Ride the Lightning- Final Interview

Grandad was in the ICU when I arrived, and I found my parents and my grandmother sitting in the waiting room. Mom hugged me when she saw me, her tears making my shoulder soggy almost at once. They wouldn't let her see him yet, grandad having just gotten out of surgery, but the police were hoping to ask him some questions when he came to. I asked what had happened to him, and mom said the officer she'd talked to hadn't had a lot of information.

Someone had run their car into his little car while driving to Walmart and slammed him into a tree.

The other car hadn't been at the scene, but they had left Grandad there when they pulled off.

Another driver had seen the wreck and called an ambulance.

As I sat in the waiting room with my parents, I couldn't help but wonder if this had anything to do with my prying. Grandad had put me in touch with Mr. Cromes, a retired officer who'd warned me about the far-stretching influence of the Warden. Hadn't Cromes acted scared when he'd seen a fellow officer at Mcdonalds that day? Surely no one had done this to my grandfather, a man in his sixties, to send a message to me.

No one was that vindictive to hit one of their own, right?

The doctor came out as I was mulling it over to give us a breakdown. Grandpa was awake, but the painkillers they had him on were making him loopy. He had a broken leg, a fractured arm, and his collarbone had been mended with a couple of big metal screws. He had lost a lot of blood, but they were hopeful that he would recover. He suggested that we come back tomorrow since they would try and step him down to a regular room if he did well tonight. We left, not really sure what to expect, but hopeful.

I didn't hear from Cromes for two weeks. When I did, he called to tell me that he would meet me at a bar in the next town. He sounded tired, and I wanted to ask if something had happened. He didn't stay on the phone long, though. He gave me the address and hung up, leaving me in the lurch until two days later when the appointed time arrived.

That time would prove harder to nail down than he thought.

A week later, he told me it be two more weeks instead of one.

When he missed that meeting, he called the next day to say he would meet me next week at the same spot.

I met a lot of people in that time. They were Ex-inmates, Officers both current and retired, all with a story to tell about that strange old place. None of them wanted their names used, none of them wanted anything the Warden could track them with, and all of them seemed to be heading somewhere else. Some of them came in person, most of them just sent letters, but they all told a tale of that strange old prison. I was actually just compiling another story when Cromes called me to tell me the time was moving up.

"Meet me this afternoon, at noon, and don't be late. I can't stay long."

The bar was a dive, a dingy little roadside spot with pick-up trucks in the parking lot at noon and a greasy look that persisted after sunrise. The inside was a gaggle of day drinkers, a harassed-looking bartender in biker leathers, and Cromes. He was sitting near the bathrooms, much as he had at the dinner. He was sipping whiskey from a cracked mug and waved me over when he saw me come in. He was dressed in a long coat, despite the heat, and had sunglasses and a cap on to obscure his face. Even so, he looked rough. His facial hair was scraggly and several days old, and he seemed tired as he sagged against the booth. Despite this, he looked relieved that I had arrived.

"This has probably got to be our last meeting, kid. I've been dodging them for the last few weeks, but they definitely know that I'm talking to someone about old times. They definitely know you have too, and I'd wager some of those people you've spoken with wish they'd never heard of you. Regardless, I'm on my way out of town. If you want the rest of the story, you better hurry."

"Are these the same guys who hurt my grandad?"

"Probably, you better watch yourself. It's only a matter of time before you learn too much."

"I'll take my chances," I said, clicking on the tape recorder and taking out my notepad.

Cromes nodded, "Very well, the last night. The night we handled the problem and sealed our fate."

We were all summoned to the Warden's office before we left that morning. We were cold, sore, and ready to collapse, but when The Warden calls, you go. Your grandad and I were there, along with Kayden, our Captain, and two other officers that helped on the yard sometimes, Merikk and Holmes. He was sitting behind his desk, close-cut gray hair and immaculate pinstriped suit, as he sipped tea and took us in. I worked under him my whole career, all of us did, and he never got any easier to be around.

The man wasn't like us.

The man was downright spooky.

"You may be interested to know that Officer Miles is in stable condition at Emory, thanks to your efforts last night. On the other hand, I've had four officers quit on the way out today, and I expect there will be more before shift begins tonight. Something must be done about this, something that none of you are going to like."

He looked at Kayden as he said it, knowing that it was a lie but going on anyway.

"I was content to study this phenomenon when it was merely inmates, but now that Frasier is affecting my staff, this little experiment has to stop."

The Captain had looked skeptical, looking at Kayden before saying, "Sir, Inmate Frasier has been in the infirmary for nearly a week now. I've been told he's in a…"

"Marin, when I want misinformation, I'll read your incident reports. I have the training staff bringing our next crop of TA's over tonight for on-the-job training. You six will be transporting an inmate tonight. If you call out, I will send people to your home to collect you. This is not a request. This is one of those special circumstances laid out in your contract. You will speak of this to no one. What we do tonight will have never happened. When we transport this inmate, he will cease to be an issue for this compound, and you would all do well to purge him from your memory. Do I make myself clear?"

We all said he had, and he instructed us to meet him in medical at eleven o'clock.

Until then, we were dismissed.

I don't think any of us slept very well that day, but all of us arrived on time, petering out our nights until eleven o'clock arrived. I looked up from my paperwork at ten-thirty and started making excuses to the officer working with me that evening. His name was Faussy, and he was greener than summer grass. He'd go on to be one of the best Captains we ever had, but right then, he was a scared twenty-year-old who did not want to be in that dorm by himself. I considered trying to use him as an excuse, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. In the end, I told him I'd be back soon and made my exit.

The thunder was already rumbling off in the distance as I made my way to medical. The weather report hadn't said anything about rain tonight, but I guess the local news was mostly just guessing, as usual. It would be the last rain we had until January, plunging the region into a drought that nearly doomed the autumn crop. For that week, though, he had called down the thunder and the rain every night, and we were forced to deal with it.

Right up until we were forced to deal with him.

They had loaded Frazier into a wheelchair, and I saw the Warden looking at the sky uncomfortably.

"I was told that the rain would be over by now, but it appears that our window is not as wide as I thought. Let's get this over with. We'll only have a small chance to make this work."

We took him down the road and towards J dorm.

J dorm, in those days, was called the Death House. It was death row, Stragview having an active row to this day. In those days, we still used the electric chair. I know a lot of places have stopped using the chair now, but I can remember Stragview using it right up until 2008, and only then because of an incident that has nothing to do with this story.

We rolled him down the center road, past The Tower, and past the other dorms. Luckily no one saw us as we went, the windows dark, and everyone who wasn't clocked in was asleep. The thunder drew closer, the smell of rain filling our nostrils. The Captain rolled him along, the six of us flanked him like an honor guard. Frasier sat strapped in his chair, understanding none of this, while the man who had put him in this state moved silently beside him. His head was covered in bandages, red with old blood, and his face was purple and slack. Someone had dressed him, but I'm sure there were bandages beneath his uniform too.

We were about to do something monstrous, no matter what Frasier had done, and it haunts me even now.

We rolled him the death house that would become a killing field for some of us that night.

The thunder rumbled off the walls of J Dorm as we rolled inside. The concrete walls were sweating as much as the dorm sergeant, Sergeant Castor. He was watching the dorm on his own, death row currently empty, and he seemed unhappy about what sort of hell we were wheeling through his doors. He and The Warden had a heated discussion in his office, which ultimately led to nothing. In Stragview, The Warden got his way, period.

"Take him to the showroom." The Warden said, Castor hovering behind him like a worried hummingbird.

Kayden started to roll the chair, but I stood my ground, and your grandfather seemed very unsure about what we were about to do.

"I was under the impression that we were taking him to a cell. Are you...are we executing inmate Frasier, Sir?"

"We are," he said, gauging my response.

"Sir, that's a capital offense. You're talking about murder."

"Son, inside Stragview, I am the Judge, Jury, and Executioner. This man has already been expunged from the records. His death was reported a few days ago, and no one will question his disappearance. He is guilty of the murder of multiple inmates and the attempted murder of a member of staff. If, however, you feel unable to fulfill your duties," he said, his eye twinkling behind the little gold glasses, "we can add another murder to Frasier's charges."

I felt a cold shudder run through me as I realized he was serious. I wanted to deny him, wanted to hang onto my pride, but I found my hands wrapping around the push handles as I prepared to guide him to his death. We rolled him past the cells, boxes lined with bars, through the adjoining hallway, and into the long room that held a vengeful god in steel and wood. The chair sat on a raised platform, oiled and gleaming, as its source of power made the walls shake. We brought him to the edge of the platform, and I could swear that he leaned his head back to look up at it.

I could have also sworn that his arms had a slight crackle across them as he sat before the chair.

"Get him in, quickly." The Warden barked, "the storm will be on us any minute!"

Kayden, your grandfather, and the other two lifted him out of the chair, and the Warden slapped at my shoulder as he pushed me towards the little booth near the wall that held the switch.

"Get in position. We only get one shot at this."

They strapped him in, connecting the cap and securing the restraints, and I saw no one bothering with a hood. Frasier lolled there in his bindings, dead to the world, and I put my hand on the lever as I waited for my signal. My misgivings were tucked away, someplace I could analyze them later. As everyone backed away, the Warden pointed at me to make ready. We all waited for the hand to come down. It seemed like Frasier sat there for hours before the Warden gave the signal, and I thrust down on the metal bar that would send the electricity out to end his life.

As it came down, I heard a hum for half a second before the power went out completely.

In the dark, we could all feel the massive bolt of lightning that struck outside.

We couldn't help but see the newcomer who had appeared amidst the group in the dark any more than we could avoid feeling the rumble from that eldritch bolt as it hit.

He was massive, eight feet of seething rage, and his arms looked as big as trees. His roar sounded like thunder in a bottle as it coursed up his neon blue throat. He swung out at them, scattering them as he screamed his anger, and those not knocked aside started running. It was too much, a giant that looked like forked lightning. I am not ashamed to say that I cowered behind the protective screen, hoping to remain unseen, and those were the longest minutes of my life. I heard people being thrown around, heard the screams of men as they were beaten to death, and I heard that thing stomp around as its weird light cast shadows on the wall.

It was bigger than it had ever been, the storm and Frasier's rage giving it a strange life, and it used its newfound strength to hurt the men who had meant to kill Frasier. Something hit the other side of that blind, and I tucked my head down as it moaned and twitched. I reached a hand out timidly until I found a uniform shirt and drug the man behind the screen with me. It was your grandfather, and that was probably what saved him in the end. The doctor said he had a broken arm and some pretty severe burns when we get to medical. His injuries were nothing compared to the others, though. The thing beat them, broke them, and I could hear them as they died just behind the partition. When the lights flickered, the generator starting up at long last, I heard a new sound from the throat of that behemoth.

I heard that giant thing scream in pain as Frasier was electrocuted.

The power surged through the chair, and I peeked up over the lip of the little window to see what was happening. The giant and Frasier were both jerking, bodies whipping around wildly, as the current seemed to run through them both. The creature fell to its knees, its body still throbbing, as the electricity seemed to arc through it like a spear. Then, all at once, it just burst apart. Its neon body erupted in a shower of sparks that set fire to some of the chairs and boxes stored around it. Its pieces lay amongst the broken bodies of the other officers I had come in with, and I began to wonder if your grandad and I were the only survivors of this little adventure?

I pushed the switch lever back up as Frasier began to blacken, his hair starting to smoke, and the current turned off with a sudden loud clunk.

I left your grandad then to assess the situation.

Kayden was the only one who survived that night out of that group. He had been thrown into some chairs and knocked unconscious, his head sporting a long bloody gash. It healed badly and left a disfiguring scar that he wore for the rest of his life. I always considered it a good punishment for being responsible for fourteen people's deaths. The others, the Captain, the three officers, and the J dorm sergeant were all dead. Their bodies were burnt, their skin burst and red from the contact with the creature, and they looked like a cow I had once seen after it had been struck by lightning.

I was helping your grandad to his feet when the Warden appeared beside me.

He was unharmed, somehow, and despite being a little rumpled, he was none the worse for wear. He told me to take your grandad to medical and tell them that lightning had struck the yard and killed some men. We were to say nothing of J Dorm or the execution, under threat of death, and we walked away feeling pretty lucky. I heard later that the going story was that lightning had struck our little group as we huddled on the yard. We had been lucky, Kayden had been lucky, but the others had died in a freak accident. No mention of Frasier was ever made again, and we got on with our lives.

He seemed to come out of it, his eyes having been locked on his beer for the last hour as he recounted his tale.

"They made Kayden the new J dorm sergeant after that. I guess the Warden figured he was loyal enough to keep his mouth shut as long as they let him beat and fry the occasional inmate. He lasted about five years at it before he took his own life, but that's another story I might share with you sometime if I survive these tumultuous few weeks."

We talked a little more after that, him answering some of my questions and me trying not to pry too much.

He left not long after that, and I never saw him again, though I did hear from him a few more times.

His story inspired me to keep writing, to tell the stories that Stragview doesn't want me to tell.

I will publish this book.

I will unearth the skeletons that lay beneath the soil of Stragview.

Even if this book becomes my headstone, I will tell these stories.