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Subject: *Angela* (B)
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*Angela's End* (story in seven parts; continuation)
5) ---------The Clock Is Running Out---------
"Here I am, all dressed up and nowhere to go..."
"Angie, let me run my hands over your pate. You looks so
sexy that way. The rest of you, dressed to the nines, but your
head: stark naked."
"Ardis, I'm going to tell you something that I never shared
with another soul."
"Just keep talking while I fondle you. I'm listening."
"Well, when I was only ten years old, I remember going to the
movies with my older brother one afternoon. What I saw there made a
deep impression on me. It was a crime story, and it ended with a woman
being put in the electric chair. I think she had been falsely
accused of the murder that she had to die for. Anyway I was highly
impressionable. The woman was pretty--a trim, little blonde--and
she seemed very frightened. I wasn't exactly sure what an electric
chair was, but I figured out that it was some kind of punishment and
not likely to be fun.
"...I remember seeing her walking out into the hall from
her cell surrounded by a lot of grim looking people. She moaned as
she staggered forward. They had to practically drag her as she made
her way to what I was soon to learn would be the death chamber. Then
the camera showed us the actual Chair up on a little platform. It looked
menacing, though I only understood then that it was ugly. Kind of a cross
between a royal throne and a infant's potty-training chair. The lady
guard had to hold the victim up to keep her from collapsing as she passed
through the door. The look of wide-eyed terror on her face as she
screamed, 'Oh, no...no!' is something I could later not get out of my
mind.
"...When they had seated her and began to strap her in I had to
hide my face in my hands. I shook all over. Still, I peeked through
my fingers just in time to see a man's hands putting a helmet, with a wire
attached, on the top of her head. Then some kind of mask dropped down
to cover her face. I began to cry and my brother was hushing me,
saying, 'All right, we'll go. Just shut your eyes for a minute. I
want to see what happens next.'
"...For many weeks after that I had nightmares. Gradually those
dreams became daytime fantasies, and I began to almost enjoy having
them. I think I would even get kind of aroused, though I was as yet
more of a girl than an adolescent.
"...Anyway, after I had begun to devlop--I must have been in
seventh grade--my brother used to play a game with me. He'd take
pictures with his polaroid camera that would show me in various
revealing poses. I went along with it because I was a little afraid
of him, but also because I liked the attention. In one of these
picture sessions he convinced me to let him tie me to a big armchair
that was stored up in our attic. There were ropes at my wrists and
legs and my waist. When he had me in his power that way there was nothing
to stop his taking advantage of me. Really all he did was open my
blouse and show off my young breasts in their tiny new bra. But then
he surprised me by putting a blindfold on me. I was scandalized. All
I could think of was that helpless girl in the electric chair. Maybe
that's what he had in mind too. It seemed to take him an awfully long
time to snap the picture. At the time I wondered why he was making strange
panting noises. I later realized, of course, that he was probably
jerking off. But he did eventually take a picture.
"...This is the part that you'll have a hard time believing.
I knew where he kept that picture hidden in his room, and I could have
gone in and destroyed it any time I wanted. Instead I used to sneak
into his room and lie on the bed staring at it as I would masturbate
myself. I must have outgrown it, because I know as an older teenager
I never thought about it anymore, and he and I never referred to the
picture. But tonight, as I'm waiting to go through what that
woman in the movie suffered, I feel as if I'd already been there. And
it's kind of erotic for me. I guess I understand why. Of course I'm going
to do my best not to scream the way she did when the time comes for me to
go to the punishment room. Really, I feel rather ashamed to be anticipating
my own death with a kind of relish. It's childish of me, I know,
but I want to be just as pretty and dramatic as she was when they ushered
her down that desolate corridor.
"...By the way, I guess you've noticed that my brother hasn't had
the courage to come to the prison since the trial."
Matron: "What an incredible story! Poor Thing. No wonder you're
so anxious to look your best tonight. I would be too.
"...If that's what will give you courage, I'm glad I could have
helped you get ready. But tell me this: in the movie did they cut the
young woman's hair off before she went in to her destiny?"
"I... I don't think so. You're reminding me that they've cut mine
all off, aren't you?"
"I'm suggesting that you're going to affirm a radical new
concept of feminine beauty: the pristine lines of a clean-shaven skull!
Now, put your lipstick on and get a good look at yourself in the mirror
while you're doing it. I think I hear them coming..."
6) ---------Final Thoughts----------
[Angela's stream of consciousness:]
No visitors, all day, and now I have--must be--a
half-dozen of them. Well, I guess this is it!
* * *
Ardis, you really did a good job with my makeup. I've
never felt more beautiful than I do right now! How can I ever
thank you for making these past few hours bearable. I did need
a friend, just as you said. You were so tender!
* * *
She was right about my head. I could see that,
reflected in the mirror. Funny, there was nothing to be ashamed
of. I've got a nicely shaped cranium. I know I made the right
choice, refusing the scarf that Warden offered me. And these
dangling earrings are just the perfect, finishing touch.
* * *
But it does feel cold and sensitive where they shaved me.
I wonder how long it takes to get used to being bald?
* * *
Not that I have that much time, I guess. Now why do they
insist on handcuffing me when I'm so heavily outnumbered? Guess
they just want to go to any lengths to humiliate their victim...
* * *
That chaplain's making me nervous. I know he's
saying prayers under his breath. It's just like he's
rubbing it in, even though he undoubtedly means well.
* * *
And, you, Warden won't look me in the eye. Hmmm.
* * *
Ardis, you ARE coming with us, aren't you? Good.
* * *
The sound of the cell gate closing behind me seems
awfully final. What have I forgotten? I wonder what they'll
do with the few personal things I've left behind?
* * *
Thank God they put me in this special Woman's Section
and close to the Death Chamber. It would have been hideous
to have to run the gamut past all those men's cells.
* * *
Come on, come on. There's no need to go at a snail's
pace. What do they think--that I'll benefit from the extra
seconds of life? Let's get it over with...
* * *
The pull of this garterbelt feels really strange after
all my in pantyhose. Wasn't it in ancient Rome, when they were
going to offer up a maiden, that they tied a purple ribbon
around her forehead? These stockings must be my purple ribbon.
* * *
Oh, oh. This could be it. All the other doors are
gray, but this one's green! Yeah, we're stopping. Now
why should the Warden have to knock? Doesn't he have free
run of the premises? Well, er...maybe nobody's home and we
can just go back to my cell. Oh, shit! The door's swinging
open. I think I'd better shut my eyes and let the guards
take over now.
* * *
Feels clammy in here. And, there's nothing subtle about
that loud humming sound, is there? Well, So far, so good. I
haven't screamed yet.
* * *
Why am I keeping my eyes shut when that just says to
everybody that I'm scared? (Like it's the SILENT scream...)
* * *
Well, so that's the Chair. Perched up there, isolated
from everything else, the focus of everyone's attention. It's
not as large as I thought it might be. Large enough, though
Well, here goes nothing...
* * *
No, Ardis. You don't have to take my arm. I can make
it by myself. Just let me squeeze your hand for a second, O.K?
* * *
For God's sake, Angie, don't trip and make a clumsy fool of
yurself. Just one step here and up you go. Turn around now and
face the witnesses. I wonder if I'm suppposed to say something now?
* * *
Oh, now I remember the girl's name from that electrocution
movie. It was Lois. Well, Lois, I'm going to be joining you soon.
Wait. There go the handcuffs. Aah, that feels better.
* * *
Come on folks. Don't stare. Haven't you ever seen a woman
without hair before?
* * *
Oh, yes, that's right. Matron has to take my hosiery off.
It's O.K. Honey. I don't hold it against you. But while you're
up there would you give Pussy a little stroke? Mmm. That's it.
Again... How DID you read my mind? (So it's my right leg that they're
going to wire. Feels cool--the rush of air striking it...) Oops.
She's signalling me to lift my foot. Must be so she can remove my
shoe and slip the stocking off. I seem to remember my promising her
that she could keep a souvenir. Well, enjoy, Ardis, enjoy!
* * *
Say, Boys... I'm a big girl. I know I'm supposed to sit.
No need to push me down like that. Look, I'm even putting my arms
right where you'll want them. I'm Miss Co-operation herself!
* * *
This feels like I'm in First Class cabin as they fasten my
seat belt. No cramped Tourist accomodation for me tonight. Does
that little red light that keeps blinking over the door mean "No
Smoking?" (I don't seem to recall having my wrists bound the
last time I flew.)
* * *
And my elbows. And my bust. Careful boys, no touching the
boobs. They're for the doctor--AFTER I'm dead. Hey, easy with my
legs. Don't pull them apart like that. Leave me a LITTLE modesty,
won't you?
* * *
Never mind, Angela, take a last, long look down at your
breasts instead. You're proud of them, aren't you? That belt is
clasped right underneath them. It's uplifting--like a "miracle bra."
So, pull your shoulders back. Let those mammies stick right out!
This is no Plain Jane that you guys are fixing to electrocute. How
do you like my leather bracelets? Fetching, no? (Oh, my God, they
are really going to kill me. Can't they see that I'm too young and
pretty to die?) Come on, fellas. Have a good look. Check out my
satin slip, my pearl necklace, yes, and my lady-like shoes. I know
you're enjoying the picture; nice isn't it? You wouldn't want to do
anything to hurt a delicious creature like me, now would you?
* * *
Rats! This is all happening much too fast. Ardis, come here
and kiss me goodnight. I want your tongue, just one more time. Ah,
you're winking at me. Our secret communication. Hey, why don't
you come and fix my skirt then? Tug it down a little. The dark at
the top of my stocking is on full view. (I'm not looking my best for
my public, and I wanted to so badly. They have to look at garter snaps.
Ugly things, garters. I wonder why it is that men like it so much
when we wear them.)
* * *
That spotlight they've got trained on me--it's annoying.
What's the matter, 'fraid they'll be missing something?
* * *
Mother always told me it was a sign of bad breeding if
you sat with your legs parted. Well, I can't help it, Mummy. My
ankles just won't come any closer to each other with these straps
binding them. Still, I'll try to keep my knees together. (I wish
they hadn't buckled up me so tight.) With pantyhose everything
between your legs is sort of hidden from public inspection, but
with stockings, it's all out there in plain sight!
* * *
It's so quiet in here. Just that incessant humming. Why
doesn't somebody say something?
* * *
Ironic, isn't it, that I should be worrying about people
looking up my skirt when my life is about to end. I guess it's
a form of defense mechanism. (Where IS that blindfold, anyway?
I've had just about enough of all these strangers gawking at me.)
* * *
Now then, who's this? The "Electrician", I'll bet. Aren't
you going to say something to me, like introducing yourself? Could
you stop gazing at my thighs? Or is it the calves of my legs that
has you so intrigued? That's right. Squat down for a better look,
damn you. Hey, get your hands off me! What are you doing--finding out
which leg has been bared by using the braille method? Oh well, take
your time Buster. I'm in no rush.
* * *
And you, Chaplain. You of all people. Don't stare!
* * *
I've heard that sometimes the Governor will phone at the
last minute. He's got the power to do what the courts won't do:
put a stop the the whole proceeding. There's still some time maybe.
Yes, plenty of time...
* * *
Oh, fuck, here we go! The leg cuff. Wet. Nasty. Musn't
look. Then I REALLY will scream. (Now I lay me down to sleep, I
pray... I pray thee...) Vicious looking cable, that. Like a serpent,
clamping its jaws on me. Waiting to inject its venom. (Now I lay
me... Ardis, YOU should be the one laying me down...)
* * *
Remember, Angela, you asked for this yourself. You knew
what was in store for you when you shot your ex-husband. You can't
back out now. Be brave. (The headpiece is next, isn't it?)
* * *
Why, I'm a queen on her throne. They're about to crown me.
All these good people are my subjects. There's no need to be afraid.
Strike up the band. Everybody, stand. Have you no respect? It's
"God Save the Queen" they're playing.
* * *
(This crown is heavier than I'd supposed; and moist.)
* * *
I must smile. A regal smile. I'll beam at me my subjects.
Are you jealous of my eminence? (What lovely, long legs you have, Your
Majesty. And the Royal Bosom: so confident... Show us your panties,
why don't you?) Not on your life. What may happen when the voltage
takes over is beyond my control. But now I'm going to make you beg...
* * *
Damn! Now the chin strap is being clasped. (Did you ever
see so gorgeous a bride? So composed. She's waiting to be kissed.
Don't you love her tiara?) CAN'T be kissed until they've veiled my face.
Hmm. Quite the reverse of the usual nuptials. Wait, what's this?
A speech! Warden's going to give the bride away...
* * *
ANGELA JOYCE BRACKEN, YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND GUILTY OF DELIBERATE
AND PREMEDITATED MURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE. PURSUANT TO THE STATUTES
AND CUSTOM OF THIS SOVEREIGN STATE AND BY THE AUTHORITY DULY VESTED IN
ME, I HEREBY DECREE THAT THE EXTREME PUNISHMENT BE INFLICTED UPON YOU
WITHOUT DELAY, TO WIT, THE PASSAGE OF ELECTRIC CURRENT THROUGH YOUR
BODY IN THE MANNER PRESCRIBED BY LAW AND UNTIL YOU ARE DEAD. DO YOU
WISH TO SAY ANYTHING BEFORE SENTENCE IS CARRIED OUT?
* * *
I'm won't let the reporters have the satisfaction of hearing
a statement to spice up their stories with. Perhaps, if I look like
I'm thinking, I can stall--just in case that phone should ring. (No,
never mind, Angie. Shake your head and let them proceed. Your time
is up and you know it.)
* * *
Ugh. Here's the mask. Yes, shut out the world. Everything's
in darkness. At last--I'm alone, in my own, private space. There
can be no futher indignities inflicted on me now. The foreplay is done.
Yuck. My nose and mouth have been covered. What foul smelling stuff.
Is it rubber? Not so tight, please. (You mustn't smother me before
the switch can be pulled; that's not allowed by the Law.)
* * *
GOODBYE... ANGIE!
* * *
Oh oh--there's the click! Sounds like the machine's winding up.
Two thousand volts of Lightning Bolt Express, taxi-ing into place on the
runway. Hold on. We're taking off. (You may kiss the bride now...)
Wait! Matron... Somebody! Help me... (Long live the Queen!) Oh, no.
I DON'T want to die. Oh, please. Not yet! Please... (Long live--)
* * *
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
* * *
7) ----Epilogue: What the Electrician Saw----
I remember the Angela Bracken case well. It was the first
execution of a woman that I had ever performed, as well as the last
execution of my career. After finishing that one, I could no longer
stomach the job.
While it took place almost a decade ago, I can still recall
the details more vividly than I care to. But since you've asked me,
I'll try to exlain what happened.
No woman had been put to death in our state for some forty
years prior, and that was well before my time as the official
Electrician. (Obviously this title is sheer euphemism.) Anyway, we were
all a little nervous as to how to carry it out and how it might affect us.
Since I had responsibility to see that everythihng would go
smoothly, I insisted that my best team of attendants be assigned to Ms.
Bracken and that there be a thorough round of rehearsals in advance
of the event. We left nothing up to chance.
Mind you, I had never met or even seen the subject. I make it
a strict rule to have no social contact with my clients; it's better for
us both that way.
When it was time for the Escorting Squad to bring in the Guest
of Honor, I stationed myself out of sight in an alcove arranged just for
that purpose off to one side of the Chair. The entrance door from the
Condemned Cells corridor stood opposite, and I could observe without being
seen. I had my satchel with the electrodes in it all ready to go.
When Ms. Bracken entered the chamber she was surrounded by prison
personnel, standing between the Warden and the special matron who had been
assigned to her--with four uniformed guards behind her and the Chaplain in
the lead. It wasn't until Reverend Phillips stepped aside that I got
my first look at her. What I saw sent a shiver from my waist to the knees.
I had expected a hardened floozie--a stereotypical prejudice, I
suppose, with regard to females who murder. But this was a very classy
lady: meticulously dressed, poised and self-assured and, above all, kindly
in appearance. I admit that I was surprised to see her garbed in anything
but the standard prison fatigues, but I quickly surmised that the
Authorities had made a concession to her vanity.
She wore a sleeveless black dress that fell an inch or two above
the knees. The dress had buttons all the way down the front and the
neckline was scooped daringly low. The garment rustled on her body as she
moved. In truth she glided like a dancer.
A pleasing fragrance, like roses, clung to the air around her.
She also wore a strand of pearls. If it weren't for the fact
that her head was devoid of hair (I had heard that she was a stunning,
natural blonde up until minutes before), it would seem that she were set
to go out to a cocktail party or to patronize the theatre.
Whatever astonishment I felt was somehow mirrored in her face as
she gazed upon the instrument of her fated destruction. Though she
uttered no words, there was a faintly audible gasp before she lowered her
head and shut her eyes. Two of the guards came forward to propel her
toward the dais where the Chair sat installed, but not before she had
squeezed the matron's hand as if they were old friends.
As she got closer I could see that she had opened her eyes again and
was giving the lethal equipment a thorough inspection. I guessed that
those eyes now so glazed, under happier circumstances, would have been
beguiling, like little vials of choice Highland whisky.
She seemed a little more relaxed now and did nothing to resist.
I did notice that her feet wobbled in her sunday-best shoes, as if she were
a schoolgirl just learning to walk in them. But she managed to mount the
platform without incident.
For a moment I panicked. I noticed that she was wearing hosiery,
which certainly complemented her going-away outfit, but would amount to
a disaster so far as fitting the lower electrode to her was concerned.
Yet just as the subject turned around and positioned herself to be seated,
Matron Barnes stepped up to help her remove the nylon from her right leg.
They had apparently thought of everything because, even though out of
fashion for many years now, separate stockings had been procured to sheath
these long, slender legs for their final excursion from the cell block.
I watched, mesmerized, as the garters were unsnapped from the
chocolate brown stocking top--relieved that none of the witnesses would
be likely to look in my direction at that particular moment.
I did not approach the throne until the team had finished with
strapping her down. The procedure took less than a minute. Two men
bound her wrists and her ankles and the other two attended to her upper
arms, her torso and her hips. The hem of her dress lay more than halfway
up her thighs, but she seemed not to notice. Indeed, she appeared to be
resigned. Her head rested easly against the padded chairback as she
slowly clenched and then unclenched her fists.
When, at last, I emerged from concealment, I felt awkward. As
always I was careful not to make eye contact with the intended victim,
and yet I did not wish to appear too distracted by her legs either. In
the end I made sure that both ankles and calves legs were well secured
by giving them each a firm squeeze. It was with reluctance that I then
fitted the electrode to her bare calf--so shapely and smooth was it--
and set the connecting cable to the silver binding post. I noticed
that she involuntarily raised her leg just a fraction and then pressed
her knees together so that her ankles were splayed out at an awkward
angle. I could feel her tension rapidly mounting--as well as my own.
In that split second as she adjusted her knees, I believe I
could see right up her skirt to her panties. I'm sure they were white.
I immediately thought of her vagina, of the predictable triangle
of brush on her mound, of the lips of her vulva swollen with the tension of
a romantic arousal. And the electric chair was now to be her Lover. What
an incongruous association! I have a name for it: "Sexecution".
It was an easier matter for me to afffix the headpiece since I
could do that standing behind the device. I was sure that nobody noticed
when I looked down her dress even as I was buckling the chin strap which
holds the helmet pressing against the subject's skull. The expanse of
flesh beneath her throat was the picture of health and vitality. The
fabric of her bodice betrayed the presence of what must have been two
delectable nipples.
It would be up to the warden, of course, to apply the face mask
because by that time I would be back at the control panel poised to throw
the switch.
From the slight distance that separated me from the death
platform once I was in position, the image (so vividly retained now in
my mind's eye) was striking. On the one hand, it was grim, even tragic.
This graceful, gazelle-like creature sat, about to be slaughterd. On the
other, it was sexually charged, not at all like the picture when it was
a male who would receive the juice. That sinuous wire, dropping down
from the ceiling and linked to the sponge-lined cap set jauntily on this
Angela's head seemed to say it all. It was like a potent phallus about
to penetrate her and empty its orgasm--even though it was incongruously
placed at the wrong end of her frame. It was then that I fleetingly thought
of how her female genitalia must feel resting upon the saddle of an electric
chair. I was thankful that nobody could see me, especially the swellling
below my belt.
So it was that I stood at the switch panel in a state of confusion
and distress. This person, in my opinion, did not deserve to die. Not only
because of her elegant good looks, but because her crime was said to be one
of passion. Civilized societies ought not give out the Death Penalties for
such excusable infractions!
Still, I sensed that everyone was waiting for me to do my job.
The threat of my losing face before the waiting public outweighed my
disgust at the injustice.
As the warden read out the Death Warrant, I thought that I could
detect a slight quivering of her lips. When, next, the mask fell over
her face, I distinctly heard her voice the syllable "Oh..." It was the
only word she had uttered since entering the chamber. I sensed that she
must have normally spoken in an effortless soprano.
I waited for Warden's nod. This was no time to turn back. I
promptly started up the generators and set the dials for optimum volts and
amperage.
Casting one last glance at this beauty seated in my cruel
apparatus, I held my breath and counted from five--backward. Then
I pressed the button. Somehow, I thought of her clit at that exact
moment and felt ashamed.
She lurched forward as if trying to bolt from the seat--only
to slam in reverse against the chairback with a sickening thud. Her
fingers had suddenly become like animal claws, yet fastidiously manicured.
I watched her neck and arms turn brick red. Her bust seemed almost to
inflate as her back arched and writhed. All the while her chin was jerking
violently. A thin wisp of smoke rose languidly from the electrode on her
naked calf, even as those highheeled shoes ground into the rubber mat at
her feet.
Then, before I knew it, the unthinkable happened. Matron, who had
turned away, sobbing, suddenly gyrated and reached out toward the Chair.
"Angie," she shouted, "Wait, Baby. I'm coming with you..."
Before anyone could stop her, she virtually jumped onto the dais
and touched the victim's arm, as if to stroke it in a comforting gesture.
Her fingers instantly froze like a grappling hook around the other woman's
bulging muscle. Electricity oozed into Matron's body, making her eyes
protrude insanely. She seemed to be lifted off the floor--rigid, yet
sparking and thrashing to alternations of the current. I immediately cut
the power, but it was too late. Matron collapsed like a limp rag doll,
slumping over the side of the Chair with her head on Angela's lap. Her
disheveled hair covered the victim's widely-opened thighs as if inentionally
protecting the latter's modesty.
Ironically the weight of Ms. Barnes' inert waist was exerting
enough pressure on the arm of the Chair that it had caused the skirt of her
uniform to lift. It was apparent that SHE had no modesty to hide at all!
Both women were dead--there was no question in my mind.
One of the guards rushed forward to disengage the matron. The
moment he made contact with her he was thrown back against the barrier
that stands in front of the witnesses' pew. The static charge stored in
the matron's poor, electrocuted body had not yet dissipated.
It seemed an eternity before the house physician could unbutton
the criminal's dress to the waist, insert his stethoscope, and certify that
she had expired. Leaving her hanging on the straps, her still-helmeted
head drunkenly swaying just above her now-exposed bra, he turned his
attention toward the other cadaver. After extricating the roasted corpse
from its precarious position on the platform, he verfied her death and
pronounced it accidental.
How the Warden kept it out of the papers, I'll never know.
We all felt, of course, that it was voluntary--a suicide--no matter
how impulsively attained. This act of self-sacrifice, useless though it
was, greatly moved me. But it was the now-defunct Angela who caused me
the most trouble. She had not chosen to die of her own free will, but
had been the object of retributive punishment unjustly (as I still
believe) visited upon her. For the first time I saw the System in all
its hypocrisy.
When the reporters filed out in a state of horror and disbelief,
I knew intuitively that I could never kill again. I pushed passed the
warden without a word and went home to drink myself senseless. And
even today, these many years later, whenever I as much as press a
doorbell or some other button with my forefinger the notion of Angela's
clit taking the full force of that discharge flashes across my mind.
And I wish her back. I wish them both back, even as I hate myself all
over again.
---------------------------------END-----------------------------------
--Robin
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