57

“I can have whatever I want for dinner tonight. Within reason, they said.

You know, I’ve had no trouble eating whatever’s on the tray. But now that they’re giving me a choice I don’t know what to ask for.”

“Whatever you want.”

“The guard slipped me a wink, told me he could probably bring me a drink if I wanted. I haven’t had a drink since they arrested me. I don’t think I want one now. You know what I think I’ll have?”

“What?”

“Ice cream. Not for dessert. A whole meal of ice cream.”

“With sauce and toppings?”

“No, just plain vanilla ice cream, but a lot of it. Cool, you know? And sweet, but not too sweet. Vanilla ice cream, that’s what I’ll have.”

“Do you ever think about the real killer?”

“I used to. That was the only way I could be exonerated, if they were to find him. But they weren’t looking for him, and why should they? All the evidence pointed to me.”

“It must have been maddening.”

“It was exactly that. It was driving me mad. Because it wasn’t just coincidence. Someone had to have gone to great length to plant evidence implicating me. I couldn’t think of anyone who would have had reason to hate me that way. I didn’t have many close friends, but I didn’t have any enemies, either. None that I knew of.”

“He not only framed you, but he killed three innocent boys in a horrible fashion.”

“That’s it—it’s not as though he embezzled money from a company and cooked the books to implicate a coworker. You could understand something like that, there’s a rational underpinning to it. But this guy would have had to be a sociopath or a psychopath, whatever the right term is, and he’d also have to have been fixated on me, on blaming me for it. I must sound paranoid, talking about this faceless enemy, but somebody must have done all of this, and that would make him an enemy, and I can’t put a face on him.”

“He won’t be able to stop.”

“How’s that?”

58

Lawrence Block

“He must have taken pleasure in the killing,” he explains. “Destroying you was part of his plan, obviously, but he killed those boys the way he did because he’s a sick bastard. He’ll do it again, one way or another, and sooner or later he’ll get caught. He might wind up confessing to all his crimes, that type often turns boastful once he’s caught. So the day may come when you’re exonerated after all.”

“It’ll be too late to do me any good.”

“I’m afraid that’s true.”

“But maybe the Willises will find out where their kid’s buried. I suppose that’s something.”

And, “Arne? Is there something on your mind?”

“There is, actually.”

“Oh?”

“There’s something I haven’t told you, and I honestly don’t know whether or not to mention it. Hell. Now I more or less have to, don’t I?”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, how could you? Here’s the thing, Preston. There’s a piece of information I have, and it might upset you to know it, but you might be more upset later if you don’t know it.”

“After the tunnel and the white light, there’s another cell just like this one.”

“God, what a thought. Actually, that helps me make the decision. Your strength, your tough-mindedness.”

“Whatever it is, Arne, let’s hear it.”

“It has to do with the procedure tomorrow. The lethal injection. It’s a three-part procedure, as you know. Three drugs are administered intra-venously. The first is thiopental sodium, more commonly known as sodium pentothal, and popularly if inaccurately thought of as truth serum. It’s classed as a hypnotic, it calms and sedates you and keeps you from feeling anything. The second, Pavulon, is derived from curare, which South American Indians use to tip their arrows. It’s a paralytic, it paralyzes the lungs and brings your breathing to a halt. Finally, a massive dose of potassium chloride stops the heart.”

“And you die.”

All the Flowers Are Dying

59

“Yes, but there’s a strong argument to the effect that the procedure is not painless as advertised, that it’s actually hideously painful. Onlookers get no indication of this, as the subject’s facial expression never changes, but that’s because it can’t, the muscles are paralyzed by the Pavulon. The subject actually feels excruciating pain, and it goes on almost to the moment of death.”

“Jesus.”

“Now I don’t see how they can possibly know this,” he says. “No one’s ever returned to furnish a firsthand report. So what I’m saying, I guess, is that you should be aware of the possibility of pain. And I’ve told you because it seems to me it would be worse coming as a complete surprise, but maybe I’ve made a mistake. Maybe I’ve just

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