October’s story, Pigeons, is a prison guard’s account of his complex relationship with a convict on Death Row. Here’s an excerpt of a prisoner taking his last walk.
They ordered us to wait for a minute before we started a man’s last walk. Made it like getting ready to go down a wedding aisle. Right from the far end of the dayroom. There used to be a starting line the warden put there. So thin you almost didn’t see it, but you did. They knew it was there. Later on, the Courts made us buff it out on the Eighth. Cruel and unusual.
Even the guards didn’t step on it, but that’s where we started the walk.
With Mercer, it was me walking him. They let the men pick their guards. Then you waited for a nod from the warden. He’d be at the exit and the two of you set off. All you heard were shoes and a man breathing hard.
While this was going on, I heard Chester start yelling from his cell. Screaming maybe is a better way to describe it. The two of us walking along forgot what we were doing and stopped cold in the middle of the day room.
“A bird, Mercer! God sent you a bird!”
Chester was positively wailing now. I know chills went racing down my arms.
“He’s on my hand, Mercer. It’s God. He’s come. Your bird.” Then he’s reading his Bible a thousand miles an hour.
I didn’t have the heart to keep moving Mercer. It was pin drop. Then Chester wasn’t yelling any more. He was whispering and you could hear it.
“There’s more of them now. There’s a thousand, Mercer. They’re in my hand.”
Mercer lost it. It all seemed to come out. Four murders, rapes, an underage. I don’t even remember what else, but he was a brutal man. Big man. He fell to his hands and knees, dragged me down with him.
It took four of us to get him back up. And the whole time Chester was carrying on about the birds in his hand, the Lord pecking at his palm.
“Pigeons, Mercer. In my palm.”
Palm, palm, palm he’s saying.
Chester William is sobbing like he’s the one about to get electrocuted.
“Pigeons,” was probably the last word Mercer heard, from West Cell anyway.
And Mercer Patterson was the first man out the drainpipe, so to speak.
An excerpt from “Pigeons,” Story XIX.
Full story next Sunday, October 5, 9:00 a.m EST
Jesus. In one hot minute I felt it all. And now you’re telling me there’s more?!
Good grief, already gulping back the lump!