Ted's Original Narrative

“A Man’s Last Hours”

      Jenkins couldn’t understand why the police showed up at his front door that day. He had seen the reports of the 4 year old boy’s murder on the news; in fact it was the biggest story in the news lately. But he didn’t know anything about the murder, he didn't even know the family. As he was being hauled away he simply smiled and assured his family everything was okay. He kept thinking it was some kind of mix-up, a big misunderstanding.

      Jenkins soon realized things were worse than he first suspected, his interrogators had vengeance on their minds and they were so sure of his guilt. They asked him if he owned a gun, Jenkins said yes but it had been stolen a couple weeks ago. He had been meaning to report it; it had just slipped his mind. They didn’t even listen to his story, they just waited until he was finished and told him his gun was, in fact, the murder weapon and his prints were the only ones on it. His confidence was quickly replaced with shock, and he suddenly felt very alone. All he could muster was “Why won’t you believe me?”

      The trial was quick. Despite the lack of motive or any other evidence the prosecution managed to convince the jury that Jenkins had killed the boy. The town was more interested in swift justice than any reasonable doubt. And just like that a good man’s life was turned upside down.

      They say there is no slower time on earth than the time spent on death row in San Quentin State Prison. That is until your minutes are numbered and your end is imminent. Joe Jenkins now lies in his bunk and mulls this over while staring hopelessly up at the ceiling of his 5 by 8 cell. He begins to long for the endless days and nights. He can’t recall a time in his life when ever felt this tired and defeated.

      When you’re on the row the only thing that can save you is a call from the governor. Considering everything that his lawyers had tried there was never any real hope of that. With nothing else to do and eager to get his mind off of a hopeless pardon, Jenkins sat up and began to reread the letter he had gotten just a few days ago. He had read this letter nearly a hundred times; it was from the little boy’s family. It read:

      After reading the letter he cautiously placed it in the Bible on the end of his bed. The letter made him angry; it made him angrier every time he read it. He couldn’t stand the thought of being blamed for these horrible things. He was just as much a victim in all this as anyone else. Yet there was no one for him to write a letter to, no one had listened to him since he was yanked from his home 23 years ago. The rage began to stew inside.

      He heard footsteps coming down the corridor; they were moving at a brisk pace and stopped at his cell door. He looked up a saw a robust figure standing on the other side of the bars. Jenkins had never met this man in person, but knew his reputation. The man was Warden Jingles. Jenkins had heard rumors of the Warden coming into prisoner’s cells and pistol whipping them prior to their execution. They called it a “going away party.”

      Mr. Jingles pulled out a set of keys and began opening the cell door. He stepped in the cell, closed the door and stared down at Jenkins sitting on his bed. Jenkins still boiling with anger and hatred from reading the letter could not stand the thought of being beat one last time. He looked up and saw the Warden reaching in his blazer’s left pocket. Jenkins leaped from his bunk grabbing the Warden and began slamming his head into the steel sink. Jenkins, knowing his fate was sealed, was not about to take a beating from this fat, pompous lunatic. By the time the guard had opened the door and drawn his gun the warden was dead. Jenkins sat back down on the bed and looked at the warden’s dead body and noticed a crumpled piece of paper in his hand where he’d suspected the pistol would have been. He slowly reached down for it and began to read.

      Jenkins frantically read the words, pausing briefly at the important parts, “fully confessed to the crimes” “free of all charges” “full pardon”. What had he done. The murderer had finally, after all this time, come forward and confessed. Warden Jingles was never going to beat him, he was coming to tell him he wasn’t going to be executed, that he was free. He looked down again at the blood spreading across the cell floor and realized for the first time in his life he was guilty and he would never again be free.