Death of a Killer

My name is Garrett Whitfield. I am the governor of South Carolina, elected in 2026. Currently, in 2029, I hold a 55% approval rating and will probably run for a second term in 2030 although I am 65 years old. I have many issues to contend with, but one that is looming is the execution of an inmate on death row. In 2023, the S.C. Legislature passed a law stating a death row inmate could choose death either by electric chair or by firing squad. The reason for this was the lack of drugs necessary for lethal injection and also the many botched deaths using drugs. As governor, I cannot stay an execution, but the S.C. Supreme Court can. Today is Thursday, January 25, 2029, and time is running out for Gordon Blackmon. Blackmon has been on death row for 25 years. All appeals have failed. He is scheduled to die by firing squad at 2 a.m. Sunday, January 28, 2029. I, Garrett Whitfield, Governor of South Carolina, do not give a damn.

My name is Gordon Blackmon. I have been on death row at the Broad River Correctional Institute in Columbia, S.C. since 2004. I was held for 10 years prior in the same facility awaiting trial. My trial was held in 2000 and took four years to complete. I was found guilty of killing a ten year old girl in 1994 and sentenced to death in 2004. All appeals have failed and I will die this Sunday, very early in the morning unless the S.C. Supreme Court grants me a stay of execution.

Waiting for the time to pass until the execution. I go about my business as governor. Meet and greet. Conferences. Harassed about this upcoming execution. Protestors outside my office at the Capitol. Spending time with my wife, Mary and my 40 year old son, Seth and his family. Seth is retired military and has a ten year old daughter who is the light of all our lives. For the next few days, my work load is light. My assistant, Toni, looks out for me.

"Blackmon, today is the day", Warden Oakley informs me. I am more than aware and have thought about my last requests. A priest? See my ailing mother? Say goodbye? Say I am sorry? Eat steak or lobster? Oh, well. I have a few hours. It is 6 a.m. and I have until 2 a.m. I have already chosen firing squad. This other stuff is not all that important.

Usually I am not in my office on Saturday mornings, but I decided to stay at the capitol for most of the day today. The execution of Blackmon will take place early tomorrow morning. I will go home for a late dinner with my family and then head on over to the prison. I plan to be there when Gordon Blackmon goes to his fiery hell .

I decided on lobster and all the fixings along with all the S.C. sweet tea I could drink for my final meal. Now. I wait. Will I get a stay? If there is no news by 12 a.m., execution is a go. I ask for a priest. Father Carl arrives. I tell him I need to confess. He wrinkles his forehead. Thirty five years ago, I killed a little girl. I snatched her while she was standing at the bus stop near Lexington Elementary School. I was 18 and high on cocaine. I killed her in my truck. She was screaming and crying and I wanted her to shut up. I choked her to death. I am not sure why I snatched her or why I killed her. I threw her body in a dumpster behind the Piggie Park restaurant on Clemson Road. Cops found me after three days.

It is time. I watch the clock outside my solitary cell. 12 a.m. comes and goes. No stay. Warden comes down the hall and tells me it is time for me to go. Execution will take place at 2 a.m. Sunday January 28, 2029, I wait for the time to pass.

Governor Whitfield and a few of his assistants arrive at the prison at 1 a.m. He and his entourage are ushered to the viewing area which has been set up in a small cement block room. They sit on risers because a brick wall with openings for rifles is in front of them. A few yards away sits a single chair. The chair is for the condemned.

The chair is where Blackmon will spend his final minutes in this world. Governor Whitfield smiles a wry smile.

"Blackmon, let's go", Warden Oakley commands. My hands are in handcuffs and I shuffle slowly down the long hallway of Death Row. The inmates bang their cups on the bars and shout, "Dead Man Walking" as I pass. I am escorted to a door that leads to the small cement block cubicle of execution. Someone places a hood over my head and pushes me into the chair. A rope is placed around by waist and legs.

Spectators are seated on risers opposite the condemned. Governor Whitfield is on the first row. A few reporters are in the stands. At the appointed time, 2 a.m.. 5 armed men enter in front of the spectators and behind the brick wall. Their faces are covered and they carry .30 caliber Winchester rifles. A white target has been placed on Blackmon's chest. In the stillness, a command is given. "Ready. Aim. Fire"! Gunshots ring out. Blackmon slumps forward. A doctor rushes over. Blackmon is pronounced dead at 2:05 a.m., January 28, 2029.

Governor Whitfield covers his eyes for a moment. When he removes his hands from his eyes, tears are streaming down his face. One of the sharpshooters removes his face cover and rushes over to the governor. "It's done, sir. I killed the monster who took our Jeannie's life so long ago." Governor Whitfield raised his eyes. He looked straight into the eyes of his son.