Michelle shook her head. "I'd hate to have you make the trip again. Especially if there's another stay... which is, of course, what we want." She paused, then checked the contents of her bag. "I think I've got everything." She zipped the bag which Mike snatched from the bed. Grabbing her purse she sighed. "Utah, here I come!"
"Again." Mike couldn't help adding as he moved aside to let her go down the hall first.
Besides everything else with which Michelle was involved she was a leading activist opposing the death penalty. She felt a deep seeded responsibility when the moratorium was lifted paving the way for states to begin once again committing legal murder. She had been quite outspoken about the situation in Utah and she and several other members of a group called CASSM (citizens against state sanctioned murder) had gone back and forth a few times.
Mike felt no choice but to plant himself in front of the television. Live broadcasts continued hour after hour. Aside from keeping abreast of the situation he was also able to check on his wife who was vocal enough and eloquent enough to attract the attention of reporters who had camped outside the prison. Mike was joined by his brother Tim, his wife Fran, Michelle's sister Bev, her husband Jeff and for some reason Chet who seemed to not have anything better to do that evening.
Outside the prison Michelle Stoker had the microphone of yet another reporter in her face. She was speaking very concisely as to how more killing is not a viable solution to the problem.
Inside the prison there was a party going on. The condemned was "living it up" He certainly intended to "go out with a bang". The mood was spoiled by a certain activist whose face kept appearing on the television screen.
Finally, somewhat fed up and annoyed with her the condemned looked to his uncle. "Get that do-gooder in here."
Several minutes later Michelle was approached by the condemned's uncle and a prison guard. He introduced himself and explained that his nephew would like to see her. Michelle looked puzzled at the request but only for a moment. She turned the sign she was carrying over to her fellow activists and said, "I'll see you later."
One of her peers spoke. "Michelle, you're nuts going in there."
Michelle turned back. "What is it we're fighting for?" Her colleague nodded. "Lead the way," Michelle told the uncle.
Soon Michelle found herself escorted to an area in the prison where a farewell party was underway. She was asked to remove her coat and was patted down by two guards before being allowed to continue into the room.
The atmosphere was extremely upbeat and the condemned appeared to be enjoying himself immensely, dancing, drinking and bragging to all how there was no way that do-gooder was going to come in there. He turned almost surprised to see Michelle Stoker with his uncle.
Quickly shifting gears, maintaining every bit of his bravado he announced, "Well, we have us a real live do-gooder." He moved slightly closer as if inspecting her, taking note that she did not even attempt to back up. "Hey, do-gooder, let's see ya do a good deed."
Before Michelle's brain registered her mouth took over. "Okay, killer, you go first. Take a life. Oh, you're going to... yours."
He moved as close as he could. "Aw, that's not a very do-gooder thing to say."
Michelle steeled herself. "Tough."
"Do-gooder," he called her again just about speaking into her nose.
"Killer."
"I have a name," he told her.
"So do I."
There was a brief moment as they seemed to stare each other down.
All of a sudden he broke into a laugh. "You're alright."
Michelle folded her arms. "You're not," she said almost laughing herself. "Now, what exactly did you want to see me about?"
"Well, I look at it this way. You're trying to save my life. I think you ought to get to know me."
Michelle nodded. "Fair enough."
Meanwhile back at the Stoker house:
The group was still gathered around the television, now having been joined by Captain Stanley.
"We haven't seen Michelle's face for some time," Fran observed.
"Yeah," Chet agreed. "It's been a while since we've seen her big...." He was interrupted by a jab from Capt. Stanley. "I was going to say mouth."
"Hey, listen to this," Bev said as she turned up the volume.
"Sources tell us that a little over an hour ago the condemned requested to see one of the activists saying, and I quote, 'Get that do-gooder in here.' We are told she has been inside the prison for some time....."
"Well," Chet began, "I guess we don't need to ask which activist is inside the prison."
"It's not necessarily Michelle," Mike stammered. Everyone in the room turned to throw him a look. Mike glanced at each one individually. "Okay," he relented. "It's necessarily Michelle." He rose from the chair and crossed to the desk. Picking up the phone he added, "Who else would it be?" With all eyes on him he dialed the operator. "Get me Utah State Prison." There were a few moments of silence as he waited not so patiently. "Yes, I need you to connect me to the area where they're having the party..... because the do-gooder...activist who's in there is my wife." He turned to the group. "They're putting me through."
Chet rose and moved to Mike. "Don't worry your wife can handle herself"
Mike turned to Chet. "That's not who I'm worried about handling her."
Inside the prison the condemned was still having the time of his life. He had given Michelle a brief oral history of his family and fate, figured that was enough info and went back to dancing around. When the area phone rang he was using her long hair like ribbons on a maypole. A guard who had answered the phone handed it over to her saying, "It's for you."
Puzzled Michelle batted the hair out of her face and took the receiver. "Hello?"
"Okay, I just want to know one thing.... What in the name of .... are you thinking.?
"Mike?" Michelle questioned over the noise.
"Yeah, Mike. Remember me? Your husband who loves you but who thinks you've lost a few of your marbles."
The condemned leaned into the phone. "Is that your husband?"
Michelle pushed him aside with her hand as Mike continued to talk telling her how there was a whole houseful of concerned people back in Los Angeles. Michelle assured him there was nothing to worry about. The condemned again leaned into the phone this time asking if he could talk to him.
Mike grew irritated. "Is that him?" He then continued suggesting that Michelle bid him adieu and leave the prison walls and go back to her station outside. While Mike was talking the doorbell rang. He paused with Michelle to say, "Tim, answer that."
Tim went to the door. He opened it to find Lorie, one of Michelle's colleagues at Cooperative Charities there. She stepped inside without being asked. "I heard there was an activist inside the prison and I knew it just had to be Michelle. Am I right?"
"You're right," Tim told her.
"Well, obviously, I was concerned and came right over."
"Sure you were," Tim observed. Then he noticed something in her hand. "What's the magazine?"
Lorie ignored the question and moved into the living-room to where Mike was on the phone.
At the prison the condemned had managed to get the phone from Michelle. "Hey, Mikey, you know your wife has balls."
Mike rolled his eyes. "I hope not."
"She really is special."
"Just how special do you think she is?"
Lorie's eyes went wide with a realization. "Is that him. Are you really talking to him?"
Mike put his hand over the phone, "Will somebody get her away from me?"
Bev and Fran came to the rescue steering Lorie from the desk. "Lorie, why don't you show us your magazine, " Fran suggested.
At the prison Michelle had managed to regain control of the phone.
Mike waited until Lorie was out of his sight before turning back to the phone. "Put my wife back on.... Oh, you are back." He then made an observation about with whom he had just spoken."
Michelle glanced to the condemned. "Don't mind him. He's on drugs."
"Michelle..."
"No, Mike, really. He's on drugs. They've given him about one of everything."
Mike shook his head. "Oh, that makes me feel tons better. Is it really necessary for you to stay in there.
Michelle shrugged. "He asked me."
"That didn't mean you had to accept. I mean you don't accept every invitation you get."
"I know. Mike, there's something you should know. He invited me to something else."
"What!" Mike finally raised his voice. He looked to everyone in his living-room. "You're not going to believe this one." To Michelle he said, "You told him 'no' right?"
Michelle was sheepish, "I didn't exactly tell him yes."
"But you're going to tell him no, right?" There was silence. "Right?"
"I don't know."
While Michelle was listening to Mike tell her he wished she wouldn't the news came into the room that the ACLU had managed to get a stay. The whole mood of the room changed as the condemned deflated and fell into a sitting position against a wall.
Michelle looked to him. She herself was thrilled at the news, yet this was not what he wanted to hear at all. "Mike, I need to go."
"What's the matter."
"I'll tell you later," she said in a hurried sort of way and hung up not hearing Mike's final words.
The man that had just a few minutes before been the life of his own farewell party had withdrawn into himself. Michelle approached slowly and stooped beside him. Hiding it well she was probably the only happy person in the room. "Anything I can do?" Yeah, the words fell flat.
Without lifting his head his eyeballs rose to look at her. 'Haven't you and your do-gooders done enough?"
"Hey, don't credit my do-good....activists for this."
He finally lifted his head. "What's the difference?"
Michelle turned cocky "Well, my group would have pulled off more than a stay. You'd be fully commuted and on your way to a life sentence."
He gave an eye roll. "Thanks alot. I thought you were starting to like me a little. Or at least understand me?"
She started to say something but he cut her off abruptly. "I mean where were you when my father was beating me? Shit, that man hated me. Or he loved me. I don't know which. How about when I was sent to juvenile detention and woke up to a group of guys jacking off in my face..."
Michelle turned her head and stifled the gagging with her hand. He reached up and grabbed her wrist hard, then lightened his touch. "Never mind. You couldn't have known." Michelle turned back to him. "Look, you and your do-gooders fight your cause. It's a good one. Shout it from the roof tops. Just leave me the hell alone."
With those words Michelle started to rise but he stopped her. "I didn't mean personally. I like having you in here."
Michelle sighed. "That's the trouble. Your plan may have backfired. You wanted me to get to know you so I'd understand your desire to... die." She could barely get the word out.. But now that I do know you. I'd like to keep knowing you. I really don't want you to die."
Out of the blue he leaned over and kissed her cheek.
"I really didn't want you to do that either," she told him.
"So shoot me."
Michelle stifled a smirk. "Now that you have a stay isn't there anything I can say to get you to change your mind?"
"Look, I told my own mother to butt out. My brother left here in tears. What do you think I'm going to tell you?"
Michelle nodded, somewhat resigned but emotionally holding on to the stay that was in place. "I'm not very good at this, " she began out of nowhere, "but..." She stopped talking and held out her arms to him. Not being much for giving comforting embraces she was admittedly slightly disappointed that he accepted her gesture, sagging almost defeated against her, his head coming to rest on her shoulder.
They remained quietly like that for some time before a guard came over, "Break it up, you two."
Michelle threw him a look, "What, you've got a rule against hugging or something."
"They've told us to proceed," he informed her.
This news delighted the condemned whose hold on her changed from clingy despair to joy. He squeezed her excitedly before releasing her and pulling back. As the guard reached to drag him to his feet he asked quickly, "Will I see you there?"
Michelle nodded her answer.
At the Stoker house the television was still droning. The gathered group had now been joined by John Gage and Roy DeSoto. On the screen was the image of people on their way out of the prison, going to the execution site. The condemned's uncle having been asked to take care of her had a coat shielding Michelle's upper half so her face could not be seen on camera.
"Oh, my God, she's going to go through with it, " Mike groaned.
Still clutching her magazine Lorie said, "Are you sure that's her?"
Mike stared her down for a moment.
John Gage's voice was heard, "Yep that's her all right. I'd recognize that backside anywhere."
Captain Stanley sharply elbowed him. "You... you know 'twit' doesn't even cover it."
John leaned back. "What'd I say?"
It didn't matter, though, because Mike, totally engrossed in watching his wife being loaded into a van, had not heard.
Fran turned to her husband, "Why would Michelle go to witness that?"
Tim shrugged an answer but Mike's voice said evenly, "She promised."
Outside Utah State Prison a lone reporter approached the group from CASSM. "I just thought you'd like to know that your fearless leader is heading with them to the execution site."
This news was met by a collective gasp. Two of the Catholic members crossed themselves. Someone commented that Michelle was seeing it through to the end..... Then the realization hit. The state of Utah was going to go through with it. The deed was to be done.
The anti death penalty groups which had remained separate through the night slowly came together all stunned, not knowing what to say. Finally, a voice rose from the silent disbelief, "Our Father, who art in heaven...." Everyone gathered seemed to join in unison, "Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven....."
At the Stoker house voices chorused, "For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory."
Amen.
Michelle stood off to the side in the room where what seemed like a million reporters had congregated for a press conference. It was close to wall to wall TV cameras and still photographers. A few key people made statements. Then someone noticed her. Yes, she was the activist that had spent the night in the prison and then went on to witness. Suddenly, there were microphones in her face and flash bulbs bursting around her.
"What is your reaction now that it's over?"
Michelle spoke evenly. "There was a man killed in there today."
"But what is your opinion..."
"There was a man killed in there today," she repeated.
"Did witnessing change your view of the death penalty."
"Yes, it did," she answered matter-of-factly. "My view is now up close and personal and I am even more opposed to this abomination we call justice that ever before."
"What about the victim's families?" Michelle knew someone was bound to ask her that sooner or later.
"My heart goes out to those people. But rest assured that the events of this morning have not changed their circumstances. I am in no way condoning the actions of the condemned. He crossed the line into behavior that we supposedly consider unacceptable. I just don't see how we accomplish anything by crossing that line with him. Now if you don't mind... and even if you do, I just want to go home." She turned abruptly and found her way out.
Outside the prison, things had quieted considerably. The members of CASSM remained, waiting for Michelle. After what seemed an eternity they saw her emerge and start to cross a snow covered lawn, only to be stopped by the gentleman who took her inside in the first place.
"My nephew wanted you to have something, " he told her, presenting her with a plastic sandwich bag which held a torn, bloodied paper target.
"Gee, thanks," Michelle managed halfheartedly. Not knowing what to do she shoved it into the pocket of her jeans and headed to join her group.
Michelle responded to the concerns of the group, assuring them she was all right, tired, but all right. They accepted her words but the haunted look in her eyes betrayed the calmness in her voice. Like she told the reporters she just wanted to go home.
Michelle managed to get some rest on the short flight back to Los Angeles, no sleep, just some meditation. No one bothered her though she noticed pointing accompanied by faint whispers of, "I think that's her. You know, that woman who they took into the prison....."
Shortly before touching down a flight attendant approached informing her that she was to remain on board until all other passengers had deplaned. Michelle didn't understand why but complied. After the plane had emptied she looked up to see Sgt. Pete Malloy and Officer Jim Reed.
Pete smiled at her. "You look like hell."
Michelle rose from her seat, "I love you, too," she told him sarcastically. Then she added. "Was a police escort really necessary?"
Pete reached into the overhead bin and grabbed her bag. "You created quite a stir, darling. There are a number of reporters waiting, not to mention demonstrators."
Together they walked the ramp. When they reached the end Michelle could hear disturbance. Pete stopped her. "Okay, you know the drill. Keep your head down, let us guide you and don't acknowledge anyone."
Michelle nodded her assent and lowered her head.
Jim took her left arm. Taking hold of her right arm Pete said, "Let's do it."
Michelle's head came back up abruptly. "Did you have to say that?"
Pete looked to Jim who shook his head. Maybe she was just tired. They led her through the masses to their squad car where Mike sat waiting in the back seat. "This isn't the end of it," he told her. "Wait til we get home."
Reporters had gathered on the Stoker's lawn as well as the usual curiosity seekers. Jim attempted to keep them back as Mike and Pete led Michelle through their attempts to gain her attention. Reaching the porch two reporters who'd gotten passed Reed approached.
"Hey, what did you really do all that time inside the prison?" one asked.
"Yeah, did he get a conjugal visit out of you?" another inquired.
That question caused Michelle to break protocol. Pete shoved her head back down. Mike started to take a swing at the guy but Pete stopped him saying, "He's not worth it, man."
Mike relented guiding Michelle the rest of the way to the door. Pete gave the offending reporter a harder than necessary shove telling him to back off.
The reporter bristled, "Hey, that's assault."
Pete shrugged. "So call a cop."
Pete and Mike got Michelle safely inside while Jim Reed rounded up everyone on the lawn telling them they had just two minutes to clear out or they'd being going to lock up.
Inside everyone who had spent the long night with Mike had gathered in the vestibule. Michelle was greeted by a flurry of questions as to her physical, mental and emotional condition. Above the concern for her well-being a voice tapered off asking, "Does he look like his pic....ture?" Lorie turned sheepish as all eyes fixated daggers in her direction.
Michelle finally spoke. "Look , I really appreciate you all being here but I really just need to get some sleep." She turned and went down the hall.
Deciding to help clear everyone out Pete announced, "Okay, folks, time to go home. Say good-bye to Mike."
A parade line seemed to form as guests stopped to say parting words. Bev warned Mike that Lorie had gone outside earlier and given an interview to the press. Tim was last. "I'm not sure what to say here."
Mike squeezed Tim's shoulder. "We'll be fine. I don't think Michelle will be up to talking about it until she's had some sleep anyway." Tim opened his mouth to say something but Mike stopped him. "If I need anything I'll let you know." Tim hugged Mike, hard as if transferring an extra dose of strength. Mike kissed Tim's cheek in appreciation and reluctantly ended the moment. He needed to check his wife.
Pete Malloy glanced out the screen door as Tim left. "Looks like Reed's got your lawn cleared. If you want I can hang around and make sure you're not disturbed.
Mike shook his head. "No thanks. I think it will feel more normal if you leave."
"Alright, but don't hesitate to call if you get bombarded.... or even if you don't." He looked at Mike for a moment then held his arms out to him. Mike accepted the embrace. No words spoken they released their hold. Pete silently left the house leaving Mike to tend to Michelle.
In the bedroom Mike found that Michelle had changed into sweats and was lying flat on her back, her hands folded on her stomach, apparently asleep. Reaching down he picked up her clothes which she had abandoned in a heap on the floor and walked them to the hamper in the bathroom, making sure to check the pants pockets before dropping them in. Puzzled he withdrew the crumpled sandwich bag. He grimaced and became queasy at the realization of what he held in his hand.... a grotesque, macabre, part of history. Mike silently walked to the dresser and placed the offensive item in a fire safe jewel box that he had given her several years before.
Michelle stirred. "Mike?"
Mike neared the bed. "I thought you were asleep."
"Just thinking."
Mike perched at the edge of the bed. "About what? Forget I asked that." Mike grew pensive. "Michelle, what made you decide to... you know?"
"I don't really know what swayed me. There just seemed to come a moment when it was the only thing I could do. You know he forced me to face the very thing that I've been fighting all this time. And for that I will be forever grateful. It only validated that we're dealing not with a cause but with human beings."
Mike swallowed hard. "I actually admire you for doing it. I don't think I could have. You're a lot braver than I am."
Michelle almost smirked. "I'm not so brave." There was a pause. "You know how in the movies when you see a firing squad there's a lot of protocol. Someone ceremoniously shouts, 'Ready, Aim, Fire!'"
Mike nodded.
Michelle continued. "It wasn't like that at all. I mean they strapped him into this chair and moved away from him. We were all standing there wondering what was going to happen next and then... BAM! I had been planning on turning my head when they said 'aim,' It didn't work that way. They just did it.... It was so unreal. One minute they were talking with him... and the next....."
"I understand," Mike assured her. "It's like when we bring a victim out of a fire and they're still breathing yet we lose them on the scene. Sorry, I know it's different."
"That just the point. We have fires and disease and natural disasters... and, yes, senseless murders which I suppose could include war. There's enough death in this world. WHY DO WE NEED TO INTENTIONALLY CREATE MORE?