GasChamber stories 12: Joan the Bandit Girl.
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“Bandit girl to die at midnight, she’ll be the second woman to die in Missouri’s gas chamber,” said the TV news anchor through the old black and white TV as the hot summer day in 1961 went into the evening. “She will be the first woman executed since Bonnie Heady six years ago.”
Joan had been watching the TV through the bars of her death row cell at the Missouri State Penitentiary where she waited to be walked to the death house where the gas chamber was located. The tall, slender 34-year-old woman released her grip on the bars and turned away from the door where a female guard sat outside the cell, keeping a constant eye on her.
“Do you want me to turn it off?” The matron asked.
Joan looked down, placed the palm of her right hand on her forehead and shook her head, “No, I have to face it. No since in trying to pretend it’s not going to happen. That was the preview for the eleven o’clock news, I have just under an hour and a half left. No, let me hear what they’re going to say and what picture of me they are going to show the public.”
“Do you want a cigarette?”
“Sure, thanks,” Joan said as she stepped up to the bars and took the cigarette. She leaned her head forward as the matron lite it for her. Joan took a puff and then removed the cigarette from her mouth and exhaled the smoke upward. “At least they’re not making a big deal over what I’m going to wear like they did the last woman. I sure the hell hope that they don’t delay this like they did to that poor girl in California a couple of years back.” Joan looked upward, “You know, I don’t believe that girls was guilty, she just got a raw deal. You can take any piece of evidence and twist it around and throw it to the press and make a nun look guilty.”
“What about you?”
Joan took another puff off her cigarette and then looked down as the smoke left her lips. She grinned, “No, they got me. I did it, what else is there to say. I’m no nun and I never claimed to be one either. It’s a wonder I’ve lasted this long. At least I’m going out while I’m still young enough to look good. I helped pull the robbery and I shot the store owner when he went for a gun. I also killed a man I lured into bed for sex and I wanted to rob him. I just never left any witnesses. That was until the last holdup. I didn’t see that man’s 17-year-old daughter hiding in the back of the store. She identified me and I had the murder weapon. That’s it.” She took another drag from the cigarette, “What time is it.”
“Ten-fifty-two.”
“They’ll be coming for me soon.”
“In about ten minutes.”
“I get to walk to the death house in a green prison dress and a pair of white cuffs and then I’ll take my last steps in my bare feet. I wonder if they will put that in the papers.”
“I don’t know.”
Joan finished her cigarette and sat down on the single cot in the cell. “How much longer?”
“A little under five minutes.”
A few more minutes went by and then the door at the end of the cell block opened. The warden and two matrons along with a chaplain entered. “Joan, it’s time,” the warden said as the cell door was opened.
Joan stood from the cot and shuffled to the door in her scuffs. She held her hands up as one of the matrons placed cuffs on her wrist. Silently she then stepped out of the cell and walked in the center of the small group as they walked her out of the prison and toward the death house and the gas chamber.
As she walked in the center of the group Joan looked up at the bright stars that lite up the summer night sky. She only looked down as they reached the death house and saw the cross on the ground before her, illuminated by the prison light. She said not a word as she passed the cross, making sure she did not step on the holy sign.
Just in front of her one of the prison supervisors opened the door to the small death house and then held it open as Joan was escorted inside. Her eyes moved from one side of the building’s interior as she looked at the gas chamber which was only a few feet away and the holding cells which were to her right. She was quickly ushered into one of the cells where she was allowed to sit.
The prison chaplain sat down beside her, “Can I do anything for you?”
“Just tell me what time it is, I just want to get this over.”
He looked at his watch, “It’s eleven-twenty.”
“Forty minutes,” Joan said as she looked up. “I just want this done with, the waiting is the worst part.”
“Is there anything you’ll like to talk about?”
Joan shook her head, “Not really, I’ve made my peace. I know Christin’s don’t believe in reincarnation by others do. May it is exists I will get another chance to make things right in the next life.” She looked at the chaplain, “I want to be alone for these last few minutes.”
He nodded his head and the left the cell.
Joan looked at the floor and then got up and paced back and forth in the cell as her last minutes slipped by, with the soles of her scuffs slapping against the soles of her feet with each step. She sat back down and then stood up again. She had reached the center of the cell when the door opened this time the warden and two female guards stood before her. “Is it time?” She asked.
“It is,” the warden answered. “Joan, I need you to take your shoes off.”
Slowly, Joan stepped out of the scuffs to expose her long straight toes and high arches. She stood still for a few seconds and took a deep breath and then stepped out of the cell. She turned to her right and looked straight at the open door of the gas chamber and the two chair that were inside. Before she could take another step one of the matrons placed a sleeping style mask over her eyes and tied it behind her head. “Is this necessary?” Joan asked.
“It’s mandatory,” the warden said. “Here, take my arm.”
Joan felt for his arm and then said, “I’m ready.”
He walked her the few feet to the chamber and stopped at the door, “Step up, careful, don’t stub your toes,” he said as Joan entered the chamber and two male guards guided her to the chair left of the door.
Quickly they strapped her in the chair and then the doctor stepped forward and unbuttoned the first couple of buttons of her dress.
“What are you doing?” Joan asked.
“I’m just putting a stethoscope on you,” the doctor answered and then he taped a stethoscope over her heart and rebuttoned her dress.
The guards finished strapping her into the chair as they applied the chest strap and then they left the chamber closing the door behind them.
The witnesses stared through the windows at the attractive bad girl. The blindfold added to her attractiveness as it highlighted her well contoured face and her high cheek bones. They could see that Joan’s lips were trembling as she nervously waited for the gas to be released and take effect.
The warden looked at the clock mounted on the wall beside him and then as the second hand reached 12, he pulled the lever that dropped the cyanide into the vat of acid beneath the chair in which Joan was seated.
Joan kept her head upright as she tried not to breath the now forming gas. She raised her head slightly as she tightened her lips together. Suddenly, saliva began to form heavily on her lips and droll down the right side of her mouth. Her saliva ran down her chin and fell onto her breast. Joan’s mouth opened and she took a big breath of cyanide gas. Her head began to rapidly shake back and forth in small strokes as the veins in her neck slightly bulged outward. Her chest heaved forward against the strap and her toes turned upward and spread apart.
Joan’s head leaned further backward as her mouth opened wide as more saliva ran from her lips. Suddenly, her head rapidly fell forward and her body relaxed. Her head rose slightly and fell forward two times and then her body was still.
Everyone watched as the minutes went by as the doctor listened to Joan’s slowing heart. Twelve minutes after the cyanide gas was released the doctor signed the official papers on his clipboard and then removed the earpieces of his stethoscope from his ears. He looked at the warden and said, “I now pronounce this woman dead.”
The next morning the headline read, “Bandit girl dies in gas chamber, fights for last breath of life.”
Joan had been watching the TV through the bars of her death row cell at the Missouri State Penitentiary where she waited to be walked to the death house where the gas chamber was located. The tall, slender 34-year-old woman released her grip on the bars and turned away from the door where a female guard sat outside the cell, keeping a constant eye on her.
“Do you want me to turn it off?” The matron asked.
Joan looked down, placed the palm of her right hand on her forehead and shook her head, “No, I have to face it. No since in trying to pretend it’s not going to happen. That was the preview for the eleven o’clock news, I have just under an hour and a half left. No, let me hear what they’re going to say and what picture of me they are going to show the public.”
“Do you want a cigarette?”
“Sure, thanks,” Joan said as she stepped up to the bars and took the cigarette. She leaned her head forward as the matron lite it for her. Joan took a puff and then removed the cigarette from her mouth and exhaled the smoke upward. “At least they’re not making a big deal over what I’m going to wear like they did the last woman. I sure the hell hope that they don’t delay this like they did to that poor girl in California a couple of years back.” Joan looked upward, “You know, I don’t believe that girls was guilty, she just got a raw deal. You can take any piece of evidence and twist it around and throw it to the press and make a nun look guilty.”
“What about you?”
Joan took another puff off her cigarette and then looked down as the smoke left her lips. She grinned, “No, they got me. I did it, what else is there to say. I’m no nun and I never claimed to be one either. It’s a wonder I’ve lasted this long. At least I’m going out while I’m still young enough to look good. I helped pull the robbery and I shot the store owner when he went for a gun. I also killed a man I lured into bed for sex and I wanted to rob him. I just never left any witnesses. That was until the last holdup. I didn’t see that man’s 17-year-old daughter hiding in the back of the store. She identified me and I had the murder weapon. That’s it.” She took another drag from the cigarette, “What time is it.”
“Ten-fifty-two.”
“They’ll be coming for me soon.”
“In about ten minutes.”
“I get to walk to the death house in a green prison dress and a pair of white cuffs and then I’ll take my last steps in my bare feet. I wonder if they will put that in the papers.”
“I don’t know.”
Joan finished her cigarette and sat down on the single cot in the cell. “How much longer?”
“A little under five minutes.”
A few more minutes went by and then the door at the end of the cell block opened. The warden and two matrons along with a chaplain entered. “Joan, it’s time,” the warden said as the cell door was opened.
Joan stood from the cot and shuffled to the door in her scuffs. She held her hands up as one of the matrons placed cuffs on her wrist. Silently she then stepped out of the cell and walked in the center of the small group as they walked her out of the prison and toward the death house and the gas chamber.
As she walked in the center of the group Joan looked up at the bright stars that lite up the summer night sky. She only looked down as they reached the death house and saw the cross on the ground before her, illuminated by the prison light. She said not a word as she passed the cross, making sure she did not step on the holy sign.
Just in front of her one of the prison supervisors opened the door to the small death house and then held it open as Joan was escorted inside. Her eyes moved from one side of the building’s interior as she looked at the gas chamber which was only a few feet away and the holding cells which were to her right. She was quickly ushered into one of the cells where she was allowed to sit.
The prison chaplain sat down beside her, “Can I do anything for you?”
“Just tell me what time it is, I just want to get this over.”
He looked at his watch, “It’s eleven-twenty.”
“Forty minutes,” Joan said as she looked up. “I just want this done with, the waiting is the worst part.”
“Is there anything you’ll like to talk about?”
Joan shook her head, “Not really, I’ve made my peace. I know Christin’s don’t believe in reincarnation by others do. May it is exists I will get another chance to make things right in the next life.” She looked at the chaplain, “I want to be alone for these last few minutes.”
He nodded his head and the left the cell.
Joan looked at the floor and then got up and paced back and forth in the cell as her last minutes slipped by, with the soles of her scuffs slapping against the soles of her feet with each step. She sat back down and then stood up again. She had reached the center of the cell when the door opened this time the warden and two female guards stood before her. “Is it time?” She asked.
“It is,” the warden answered. “Joan, I need you to take your shoes off.”
Slowly, Joan stepped out of the scuffs to expose her long straight toes and high arches. She stood still for a few seconds and took a deep breath and then stepped out of the cell. She turned to her right and looked straight at the open door of the gas chamber and the two chair that were inside. Before she could take another step one of the matrons placed a sleeping style mask over her eyes and tied it behind her head. “Is this necessary?” Joan asked.
“It’s mandatory,” the warden said. “Here, take my arm.”
Joan felt for his arm and then said, “I’m ready.”
He walked her the few feet to the chamber and stopped at the door, “Step up, careful, don’t stub your toes,” he said as Joan entered the chamber and two male guards guided her to the chair left of the door.
Quickly they strapped her in the chair and then the doctor stepped forward and unbuttoned the first couple of buttons of her dress.
“What are you doing?” Joan asked.
“I’m just putting a stethoscope on you,” the doctor answered and then he taped a stethoscope over her heart and rebuttoned her dress.
The guards finished strapping her into the chair as they applied the chest strap and then they left the chamber closing the door behind them.
The witnesses stared through the windows at the attractive bad girl. The blindfold added to her attractiveness as it highlighted her well contoured face and her high cheek bones. They could see that Joan’s lips were trembling as she nervously waited for the gas to be released and take effect.
The warden looked at the clock mounted on the wall beside him and then as the second hand reached 12, he pulled the lever that dropped the cyanide into the vat of acid beneath the chair in which Joan was seated.
Joan kept her head upright as she tried not to breath the now forming gas. She raised her head slightly as she tightened her lips together. Suddenly, saliva began to form heavily on her lips and droll down the right side of her mouth. Her saliva ran down her chin and fell onto her breast. Joan’s mouth opened and she took a big breath of cyanide gas. Her head began to rapidly shake back and forth in small strokes as the veins in her neck slightly bulged outward. Her chest heaved forward against the strap and her toes turned upward and spread apart.
Joan’s head leaned further backward as her mouth opened wide as more saliva ran from her lips. Suddenly, her head rapidly fell forward and her body relaxed. Her head rose slightly and fell forward two times and then her body was still.
Everyone watched as the minutes went by as the doctor listened to Joan’s slowing heart. Twelve minutes after the cyanide gas was released the doctor signed the official papers on his clipboard and then removed the earpieces of his stethoscope from his ears. He looked at the warden and said, “I now pronounce this woman dead.”
The next morning the headline read, “Bandit girl dies in gas chamber, fights for last breath of life.”
I'm always happy when such a good story is published. Thank you :-)
These are my short stories. I have longer stories in my books available on Amazon.
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Forum > Public / Stories > GasChamber stories 12: Joan the Bandit Girl.