who elected me - and who expect me to honor my campaign promises.
It's not the same thing.
That's true, he agreed. It's not the same. That's why, when you leave here tonight, I don't want you to blame yourself for anything. You did the best you could. Now it's up to me to make a decision. And I'm making it. I don't believe Raul Fernandez is innocent. But if you believe it, I don't want you feeling responsible for his death.
Jack looked into his father's eyes. He knew the man was reaching out - that he was looking for something from his son, some reciprocal acknowledgment that Jack didn't blame him, either, for doing his job. Harold Swyteck wanted absolution, forgiveness - a pardon.
Jack glanced away. He would not - could not - allow the moment to weaken his resolve. Don't worry, Father, I won't blame myself. It's like you always used to tell me: We're all responsible for our own actions. If an innocent man dies in the electric chair, you're the governor. You're responsible. You're the one to blame.
Jack's words struck a nerve. The governor's face flushed red with fury as every conciliatory sentiment drained away. There is no one to blame, he declared. No one but Fernandez himself. You're being played for a sucker. Fernandez and his buddy are using you. Why do you think this character didn't tell you his name or even show you his face?
Because he doesn't want to get caught, Jack answered, but he doesn't want an innocent man to die.
A killer - especially one guilty of this sort of savagery - doesn't want an innocent man to die? Harry Swyteck shook his head condescendingly. It's ironic, Jack - he spoke out of anger now - but sometimes you almost make me glad your mother never lived to see what a thick-headed son she brought into the world.
Jack quickly rose from his chair. I don't have to take this crap from you.
I'm your father! Harry blustered. You'll take whatever I -
No! I'll take nothing from you. I've never asked for anything. And I don't want anything. Ever. He stormed toward the door.
Wait! the governor shouted, freezing him in his tracks. Jack turned around slowly and glared at his father. Listen to me, young man. Fernandez is going to be executed this morning, because I don't believe any of this nonsense about his being innocent. No more than I believed the eleventh-hour story from the last innocent man' we executed - the one who claimed it was only an accident that he stabbed his girlfriend - he paused, so furious he was out of breath - twenty-one times.
You've become an incredibly narrow-minded old man, Jack said.
The governor stood stoically at the bar. Get out, Jack. Get out of my house.
Jack turned and marched down the hall, his boots punishing the mansion's hard wooden floor. He threw the front door open, then stopped at the tinkling sound of his father filling his empty scotch glass with ice cubes. Drink up, Governor! his voice echoed in the hallway. Do us all a favor, and drink yourself to death.
He slammed the door and left.
Chapter 2
Death was just minutes away for Raul Fernandez. He sat on the edge of the bunk in his cell, shoulders slumped, bald head bowed, and hands folded between his knees. Father JosE Ramirez, a Roman Catholic priest, was at the prisoner's side, dressed all in black save for his white hair and Roman collar. Rosary beads were draped over one knee, an open Bible rested on the other. He was looking at Fernandez with concern, almost desperation, as he tried once more to cleanse the man's soul.
Murder is a mortal sin, Raul, he said. Heaven holds no place for those who die without confessing their mortal sins. In John, chapter twenty, Jesus tells his disciples: Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you hold bound are held bound.' Let me hear your sins, Raul. So that you may be forgiven them.
Fernandez looked him directly in the eye. Father, he said with all the sincerity he could muster, right now, I have nothing to lose by telling you the truth. And I'm
It's not the same thing.
That's true, he agreed. It's not the same. That's why, when you leave here tonight, I don't want you to blame yourself for anything. You did the best you could. Now it's up to me to make a decision. And I'm making it. I don't believe Raul Fernandez is innocent. But if you believe it, I don't want you feeling responsible for his death.
Jack looked into his father's eyes. He knew the man was reaching out - that he was looking for something from his son, some reciprocal acknowledgment that Jack didn't blame him, either, for doing his job. Harold Swyteck wanted absolution, forgiveness - a pardon.
Jack glanced away. He would not - could not - allow the moment to weaken his resolve. Don't worry, Father, I won't blame myself. It's like you always used to tell me: We're all responsible for our own actions. If an innocent man dies in the electric chair, you're the governor. You're responsible. You're the one to blame.
Jack's words struck a nerve. The governor's face flushed red with fury as every conciliatory sentiment drained away. There is no one to blame, he declared. No one but Fernandez himself. You're being played for a sucker. Fernandez and his buddy are using you. Why do you think this character didn't tell you his name or even show you his face?
Because he doesn't want to get caught, Jack answered, but he doesn't want an innocent man to die.
A killer - especially one guilty of this sort of savagery - doesn't want an innocent man to die? Harry Swyteck shook his head condescendingly. It's ironic, Jack - he spoke out of anger now - but sometimes you almost make me glad your mother never lived to see what a thick-headed son she brought into the world.
Jack quickly rose from his chair. I don't have to take this crap from you.
I'm your father! Harry blustered. You'll take whatever I -
No! I'll take nothing from you. I've never asked for anything. And I don't want anything. Ever. He stormed toward the door.
Wait! the governor shouted, freezing him in his tracks. Jack turned around slowly and glared at his father. Listen to me, young man. Fernandez is going to be executed this morning, because I don't believe any of this nonsense about his being innocent. No more than I believed the eleventh-hour story from the last innocent man' we executed - the one who claimed it was only an accident that he stabbed his girlfriend - he paused, so furious he was out of breath - twenty-one times.
You've become an incredibly narrow-minded old man, Jack said.
The governor stood stoically at the bar. Get out, Jack. Get out of my house.
Jack turned and marched down the hall, his boots punishing the mansion's hard wooden floor. He threw the front door open, then stopped at the tinkling sound of his father filling his empty scotch glass with ice cubes. Drink up, Governor! his voice echoed in the hallway. Do us all a favor, and drink yourself to death.
He slammed the door and left.
Chapter 2
Death was just minutes away for Raul Fernandez. He sat on the edge of the bunk in his cell, shoulders slumped, bald head bowed, and hands folded between his knees. Father JosE Ramirez, a Roman Catholic priest, was at the prisoner's side, dressed all in black save for his white hair and Roman collar. Rosary beads were draped over one knee, an open Bible rested on the other. He was looking at Fernandez with concern, almost desperation, as he tried once more to cleanse the man's soul.
Murder is a mortal sin, Raul, he said. Heaven holds no place for those who die without confessing their mortal sins. In John, chapter twenty, Jesus tells his disciples: Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you hold bound are held bound.' Let me hear your sins, Raul. So that you may be forgiven them.
Fernandez looked him directly in the eye. Father, he said with all the sincerity he could muster, right now, I have nothing to lose by telling you the truth. And I'm