Death's Day Off

At 12:01 AM the Warden glanced at the clock, then the silent phone and finally nodded to the doctor; who depressed the plunger and the poison entered the murderer's bloodstream. At 12:04 nothing had happened; the murderer's vital signs were strong and steady. At 12:06 no change, 12:10 the inmate began waking and then laughing. He was given another dose. Nothing. By 3:00 AM he had been given every lethal poison the State would allow three times, and he was still unharmed. Finally, he was unstrapped and led back to his cell, laughing evilly. His lawyer, a slimy little sleaze bag, was gleefully calling the governor; the execution had taken place, so now his client had served his sentence and had to be released.

Devon Edward Arlington Theodore Hemlock sat on a bar stool having another Rob Roy. It was finally his day off. He only got a day off every millennium, or so it seemed. He could barely remember the last one. At least he didn't HAVE to make up missed assignments, unless the Boss rescheduled an event. His job was as big as his name and although rarely rewarding, it was quite necessary. Sometimes his assignments went with the Boss and sometimes the other way. But from midnight to midnight, today, he was off duty. It was time to go sleep, something else he rarely got to do.

As he left the bar, the TV showed the CNN news desk with a map of the Middle East, "In three entirely separate suicide bombings today, There were, miraculously, no causalities. The bombers themselves suffered non-life threatening injuries such as castration, but will survive. None of the innocent bystanders were injured. Experts here are at a loss to explain this strange occurrence." Devon smiled as he walked through the door and mumbled, "It's because I have the day off, duh, numbnuts."

The morning news shows were all the predictable interviews; The husband and father of the victims being asked a hundred times how he felt that the murderer was going to go free. Like he was going to be happy? And the follow-up question about if he could he forgive the 'alleged murderer'? At least he blasted that reporter saying, "He is not an alleged murderer; he was proven guilty of murder, three counts, in a court of law, and no I will not forgive him, as a matter of fact, eternity in Hell is too good for that (bleeped by the network)."

There were then recaps all about the murder of the woman and her two children, a six-year-old girl and an eight-year-old boy all raped and tortured to death over a ten-day period. Now the murderer had survived the lethal injection and had to be set free. His lawyer was on all the morning shows explaining the law and how wonderful it was to save this poor victim's life. The lawyer shamelessly made up tales about how the murderer had been abused as a boy; on the first network by an older cousin, the next show it was his older brother (the man was an only child), then it was his father and finally it was by all the Priests at the local Catholic Church (the man had never been in a church in his entire life). Police and district attorneys were scrambling to explain how such a travesty of justice could occur.

By noon, the news shows had judges and law-makers being questioned on how such things were allowed to happen. By dinner, the Supreme Court was being pestered for opinions. The U.S. Attorney General was interviewed and his statements about States' Rights didn't seem to sit right with anyone. The late-night shows had a ball with skits about the living dead.

The next morning Devon was back on the job, he felt well rested after a good sleep. All day he heard news about how the ACLU was filing suits to have the murderer released immediately and trying to suck up as much press as they could. The real kicker, though, was PETA, happily proclaiming this a victory for humane treatment of prisoners and that cows and chickens should have legal rights too.

By noon, he was more than a bit disturbed by that one assignment that got missed. He couldn't understand how the lawyers could allow a scumbag like this guy to get back out, saying he had paid his debt. Devon had been there for the woman and the two kids. It was one of the very tough assignments. He absolutely hated to take kids, that was without a doubt the worst part of his job. Even after all this time, he was torn by every child he had to deal with.

The lunchtime news that day was all about the release of the murderer. He was being released and was going to hold a press conference on the steps of the State Supreme Court Building at five o'clock so it could be covered by all the news shows, live.

Devon did something he rarely ever did; he sent a memo to The Boss, asking for a special assignment. He was granted the assignment and free rein in carrying it out. The Boss wasn't real happy about this, as a matter of fact, the last time Devon had seen him this pissed, two towns had been destroyed by fire and brimstone and a woman had been turned to a pillar of salt; people are still talking about that to this day.

At four thirty, the press was all set up and ready for the circus. Scaffolding had been set up to elevate the camera crews above the crowds. Devon moved to his vantage point and waited. At four fifty-five, the doors opened and the murderer and his lawyer came out and down the steps to where the microphones had been set up. Right at five o'clock, they stepped up to the microphones and began with their statement. Devon waited patiently until they said those words he knew they would.

"So this is an example of justice being served..."

A large granite gargoyle fell from above, crushing both the lawyer and the murderer, on national TV, all networks. The paramedics had to call for more backup to remove the twelve-foot tall statue from the mashed bodies. The Fire Chief became puzzled because the Supreme Court Building didn't have gargoyles.

Devon met his new guests, "Hello, I'm DEATH. You are now about to experience true justice. Obviously, the Boss doesn't want anything to do with either one of you, and oddly, neither does the competition. So you get to join some special people in oblivion, Adolf Hitler, Attila the Hun, "Popa Doc" Duvalier, Edi Amine and Dr. Wirklih Scheisse Dummesel. You are the weakest souls. Goodbye."

Devon watched as the two souls dissipated, screaming in agony, into oblivion. He smiled, this was a good day for death.

Author's Notes:

No gargoyles were injured in any way in the writing of this story.

Editor's notes:

Who me? No comment.

Comments appreciated at Str8mayb