Thy Will Be Done - Chapter 1

         The light from the full moon is the only light that fills the dank, cavernous space, which has been Stephen Hanson’s cell for the past 10 years.  Appellate court rulings, competency hearings, and even a last minute plea to the Governor.  That’s all in the past now.  The sound of footsteps breaks the late night silence.  Not many of the prisoners on “The Row” are sleeping, all are quiet, knowing full well that Hanson’s fate will someday be theirs as well.

         Reaching into his denim blue prison issued shirt, he takes out a pack of cigarettes, chuckling for a moment reading the warning label on the side of the package.  Lighting the cigarette, he is blinded for a moment as three silhouettes reach the outside of the cell door.  As his vision returns, he notices a white collar first, then the shiny silver badges of the guards escorting the prison chaplain, Father Anderson, to the final moments of Hanson’s life.

         The sound of the cell door bolt echoes through the prison like a gunshot in the night.  Normally, the guards would come into the cell with Father Anderson, but not with Hanson.  Hanson has been a model prisoner since entering the Leonard Phelps Maximum Security Prison in West River.  In the beginning there were the ritualistic aspects of prison, like initiations and fights, but that all calmed down for Hanson once he proved himself to the other prisoners on The Row.  Hanson also gained the respect of the prison officials.  While he was in prison for murder, he was an honest man, something even his fellow inmates respected.

         “Hey Hanson, you know the routine, right?”, said Bubba, one of the guards that Hanson had befriended during his time in Phelps.  Looking over at Father Anderson, he hesitantly asked, “Do you want me to stick around Padre?”

         With an Irish brogue, the priest looked back and brushed him off.  “I don’t think I’ll be having a problem with this one, you can leave us be.”  Turning back towards Hanson, Father Anderson looked up and grinned, “Now, don’t be making me regret that son.”  Looking at the cigarette, he was going to scold Hanson for smoking, but then thought better of himself.  “What the hell”, he thought, “the poor bastard’s gonna die soon anyway.  Let him have his smoke.”  As Bubba and the other guard walked away, the older priest reached into his coat and pulled out a flask of whisky, handing it to Hanson.  Normally he’d take a hit off the bottle himself before coming into the prison, and save some for later in the morning.  Not tonight.  He saved the entire contents for Hanson on his last night on earth.

         Uncapping the flask, Hanson is grateful.  “Care to share my last drink with me, Father?”

         “No son, this one is all yours.”  Father Anderson knows the reality is set into motion, and right now it is not in the hands of the Creator, but in the hands of an unknown prison guard who will inject this man with chemicals and end his life.  While Hanson is guilty of murdering dozens of people, there’s a part of Father Anderson that feels sorry, and even guilty, for Hanson, his acts and his inevitable fate.  “Maybe the governor will call.  Maybe all the news coverage will help sway his opinion about this man and spare him his life.”

         Trying to inject some levity to the situation, Hanson points out, “Well, lets get going Father, we don’t have all night!”  Both men get a small chuckle out of the comment and realize that the time is near for the walk to the death chamber.  Hanson wonders, “Will anyone I know come to see the execution?”  Father Anderson realizes time is of the essence, and begins to perform the sign of the cross with Hanson.  Hanson takes a drag of the cigarette, breathing in the smoke before starting the Catholic ritual.  “Forgive me father for I have sinned.”  He pauses for a moment, reflecting on the element of this event.  “It’s been a long time since my last confession, and these are my sins.”