Lies & Harmony Trilogy

Chapter Eighteen: Execution

They drag me into a dark room. I don’t have any recollection of waking up, just hands on my arms, pulling me away. When I am finally aware, I find myself sitting on a hard chair in a poorly lit room.

     The only other item in the room is an old television. I frown, trying to make sense of it. Televisions had its place in the hospital, but we were never really allowed to watch whatever went on the screen. I have never been able to quell that curiosity and was always caught trying to sneak a look. Now that I’m actually in front of one makes me feel uneasy. Maybe I do not want to watch what goes on at all.

     No. The reason why I’m feeling like this is because there’s a sense of foreboding. Something bad is going to happen on screen. What kind of bad, I don’t know. I’m afraid to know. I’d rather not know.

     Ignorance is bliss.

     I get up from the chair, relieved to find that there are no ropes tying me in place. I begin to head away when shadows of people push me back down into the chair, forbidding escape. I twist my head around, seeing more shadows of people behind me. One steps into the lighting, looking down at me with solemn eyes.

     “Tabitha,” I say, my voice sounding hoarse in my own ears. I try to ask her what’s going on, but the words won’t come out. She gives me a meaningful look, but it is lost on me.

     “I’m sorry,” she says, and she truly sounds regretful. Why she is doing this confounds me. I shake my head at her, giving her a bewildered look. She doesn’t respond. Instead, she puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Harmony. You have to watch this.”

     My attention goes back on the screen, which now flickers. My heart pounds quickly, fear beginning to rise. “What is going on?” I cry, wishing that someone would explain this to me.

     The image is now apparent on the screen: a cold mirage of colours that swirl together to form what will become my pain.

     This is when I know that it is essential that I leave this room.

     I get up from my seat and run towards my right before anyone can react. I don’t even know where the exit is, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I need to leave before something bad happens. Before I can even get the seventh step, firm arms grab me, hauling me back. I scream and thrash, trying to get away. I need to get away. This is not going to end well. I do not want to see what is happening on the television screen.

     Tabitha’s voice is suddenly in my ear. “Watch,” she says, and then I am back on my chair again. I try to move, but it seems that they have finally tied tight ropes around me. I can’t move my head. My eyes are fixed in the direction of the screen. I can’t close my eyes. I can’t do anything but watch the horror unfolding in front of me.

     Figures in white uniforms appear in the screen. There must be hundreds of them—I can’t see their faces, but they all look disfigured in some horrible, grotesque way. The focus shifts, faces showing more clearly. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. They’re green—a sick, twisted shade of green that reminds me of my childhood phantom: Mr. Lizard. Their eyes bulge out unnaturally and their mouths are stretched out in hating sneers. My eyes are riveted on the screen. I cannot look away no matter how haunting they are.

     Finally, the crowd of white and green part to reveal a chair not unlike the one I am sitting on. And not unlike me, there is someone sitting there, tied to the chair and struggling.

     The clothes the person wears are black—a stark contrast to the whiteness around him. The prisoner’s head is down, and I can see blood clumps on his light hair.

     “Welcome!” a sibilant and nefarious voice announces. “Welcome to execution! Today’s traitor is Rush Chaisty!”

     The cheers are ravenously tumultuous and overwhelm me.  It echoes from all four corners of the room even though it is only coming from the screen. The sound of the bloodlust in their tone sickens me. What’s even worse is that this is Rush. I try to meet Tabitha’s gaze, but something has my head in its grip and does not allow my eyes to wander from the screen. A growing lump forms in my throat. Why are they showing me this? I don’t want to watch Rush’s execution. I don’t. When I try to put it in words and hope that someone takes mercy on me, I can’t form the words. My voice has failed me. I can do nothing but watch now.

     Rush lifts his head, staring at the screen with green eyes that are so void of life and spirit that I nearly cry out. My heart leaps out for him. He knows that it’s over. It’s too late. He accepts this fate. I don’t.

     Rush, I think, Rush, please, please don’t give up.

     My message is lost. He doesn’t see me. He doesn’t hear me. He has tuned out on everyone now. He can only see the executioner bearing down on him.

     Despite my wish to keep my emotions locked tightly inside of me, I can’t. I strain in my seat, wishing that I can do something about this even though I know that I can’t do anything about it. We’re miles apart. I can’t jump through the screen. I can only watch, helplessly.

     The voice who announced Rush in the beginning speaks again, telling of all of Rush’s trespasses against the law. The crowd roars in approval when the voice says that Rush’s penalty is death.

     Nothing changes in Rush’s expression. I stare at him, hoping for some kind of reaction: a flicker of eyes, showing that he has a plan ready, or even just a tremble of his lips to indicate his fear. Instead, I get nothing. He gives nothing.

     Except one thing.

     He lifts his eyes up a little until they’re at level with mine. My breath catches, and we stare at each other for a long moment while the executioner, dressed in a billowing white robe, walks towards him with a gun in hand.

     The executioner walks around him, pressing the gun in his hand against the back of Rush’s skull. Nobody asks him for last words.

     We stare a moment longer, and I feel like he’s really seeing me through the screen, through the miles that we are apart in this brief moment.

     Then the gun clicks.

     And then there’s a deafening bang.

     His eyes are glassy.

     It’s all over.

But it’s not.

     I gasp for air, my eyes widening. It was all a dream. I laugh, shaking with relief.

     That is until I realize that someone has me in their grip and is pulling me through a window—just like when Gordon pulled me through the window of the hospital.

     This time, it’s not Gordon.