Page 6 of Death Row
“So?” My voice wavers on the syllable. “What’s the verdict?”
“The appeal was denied.” He pauses. “I’m so sorry.”
How could this be? Even though I’ve been expecting it, the news is like a punch in the gut. With less than two weeks left until my execution, my appeal has failed.
“I don’t understand.” My eyes fill with tears, and at this moment, I would give absolutely anything to have my husband here to hold me and comfort me. “I would never have killed Noel. How could anyone think I would do that?”
Bowman has nothing to say to that. Despite my persistent claims of innocence, he thinks I’m guilty. I can see it all over his face.
“I have an alibi,” I remind him. “I was with Kinsey.”
“That’s true,” he concedes, “but the prosecutor convinced the jury that you set up the explosion to happen in advance. And the appeals judge agreed.”
“Can’t we try again? Don’t I get unlimited appeals on a death sentence?”
Bowman considers my request for only a moment. “We can try if you want, Talia. But at this point, I would say there’s no hope.” He pauses meaningfully. “Sometimes it’s better to let go than to drag it out.”
Drag it out?The man is talking about mylife, for God’s sake!
But then again, what life do I have to go back to? I’ve drained my savings in my failed attempt to avoid a death sentence. My husband—the love of my life—is dead.
“What would you like me to do, Talia?” Bowman asks me.
“You can stop.” My voice is choked as I speak into the red phone. “No more appeals.”
“You’re doing the right thing,” my lawyer says in a gentle voice. “I’ve seen this many times before, and you have to know when to let go.”
He starts talking about some details and legal jargon, and I tune him out. I’ve been scared that my appeal will be rejected, and now that it’s happened, all I feel is numb.
I’m going to die. In less than two weeks, I will be executed by the state.
When we hang up, Rhea approaches to take me back to my secluded cell. She puts out her hand to steady me as I rise from the stool with my shackled ankles. I start to turn away, but just before I do, something catches my eye.
It’s a man on the other side of the glass, speaking to another inmate.
He’s wearing a dark suit—a black jacket paired with a black dress shirt. His dark hair is neatly combed, and his face is clean shaven. As Rhea leads me out of the room, I can just barely make out the bump on the bridge of his nose, as if it had once been broken.
That man. He looks so much like ...
“Rhea,” I gasp. “That man over there, talking to the redhead. Who is that?”
Rhea ignores me. “Come on. Time to go.”
“But ... wait! Just one second. Who is—”
“Time togo, Kemper.”
I look back one last time at the man in the dark suit. He’s talking to the redheaded inmate, his attention focused on her,but then, just as Rhea is pulling me from the room, he raises his eyes to meet mine.
Oh my God.
It’sNoel.
Chapter 6
Present Day
Rhea.” My voice is hoarse. Even though my throat has been hurting for the last several weeks, it feels even worse right now. I can barely even get any words out, but I still push forward. “Can you please stop? I need to ...”
