"Man Called Frank" Part 1

Based on a true story.

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.