The sun broke through the clouds as
rain pelted Frank's cell window. The Devil must be fighting with his
wife he thought to himself while silently praying that the Devil
would be so preoccupied that he would manage to not notice Frank's
arrival. Frank was not a religious man until a month before his last
appeal to his execution fell through for the fourth time.
Frank had spent the last six years on
death row for murder. He was guilty and knew he was guilty. His
lawyer had convinced him to plead insanity and Frank agreed until the
psychologists tests made him begin to believe that he was actually
crazy. But Frank knew he wasn't crazy. He remembered most of what
happened the night he killed his wife.
“Where's the remote?” his wife
Stacy asked. She grabbed the edge of the coffee table to hoist
herself up, moving it and causing her glass of whiskey to fall to the
floor. “Goddamn it!” she shouted. Frank ran into the living room
and saw her on her hands and knees using her shirt to dry the floor.
“You gonna just stand there like some sorta idiot or fucking help
me?” Frank took a white towel from the closet and got down on his
knees to help. “Not that towel, you fucking moron! Get one of the
dark ones!” Frank sighed and propped himself up using the couch. It
slid under his considerable weight and smashed against the wall.
“Easy there, fatty” Stacy said and laughed to herself.
Frank was not fat, but he was large. He
stood at 6'4” and 260lbs. He played football in college until a
shoulder injury sidelined him and wrecked his scholarship. That was
when he met Stacy. Even then she had a drinking problem that he
assumed she would grow out of. The longest time she had stopped
drinking was during her pregnancy. She stopped drinking for three
months but began drinking more heavily after the miscarriage.
Frank stood at the closet door staring
at the towels. He found a dark blue one and removed it. He walked
back into the living room and watched as Stacy pulled the bottom of
her short to her mouth and sucked whiskey from it. She noticed him
watching and rolled her eyes.
“You should take a picture” she
said. Frank smiled. “Give me the towel, you idiot.” Frank slowly
walked towards her as she continued to soak up the floor with her
shirt. She held out her hand and Frank grabbed her wrist and pulled
as hard as he could. Stacy opened her mouth to scream and Frank
punched her in the mouth harder than he's ever hit anything in his
life. He broke three fingers and dislocated his wrist.
He stood over her body and heard
himself laughing. After that everything is broken into bits and
pieces. He vaguely recalls washing his hands. He definitely does not
remember calling the police but the recording played during his trial
showed that he indeed did.
And he sounded happier than he ever has in his life.
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