Deadly Justice

“The ratings don’t lie – we’re losing viewers by the thousands each week. If it keeps up we’ll be off air for good!” Kramer paced up and down like a raging bull in front of the team, the effect somewhat weakened when he paused to check out his own reflection mid-strop.

“I don’t understand it. The first few seasons we were a worldwide sensation… what’s changed?” Marianne chewed her lip, a nervous tic that always showed up when Kramer had his firing face on.

“I guess they’re just getting bored… I mean three of the last nine episodes have been spiders, and two snakes. There’s not enough variety.” That was me, Marc. I’m the tech guy.

“Not enough variety?” Kramer slammed a perfectly manicured hand down on the table. “They’re getting 3D virtual front row tickets to live executions, for fuck’s sake! They literally watch people die in front of them, once a week, conveniently scheduled after dinner and before the News. What the hell do they expect us to do, bring back the guillotine?”

Actually, there had been a guillotine in the first season, but I figured now wasn’t the right time to bring that up. Since politics had taken an extreme right turn in the ‘twenties, executions had become big business.

It was Kramer’s brainchild to air the executions live. He got permission from the prison to do a ‘last week’ documentary with camera crews and interviewers getting to know the convicts before their big day. It added another dimension, with everyone arguing over the water fountains about who was guilty and if they deserved to die.

An emotional connection was made, when you watched someone ask for their grandma’s homemade apple pie for their last meal. Or when you saw their tearful goodbyes with their kids. Sometimes you wondered if it really was right to punish people for rioting almost fifteen years ago… I mean, shouldn’t the death penalty be for murderers alone?

Ah well. I didn’t make up the rules. And it paid for my waterfront view and swimming pool, so I couldn’t really complain.

“I think the problem is, everyone’s worst nightmares are so typical. We prod them to find out their darkest fears, but then it’s just bees, snakes, spiders, or needles. We’ve done a dozen seasons and the last two haven’t had a single unique death. I think the last big spike in viewers was that woman who was terrified of crabs.”

“God yeah, crab woman, that was a pain in the ass. When we signed the deal with the penitentiary to pay for the executions, I hadn’t planned on supplying them with a seafood supper. I could have killed her myself when I got the bill.” Kramer sat down, tapping his long nails on the glass conference table.

“So what, then? If their nightmares are boring, and traditional methods are too last century, what’s left? We just let the viewers bid to see who gets to kill them?” Marianne was joking, but Kramer stroked his mustache thoughtfully.

“You might have something there. Go full-on horror movie with it – torture chambers with branding irons and racks of weapons…”

“I don’t think we’d get permission to air that before 10 pm,” I interrupted. “If we want to keep our prime-time spot we have to attempt to keep it family friendly.”

“Fair point, Marcy-boy. What do you suggest?” Everyone was staring at me.

“So, we’ve used up the potential for nightmares. But what about dreams? Everyone has a bucket list, or a favorite memory. Something they love that can be twisted and used against them.” I was sweating, unused to this level of attention.

“Say some dude loved surfing? We can set him up in a wave pool, give him a board… tell him if he can stay above water for half an hour his sentence gets commuted. Only the pool is full of electric eels and man-eating sharks.”

Kramer broke into a grin. “That’s it! Why didn’t I think of it myself? I’m getting old, Marcy-boy. Losing my touch.” We all murmured in protest. “Right, get on it. Advertising - I want billboards and ads up and running by Monday. Next week will be the first episode – big it up. ‘Deadly dreams’ or ‘Death by dreaming’ maybe. Make it happen guys, or it’ll be your necks on the line!”

***

The following week our crew followed the next unlucky inmate. Sonia Willis had run out of appeals four months ago, and her execution date was set for Friday. On Monday we sent in our interviewer – Rhett Ryder. We always sent Rhett when it was a woman. More rapport. Rhett looked the part with his dark hair and dazzling smile, but the fact he was Kramer’s boytoy was a poorly kept secret around the office.

I watched the uncut material in the editing booth. Rhett in his Burgundy velvet blazer, leaning forward warmly, hands steepled on the table before him. Sonia shuffling through the door in her gray Death Row uniform, her ankles shackled. Her greasy hair hanging in front of her face, acne around her double chins. A large woman, late forties. Certainly not going to win ratings on her looks. She took her seat and the guard stepped forward to unlock her cuffs.

“No funny business, Sonia. Not if you want your folks to visit before you go.”

She nodded, and he left the room. Rhett gave Sonia his toothiest smile.

“Ms. Willis, perhaps you could start by telling us what sad tale brought you to this point? Not all of our viewers will be familiar with your case.”

She looked nervous. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“I’m sure it must be very hard. But this is your last chance to tell your side of the story. Wouldn’t you prefer to set the record straight?” He was good, they usually opened up to him.

“Well… I guess.” She rubbed her wrist where a red welt showed how tight her cuffs had been.

“What was it that drove you to kill your husband, Ms. Willis? What was the breaking point?”

“Well, he – Stanley, that is – he wasn’t exactly a good man. He’d hit me, a whole bunch of times. Police came out and everything, they all knew what he was like. Of course, with the laws changing, weren’t nothing they could do about it.”

“Well, of course. A woman becomes the man’s property upon marriage, so he wasn’t actually committing a crime, Sonia.”

“I guess not. But it sure felt like one. He knocked my tooth out once, and broke a few ribs. Got this scar on my forehead when he threw his beer bottle at me.” She lifted her fringe to reveal a semi-circular scar.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry you experienced that. How did it make you feel?” Rhett pressed.

“Bad. It made me feel real bad. All the time. I would eat all the time to try and feel better, you know, chocolate fudge cake and icecream, that sort of thing. ‘Cept then he’d call me fat. ‘You fat cow,’ he’d yell, ‘How am I s’posed to fuck you when you look like a beached whale?”

“That must have hurt your feelings a lot. Was that what made you kill him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t rightly remember. It just… happened. One minute I was cooking him catfish and fries for dinner, and the next I’d tipped the whole pan over him.”

“Wow. That’s a painful way to go. Do you think you deserve the death penalty, Sonia?”

She looked at her hands, pulling at the dead skin around her ragged nails. “I… I don’t know. I mean, I regret doing it, but I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

“You heard it here, folks.” Rhett turned to face the camera directly. “Ms. Sonia Willis is not sorry her husband is dead, and doesn’t know if she belongs on death row. After the break join me for more details of her grizzly crime.”

I paused the tape. Kramer walked in behind me. “Well? Got a plan yet for Friday’s big event?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said. I could feel myself turning red, I didn’t want to tell him the idea that was formulating. It seemed too cruel. But I knew it would work, the viewers would be back on the edges of their seats.

***

“It’s Friday night, and you know what that means guys…” drumroll, switch to camera six. “Execution time! We’ve got a real doozy for your viewing pleasure this time, let me tell you…”

Rhett garbled on, then a medley of clips from the prior four days repeated. Sonia with her Mom and sister, tearful farewells. Sonia and her Minister, last rites. Cut to camera 4, empty stage with curtains all around a metal chair and small table.

“We’ve played a little trick on Sonia, folks. We’ve told her it’s Thursday, so she thinks she’s coming in to have her last meal. Of course, she is. But what she doesn’t know is, it’s her last hour on this earth! That’s right, Sonia will face justice right here on channel 27, get your headsets on, because it’s countdown time!” A big clock appeared in the bottom corner of the screen. 5:00, 4:59, 4:58… it counted down while two guards brought Sonia into the room. Rhett walked into shot, carrying a large chocolate fudge cake. Icing dripped down the side, layers of ganache and heavy buttercream between moist sponge cake. It was a thing of beauty. “Here you go Sonia, he said, placing it onto the table in front of her with a flourish. “You asked for chocolate fudge cake, and we had this one specially made for you by Bobby Blaze, the best baker in America!”

The crowd cheered. Sonia looked apprehensive, surprised at all the cameras and audience.

“Let me cut you a slice,” Rhett offered, whipping out a silver serving knife. He carved a generous triangle out of the 4 layered cake and placed it in front of her. She picked up the fork, her hand shaking. Took a bite.

“Is it good?” Rhett asked, his shark-like smile in full force.

“Yeah, it’s delicious.” She took another mouthful, then another. The timer clicked down, 0:10, 0:09, 0:08… when it reached 0:00 the lights flickered and a loud buzzer sounded.

Sonia jumped, her eyes widening.

Camera three, panning across the audience as glitter falls down overhead. Back to Rhett.

“That’s right, folks! It’s Friday night and it’s execution time! Tonight for your enjoyment we bring you – death by chocolate cake!”

The crowd oohed and aahed appreciatively. The guards stepped forward, grabbing Sonia’s uniform and cutting it from her. She stood on the stage, bewildered and vulnerable in her sagging bra and underwear. They pushed her back into the chair, shackling her arms and feet and forcing her in place. The curtains dropped down revealing mirrors around three sides, leaving nowhere for her to look that wasn’t painful. She could watch herself, all her insecurities exposed for the world to see. Or she could watch the live audience, who started chanting “Feed her, feed her, feed her!” and stomping their feet.

The death was messy. Rhett gave her the first bite, forcing the fork between her lips, but after that he left the stage and the guards used the feeding tube. It was nearly fifteen minutes before the doctor declared her dead. I stopped watching after the first three.

***

“Well you lot, we did it!” Kramer crowed, pouring champagne into the glasses he kept behind his desk. “Ratings were back up to season four levels! We beat out ‘Internment Camp Capers’ and ‘Dinosaur hunters’ for the top billing! We’re back in business, baby!”

I tried to swallow, but the bubbles left a sour taste in my mouth. I kept seeing Sonia, so exposed, her favorite comfort turned against her. Maybe it was time to find a new job.