the mediation took a little over six hours. Doug, Donna, and Andrew came out feeling pretty good about themselves. While they had not gotten everything they wanted, Andrew and Donna considered this a success. they purposely aimed too high with Some of their demands in order to make what they really wanted seem more reasonable.
"Classic bait-and-switch," Andrew remarked. "Feels good to be on this side of it."
Apart from having access to Garrett the physical therapist for one hour twice a week, Sarah would also be visited twice a month by an occupational therapist who could help her learn to adjust to living with both her paralysis and her lack of sight. This was needed as Garrett could only show her how to prevent more injuries and medical complications. He could not show her how to do things like organize her possessions in her cell in a manner which would allow her to locate and retrieve them later. The sessions with the occupational therapist would take place in one of the attorney/client meeting rooms. Like the ones with Garrett, these sessions would be supervised by a corrections officer and all parties would be searched for contraband before and after. All the Department of Corrections' representatives balked at the idea of allowing the occupational therapist into the maximum security unit.
However, they also gave in to the idea of installing support rails in Sarah's cell to help her get in and out of bed and to properly use the toilet. They did stipulate that they pick the contractor who would make these renovations, citing security concerns. Sarah's attorneys were fine with this.
Under a similar agreement, a shower chair would also be installed in the unit's showers, which all the incarcerated women used. Protocols dictated that a Death Row inmate have access to the shower three times a week when all other inmates were locked in their cells. The chair would have the capability to be folded up and secured against the wall by a chain and padlock when Sarah didn't need it. This would also prevent conflicts or dangerous situations if someone else was using the shower by it. They wouldn't be able to make use of what they might perceive as a conveniently-placed weapon.
A few other minor demands were brought up and ironed out. In the end, even the Department of Corrections representatives seemed happy. Once her cell was arranged properly, Sarah would be allowed to keep a wheelchair in there, though this and all other such arrangements hinged on her good behavior. Andrew considered pointing out Sarah couldn't be denied necessary accommodations based on such a factor but decided not to. Sarah's disciplinary file was almost non-existent, so he'd address this misconception if he needed to in the future.
Donna, Doug, and Andrew decided to stop and have a mini-celebration before they'd head to the prison to inform Sarah. Grace had classes, Richard was at the office, finalizing their first appeal after the state's botched attempt to kill Sarah. She had been declared fit and healthy enough for execution by some doctor and the Attorney General's office was already whispering about asking for a new date to put her to death. The team had to do something fast to impede that. There was no time for a real, full-blown celebration right now ...
2014:
"... We were getting somewhere," Andrew said to the audience. "But, as any of us will tell you, we had a long way to go."
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Sarah Griffin: resident of Arlington, VA, and student at American University. Walked in on her neighbor, who had just murdered his wife and children, and pushed him down a flight of stairs. She was convicted and sentenced to death for all four killings. Is now blind and uses a wheelchair. Doug Walker: Attorney in Richmond, VA. Sarah's lead attorney in the appeals process. Grace Collins: legal intern for Doug during Sarah's appeals. Later graduates from law school and earns her law license. Richard Romer: attorney in Virginia. Specilizes in defending people facing the death penalty. Donna Smith: Disability Rights attorney in Richmond, VA. Andrew Daines: Civil rights attorney in Richmond, VA. Helped Doug with Sarah's appeals. Garrett White: physical therapist recruited by Donna to help Sarah improve her mobility. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "2nd Time Around":
In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family. in 1998, she was convicted and sentenced to death for these killings. In 2006, the state of Virginia failed to execute Sarah in the electric chair. In 2008, the state moves to try again ...
2014:
Sarah listened as everyone spoke. As often as she'd done this, it still felt so surreal to hear it. It was like watching a home movie of the events. She needed to wrap her head around the fact it all happened ... not just to her, but to all of them.
She glanced down the table as Doug spoke about one of the appeals he'd filed back in 2008, though she couldn't recall which one. He really tried everything back then.
Sarah knew they were getting close to that night. The big man usually glossed over the events in Stonesburg and she didn't expect anything different this time. True, anyone with access to Google could find out what happened, but Doug never wanted to be the one to put it out there. Sarah could understand this. She just hoped he'd come to terms with what happened, like he'd always told her to when it came to killing Dr. Parker.
Thinking about Doug and Stonesburg always brought Sarah back to her role that night. This time was no different. She too usually glossed over that portion during these public appearances, probably because she could remember it all way too well. Much like her trip to the electric chair, she knew what happened in Stonesburg via other people's accounts, but she could vividly recall her own thoughts and actions that night ...
2008:
... Sarah reached through the cell door's food slot to place the phone's receiver back on its cradle. She missed the first couple of times but got it as a corrections officer arrived, carrying a tray. The officer seated behind the computer on the nearby desk acknowledged his colleague's arrival with a series of taps on the computer's keyboard, creating a record of this interaction with the condemned inmate.
The officer carrying the tray nudged the cart with the phone aside and took another step closer. He set the tray down on the food slot with a soft thud. Sarah moved her wheelchair towards the door. Warden Mills had been kind enough to have the chair normally bolted down in the middle of the cell removed as it only served as an obstruction for her.
Sarah supposed the warden and his officers at the Greensville Correctional Center were schooled in how to deal with her prior to her arrival. Theoretically, a mishap like those which happened shortly after her trip to the electric chair might be enough to launch an investigation and more court appearances, delaying the evening's proceedings. Sarah knew no one wanted more delays.
"Your requested Special Meal," The officer at the cell door announced. "Three scoops of mint chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream with a Wafer cookie in it. The bowl's right in the middle of the tray."
He tapped the side of the bowl with the spoon, indicating its location. He then passed the spoon through the bars to Sarah, telling her where to reach out for it. Once she had it, he left without another word.
Sarah ran the spoon across the bowl's contents until she found the Wafer. She used the cookie to scoop up the ice cream and ate both before consuming the remainder of the dessert with her spoon.
She had her sister to thank for this choice of a last meal, not a "Special Meal", as the staff coined it in an attempt to erase the stigma. Prior to her incarceration, Sarah's favorite ice cream flavor was chocolate. During their visits, Amelia would tell her about all kinds of new foods gaining popularity in the free world, including Hawaiian pizza and mint chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Figuring she had to try one of these before she was gone, Sarah chose the ice cream for her last meal. The Department of Corrections again allowed her to choose as they did for every condemned inmate, provided the choice was within financial reason. Tasting it for the first time, Sarah thought mint chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream was pretty good. Too bad she wouldn't get to have it again.
According to the records kept by the Department of Corrections, she'd had Chinese takeout for her last meal two years ago. She didn't remember making the choice or how it tasted, but she had always liked the stuff, eating it with her siblings during their college years. So that last round, coming from a local takeout place, must have been all right. It must have been better than all those years of prison food. This last meal certainly was, though Sarah couldn't recall the last time she got ice cream. This would end things on a high note ... if a high note like that could exist in this situation.
* * *
At 7:00, two corrections officers came up to Sarah's cell. Hearing them coming, she turned and looked towards them, sure about why they were there. Warden Mills had briefed her on everything. There would be no surprises and she did not want any.
"Time for your shower," One of the officers said.
Sarah nodded, not recognizing this woman's voice. She knew access to her was very restricted, so whoever was here had to have authorization to be here and to take her for her shower.
Once the cell door was opened, the officer stepped in and grabbed Sarah's wheelchair, maneuvering it out into the open area. She pushed her over to the nearby shower stall, her colleague right behind her.
A metal folding chair had been set in the stall. Sarah stripped down and transferred herself from her wheelchair to this chair just as that familiar invisible force turned on the water. It was just like it had always been during all her years on Death Row. She felt along the shower wall, trying to find the little ledge where the bar of soap was.
"Further up," One of the corrections officers said. "And a little to your left."
Having long ago come to ignore the officers who "supervised" her while she was in the shower, Sarah nevertheless appreciated this tip. She grabbed the soap bar and scrubbed herself, considering the possible reasoning behind her getting this last shower. She'd heard several reasons from several sources, the former ranging from the undertaker wanting a clean corpse to it being a courtesy afforded to the condemned, much like the "special meal". In truth, Sarah didn't care. She would just do as was asked of her and put an end to all of it.
She grabbed the bottle of shampoo from the same ledge as the soap and washed her hair. Along with many other things, she long ago learned to deal with the fact this had to be the cheapest stuff on the face of the Earth. It did nothing for her hair except get out mud and concrete.
When she was done showering, Sarah reached out, found, and pulled a towel off the nearby bench and dried herself off with it. Then, still naked, she braced herself against the chair, praying it wouldn't slide out from under her, and lifted herself back into her wheelchair. She was then moved closer to the bench, where a fresh set of prison clothes awaited her, the previous set having disappeared.
Sarah long ago discovered that getting dressed, especially when it came to garments belonging on her lower half, was easier when she could lie down on the cot in her cell. Then, she could wrestle her pants and underwear on over her butt. That had to look like a sad competition to anyone who happened to see it.
Here, she discovered the bench was nowhere near long enough for her to use it like that. So, Sarah pulled the underwear and pants up to her knees and, propping herself on one armrest of the wheelchair with her elbow, pulled them up all the way. She supposed the garment's lack of buttons or zippers helped as she didn't need to try and fumble with those. God bless elastic, the second-greatest gift after the reinforced joints on the arms of her wheelchair that allowed her to put her whole weight on them without anything snapping off and her hitting the floor.
The bra and shirt were easier. Somehow, Donna managed to convince the Department of Corrections to purchase bras which could be clipped in the front between the cups. There was no way Sarah could reach behind her back to do this and there was even less of a chance she'd have anyone regularly help her with this. She couldn't even imagine that scenario and never tried hard to do so.
With this setup, she could get the bra on almost like a jacket, though she always had to use her left hand to help get her right hand up to her shoulder to make the final adjustment before clipping it closed.
As for the shirt, Sarah just needed to bend forward, making sure the wheelchair's seatbelt was in place so gravity couldn't take over and put her on the floor, and toss it over her head. Again, the department became cooperative and began issuing her shirts one size too big to make the process easier. Another small favor in a situation Sarah knew she never belonged in.
Once she got the bottom of the shirt around her neck, she could pull it down all the way with her left hand, arrange it so everything was facing the right way, and work her arms into the sleeves. She'd long ago lost count how many times she wound up wearing the shirt backwards, inside-out, or both. She never got in formal trouble for this, but the officers would demand she fix the mistake in due haste, citing some vague regulation. After many missteps, she learned how to recognize when everything was correct. At least she no longer had to explain herself.
Since she began having to endure this cumbersome routine, Sarah often recalled how Jerry had braille tags sewn in his clothes to tell him what color a particular item was. She'd often seen these little aluminum tags when they were dating. She doubted the Department of Corrections would have ever let her get those. They'd be envisioning her shoving the little metal rectangles into an officer's neck. Besides, it wasn't like she needed them. All her shirts and pants were orange and her socks and undergarments were always white. Mismatching anything was not a concern she needed to consider.
The final step was the shoes. All inmates were issued cheap, plastic shower shoes and, for some reason, someone had left a fresh pair for Sarah with the clothes. What was wrong with the ones she was wearing fifteen minutes ago?
Grabbing one, she bent down as far as possible, letting her shoe-clutching hand dangle in front of her. She got the loop of the shoe over her toes and then knocked her foot off the wheelchair's footrest to get it on all the way with gravity's help. She repeated the process with her other foot and pushed herself back into an upright position, pausing to recover from the wave of queasiness that came on due to all the blood rushing down from her head again. There has got to be a better way to do this, she thought as she used her left hand to lift one leg and then the other to get her feet back on the chair's footrests. Problem was, no one ever showed her an alternative method, so she was stuck with this slow and somewhat awkward routine. She supposed it wouldn't matter for much longer.
When Sarah was dressed, one of the corrections officers again took hold of her chair and steered her back to the cell.
Donna was waiting when Sarah returned. She was ordered to step back until the cell door was closed again. Once everything was secure, she stepped up to the bars, likely keeping her hands at her side as contact with the inmate was strictly forbidden. Sarah vaguely recalled there being a line on the floor which marked how close any civilians were allowed to stand to the cell. Had the line been yellow? She couldn't remember.
"How are you doing?" Donna asked.
"I'm okay," Sarah said. "How's everyone?"
"Everyone's hanging tough, Listen, we've filed a new appeal."
Sarah looked at her, her heart starting to race. Sure, everyone said they weren't giving up, but no one actually brought up any new ideas or possible strategies worth pursuing.
"What kind of appeal?" Sarah asked.
"There's some new evidence," Donna replied, clearly being careful about what she said. "Please don't get your hopes up yet. we just filed with the Supreme Court of Virginia. We're also trying to get a hold of the Acting Governor. I don't know any more. I only spoke to Richard for a minute and I can't reach Doug or Grace."
"Okay," Sarah conceded. She knew she needed to accept the situation. There was no point in yelling at Donna or demanding more answers. The woman wouldn't lie to her, so if she said she didn't know anything, she really didn't know anything.
"Would you like me to stay for a little while?" Donna asked. There was a phone in the room and any calls from the team could and would be forwarded to her. They both knew she needed to leave her cell phone in her car or in the custody of a corrections officer for the duration of her stay inside the prison.
"Sure," Sarah said as a corrections officer brought Donna a chair. "Thanks."
Last time, Doug was her sole attorney and he'd still been in Richmond, talking to the courts and the Governor in those final hours. Though he stayed in touch by phone all day, he was unable to visit her in person before the execution. Sarah wondered what he was up to now.
Thankfully, she had Donna here. It had to be an improvement over last time.
Sarah then hoped the chair the officer brought wasn't the one she just used in the shower. If it was, she hoped someone had wiped it down and dried it.
* * *
At 8:15, a corrections officer delivered Sarah's final attire for the night. Donna excused herself to allow Sarah to change and put on the diaper which was as mandatory for executions by lethal injection as in the electric chair. As she changed, lying down on the cot in the cell this time, Sarah wondered if she'd had as much distaste and feelings of degradation for the diaper two years ago. She could feel her dignity being ripped off in two single jerks, like two bandages, as she fastened the tape on each side of her hips.
She again remembered those little tags. Then, she thought of Jerry. Maybe she ought to call him. He was probably home. The department let her call her sister in New York, so she would probably be allowed to call Philadelphia. She still knew his number.
But she knew she shouldn't. They were done. That was the choice and she needed to stay strong. She couldn't drag him down again.
To distract herself, Sarah examined her new attire, wondering why she'd had to change twice in the last ninety minutes. Weren't politicians preaching less wasteful spending? She'd seen them on the news, complaining about how frivolous appeals filed by condemned inmates did nothing but hit taxpayers in the wallet. Then again, these politicians weren't speaking up on her behalf, even the ones who normally expressed distaste for capital punishment. Now, Sarah was not seriously considering their thoughts and opinions. She ran her hand over her attire again.
Even though the electric chair wasn't being used, she would once again be wearing the black sleeveless t-shirt and beige pants. The Department of Corrections never specified a certain attire for an execution by lethal injection. But this was a convenient choice as her arms needed to be exposed so the needles could be inserted for the procedure. The fact one pant leg was shorter than the other didn't matter and no one ever bothered to do anything about it. Besides, if they couldn't find a vein in either one of her arms, they'd insert a needle in her calve, so the shorter pant leg could still serve a purpose.
Virginia protocol mandated the lethal injection consist of three drugs. First, the inmate received a dose of Sodium Thiopental, an anesthetic often used during surgeries, to knock them out for the rest of the procedure. Then, they would receive a dose of Pancuronium Bromide, which paralyzed their lungs and diaphragm, followed by Potassium Chloride to stop the heart. On average, death occurred in eight minutes, though there had been plenty of complications over the years.
Sarah shuddered. She feared her death would again come with complications. She didn't want more problems and setbacks. She wanted this to be over. In fact, she'd wanted it done with two years ago.
The isolation and loneliness of Death Row did something to the human mind. It stripped away a person's desire to keep on fighting. So many inmates were glad when their time came as they felt living longer was worse than their impending death. Even Sarah couldn't escape this phenomenon. She couldn't keep living in prison.
* * *
When Sarah was dressed, the prison physician, Laura Morrison, arrived. She examined Sarah's arms one final time for assurances that the execution team could find good veins to insert the needles. Though only one was needed, protocol dictated an inmate have a needle inserted in each arm. One served as a back-up in case the primary line failed.
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Morrison asked as she checked Sarah's left arm, pressing down in various spots with her latex-gloved finger.
"I'm okay," Sarah replied. "It's almost done."
Dr. Morrison nodded, making a noise of agreement as she switched over to Sarah's right arm. Sarah seemed to have good veins as she didn't need much time for her examination. This wasn't surprising as Sarah wasn't a drug user. Problems with lethal injections were often linked to a person's history of using heroin or cocaine or whatever else they could shove straight into their veins.
"I can get you a sedative if you want," Dr. Morrison offered, standing up straight again. "It'll help calm your nerves."
"No, thank you," Sarah declined, not wanting even more drugs in her body.
"Okay then. I'll be there later. Don't hesitate to send for me if you need anything beforehand."
Dr. Morrison turned and walked out of the cell. The barred door slid shut behind her.
"Hey, Doc," Sarah said.
"Yes?" Dr. Morrison asked, turning back to face her through the bars.
"Thank you for everything. It meant a lot ... made it all just a little bit easier."
Dr. Morrison hesitated.
"Sure," she said. "You're welcome. Let me know if you need anything else."
She left. Sarah closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
* * *
To keep Dr. Morrison's anonymity intact, Donna was not allowed back into the Death Watch area until the examination was complete. When she came back, she was accompanied by Rabbi Erving Kohn, Sarah's chosen spiritual advisor.
Sarah had never been religious. Her father being Jewish and her mother being Irish Catholic, her family celebrated both Hanukah and Christmas, but beyond that, she had never been very observant in either religion. However, while her brother and sister chose to be Catholic, she chose to identify as Jewish. Now, she couldn't remember why she made that choice. Maybe it was just about the fact she was able to make the choice.
She had not had a spiritual advisor at her last execution, declining to even speak with the prison chaplain. But a year ago, Amelia found Rabbi Kohn in a synagogue near her home on Long Island and he agreed to come and meet with Sarah. After a few visits, the pair developed an easy-going repour. They agreed on him becoming her spiritual advisor and he commuted to Virginia a few times a month to keep up with his duties.
A short, slightly overweight man, Rabbi Kohn was dressed in a gray suit with a yamica perched on the top of his round head. His short, black hair and beard looked like his hair had merely grown all over his head, leaving just enough room for his eyes, mouth, nose, and ears ... at least this was how Amelia once described him to Sarah.
"Any word from the Supreme Court?" Sarah asked, daring to hope.
"Not yet," Donna replied.
"How's my family doing?"
Sarah knew her parents were out in a waiting area. The law forbade her from having any witnesses at the execution, but they were refusing to leave until it was finished. Warden Mills said this wasn't all that unusual and regulations had long allowed the family of the condemned to at least remain on the premises until it was done.
As if on cue, Warden Mills came into the Death Watch area. He greeted both Donna and Rabbi Kohn before stepping up to the bars of the cell.
"How are you?" he asked.
"I'm okay," Sarah replied, a morbid thought crossing her mind. One positive thing about this execution would be that everyone would stop asking her this once she was dead.
"We'll come and get you in about twenty minutes," Warden Mills said. "You need anything?"
"No," Sarah replied, "thank you."
"Okay, I'll be back."
"Don't be late."
Sarah got no reply as the warden left. The joke was delivered half-heartedly anyway. "Gallows Humor" was what people called it.
"Shall we say a prayer?" Rabbi Kohn suggested.
"I suppose," Sarah agreed, moving her chair as close to the bars as she could.
* * *
Ten minutes later, the phone on the wall rang. Donna stepped over to answer it. Sarah and Rabbi Kohn watched and waited as she spoke to Richard, who was supposed to be back in Doug's office, this serving as the group's headquarters. Donna finished and handed the receiver back to the officer, who replaced it on its wall-mounted cradle. More taps on the keyboard indicated he was making a record of the call.
Donna stepped back to the cell. She was shaking, and Sarah could hear her foot tapping in a nervous rhythm.
"I'm sorry," Donna said. "The Supreme Court of Virginia turned us down without comment. We're trying to get into the federal courts, but it doesn't look good. I'm so sorry."
This was her first death penalty case ever and Sarah could tell she wasn't meant for this kind of work.
"What about the governor?" Sarah asked.
Her request for the Acting Governor to reconsider the denial for clemency was still, in some official sense, pending.
"We haven't been able to reach him," Donna replied.
Sarah nodded, the hope she'd dared to allow herself deflating. She considered asking Donna about the evidence again. But there was a fair possibility Donna still didn't know what it was, having been at the prison since before noon. Plus, asking now would only aggravate their shared sorrow. True, it had to have been a long shot, but it had been their one remaining shot. The finality of this loss stung deep.
Just then, Warden Mills came back in, asking the group to wrap things up in the next couple minutes. Sarah swallowed a lump in her throat
"I guess this is it," she said. "It'll really happen this time."
There were no legal avenues left and she doubted the state could mess things up a second time. The world was watching. They'd make sure there were no mistakes this time.
"I guess so," Donna agreed, her voice still shaking.
Sarah blinked, determined not to cry.
"Please tell my family I love them," she said. "And thank Doug and everybody for me ... and tell them I'm not mad. They did the best they could, and I appreciate it."
Donna nodded, tears filling her eyes.
"And tell Grace I'm sorry," Sarah added. "I didn't mean what I said."
The outburst was still a vivid memory. Sarah wiped her eyes.
"I'm sure she knows," Donna assured her.
She then announced she'd leave. Sarah understood it was so she wouldn't break down in front of her. They bid each other well once more and Donna walked out of the Death Watch area.
"Donna," Sarah said.
Donna stopped at the door and looked back at her.
"Yes?" she asked.
Sarah took a deep breath, determined to get the words out.
"I didn't do it," she said. "It didn't happen like they say it did."
Donna nodded and sniffled.
"I know," she assured her. "Don't worry. We all know."
She left. Sarah turned to Rabbi Kohn. She took another deep breath and gulped.
"Rabbi," she said, "thank you for everything."
"Nothing to mention," Rabbi Kohn told her. "It has been a pleasure getting to know you."
He too was fighting with his emotions. Like Donna, this was his first execution, but he was doing a better job at keeping his composure.
"Shalom, Rabbi," Sarah said, saying good-bye and wishing him peace.
"Shalom aleikhem," Rabbi Kohn returned, wishing peace upon her.
He left, pausing briefly to exchange understanding glances with Warden Mills, who was standing by the doorway. When the rabbi was gone, the warden stepped up to the bars.
"The Acting Governor called," he reported. "He's not reconsidering the matter of clemency."
Sarah nodded, the ultimate defeat weighing down on her. There was nothing left.
"We'll come back in just a few minutes to get you," Warden Mills said.
"Okay," Sarah said. "Warden?"
"Yes?"
"I just wanted to say thank you. Your kindness made this whole thing just a bit easier. Thank you for that. You're a good man."
Warden Mills didn't speak at first. His silence was inscrutable.
"You're welcome," he finally said. "See you in a few minutes."
With that, he left the Death Watch area.
Sarah leaned back in her chair, knowing she would never see her family, her friends, her attorneys, or Rabbi Kohn ever again. Virginia law forbade any of them from seeing her later. One elderly couple, the parents of Dr. Parker, would be there for the victims. They were allowed. Other family members might be there as well. One of the detectives, now a lieutenant, who arrested her would be there, as would the prosecutor who'd gotten the conviction. But Sarah would have no one there.
Virginia law required six ordinary citizens to witness an execution. To Sarah, this had to be one of the most baffling aspects of the process. Why should someone have to come and watch this if they had no stake in the case? Even creepier was the thought of someone wanting to watch it.
The press would have their selected representatives witnessing the proceedings once again. Like before, Sarah did not give any interviews in her final days, so this would be their only chance to hear anything she had to say.
* * *
True to his word, the warden returned a few minutes later, accompanied by the squadron of corrections officers who made up the "Strap-Down Team". Sarah could hear them marching closer and closer towards the cell door.
Warden Mills stepped up to the bars, his subordinates right behind him.
"It's time to go," he announced.
Sarah considered this. Time to go. Sure, she wanted to go home. She wanted to be in a time and place where this mess had never happened. Under the circumstances, she kind of wanted death, though on her own terms. Right now, she wanted to vomit.
Warden Mills waited, standing silently on the other side of the bars. Sarah looked at him, her face set. She would not cry or barf, even if the ice cream was creeping back up her throat. She gave him the best look of confidence she could muster, determined not to break.
"Let's go," she declared.
Warden Mills nodded and, speaking in a louder, firmer tone, he ordered "Open 0-2."
Sarah considered the fact this was the first time she'd ever heard the man raise his voice. She supposed he had a commanding presence. His tone did always suggest wisdom and authority.
That ever-present, unseen force complied with the warden's command. The bars slid aside with a loud clang.
One of the corrections officers stepped into the cell and took hold of Sarah's wheelchair. He pushed her out, at which point his four colleagues stepped into formation around them. They moved forward, following Warden Mills to the execution chamber.
Feeling herself being pushed towards the door, Sarah found herself wondering how anyone would willingly take those final steps. She recalled hearing how she hadn't resisted the last time and she'd walked then. She supposed being pushed in the wheelchair gave her an out as she wasn't pushing herself. Perhaps there was a difference between wanting it all to end and actually taking steps towards that end.
She could somehow sense when they crossed the threshold. Everything inside the chamber was still and the air felt sterile. She couldn't be sure if anyone was already in there or if she was the first to enter.
Sarah considered gripping the wheels of her chair in an attempt to stop this whole process. She would probably get friction burns on both her palms, but did that matter if she was about to die? She tried to make up her mind as she was pushed forward.
The group stopped and one of the corrections officers undid the seatbelt holding Sarah in the chair. Two others took hold of her arms and lifted her up, momentarily giving Sarah the sensation of standing for the first time in two years. They turned her around and sat her down on the edge of the lethal injection gurney. One officer pushed her down until her head came to rest on a pillow. Another officer lifted her legs and set them down on the other end. It was all done gently but quickly, sending the clear message that resistance wouldn't be tolerated.
Not wasting any time, the five officers strapped Sarah down by her ankles, thighs, waist, chest, and shoulders.
"Moving right along," Sarah muttered to herself.
Next, her arms were stretched out on those boards which extended out from either side of the gurney at forty-five-degree angles. Her wrists were secured to these with long pieces of thick tape. In under a minute, she was fully restrained, the officers having acted with such precision that their movements had to have been rehearsed. That or maybe they were the regular group for this task. Again, Sarah could not fathom anyone volunteering for that job. She wondered if any of these officers had participated two years ago.
With Sarah secure, Warden Mills ordered someone to shut the blinds in front of the viewing rooms where the witnesses were watching. Sarah understood This was to protect the anonymity of the technicians who would insert the needles into her arms.
She heard two new sets of footsteps enter the chamber. She knew they had to belong to those medical technicians. Sure enough, a hand wearing a surgical glove came out of nowhere and poked and prodded at her left arm, Startling her. it examined a spot near the crook of her elbow, much like how Dr. Morrison had done earlier. Then, a selected spot was cleaned with alcohol, which was followed by the insertion of the needle. Unable to see it coming, Sarah gasped in surprise as she felt the stinging penetration of her skin.
"It's all right," An unknown voice said, securing an intravenous line to the shunt and making sure everything would stay put. "It's over now."
This was the only thing either of these people said, the statement and the flat tone of voice offering no comfort. Sarah understood they wanted to remain as detached as possible. Part of her hoped her face would haunt them during many nights in the future. No one here ought to be allowed to say they were just doing their job. Even if she sometimes felt ready to go, this was wrong. She never should have been in this situation to begin with.
She felt queasy again and her heart raced. The sensations were coming and going, each trying to outdo each other.
A second needle was inserted in Sarah's right arm, this one going in closer to her wrist. She wondered why they bothered to clean the spot with alcohol, like when she got a shot. Did anyone really have to be concerned with the possibility of her contracting an infection?
Another intravenous line was attached and secured. Sarah could feel the saline solution flowing into her blood vessels. She knew it was used to flush the lines between doses in the injection. Otherwise, the chemicals might solidify before they reached her veins, clogging the tube and botching the execution. Can't have that now, she mused.
Her thoughts switched to memories of the surgery from last year. During that procedure, an intravenous line was inserted into her arm as well, though there had only been the one then. Tonight, the prison officials were about to use the same anesthetic as the doctors to start off this three-drug cocktail. Sarah felt queasy when she considered the irony. That wasn't going away.
The two strangers left and someone else stepped up to the gurney, stopping near her head. Sarah waited.
"I need to attach these pads to your chest," a voice said. "They're for the EKG."
Sarah recognized the speaker as Dr. Morrison and nodded in understanding. Nevertheless, she could again feel that tingle in her throat. Maybe she ought to have not eaten at all.
"it's okay," she said in a small voice.
She knew the pads would be going on no matter how she felt about them. The doctor seemed to be trying to give her some sense of control in all this madness. Sarah supposed she appreciated that.
Dr. Morrison lifted the neck of Sarah's t-shirt and stuck the four pads onto her chest. She let the wires attached to these run out through the shirt's neck hole and over the side of the gurney. They continued on to the unseen EKG machine which would confirm an inmate's death. Sarah could soon hear faint beeping from the apparatus. Everything was working as protocol dictated. No screw-ups so far.
Before leaving, Dr. Morrison squeezed Sarah's hand. Sarah returned the gesture. Apart from fleeting contacts from the corrections officers who handcuffed her and brief embraces with her family during final visitation and while she was in New York, this was her only physical contact with another human being. Sarah wanted to savor it.
But she loosened her fingers after just a few seconds. She didn't want anyone thinking she was trying to take the physician hostage. Without another word, Dr. Morrison left to station herself behind the unseen EKG. From there, she would watch the proceedings and confirm Sarah's death via the machine. Her role in the actual killing was meant to be as hands-off as possible. Sarah wondered if she'd volunteered for this. The doctor was maybe the one person here whom she wouldn't hold accountable for her death.
Sarah flexed her arms. The restraints held. She relaxed again, if one could call her heart racing "relaxing". She recalled someone once telling her there was a mirror mounted on the chamber's ceiling directly above her. She supposed it was once used by the executioner to see the inmate while remaining unseen by the witnesses thanks to the tall black leather curtain standing in the way. A CCTV now fulfilled this function, but no one ever thought to remove that mirror.
Sarah was glad she couldn't see it. Looking at herself in these final moments would push her over the edge. She closed her eyes, still trying to relax.
Warden Mills stepped up to the gurney, also standing near Sarah's head.
"Open the blinds again," he ordered.
His voice betrayed no emotion. Had he been like this last time? Sarah opened her eyes.
This was where the warden's and Richard's descriptions blended in her mind. Their word choice had been nearly identical as they separately explained every step she would encounter. Sarah knew exactly what came next.
With the witnesses now having a clear view, the warden unfolded her second death warrant. He began to read.
"Sarah Inez Griffin. You have been condemned to die in accordance with the law of the Commonwealth of Virginia for the crime of first degree murder with aggravating circumstances."
Sarah never got that. Aggravating circumstances? Why were only certain killings eligible to land someone on this gurney?
"The aggravating circumstances, as determined by a jury, are as follows ... The murder was committed against more than one person as a part of the same act or transaction. The murder was committed against more than one person within a three-year period."
Sarah wondered if, had she not killed him, Dr. Parker would be lying here in her stead. He'd qualify, but would it be fitting for him? Sarah supposed her current opinion on the matter was quite biased.
"The sentence, as decided by the jury and upheld by a Circuit Court judge in Arlington County, will be carried out on May 20, 2008, at 9:00 p.m. at the Greensville Correctional Center in Greensville County, Virginia."
How many people died knowing the exact date, time, and location of it happening? Sarah would have loved to never hear that information.
"This execution shall be carried out by lethal injection in accordance with the law of the commonwealth of Virginia."
With that, Sarah's death was authorized by writing on a piece of paper. She could not make sense of it. She was innocent. But she didn't want to stay in a place like this any longer.
Warden Mills looked down at Sarah.
"There are no stays or cause to halt this execution from the courts or governor," he said. "Do you wish to make a statement?"
A statement, not a final statement or "last words". Another attempt to wipe the stigma off the situation.
Sarah swallowed. She'd gone over her chosen words time and time again. After all, she'd had the time.
"I just want to thank everyone who's supported me all these years," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I love you all."
She fell silent. She had nothing else to say to this group of strangers, people who were once somewhat nice to her, and people just there to see her die. Those who these words were meant for would hear them soon enough, once the press began reporting about the execution. They would know Sarah thought of them at the end.
Warden Mills waited. Sarah waited as well, her lips a thin line. She would not initiate these proceedings.
She heard the warden refold the warrant. He paused another moment. Sarah heard him take a deep breath. Was he hesitating? Did he see something wrong in all this? Sarah's thoughts were racing as fast as her heart. Then, the warden spoke, his voice as clear and emotionless as ever.
"Proceed ..."
To be continued ...
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Sarah Griffin: resident of Arlington, VA, and student at American University. Walked in on her neighbor, who had just murdered his wife and children, and pushed him down a flight of stairs. She was convicted and sentenced to death for all four killings. Is now blind and uses a wheelchair. Doug Walker: Attorney in Richmond, VA. Sarah's lead attorney in the appeals process. Grace Collins: legal intern for Doug during Sarah's appeals. Later graduates from law school and earns her law license. Richard Romer: attorney in Virginia. Specilizes in defending people facing the death penalty. Donna Smith: Disability Rights attorney in Richmond, VA. Andrew Daines: Civil rights attorney in Richmond, VA. Helped Doug with Sarah's appeals. Matthew Kellie: attorney and law professor in NY. Helped Doug with Sarah's appeals. Amelia Kelmer: Sarah's older sister. Moved from VA to NY with her husband and children. Michael Kelmer: Amelia's husband and Sarah's brother-in-law. David Kelmer: Amelia's and Michael's son and Sarah's nephew. Rose Kelmer: Amelia's and Michael's daughter and Sarah's niece. Ruth Griffin: Sarah's mother. George Griffin: Sarah's father. Jerry Baker: Sarah's ex-boyfriend from college. Lewis Griffin: Sarah's younger brother and a Baltimore City firefighter on Truck 29. Formerly a member of Engine 4. Dr. Ben Parker: local dentist in Arlington, VA. Murdered his wife and two children and tried to kill Sarah. Died when Sarah pushed him down a flight of stairs. Sarah was convicted of the crimes he committed. Luther Mills: prison warden who oversaw Sarah's execution in the electric chair and by lethal injection. Feedback, especially suggestions for additions, subtractions, and revisions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
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