Billie Goes To The Gas Chamber
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1953
If it had been anyone else, Billie wouldn't be in this situation. She may have gotten life in prison. Maybe she would get manslaughter charges, and been jailed just for a brief time. Or maybe she would have avoided prison altogether, on the basis that she had murdered in self defense. But, she had killed her lover, the governor's son, a man with political ambitions of his own. Her fate was sealed the moment that she fired the fatal shot into his heart. Francis Robinson Jr., or Frank as he was always called to differentiate him from his father, had a bright future in politics, as well as having a wife and child, with another one on the way.
But the position he was in, had sealed her fate, even if she hadn't meant to kill him. Even if she was doing it to protect herself. She would die by gas chamber. And she was fine with it. She hadn't meant to murder Frank. And even though in the last moments of his life, he was terrible to her, she was still sorry that he was dead. She felt terrible guilt that she had murdered him. Her fate didn't scare her. In the seven months that she had been on death row, she had come to terms with her fate. She hadn't tried to appeal her sentence, she knew that there was no way that it would be accepted. She would go to the gas chamber with dignity. She would walk with her head held high. She wouldn't cry, or at least, she hoped that she wouldn't. She would profess her sorrows of her murdered lover, and she would gladly welcome her death.
She always thought that she would spend some time in jail or in prison, but ending up in the gas chamber was something that she had never thought of. She grew up in a small town in middle of nowhere Kentucky during the Great Depression. As the eldest of five children, her mother always told her she should have to make the most sacrifices. If there wasn't enough food to go around, Billie was expected to forfeit her food, so one of the younger ones could eat. As a result, she had stolen food from the general store from time to time. It wasn't out of malice at all, she was just starving. The few times she was caught, the police hadn't been called, but she was brought to her mother, who would give her a few slaps for it. The war came and hand't changer her families fortune hadn't changed. When she was eighteen, in 1947, she got fed up with her home. In the middle of the night, she stole some of her mother's money and ran away to New York City, with dreams of becoming an actress on Broadway. But it didn't work out well. She had been arrested and spent the night in jail a few times for soliciting prostitution. But, when she was twenty, she finally got work on a show. It wasn't much, just a chorus girl, but she was thrilled.
Frank had been there, and he went to see the cast backstage. All the women, including Billie had been smitten with him. But the only one he seemed smitten with was Billie. From there, the affair began. He was already married, expecting his first child, but had confided in Billie that he was only married to his wife for the connections she had. He spoiled Billie. He paid for her to have a nice apartment, and even gave her a small staff with a cook and a few maids. He bought her fancy jewelry and expensive clothes. He made Billie feel like a princess. For a little girl from Kentucky who came from a dirt poor family, to being the mistress of a man who, in all likelihood, would have a decent shot at becoming president.
And in an instant, he had changed. He had gone out of town for a few days. On the day he came back, he went to Billie's apartment, drunk out of his mind, in a way Billie had never seen him before. He wanted to have sex, but Billie had wanted to talk to him. They'd been together for three years at that point, and had a lot of sex. It wasn't like that was any secret. But they're relationship wasn't purely sex. Frank had said that he would pick Billie over his wife. And he had called her his wife in his heart. And there was never anything forceful in their relationship. While they often had sex, sometimes they just liked to lay in bed, kiss and enjoy each other's company. Usually after Billie had a rough day of rehearsals or Frank had a rough day of politics. He had come in, and kissed Billie hard, while taking off his pants.
"Honey," Billie had giggled, pulling away from his kiss. "Wait a minute. You've been gone for days. I missed you. Tell me about your trip."
But he didn't stop. He continued kissing her hard. He had done so many times before, but this was different. She was actually afraid of him. He had given her a gun, to keep in her nightstand drawer, in case someone was stupid enough to break in, or she had to defend herself. She had never needed to use it before, but now, she felt the need to defend herself. She quickly opened the drawer and took out the gun, an action that caused him to jump off of her, in shock. But after a moment, he smiled. It was a sick smile that disgusted Billie. Billie didn't think that she had it in her to actually shoot him. And apparently Frank didn't either.
"You're not going to use it," he mocked. "Just put the gun away and let's fuck."
The way he spoke was foreign to Billie. She had never seen her lover act this way. And she did not want to sleep with him tonight. Not when was like this. He began taking off his shirt and Billie cocked the gun. Once his shirt was off he began making his way back to Billie. Billie closed her eyes tightly and pulled the trigger. She wasn't even aiming. She had hoped to shoot him in some place where it wouldn't be fatal. But she wasn't looking, and had actually managed to hit him in his heart. He was dead before he even hit the floor.
Billie slowly opened her eyes and screamed at what she had done, an immense feeling of guilt washing over her. She ran over to Frank's body. She had been wearing an extravagant robe in pink. Underneath was a pink silk nightgown. Frank had given them to her. Whenever she wore it, she felt like a movie star. Now, it was beginning to stain red with Frank's blood. As she sat next to her lover's body, she couldn't move. She couldn't believe that she had shot him. She couldn't believe that she could kill him. She could barely bring herself to nod her head when she heard Katie, the eighteen-year-old maid, when Katie asked Billie if she wanted her to call for help.
At Katie's call that someone had been shot, not only did an ambulance come, but so did the police. Frank was clearly dead by the time they had come, there was nothing that could be done for him. The fact that Billie was still bent over his body, whispering 'I killed him, I killed him' over and over again, was the enough for the police to arrest him. There was no resisting on Billie's part. She allowed the police to drag her up and handcuff her wrists behind her back. She complied completely as they took Billie out of the apartment, only stopping when Katie pointed out that Billie wasn't wearing shoes, and they allowed her to put black shoes with a small heel on Billie's feet. News spread quickly that Billie was the one to shoot and kill the governor's son, and her case immediately made headlines. A poor girl who become a Broadway performer and the mistress of a politician, who happened to be the governor's son. Reporters latched on to the story. During her trial, while going from the courthouse to the jail, she was constantly surrounded by reporters, each one clamoring to get a statement from her. But she would give them nothing. The only statement she gave was:
"You heard me profess my guilt. That's all you'll get."
And she was completely honest. She told him that she had shot him. She told them her reasoning and professed her guilt, not hiding anything. She knew that the sentence would be death, even if she did plead guilty. And that was fine with her. She had no problems with that. The governor was in the courtroom, staring at Billie with disgust. She had met him before. Frank had never been shy about Billie. Oddly enough, Frank remained immensely popular with the public, despite flaunting around his mistress. But Francis Robinson, Sr. had never liked Billie. He saw her as a gold-digging slut. And when the sentence of death was pronounced, Billie could see a bit of glee in his eye. Billie was led away from the courthouse with her hands cuffed behind her. The sentence had been pronounced to the crowd of reporters just before Billie had walked out. And she was once again clamored by the reporters, trying to get some kind of statement, but Billie wouldn't give them anything. She was led to the police car and back to the jail. They believed it would be less of a hassle to transport her to the state prison from there than from the court house, where reporters where everywhere.
And in the state prison was where Billie had been for the last seven months, awaiting her execution. Upon arriving at the prison, she was given a dark blue jacket with the numbers 887346 sewn onto the left breast and a matching dark blue skirt and prison issued shoes. Black flat shoes. She was allowed to keep her underwear, her white panties and white slip. She was led to a cell that had only the bare essentials.
On her first morning there, two guards passed by her cell. One was holding a newspaper. She could see the front page. There were two pictures of her. On one side was a picture of her in a costume, a strapless leotard adorned with lots of feathers. On the other, there was her mugshot. Both pictures were in black and white, but Billie could see them in bright colors. She could see her brown hair and brown eyes. She could see the bright purple of the leotard and she could see the pale pink robe in her mugshot. Billie could tell though, it wasn't the guards attempting to mock her. They didn't even look at her as they passed. They clearly just didn't notice.
Over her months in prison, she was approached several times, being told of various news outlets that would love to have an interview with her. She would respond with the same thing. "Tell them to go fuck themselves." She wasn't going to give anyone an interview. What was there to say? She had admitted to doing it. She had admitted to regretting it. She had apologized profusely to his family, well aware that it was little, knowing they would never get their husband, father and son back. That was all there was to say.
She heard about the governor though. He was happy to oblige the press. He told them that he would be attending be attending the execution, as well as Muriel Robinson, Frank's widow. He had said that there was no chance he would consider pardoning her. And even though Billie wouldn't appeal, she suspected it would be thrown out before it was considered. Francis Robinson would see her dead.
On the night before her execution, Mrs. Dempsey, a matron whom Billie had become close to, as well as a critic of the governor, came to Billie's cell.
"We're going to move you to the death cell now," Mrs. Dempsey said gently. She took out a pair of handcuffs and put them around Billie's wrists. Leading her away from death row, and to the death cell. At the end of the hall, there was a door that let to a room with a single cell. In front of the cell was a carpet that led to another door. Mrs. Dempsey unlocked the cell door and Billie walked in.
"Would you like some paper and a pen, dear?" Mrs. Dempsey asked, removing the handcuffs from Billie's wrists. "To write to your family.
"No, thank you, Mrs. Dempsey," said Billie sitting on the bed. "Thank you for all your kindness."
Mrs. Dempsey nodded and left Billie alone. Her case had made national headlines. There were even people saying she didn't deserve to be executed, that she did what she did in self-defense. Her location was stated in the papers: New York State Prison For Women. She hadn't moved in over seven months. She was sure that if they wanted to see her, they would have come. And besides, she didn't even know where they were.
She had two sisters that were old enough to be married with families of their own. And she didn't even know if they had even left Kentucky. Or, at least that small town. Besides, she doubted that her mother forgave her for stealing money for the train ticket and for abandoning the family. She doubted her siblings would have forgiven her, as well. She had helped take care of them, and they saw her as another mother.
That night, Billie laid on the bed, after saying a quick prayer, asking for forgiveness. She tried to sleep, but sleep would not come. She was telling herself she did not sleep, for she would sleep tomorrow. She didn't even know what time her execution would take place. All she was told was that it would be tomorrow. Time seemed to move slowly. There was only one dimmed light in the death cell. And there were no windows. She hadn't even realized that she wouldn't be able to savor her last sunrise. Yesterday morning, it had been just another sunrise, only now she realized that it was her last sunrise.
At some point, Billie didn't know what time it was exactly, the light brightened and Mrs. Dempsey walked to the cell with a bowl of porridge.
"Hello, dear," said Mrs. Dempsey, unlocking, opening, and walking into the cell. She set the bowl down on the table. "I brought you some food."
"Thank you, Mrs. Dempsey," said Billie sincerely. "But I don't have the appetite. What time is it?"
"Seven, dear," said Mrs. Dempsey, sitting beside Billie on the bed.
"And how long do I have?" Billie asked.
"About three hours," said Mrs. Dempsey. "At ten."
Billie nodded. Three hours. That's all she had. It almost seemed surreal. Not even one year ago, she had been in happy relationship with an up and coming politician. And in a few hours, she would be dead. Executed in a prison.
"Would you like to see a chaplain?" Mrs. Dempsey asked.
"No," said Billie, shaking her head slightly. "I prayed last night. I asked for forgiveness. Whether I receive it is in God's hands."
"All right," said Mrs. Dempsey. "There is something a little unpleasant that must be done, but remember. It's just you and me."
"What?" Billie asked, suddenly getting nervous.
"I'll need your slip," said Mrs. Dempsey gently. "The nurse will be here soon. She'll need to put the stethoscope over your heart. Don't want your slip getting in the way. Don't worry. You'll get your blouse back."
Billie sighed and stood up, then she unbuttoned her blouse. She slid it off her shoulders, revealing the white slip tucked into her skirt. She unzipped the skirt just a little so she could pull off her slip. She lazily folded the slip before putting her blouse on, buttoning it up. Mrs. Dempsey gave Billie a kind smile and took the slip from Billie. Billie sat back down again next to Mrs. Dempsey.
"I'll be back soon, dear," said Mrs. Dempsey, giving Billie a hug.
"Thank you," said Billie sincerely. "For all your kindness and comfort."
"Of course, dear," said Mrs. Dempsey sincerely. "You remind me of my own girl."
With a soft kiss on the cheek, Mrs. Dempsey left and Billie was alone. With all the kindness Mrs. Dempsey had shown her over the last seven months, Billie felt like that was the closest thing to a mother. Miss Dempsey seemed to portray the mother figure that she had lacked growing up. If someone would be with her for this, she was glad it would be Mrs. Dempsey.
More time passed. Billie didn't know how long. Then she heard the door open. She noticed that the door they were coming through the door that went to death row, not the door that led to the execution chamber. Probably as to not scare her or other condemned women who had spent their final night in that cell. If they opened the door to the execution chamber, she might have seen the gas chamber, and that would destroy all of her resolve.
There were multiple different footsteps. More that Billie could count. The first person she saw was Mrs. Dempsey who was looking at her with kindness and sympathy. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. There was another woman who looked like she was the nurse Mrs. Dempsey had mention. There were three men. Two were wearing the uniform that she had seen other guards wear. And the other man, Billie recognized as the warden of the prison.
Billie stood up and the nurse approached her. She unbuttoned a few of the top buttons of Billie's blouse and attached something over her heart. Billie supposed that this the stethoscope that Mrs. Dempsey had mentioned. Once it was attached, the nurse redid the buttons on the blouse and walked outside the cell. Mrs. Dempsey smiled sadly and turned to Billie.
"Can you please take off your shoes, dear?" Mrs. Dempsey asked.
"My shoes?" Billie asked. "Why?"
"They trap the gas," said Mrs. Dempsey. "I'm sorry. Don't worry. That's what the carpet is for. To keep your feet from being too cold."
Billie sighed and sat on the bed. As much as she didn't want to, she began taking off her prison shoes. She laid gently put them on the floor next to her. Mrs.Dempsey made no move to pick them up. They would probably get this cell in order once again, before the next condemned woman was brought in. Once Billie was dead. Mrs. Dempsey pulled out a pair of handcuffs and Billie stood, compliantly holding her wrists out, so Mrs. Dempsey.
"No, time to waste," said the warden. "It's time to go, Miss Thatcher."
Billie nodded and Mrs. Dempsey put a hand on Billie's back and gently guided her out of the cell. She could feel the cold concrete floor of her cell turn into soft carpeting, warming up her feet just a little bit. She felt Mrs. Dempsey's hand leave her back and it was replaced by two guards, grabbing her each of her elbows.The warden stepped in front of them and began leading the way to the execution chamber. Mrs. Dempsey and the nurse walked behind Billie and the guards.
Billie didn't fight. She walked along with the two guards, compliant. She wasn't scared. Death would be welcoming. She hated the fact that she had killed Frank. She still loved him, and she regretted that she shot him. She liked to think if she hadn't resorted to the gun, she might have gotten him to calm down, maybe rest, fall asleep, and things would be back to normal in the morning.
They reached the end of the hallway and the warden opened the door, and stepped inside, holding the door open for the rest of the party. The first thing that Billie saw was the gas chamber. Her eyes were focused on it. The door was open, revealing the chair, and Billie could see the straps hanging off of it. The floor remained carpeted until just before the gas chamber.
Entering the execution chamber, Billie saw the witnesses. The first two that she recognized were Francis Robinson, Sr., and Muriel Robinson, both looking at her with pure hatred. Another pang of guilt hit Billie. Muriel Robinson had a hand placed on her pregnant stomach. She had found out that she was pregnant less than a week after Frank's death. She had left Frank's son, Francis Robinson, III, known as Frankie, and an unborn child without a father. That only added more depth to her case, and made the press even more hungry to get an interview.
However, there was something that made her pause. There were many men and women there and she was taken aback by a bright flash, that blinded her momentarily. There were reporters here! She couldn't believe it. She'd heard of times when women would ask for a blindfold before going into the gas chamber, and now, Billie was beginning to regret not asking for one. She hated the looks on their faces. They all looked hungry. They didn't care that she was about to die, or the fact that someone else had to die to bring them such a huge story. It made her sick. Two people would die and to them it was all about the money.
She hadn't even realized that she stopped until she felt the two guards gently tug her along. She continued walking and looking around the room. There were a few other guards in the room, and a man who looked like a doctor. Billie tried to hold her head high as she continued along on her final walk. Her breaths were getting heavier, and she was beginning to feel fear. Not of death, but rather the method. She didn't know what it would be like, and she was scared it would hurt. She didn't want it to hurt. She wanted it quick and easy. She wished she had somebody to ask, but no one came out of there alive.
She reached the gas chamber and stepped inside. The guards let her go and Billie willingly sat in the chair. Sitting in it sent a shiver down her spine. One of the guards tightened the strap over her stomach and Mrs. Dempsey stepped forward, unlocking the handcuffs and taking them off of Billie's wrists. She gave Billie a final smile before walking out, and Billie could see tears glistening in her eyes.
With her hands free, Billie placed them on the arms of the chair. The guards tightened the strap that secured her shoulders to the back of the chair. One then set to work on securing her wrists to the chair and the other strapped her ankles to the chair. Once they were done, they left and the doctor stepped in. The doctor entered and connected the stethoscope. He didn't even acknowledge Billie. He was gone just as quickly as he came. Once he was gone, she was alone in the chamber.
Billie pulled against the straps. It wasn't really an attempt at a struggle, more of testing the bonds. It was all made more real by this. Through the windows in the chamber, she could see the phone. It wouldn't be ringing. The governor wouldn't call. He couldn't call. Billie wondered if his pardon counted if he didn't call, but just said something. Billie sighed, knowing that it didn't matter. He was going to see her dead. If it had been someone else, he might have granted her a pardon. If it had been anyone else, she could very well be a free woman, carrying on with her life.
"Willa Thatcher," the warden began. In the seat, Billie cringed. She hated the reminder of her old name. Willa was the name she was born with, but she thought Billie was a better name. She liked the sound of it. It was good for an actress. "You have been convicted of murder and sentenced to die by lethal gas. Do you have anything to say before sentence is passed."
"There is nothing I can say that I have not said already," said Billie, her voice shaking slightly. "I am guilty. I don't deny it. I never have. I know my apology is worthless, but it doesn't change how sorry I am. I loved him, and I still do. I'm sorry he's dead. I'm sorry he's dead because of me. I'm read to die. It's what I deserve. I hope my death brings some form of closure."
The door closed and Billie was left in solitude. She closed her eyes, trying to relax her body. She heard how to do this. Take a deep breath, count to ten, release and then breath in the air. It'll be like going to sleep, she told herself. Just going to sleep. Peaceful and easy.
She heard the cyanide pellets be released into the chamber, and she took a deep breath. She opened one eye just a little bit to see the room begin to fill with gray smoke. She closed her eye once more and began counting to ten as slowly as possible.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Billie released the shaking breath and breathed in the toxic gas. In and out. In and out. It was hard for her to breath already. She continued as she had been doing. In and out. In and out. She was gasping, desperate to get some fresh air. But there would be none. She began to struggle a bit in her chair, as her body's natural reaction was to try and get out. But she didn't. The straps kept her firmly in place.
In and out. She was beginning to spasm.
In and out. She felt her head fall limply into her chest.
In and out. She wanted to open her eyes, see what the chamber looked like, but she didn't have the energy.
In and out. She couldn't even concentrate on her own thoughts.
In and out. She slipped into unconsciousness, never to wake again.
Seven minutes later the doctor announced that her heart had stopped. She was dead. Justice had been done. It wouldn't replace the son or father or husband that she had took from the world. But she cut one life short and so her life had been cut short.
If it had been anyone else, Billie wouldn't be in this situation. She may have gotten life in prison. Maybe she would get manslaughter charges, and been jailed just for a brief time. Or maybe she would have avoided prison altogether, on the basis that she had murdered in self defense. But, she had killed her lover, the governor's son, a man with political ambitions of his own. Her fate was sealed the moment that she fired the fatal shot into his heart. Francis Robinson Jr., or Frank as he was always called to differentiate him from his father, had a bright future in politics, as well as having a wife and child, with another one on the way.
But the position he was in, had sealed her fate, even if she hadn't meant to kill him. Even if she was doing it to protect herself. She would die by gas chamber. And she was fine with it. She hadn't meant to murder Frank. And even though in the last moments of his life, he was terrible to her, she was still sorry that he was dead. She felt terrible guilt that she had murdered him. Her fate didn't scare her. In the seven months that she had been on death row, she had come to terms with her fate. She hadn't tried to appeal her sentence, she knew that there was no way that it would be accepted. She would go to the gas chamber with dignity. She would walk with her head held high. She wouldn't cry, or at least, she hoped that she wouldn't. She would profess her sorrows of her murdered lover, and she would gladly welcome her death.
She always thought that she would spend some time in jail or in prison, but ending up in the gas chamber was something that she had never thought of. She grew up in a small town in middle of nowhere Kentucky during the Great Depression. As the eldest of five children, her mother always told her she should have to make the most sacrifices. If there wasn't enough food to go around, Billie was expected to forfeit her food, so one of the younger ones could eat. As a result, she had stolen food from the general store from time to time. It wasn't out of malice at all, she was just starving. The few times she was caught, the police hadn't been called, but she was brought to her mother, who would give her a few slaps for it. The war came and hand't changer her families fortune hadn't changed. When she was eighteen, in 1947, she got fed up with her home. In the middle of the night, she stole some of her mother's money and ran away to New York City, with dreams of becoming an actress on Broadway. But it didn't work out well. She had been arrested and spent the night in jail a few times for soliciting prostitution. But, when she was twenty, she finally got work on a show. It wasn't much, just a chorus girl, but she was thrilled.
Frank had been there, and he went to see the cast backstage. All the women, including Billie had been smitten with him. But the only one he seemed smitten with was Billie. From there, the affair began. He was already married, expecting his first child, but had confided in Billie that he was only married to his wife for the connections she had. He spoiled Billie. He paid for her to have a nice apartment, and even gave her a small staff with a cook and a few maids. He bought her fancy jewelry and expensive clothes. He made Billie feel like a princess. For a little girl from Kentucky who came from a dirt poor family, to being the mistress of a man who, in all likelihood, would have a decent shot at becoming president.
And in an instant, he had changed. He had gone out of town for a few days. On the day he came back, he went to Billie's apartment, drunk out of his mind, in a way Billie had never seen him before. He wanted to have sex, but Billie had wanted to talk to him. They'd been together for three years at that point, and had a lot of sex. It wasn't like that was any secret. But they're relationship wasn't purely sex. Frank had said that he would pick Billie over his wife. And he had called her his wife in his heart. And there was never anything forceful in their relationship. While they often had sex, sometimes they just liked to lay in bed, kiss and enjoy each other's company. Usually after Billie had a rough day of rehearsals or Frank had a rough day of politics. He had come in, and kissed Billie hard, while taking off his pants.
"Honey," Billie had giggled, pulling away from his kiss. "Wait a minute. You've been gone for days. I missed you. Tell me about your trip."
But he didn't stop. He continued kissing her hard. He had done so many times before, but this was different. She was actually afraid of him. He had given her a gun, to keep in her nightstand drawer, in case someone was stupid enough to break in, or she had to defend herself. She had never needed to use it before, but now, she felt the need to defend herself. She quickly opened the drawer and took out the gun, an action that caused him to jump off of her, in shock. But after a moment, he smiled. It was a sick smile that disgusted Billie. Billie didn't think that she had it in her to actually shoot him. And apparently Frank didn't either.
"You're not going to use it," he mocked. "Just put the gun away and let's fuck."
The way he spoke was foreign to Billie. She had never seen her lover act this way. And she did not want to sleep with him tonight. Not when was like this. He began taking off his shirt and Billie cocked the gun. Once his shirt was off he began making his way back to Billie. Billie closed her eyes tightly and pulled the trigger. She wasn't even aiming. She had hoped to shoot him in some place where it wouldn't be fatal. But she wasn't looking, and had actually managed to hit him in his heart. He was dead before he even hit the floor.
Billie slowly opened her eyes and screamed at what she had done, an immense feeling of guilt washing over her. She ran over to Frank's body. She had been wearing an extravagant robe in pink. Underneath was a pink silk nightgown. Frank had given them to her. Whenever she wore it, she felt like a movie star. Now, it was beginning to stain red with Frank's blood. As she sat next to her lover's body, she couldn't move. She couldn't believe that she had shot him. She couldn't believe that she could kill him. She could barely bring herself to nod her head when she heard Katie, the eighteen-year-old maid, when Katie asked Billie if she wanted her to call for help.
At Katie's call that someone had been shot, not only did an ambulance come, but so did the police. Frank was clearly dead by the time they had come, there was nothing that could be done for him. The fact that Billie was still bent over his body, whispering 'I killed him, I killed him' over and over again, was the enough for the police to arrest him. There was no resisting on Billie's part. She allowed the police to drag her up and handcuff her wrists behind her back. She complied completely as they took Billie out of the apartment, only stopping when Katie pointed out that Billie wasn't wearing shoes, and they allowed her to put black shoes with a small heel on Billie's feet. News spread quickly that Billie was the one to shoot and kill the governor's son, and her case immediately made headlines. A poor girl who become a Broadway performer and the mistress of a politician, who happened to be the governor's son. Reporters latched on to the story. During her trial, while going from the courthouse to the jail, she was constantly surrounded by reporters, each one clamoring to get a statement from her. But she would give them nothing. The only statement she gave was:
"You heard me profess my guilt. That's all you'll get."
And she was completely honest. She told him that she had shot him. She told them her reasoning and professed her guilt, not hiding anything. She knew that the sentence would be death, even if she did plead guilty. And that was fine with her. She had no problems with that. The governor was in the courtroom, staring at Billie with disgust. She had met him before. Frank had never been shy about Billie. Oddly enough, Frank remained immensely popular with the public, despite flaunting around his mistress. But Francis Robinson, Sr. had never liked Billie. He saw her as a gold-digging slut. And when the sentence of death was pronounced, Billie could see a bit of glee in his eye. Billie was led away from the courthouse with her hands cuffed behind her. The sentence had been pronounced to the crowd of reporters just before Billie had walked out. And she was once again clamored by the reporters, trying to get some kind of statement, but Billie wouldn't give them anything. She was led to the police car and back to the jail. They believed it would be less of a hassle to transport her to the state prison from there than from the court house, where reporters where everywhere.
And in the state prison was where Billie had been for the last seven months, awaiting her execution. Upon arriving at the prison, she was given a dark blue jacket with the numbers 887346 sewn onto the left breast and a matching dark blue skirt and prison issued shoes. Black flat shoes. She was allowed to keep her underwear, her white panties and white slip. She was led to a cell that had only the bare essentials.
On her first morning there, two guards passed by her cell. One was holding a newspaper. She could see the front page. There were two pictures of her. On one side was a picture of her in a costume, a strapless leotard adorned with lots of feathers. On the other, there was her mugshot. Both pictures were in black and white, but Billie could see them in bright colors. She could see her brown hair and brown eyes. She could see the bright purple of the leotard and she could see the pale pink robe in her mugshot. Billie could tell though, it wasn't the guards attempting to mock her. They didn't even look at her as they passed. They clearly just didn't notice.
Over her months in prison, she was approached several times, being told of various news outlets that would love to have an interview with her. She would respond with the same thing. "Tell them to go fuck themselves." She wasn't going to give anyone an interview. What was there to say? She had admitted to doing it. She had admitted to regretting it. She had apologized profusely to his family, well aware that it was little, knowing they would never get their husband, father and son back. That was all there was to say.
She heard about the governor though. He was happy to oblige the press. He told them that he would be attending be attending the execution, as well as Muriel Robinson, Frank's widow. He had said that there was no chance he would consider pardoning her. And even though Billie wouldn't appeal, she suspected it would be thrown out before it was considered. Francis Robinson would see her dead.
On the night before her execution, Mrs. Dempsey, a matron whom Billie had become close to, as well as a critic of the governor, came to Billie's cell.
"We're going to move you to the death cell now," Mrs. Dempsey said gently. She took out a pair of handcuffs and put them around Billie's wrists. Leading her away from death row, and to the death cell. At the end of the hall, there was a door that let to a room with a single cell. In front of the cell was a carpet that led to another door. Mrs. Dempsey unlocked the cell door and Billie walked in.
"Would you like some paper and a pen, dear?" Mrs. Dempsey asked, removing the handcuffs from Billie's wrists. "To write to your family.
"No, thank you, Mrs. Dempsey," said Billie sitting on the bed. "Thank you for all your kindness."
Mrs. Dempsey nodded and left Billie alone. Her case had made national headlines. There were even people saying she didn't deserve to be executed, that she did what she did in self-defense. Her location was stated in the papers: New York State Prison For Women. She hadn't moved in over seven months. She was sure that if they wanted to see her, they would have come. And besides, she didn't even know where they were.
She had two sisters that were old enough to be married with families of their own. And she didn't even know if they had even left Kentucky. Or, at least that small town. Besides, she doubted that her mother forgave her for stealing money for the train ticket and for abandoning the family. She doubted her siblings would have forgiven her, as well. She had helped take care of them, and they saw her as another mother.
That night, Billie laid on the bed, after saying a quick prayer, asking for forgiveness. She tried to sleep, but sleep would not come. She was telling herself she did not sleep, for she would sleep tomorrow. She didn't even know what time her execution would take place. All she was told was that it would be tomorrow. Time seemed to move slowly. There was only one dimmed light in the death cell. And there were no windows. She hadn't even realized that she wouldn't be able to savor her last sunrise. Yesterday morning, it had been just another sunrise, only now she realized that it was her last sunrise.
At some point, Billie didn't know what time it was exactly, the light brightened and Mrs. Dempsey walked to the cell with a bowl of porridge.
"Hello, dear," said Mrs. Dempsey, unlocking, opening, and walking into the cell. She set the bowl down on the table. "I brought you some food."
"Thank you, Mrs. Dempsey," said Billie sincerely. "But I don't have the appetite. What time is it?"
"Seven, dear," said Mrs. Dempsey, sitting beside Billie on the bed.
"And how long do I have?" Billie asked.
"About three hours," said Mrs. Dempsey. "At ten."
Billie nodded. Three hours. That's all she had. It almost seemed surreal. Not even one year ago, she had been in happy relationship with an up and coming politician. And in a few hours, she would be dead. Executed in a prison.
"Would you like to see a chaplain?" Mrs. Dempsey asked.
"No," said Billie, shaking her head slightly. "I prayed last night. I asked for forgiveness. Whether I receive it is in God's hands."
"All right," said Mrs. Dempsey. "There is something a little unpleasant that must be done, but remember. It's just you and me."
"What?" Billie asked, suddenly getting nervous.
"I'll need your slip," said Mrs. Dempsey gently. "The nurse will be here soon. She'll need to put the stethoscope over your heart. Don't want your slip getting in the way. Don't worry. You'll get your blouse back."
Billie sighed and stood up, then she unbuttoned her blouse. She slid it off her shoulders, revealing the white slip tucked into her skirt. She unzipped the skirt just a little so she could pull off her slip. She lazily folded the slip before putting her blouse on, buttoning it up. Mrs. Dempsey gave Billie a kind smile and took the slip from Billie. Billie sat back down again next to Mrs. Dempsey.
"I'll be back soon, dear," said Mrs. Dempsey, giving Billie a hug.
"Thank you," said Billie sincerely. "For all your kindness and comfort."
"Of course, dear," said Mrs. Dempsey sincerely. "You remind me of my own girl."
With a soft kiss on the cheek, Mrs. Dempsey left and Billie was alone. With all the kindness Mrs. Dempsey had shown her over the last seven months, Billie felt like that was the closest thing to a mother. Miss Dempsey seemed to portray the mother figure that she had lacked growing up. If someone would be with her for this, she was glad it would be Mrs. Dempsey.
More time passed. Billie didn't know how long. Then she heard the door open. She noticed that the door they were coming through the door that went to death row, not the door that led to the execution chamber. Probably as to not scare her or other condemned women who had spent their final night in that cell. If they opened the door to the execution chamber, she might have seen the gas chamber, and that would destroy all of her resolve.
There were multiple different footsteps. More that Billie could count. The first person she saw was Mrs. Dempsey who was looking at her with kindness and sympathy. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. There was another woman who looked like she was the nurse Mrs. Dempsey had mention. There were three men. Two were wearing the uniform that she had seen other guards wear. And the other man, Billie recognized as the warden of the prison.
Billie stood up and the nurse approached her. She unbuttoned a few of the top buttons of Billie's blouse and attached something over her heart. Billie supposed that this the stethoscope that Mrs. Dempsey had mentioned. Once it was attached, the nurse redid the buttons on the blouse and walked outside the cell. Mrs. Dempsey smiled sadly and turned to Billie.
"Can you please take off your shoes, dear?" Mrs. Dempsey asked.
"My shoes?" Billie asked. "Why?"
"They trap the gas," said Mrs. Dempsey. "I'm sorry. Don't worry. That's what the carpet is for. To keep your feet from being too cold."
Billie sighed and sat on the bed. As much as she didn't want to, she began taking off her prison shoes. She laid gently put them on the floor next to her. Mrs.Dempsey made no move to pick them up. They would probably get this cell in order once again, before the next condemned woman was brought in. Once Billie was dead. Mrs. Dempsey pulled out a pair of handcuffs and Billie stood, compliantly holding her wrists out, so Mrs. Dempsey.
"No, time to waste," said the warden. "It's time to go, Miss Thatcher."
Billie nodded and Mrs. Dempsey put a hand on Billie's back and gently guided her out of the cell. She could feel the cold concrete floor of her cell turn into soft carpeting, warming up her feet just a little bit. She felt Mrs. Dempsey's hand leave her back and it was replaced by two guards, grabbing her each of her elbows.The warden stepped in front of them and began leading the way to the execution chamber. Mrs. Dempsey and the nurse walked behind Billie and the guards.
Billie didn't fight. She walked along with the two guards, compliant. She wasn't scared. Death would be welcoming. She hated the fact that she had killed Frank. She still loved him, and she regretted that she shot him. She liked to think if she hadn't resorted to the gun, she might have gotten him to calm down, maybe rest, fall asleep, and things would be back to normal in the morning.
They reached the end of the hallway and the warden opened the door, and stepped inside, holding the door open for the rest of the party. The first thing that Billie saw was the gas chamber. Her eyes were focused on it. The door was open, revealing the chair, and Billie could see the straps hanging off of it. The floor remained carpeted until just before the gas chamber.
Entering the execution chamber, Billie saw the witnesses. The first two that she recognized were Francis Robinson, Sr., and Muriel Robinson, both looking at her with pure hatred. Another pang of guilt hit Billie. Muriel Robinson had a hand placed on her pregnant stomach. She had found out that she was pregnant less than a week after Frank's death. She had left Frank's son, Francis Robinson, III, known as Frankie, and an unborn child without a father. That only added more depth to her case, and made the press even more hungry to get an interview.
However, there was something that made her pause. There were many men and women there and she was taken aback by a bright flash, that blinded her momentarily. There were reporters here! She couldn't believe it. She'd heard of times when women would ask for a blindfold before going into the gas chamber, and now, Billie was beginning to regret not asking for one. She hated the looks on their faces. They all looked hungry. They didn't care that she was about to die, or the fact that someone else had to die to bring them such a huge story. It made her sick. Two people would die and to them it was all about the money.
She hadn't even realized that she stopped until she felt the two guards gently tug her along. She continued walking and looking around the room. There were a few other guards in the room, and a man who looked like a doctor. Billie tried to hold her head high as she continued along on her final walk. Her breaths were getting heavier, and she was beginning to feel fear. Not of death, but rather the method. She didn't know what it would be like, and she was scared it would hurt. She didn't want it to hurt. She wanted it quick and easy. She wished she had somebody to ask, but no one came out of there alive.
She reached the gas chamber and stepped inside. The guards let her go and Billie willingly sat in the chair. Sitting in it sent a shiver down her spine. One of the guards tightened the strap over her stomach and Mrs. Dempsey stepped forward, unlocking the handcuffs and taking them off of Billie's wrists. She gave Billie a final smile before walking out, and Billie could see tears glistening in her eyes.
With her hands free, Billie placed them on the arms of the chair. The guards tightened the strap that secured her shoulders to the back of the chair. One then set to work on securing her wrists to the chair and the other strapped her ankles to the chair. Once they were done, they left and the doctor stepped in. The doctor entered and connected the stethoscope. He didn't even acknowledge Billie. He was gone just as quickly as he came. Once he was gone, she was alone in the chamber.
Billie pulled against the straps. It wasn't really an attempt at a struggle, more of testing the bonds. It was all made more real by this. Through the windows in the chamber, she could see the phone. It wouldn't be ringing. The governor wouldn't call. He couldn't call. Billie wondered if his pardon counted if he didn't call, but just said something. Billie sighed, knowing that it didn't matter. He was going to see her dead. If it had been someone else, he might have granted her a pardon. If it had been anyone else, she could very well be a free woman, carrying on with her life.
"Willa Thatcher," the warden began. In the seat, Billie cringed. She hated the reminder of her old name. Willa was the name she was born with, but she thought Billie was a better name. She liked the sound of it. It was good for an actress. "You have been convicted of murder and sentenced to die by lethal gas. Do you have anything to say before sentence is passed."
"There is nothing I can say that I have not said already," said Billie, her voice shaking slightly. "I am guilty. I don't deny it. I never have. I know my apology is worthless, but it doesn't change how sorry I am. I loved him, and I still do. I'm sorry he's dead. I'm sorry he's dead because of me. I'm read to die. It's what I deserve. I hope my death brings some form of closure."
The door closed and Billie was left in solitude. She closed her eyes, trying to relax her body. She heard how to do this. Take a deep breath, count to ten, release and then breath in the air. It'll be like going to sleep, she told herself. Just going to sleep. Peaceful and easy.
She heard the cyanide pellets be released into the chamber, and she took a deep breath. She opened one eye just a little bit to see the room begin to fill with gray smoke. She closed her eye once more and began counting to ten as slowly as possible.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Billie released the shaking breath and breathed in the toxic gas. In and out. In and out. It was hard for her to breath already. She continued as she had been doing. In and out. In and out. She was gasping, desperate to get some fresh air. But there would be none. She began to struggle a bit in her chair, as her body's natural reaction was to try and get out. But she didn't. The straps kept her firmly in place.
In and out. She was beginning to spasm.
In and out. She felt her head fall limply into her chest.
In and out. She wanted to open her eyes, see what the chamber looked like, but she didn't have the energy.
In and out. She couldn't even concentrate on her own thoughts.
In and out. She slipped into unconsciousness, never to wake again.
Seven minutes later the doctor announced that her heart had stopped. She was dead. Justice had been done. It wouldn't replace the son or father or husband that she had took from the world. But she cut one life short and so her life had been cut short.
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