Visiting Hours

If he had any feelings one way or another George Kerrigan didn’t show it as he sat stone-faced and stared straight ahead, as he had done for most of the trial. There was no need for the defendant to look over to know the jurors were boring holes into him with hate-filled stares as they filed back into courtroom 38B. Presumably these people were a jury of his peers, but there was no way any of these people could have seen, done, or lived the kind of life that George Kerrigan had experienced.

If truth be told, Kerrigan didn’t care. He had never cared about anyone or anything. This trial was a nuisance and he was past ready for them to put him away for life or kill him, whichever they chose made no difference. This wasn’t his first go around with the justice system and it was all he could do to keep from yawning at the whole show.

Kerrigan watched with no emotion as the bailiff first stopped at the jury box, and then crossed the courtroom and handed the judge a folded piece of paper. The judge, a stern-looking curmudgeon, peered at Kerrigan over a pair of reading glasses as he folded the paper and gave it back to his bailiff.

The defense lawyer rose and lightly tapped his client’s elbow. Blowing out an audible sigh, Kerrigan stood and faced the judge. There was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth as he stood, which was noted as the only show of emotion throughout the three-week trial.

“Mr. Kerrigan as to the charge of murder with special circumstances you are found to be guilty,” said the judge.

“Wow, that’s a shocker. It’s beans and rice night can we speed this up so I don’t miss dinner. If you miss it’s a cold bologna sandwich,” said Kerrigan.

“Mr. Ducat, please control your client,” said the judge.

John Ducat, the court-appointed attorney, hadn’t had control of his client since the beginning. Attorney Ducat was two years out of law school and worked with the public defender’s office. It wasn’t always true that lawyers made big money. There was something to the old saying that there must be someone last in every graduating class and that was the dubious honor that Mr. Ducat would carry his entire legal career. Now, he was charged with defending one of the most infamous serial killers in history. George Kerrigan made Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, and Jack the Ripper look like altar boys.

The crime that defendant Kerrigan had been tried, and convicted, was one of the many murders he had been suspected of perpetrating. Unfortunately, it was the only one the state could gather enough evidence to get a conviction. The victim had been a young girl and she had been taken from her home in the middle of the night. Many man hours had been used to gather all the things the state would need to make sure this murderer never saw the light of day again.

More than a hundred more murders had been attributed to Kerrigan, but all of them were missing one last piece of evidence that would put it over the top. It was different in each case, but that was of no solace to the district attorney who had to try the cases. Tom Jensen, the district attorney, would go on TV as he had every night of the trial and talk about how the state would accept nothing less than the death penalty in this case.

It was just a little after one o’clock the next afternoon that DA Jensen got his wish when George Kerrigan was sentenced to be put to death by lethal injection. The reporters all had their stories pre-written and as soon as the sentence was passed the send button on hundreds of electronic devices were pushed.

***

George Kerrigan, before it was all over, would test the limits of the Texas legal system. The state was efficient at carrying out executions and they would get help from the inmate in making this the quickest death row stay in state history. At every turn, Kerrigan turned down appeal options, chiding the state for dragging its feet and costing valuable taxpayer money.

Trials were often sensationalized, the conviction happened, and the inmate was never heard from again until the execution date loomed. Not so in this case. George Kerrigan stayed in the news almost every day for his antics, which caused some to speculate that he hadn’t been mentally stable enough to stand trial. A short six months after sentence had been pronounced George Kerrigan had a date for execution.

Appropriately the skies were a dark gray the day that George Kerrigan was moved to a cell adjacent to the death chamber of the Huntsville Unit. The condemned had no family or friends that were interested in visiting, and the offer of spiritual guidance was turned down with a sneer. After being left alone Kerrigan walked over to the bed, sat, and tested the comfort. Kicking off his shoes Kerrigan stretched out on the bunk.

The scratching of the chair in the corner of the cell started Kerrigan into a sitting position. He was even more startled to see that a man was dusting the chair with a handkerchief. The man finished the dusting and turned toward Kerrigan with a smile that froze the blood in the killer’s veins.

The man was impeccably dressed in a black suit with matching shirt and tie. Kerrigan certainly wasn’t a fashion maven, but the suit looked expensive. The shoes he wore were shined to a high gloss. The man had a pale complexion that stood in stark contrast to his jet-black hair that was combed straight back off his head and was held in place by gel or spray of some sort. Finally, he sat. Crossing his legs, he straightened the razor-sharp creases on his slacks, rested his hands on his lap, and smiled at Kerrigan.

“I thought I said no visitors,” said Kerrigan.

“Did you? I am usually not one for asking permission,” said the man, in perfect English.

“Guard!” said Kerrigan, standing from his bunk and moving to the bars of the cell.

“Yes?” asked the guard that appeared moments later.

“I said no visitors. I meant no visitors.”

“And we are following your wishes,” said the guard.

“Are you nuts? You don’t see the man sitting in that chair? How did he get in here?”

The guard turned his head to the chair, and then scanned the cell. Hooking his thumbs in his belt he frowned.

“Look, Kerrigan, it’s a little late to fake the insanity defense. You have a date with death in less than six hours. I suggest you take that time for a little reflection,” said the guard, turning and walking away.

“Wait! He’s right there.”

“Kerrigan, keep it up and I’ll call the doc and we’ll sedate you. You probably don’t want to spend your last hours in LaLa land,” the guard called back.

“George, sit, please,” said the man. “We haven’t much time and I have so much to tell you.”

“Who are you?” asked Kerrigan, flattening against the wall.

“I am known by many names. Angel of Death, Reaper, and Grim Reaper just to name a few. I prefer something simple and concise, so you may address me as Death.”

“Oh, you had me going for a minute,” said Kerrigan, laughing. “This is the guard’s idea of some kind of joke.”

“I assure you, George, this is no joke. I’ve chosen you for a personal visit. I make time for those who I think deserve it.”

“Whatever, I was going to take a nap,” said Kerrigan, sitting and then lying in his bunk.

“George Kenneth Kerrigan, born June 5, 1969. Died, well, in about five hours and fifty minutes give or take.”

“Public record,” said Kerrigan over his shoulder.

“You killed your first man when you were fourteen. He’s buried in a cow pasture behind your childhood home at 2218 Cherry Way, Abilene Texas. There was no reason for you to kill him, you just wanted to know what it felt like. The knife you stabbed him twenty-two times with is buried with him.”

Kerrigan sat up and stared at the man.

“How the hell did you know that?”

“How do you think I know, George? I was there.”

“What do you want?”

“Ah, so now you believe I am who I say I am?”

“I didn’t say that. I just asked what you wanted.”

“Six months later you couldn’t hold off the urge to kill again. Kathleen Wilson, a classmate, was next. You even participated in the search. Her body was never found. Was it, George?”

“Nope, and it never will.”

“I agree. You’re a clever one. Two months later —.”

“Okay, okay…wait.”

The wall where Death sat began to slowly spiral and became transparent. However, what should have been a cell on the other side of the wall was darkness. A darkness of such quality that George had never witnessed anything quite as dark and despairing. The temperature in the cell dropped about twenty degrees, and Kerrigan’s hair began to blow in the wind that was emanating from the hole in the wall.

Moments later a man stumbled through the hole. He caught himself on the far wall to stop from falling. The suit he wore was rumpled and looked to be of a style worn in the eighties. Suddenly the hole closed and the environment returned to normal. The mystery man began dusting off his jacket and then ran his fingers through his hair.

George noticed the man was rumpled, the blankets had blown off the bed, and his own hair was blown all over, yet Death was just as put together as he had been before the wall opening. Not a hair was out of place and his suit still looked pressed without a speck of dust on him. He still sat with legs crossed and his hands folded in his lap.

“Oh, hello Mr. Death,” said the rumpled man.

“Tom, it’s been a while.”

“It sure has. Where am I?”

Instead of answering, Death gestured toward the bed. Kerrigan was now as close to the wall as he could possibly get, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“You!” said the rumpled man.

“George, you will remember this gentleman as 41, as I know you enjoyed numbering your victims. However, his name is Tom Jensen. Do you remember him?”

“Umm, yeah. A little,” said George, swallowing hard.

“You killed me, yet you don’t remember?” said Tom. “I don’t understand, Mr. Death.”

“It’s simple really. Our man George has finally been convicted of murder. We are in his cell awaiting his execution. I thought you’d be interested in watching the man that killed you die.”

Tom threw his head back and began to laugh. George recoiled when Tom’s neck gaped open and the laugh resonated out of the wide slit in his neck. It was then that George noticed the puncture wounds that dotted Tom’s body. It was slowly coming back to him now.

George had hopped a freight train and decided to head west in search of adventure. He had only made it as far as Las Vegas. The pretty lights and the lure of debauchery were enough to get him off the train and into town. George had a few bucks in his pocket, enough for a room and a little something to eat.

George had just turned onto the strip and right ahead of him was a tall young man. He was well dressed and looked to be captivated by all the lights surrounding him. He had tourist written all over him and George’s prospects were soon looking up.

The feelings had been eating at him for over a week now anyway. He could sate his urge for blood and violence and maybe add a few dollars to his bankroll in the process. George closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as the steel blade of his favorite knife caressed his spine. Once he had opened his eyes once again the target had turned onto a small road off the strip. He was going to make this too easy for George.

In a flash, George closed the gap as he drew the knife from the small of his back. The first stab went through the young man and out the front of his body. George grabbed him by the neck and stabbed him several more times. He had lost count how many times he had stabbed the man, but he was dead, or dying, when he inflicted the throat slit.

As George replayed the murder in his mind he caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He often replayed the murders in his mind, but this was the first time he had seen the figure. He tried harder to make out the shape and soon realized it was the man currently sitting in his cell. It was Death.

“You were there?” whispered George.

“I was there for them all, George,” said Death.

“You killed me for the three dollars I had in my wallet. I was stabbed twenty-nine times. I know it’s that many because I count them every day. The throat slit was number thirty,” said Tom.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” said George.

“I want to know why you threw me into a dumpster where my body wouldn’t be found for three days? I want to know why you killed me in the first place.”

“The dumpster was for convenience and I had an urge and you were available.”

“Asshole,” said Tom. “Mr. Death, let me kill him. He’s going to die anyway.”

“You know the rules, Tom. We can’t intervene.”

“Shit, I know. Just this one time, please.”

“You don’t mean that, Tom,” said Death.

“I know,” said Tom.

Tom sat on the bed and slumped against the wall. Ever now and then he would look over and glare at George. They all sat in silence for a few minutes. George wondered if that was all there was to the experience. If it was, that wasn’t too bad. So what if he had killed this guy. He had killed plenty guys, girls too for that matter. A smile curled the corners of his mouth.

“Is there something funny about all of this?” asked Death.

“I just thought that if you came here to scare me, this wasn’t too bad,” said George.

“I knew it would take more than one,” said Death. “It might interest you to know that when he was alive Tom was an inventor. He had invented a machine that could extract cancer cells and restore a body to full health. He was in town to meet with a group of investors when you killed him.”

“What? He didn’t leave backup plans to the machine?” asked George.

“Yes, password protected. The wallet you took from Tom and carelessly tossed in the garbage had the code to unlock the plans. Furthermore, Tom had told no one where the plans were located. Some of the most brilliant minds have been working to find and get into those files,” said Death.

“They’ll never be successful,” mumbled Tom.

“I know. I wanted George to feel the gravity of what he has done.”

“I get to watch him die, right?” asked Tom.

“Yes, I’ll allow it.”

“That means…”

“Yes, Tom. It does mean that, but let’s let George discover that on his own,” said Death.

“What?” asked George.

“Oh, you’ll love it,” said Tom, chuckling.

“Whatever, I don’t suppose you are going to let me have my nap, are you?” asked George.

“No, you’ll want to be awake for the rest of what I have planned,” said Death.

“Sounds like a real scream,” said George.

In a flash a bright light emitted from Tom and he grew another two feet as he transformed into an angel-like creature. Tom’s wings spread fully and he flew to within inches of George’s face. Recoiling from the intense heat, George pushed himself further up the bed until the wall stopped his retreat. Tom’s hand shot out and closed around George’s throat.

“Can’t you muster even the tiniest bit of remorse?” said Tom in a voice loud enough to shake the bars of the cell.

Tom began to drag George up the wall by his throat causing a small whimper from the convicted murderer. George watched as Death raised his hand casually and George fell from Tom’s grasp onto the bunk. George grabbed his throat and rubbed it. Where was that guard? All this noise and light should’ve alerted someone.

“No one is coming to save you now, George,” said Death. “Not even the guard.”

“How did you know I was thinking that?” said George, his voice hoarse from the choking.

“I know your every thought. Every sick and twisted thing you’ve ever thought.”

“If you’re supernatural, or whatever, why didn’t you stop me from killing all those folks. I mean you were there, right?” said George.

“My job is not to intervene. I am simply there to help people cross over and then I make sure they end up in their proper eternal destination. I’m under orders, so to speak.”

“Orders? From who?”

Death simply turned his eyes up to the ceiling and pointed skyward.

“Oh, come on! I’m supposed to believe you work for God?”

“Choose to believe what you will,” said Death, neatly folding his hands in his lap once more.

Once again, the wall began to breathe. It spiraled and became transparent. George could make out a figure working its way to the new entrance to his cell. As before the figure stumbled from the hole and fell into Tom. Tom caught the newest visitor and helped to steady her. As soon as she was through the hole the wall became solid.

The woman looked to be in her early to mid-twenties. She wore a tiny dress that didn’t leave too much to the imagination. The dress had slash marks across the middle and one sleeve was missing. She looked confused momentarily until she saw Death sitting in the chair in the corner.

“Death! Sweetie, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you,” squealed the woman.

“Janey, it’s good to see you again,” said Death.

“Are we in some sort of jail cell or something?” asked Janey, looking around.

“We are, indeed. I would like you to say hello to our guest of honor,” said Death, gesturing toward the bunk.

Slowly Janey turned and she instantly recognized the man on the bunk. Turning back, she looked at Death.

“What’s going on here?” asked Janey.

“We get to watch him die,” said Tom, laughing.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m number 41,” said Tom.

“41? Geez, mister, how many of us are there?” asked Janey, turning her gaze back toward George.

“I’m not really sure. A lot,” said George.

“Something in my gut told me not to get into the car with you. You had a bad aura. What number am I?”

“Um, 54, I think,” replied George.

“54? And you killed me, what, twenty years ago?”

“Yes. Sir, I really should get a pass on this one. She was just a prostitute I picked up. She couldn’t have ever amounted to anything,” said George to Death.

“Yes, one would think that, due to her chosen profession. However, that isn’t the case at all.”

“What possibly could she have done?”

“Had Janey lived she would have met the love of her life. This man would not have cared about her past. He would have pulled her from the life of prostitution and loved her. Janey would have become pregnant and given birth to the man who was destined to broker a peace deal in the middle east. The deal he would have engineered was to bring about world peace. Instead, well you know how the rest of the story goes.”

Janey turned toward Death, her eyes filled with tears. She trembled as she began to cry.

“Is that true?” asked Janey between sobs.

“It is,” said Death.

“How come you never told me this?”

“Some things are better left untold. The reason you know now is that I want you to understand the gift I’m giving you.”

“Thank you for this. How much time does he have?” asked Janey.

“A little over two hours.”

“We get to watch him die?”

“Yes.”

“And everything that goes along with it?” asked Janey.

“As I told Tom, I will allow it,” said Death.

“Allow what?” asked George.

“You shut your filthy mouth!” said Janey. “I’m normally a forgiving person, but you took something from me that is unimaginable. You beat and stabbed me to death, and for what? I didn’t even have any money on me.”

“I did it for the thrill,” said George.

“The thrill? Unbelievable,” said Janey, beginning to pace the cell.

“I never felt bad about it to be truthful. Until now.”

“Would you listen to that, Death. He’s sorry he ended my life so violently I had to be identified through dental records that my parents had to supply.”

“It does seem too little too late,” said Death.

“I got thrown in a dumpster and wasn’t found for three days,” said Tom.

“You dumped him in a dumpster?” said Janey, her voice moving up two octaves. “I never thought I’d enjoy one of these if I ever got to participate. I see now I’m going to enjoy every second fully.”

“It won’t be long now,” said Death, smiling the bone-chilling smile once again.

“Who’s the third?” asked Janey.

“There’s another one?” asked George.

“Of course, there’s a third individual joining us. I believe the saying goes that I have saved the best for last,” said Death.

The wall once again began to move and spiral. Death, Tom, and Janey all looked toward the opening in anticipation. Meanwhile, George was trying his best to push himself into the wall behind him. The convicted murderer dug his heels into the bed and pushed as hard as he could to put some distance between himself and the opening.

All the air in the room was momentarily sucked out and then in a brilliant explosion of light the next guest stepped through the portal. The new visitor was male and stood well over six foot tall. He was dressed as nattily as Death, but he carried a more authoritative presence. The portal closed behind the newest member. Finally, Death stood and walked to the man.

“Lucifer, I am humbled that you wanted to take part in this.”

“I couldn’t miss one of my star pupils taking his first steps, so to speak,” said Lucifer, laughing.

“Lucifer? As in the devil?” asked George.

“I much prefer the prince of darkness, but Lucifer works just as well. Now, Death, when do the festivities begin?”

“Should be shortly now.”

As if on cue the guard stopped in front of the cell and peered inside. Inmate Kerrigan was pushed all the way against the wall, staring at the opposing wall, and hugging a pillow tightly to his mid-section. The guard noted that the inmate’s once brown hair had turned a bright white. Kerrigan was shaking and mumbling. The guard had seen it many times. The ones that acted the toughest always broke harder.

“They’re going to kill me,” said George.

“Yeah, buddy, I know,” said the guard, laughing. “Ain’t life a bitch sometimes?”

“No, not the state. These people. Lucifer is here along with Death. Death has brought two of the people I killed to witness my death.”

“You’ve really gone off your cracker,” said the guard. “Look, you don’t deserve it but I’m going to offer you some spiritual guidance one last time.”

“Yes, please!” said George, coming off the bunk and grabbing the bars.

“Never fails,” muttered the guard.

Moments later the guard returned with an older man wearing an off-the-rack suit and holding a Bible in his left hand. The guard had the door opened and the minister took one step toward the door and stopped. George turned around and both Death and Lucifer were laughing.

“I can’t go in there,” said the minister.

“He’s asked for you.”

“There is too much evil in there. I won’t go in.”

The minister was visibly shaken as he took two steps back from the doorway. After those two steps, he began a retreat down the hallway. The guard simply shook his head and closed the door.

“You’re so rotten the preacher won’t even see you. Now, I’ve seen it all,” said the guard, chuckling.

“Wait, don’t leave me alone with them. I’m sorry. Go tell whoever you have to that I’m sorry.”

“All this from Mister save the taxpayers some money? I thought you wanted to die?”

“I did, but not now. Please don’t leave me alone with them.”

“Who?” asked the guard.

“You still don’t see them!? Death and Lucifer are standing right behind me,” said George.

“Well, you are going to Hell so that would stand to reason.”

Death and Lucifer stepped closer to George as he clung to the bars. George could feel their presence but willed himself not to turn around. If he couldn’t see them they weren’t there. Suddenly, Lucifer appeared in front of him.

The Devil placed both of his hands over George’s. An excruciating heat came from the Devil’s hands and shot through George. Lucifer pushed his face closer to George’s and the human face melted into that of a demon. George could smell Lucifer’s sulfur-tinged breath on his face and he tried to recoil, but he was held fast in place. George could hear the laughter from Death, Tom, and Janey in the background.

“You’ve done well in carrying out my bidding on Earth, and now you will join me in the pits of Hell for eternity,” whispered Lucifer.

“No, please,” said George, beginning to cry.

George felt Death, Tom, and Janey all pressing closer to him as he was trapped between all four of his visitors. For the first time in his life he was truly scared, and then the realization came upon him that this is what he would endure for eternity. George’s knees buckled but he was held fast by the Devil’s grip on him. Finally, Lucifer released his grip and the prisoner fell into a heap on the floor.

Rolling over onto his stomach George crawled back to the bunk and worked his way back on top of the bed. His hands and arms were still burning, but showed no visible sign of injury. George placed his head into his hands and began to sob. It was a gut-wrenching sob, but the four visitors seemed to be deriving joy from his pain. Every murder and every bit of pain and suffering he had caused began to play in his mind. It was like he was watching a movie of his violent life.

Minutes later the guard that had been with George all afternoon returned with three more guards and the warden of the Huntsville Unit. The warden read George the verdict and sentence, as required by law. Not much could be heard over the condemned man’s sobs, but the warden continued nonetheless.

Once the warden completed his duty he nodded to the guards and they stood George up. They chained George up once more for the short walk to the death chamber. George stopped crying for a moment to look up at the warden.

“Please sir you can’t do this. I’m sorry,” pled George.

“I’m sorry, son. I am bound by the law,” said the warden.

“You don’t understand. Death is right here in this cell with us. Lucifer is with him to take my soul. Two of my victims are here to witness my death.”

“Honestly, if the universe were fair all that you’re claiming would be true. It’d be fitting for all the heinous acts you perpetrated upon people. In a way, I hope you really believe what you’re saying,” said the warden.

“It’s true. They’re right here. Doesn’t that constitute some kind of cruel and unusual punishment?”

“Let’s go, boys,” said the warden to the guards.

As expected George resisted, so the guards simply lifted him and placed him on a gurney that had been placed outside the cell. The guards began strapping George down as Lucifer, Death, Tom, and Janey took positions around him. Janey couldn’t stop giggling and Tom had a wide smile on his face. Once strapped down the guards wheeled George to the death chamber with his visitors in tow.

Once inside George was moved to another gurney that had arm pieces attached to it. George was outstretched and strapped to the new bed. As soon as he was strapped down a couple of medical people began to insert IV’s into his arms.

“Please, no, the Devil is here for my soul. Right in this very room. You can’t do this to me.”

The two medics stepped away from George and nodded toward the warden.

“Mr. Kerrigan, are there any last words before sentence is carried out?” asked the warden.

“I did it. I did everything they accused me of, but could never prove. If you let me live I’ll show you where the bodies are you haven’t found. It’ll give them closure. Isn’t that what people are always looking for, closure?”

The warden nodded in the direction of a small window.

“Wait! I wasn’t done,” said George.

Suddenly the prisoner could no longer speak and he watched as Tom and Janey both spread their wings while Death and Lucifer watched. Tom and Janey leaped into the air and began circling George and as he began to feel his life slipping away they both landed on him.

George screamed, but nothing came from his mouth. It was then that Tom and Janey reached into his body and began to rip out small pieces of what looked like black fabric and began throwing the pieces at Lucifer’s feet. George soon realized it was his soul they were tearing from him. They laughed as they tore through his body. George felt the most intense pain he’d ever felt as they continued to rip at him.

“I told you that you’d enjoy this part,” said Tom.

“I’m having a blast I know that,” said Janey.

George watched helplessly as the pieces of his soul continued to be thrown at Lucifer’s feet. As more pieces were added the separate pieces began to knit themselves together. As more of George’s soul disappeared he watched in desperation as it was reassembled in front of his eyes in the form of a black apparition. Finally, George’s human body was pronounced dead as Tom and Janey hopped off him.

George’s perspective had changed and now he was gazing at the lifeless body on the gurney. He was now the dark soul. He still couldn’t speak or move. Lucifer reached over and pulled George into his own body and his perspective changed again as he saw the world through Lucifer’s eyes.

Once again George tried to scream, but there was no sound.