Innocence and Guilt by Daniel Dilworth Mar22

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Innocence and Guilt by Daniel Dilworth

I stared at the cold grey floor. It was dull and made me feel depressed. I had been staring at it for the best part of an hour when I heard a key rattle in the lock of the cell door. It was the guard, with the chef, who put a plate on the table in the corner.

    ‘Lunch time, you bloody asshole,’ the guard said, spitting at me. It landed on my hair. I ignored him.

    The guard continued. ‘I said it was lunch time, you bloody, ignorant asshole,’ the guard shouted.

    I looked up at him. ‘As if I give a shit.’

    The guard took his baton and stuck it in my stomach, causing me to double over. Then he hit me a few times just below the back of my neck. I hollered.

    The guard grunted. ‘Now you’ll eat your food,’ he said. ‘Come on Clifford.’ They left the cell. As he locked the door he looked at me. ‘I hope you burn in hell,’ he hissed.

    The sound of their footsteps dimmed as they receded along the corridor. I stood up and ate the meal. My legs were aching so badly. What a bastard!

    The food – dinner – consisted of the usual: cold, mashed potatoes with a mushy carrot and a miserable piece of boiled beef. If you behaved you would receive an extra helping of meat and possibly some mayonnaise.

    The average day was boring. In fact, the most exciting part of my life in prison to date was when I was called to court to give evidence, or more recently to appeal the court’s decision.

    My lawyer abandoned my case following one witness’ evidence. It all went downhill from there. Verdict and sentence were handed down – three counts of first-degree murder and attempting to destroy the evidence. The sentence?

    Death.

    I was framed, but you knew that.

    I finished my “dinner” and sat on the bench. It creaked under my weight. I picked up a woodlouse and held him in my palm. He walked around but I suddenly closed my fist tightly. I opened it and the remains of the woodlouse fell on to the bench.

    Soon I heard footsteps come down the corridor. The guard came in. He hit me several times.

    ‘Why did you kill them?’ he shouted.

    ‘I didn’t,’ I said. ‘I would never do that.’

    ‘Don’t lie. We all know you killed them.’

    ‘Impossible, Finch.’

    The guard slapped my cheek full force. ‘Don’t address me like that! You’re no longer over me. Got that?’ He hit me again.

    I closed my eyes. The guard continued to hit me. I opened one eye a squint. He seemed to enjoy it. He enjoyed my suffering.

    Bastard. Sadistic bastard.

    ‘Do you have any regrets?’ he asked, a grin growing on his smug weasel face. ‘Well? Do you regret killing them?’

    I closed my half-open eye and, shortly afterwards, opened both eyes fully and looked into his cold, merciless eyes. ‘I have no regrets. None. But you, I feel sorry for you.’

    ‘How come?’ he asked suspiciously.

    I smirked. I could tell somehow he wasn’t going to like this. ‘You’re a loner. You’ve been a loner all of your life. That’s nothing to be proud of. Get a life, Finch, just go get a life.’

    His grin disappeared and he lashed out. ‘You’ll be sorry,’ he said angrily, teeth clenched.

    I looked at him. ‘No.’

    ‘Yes.’

    ‘No.’

    ‘Yes.’

    ‘No. It’s the truth. Are you ashamed of that?’

    Another bulky thump with the baton. ‘Don’t talk that way!’ he shouted, ‘do you hear me?’

    I didn’t reply.

    ‘Answer me!’

    I looked though the small cell window at the stars twinkling in the black sky. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It comforted me a great deal.

    Finch brought me back down to earth with a foot.

    ‘Answer me, you bastard!’ he shouted, punching my right cheek. There was a crack, and I knew my jaw was banjaxed. Meanwhile, Finch was having fun.

    I saw a shadow come down the corridor and stop. I hoped vainly it would continue and the person would see the guard beating the shit out of me.

    ‘Apologise!’ Finch shouted. ‘Now! I haven’t all day.’

    ‘You have nothing else to do, except go to that lonely flat of yours.’ I spat at him, hitting him between the eyes. I was a good marksman.

    Finch grabbed my prison shirt and kicked my stomach.

    I screamed.

    He let go of me, and I fell to the grey ground. He was panting heavily but a villainous smirk grew on his face. ‘That should teach you to respect others,’ he said, ‘especially your guards.’ He made to leave but quickly turned, dealt me a hard kick in the ribs, and moved on to the next cell.

    Finch came out shortly afterwards, leading a prisoner in handcuffs down the corridor past me. I knew well where he was going – the exit for successful appellants was the other way.

    The prisoner looked at me and made a quick motion at my forehead. I felt it. Blood.

    Finch stuck his finger up at me, behind the prisoner’s back.

    When they passed I lay on the ground and closed my eyes. The prisoner had lost all chance of having his sentence commuted and I knew I had little time left before I ended up in that situation.

    Unless I could prove my innocence. Most unlikely.

*  *  *

I was lying on the ground, on my front, when Finch came with a visitor.

    ‘Careful,’ he warned the visitor, and grinned at me. ‘You may be his next victim.’

    I looked at the visitor. He returned my look but said nothing. A moment later he looked away.

    ‘Are you not going to talk to me?’

    ‘Why would I? He kicked me. He went on to bite my right ear.

    ‘Asshole,’ he hissed. ‘I hope they kill you horribly. I hope they inject you with poison, just enough so you’ll suffer slowly.’

    I stood up fully and kneed him in the stomach, causing him to bend over in agony. Now it was his turn to holler.

    ‘I told you to be careful!’ Finch shouted. The visitor turned and left the cell. Finch locked the door after him. I heard the visitor say to the guard, ‘Make him suffer.’

    Finch looked at me and smiled. ‘Oh, I will sir. I will.’

*  *  *

I lost the appeal.

    A week until the execution. My only hope was the state governor – an ungenerous man.

    I paced up and down my cell, pain stinging from the same place from two ferocious kicks.

    A guard, not the usual bastard, came to the door.

    ‘Good evening Lansing,’ I said.

    ‘Nice evening outside, isn’t it?’

    I looked out the window. It was pretty bright outside. It reminded me of happy memories of years gone by.

    ‘I’ve a letter from the governor.’

    I nodded. ‘I didn’t think he’d respond.’

    ‘There’s no pardon, sorry.’

    I nodded. ‘I knew there’d be a negative response if it did come.’

    ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That witness in my court case – the one who was slow to take the oath.’

    ‘Yes, what about him?’

    ‘Who was he?’

    Lansing looked at me. ‘You mean you didn’t know him?’

    I shook my head.

    The guard froze. ‘He said you knew him.’

    ‘Never saw his face in my life, nor did I hear of him either, for that matter.’

    ‘This isn’t a great situation.’

    ‘Talk to the judge or governor.’

    ‘I will do my utmost, don’t worry. It’ll delay your execution and, hopefully, acquit you.’

    Lansing smiled, nodded his head and left the cell. I lay on the bench.

    The day went by uneventfully. It was another five days before the guard came back to me.

    ‘A stay of execution has been granted. You have two weeks.’

*  *  *

The execution may as well have happened that day; the two weeks proved futile. The strange witness – who had turned the whole case against me – had not been found.

    Lansing took me from my cell. ‘To think, you were my superior here just six months ago.’

    ‘I know,’ I said depressingly. ‘Isn’t life strange?’

    The guard led me to the execution chamber. A bed awaited me.

    Finch was standing at the bedside with the prison chaplain. When I was tied down to the bed the priest administered the Last Rites.

    I took deep breaths. At last, the needle came.

    Finch came up to me and hissed in my ear: ‘Thanks for the job, goodnight.’

    Next, Lansing approached the opposite side. He, in turn, said something to me. I was beginning to feel drowsy.

    ‘Goodbye. It’s a pity you have to die.’ He glanced at Finch. His face lost its former kindly complexion. ‘I know you did not kill them.’ He smiled.