House of silent screams

I

Marcus Steath lay awake in his cell waiting for the guards to come by waking everyone up for the morning chow, though that was still a few hours away, when all you had was time on your hands, waiting a few hours for something insignificant seemed a great deal significant. At least that's what Marcus tells himself. The truth is, he hasn't been sleeping that well for the past couple nights.

Sleep don't come easy when you know your going to fry like a piece of bacon in less than a week, and, laying awake was a lot better than facing the troubling dreams of the condemned.

Marcus always thought he would look forward to the day they threw the switch on him, hell, death has to be better than the last fifteen years he's spent behind bars, locked away with a bunch of guys who would slit their own mother's throat for a couple packs of Newport. Now though, as the time draws ever nearer, as he hears the moments passing away to seconds, he's beginning to doubt his theory.

Never once though, in all his terrified thoughts of death, did he ever fool himself into thinking he didn't deserve his fate, he always said he deserved no less than this, he once told Jason Lubriski, his closest friend and partner in crime, "If I get caught and get anything less than the death sentence, I'm gonna be major disappointed in the system."

Before his capture, he and Jason spent a little over ten years committing the most disturbing crimes the investigating police ever had to investigate, three officers, freshly out of the academy, who happened to be the first responders, quit the force after witnessing the crime scene. One experienced detective also sent in for early retirement.

They were killers, rapists and all around malicious. They would rape a woman in front of her husband and kids, and that was just for starters, after that, they would find creative ways to spend a few hours with the family. Police reports and Joyce McMill, a psychologist called in to help profile the killers, all agree that if any of the victims had survived, their sanity wouldn't have.

Marcus reminisced on their very first victims, the Stuart family. He and Jason had been working for Gus Nueberns, known throughout the crime world as Gut-Shot Gus. He earned that title from his signature vengeance, if someone crosses him, that person would be taken to Gus and placed in room thirteen of his office building. Gus would then come in and gut-shoot the individual and watch as the person died a painful death.

Marcus and Jason had hired on as muscle for the crime boss before they were old enough to drive and have killed dozens of men for Gus over the years, but their sport changed on the day they went over to teach David Stuart the folly of not paying a debt. They both knew David, he usually comes to Gus about once a month for a loan to make a drug trade. Gus had always lent him the money because David had a way of making his arrangements work out, problem was, he had an addiction to the casinos, he couldn't stay away from the poker tables.

The day came, as everyone knew it would, that his deal went sour. David's luck had run as bad as his poker hands, Gus gave him a thirty day extension for an extra grand on top. The day came when the money was due, payment was never received, a phone call was made and Marcus and Jason were on their way to make an example.

It was a good thing Jason was there that day, for the sight which awaited Marcus stole his breath, posture and any train of thought which was running through his head. David's wife had to be one of the most beautiful women Marcus had ever seen, Slender with long dark hair flowing down to the small of her back, large black eyes, thick luscious lips which seemed to be made for one reason, small but firm tits and an ass to die for. He vaguely wondered how an ugly skinny guy like David ever managed to bag her.

While Marcus was thunderstruck, Jason covered David and the woman and forced them onto the couch, "Duck tape that lousy piece of shit," Marcus said as he brought himself back to the situation at hand, "David, David, David," he continued in a phony sympathetic voice while fingering the trigger of his nickel plated Taurus automatic.

Once Jason had their intended target secured he walked into the kitchen and dragged out two chairs, "Miss," he said pleasantly while motioning for her to take a seat in one of the chairs he retrieved.

When she took the seat he taped her wrists to the arms of the chair and sat down in the other one. Once comfortable he looked over at David who looked like a man who knew his time was up, "It's a shame you know," Jason said with a smile, "You couldn't fuck up and deal with it on your own, you had to go and drag this beautiful woman down the tubes with you, now, looks like your both going to have to suffer."

With that said Marcus came forward and started roughly squeezing the woman's breasts through her thin shirt which started to bring a loud cry of protest from the woman until Jason grabbed her with one hand by the throat, "You don't wanna do that bitch," he snarled in her face, "The less noise you make, the less pain you'll feel, and that's a fucking promise."

She took him for his word, there were no further loud protests from the woman as they raped her repeatedly, doing every sexual act on her they could think to do, a couple of times they had her use her mouth on David, always sure though to pull her away before he could get off.

Then, when their fun was exhausted, Marcus took his knife and ran it slowly across her throat, mercifully ending her life, but not their fun, “Now it’s time for you to get your rocks off,” Marcus said to David with an evil grin pasted on his face.

At first David actually refused, but Marcus changed his mind for him, it only took ten minutes and three of the man’s toes before he went to work as instructed.

After David’s success in making love to his wife’s corpse, Marcus and Jason took a half hour to raid the fridge, then, made him do it again, but this time he was instructed to do the corpse anal style, again though, it took some persuading, but it only took an ear this time for obedience.

While David was in the midst of necropolises anal sex, Marcus, in a quick swipe, severed David’s cock while it was still inside the dead body, then, left the man to bleed to death while they used the stove to burn their gloves and soiled cloths, replacing them with some of David’s old wardrobe.

That day was the start to their malicious crime spree, all total they had killed eleven kids, {five boys and six girls} and a total of ten adults, those ten happened to be the parents of the children.

They had raped the women and children, then have their fathers do the same, sometimes they would actually abuse the father sexually while they performed the deed with their children, as sick and malicious as their acts were, Marcus never thought himself, nor was he, mentally unstable, he just had a taste for the abnormalities he and his partner performed; in fact he even declined, against his attorney’s advice, to plead insanity.

The main reason he felt he wasn’t insane was the fact he knew he deserved nothing less than the death sentence, no insane person, in Marcus’ mind, would ever believe he deserved to die for his crimes.

Course, knowing that and awaiting the two days to pass before the state carries out his sentence, he began to wish he had copped that insanity plea. Death was easy, waiting for the day and hour you knew it would happen was the hard part.

II

The loud footsteps echoing down the corridor broke Marcus from his reminiscence, he sat up in his small bunk, which was no bigger than a cot and harder than hell, and awaited for the guard to bring him his tray. Being a convicted child molester, among other things, the prison had to keep him from the rest of the populous who would tear him apart before the state could even think of running the juice through him.

His solitary didn’t mean he had it easy though, not by a damn sight did it, hell, the guards were, in his mind anyway, as bad, if not worse, than the inmates. They could get away with beating the shit out of him, of course, they don’t do that as much now to him as they did the first several years of his imprisonment. Another thing, Marcus was lucky if he just found spit in his food, many times the guards actually pissed in his meal, one went as far as to take a shit on his hamburger then forced him to eat it.

But hell, he told himself many nights, what did you expect upon your capture, the red carpet treatment? No, he knew that his treatment was the way law abiding citizens treated his kind, he had to admit though, he was being treated a damn sight better by the guards than he would be by the inmates, hell, just three days ago they carted off a guy in a body bag, and all he was in for was armed robbery. Unfortunately for the dead inmate, the prisoner who had killed him happened to be the son of the man he had robbed.

Given that, Marcus was glad to be in solitary, who knows how many of his victims relatives were locked up in this place, just thinking about it gave him the shivers, to be killed by the state in the name of justice was one thing, but to be man-handled and mauled by some angry vengeance seeker, that was something Marcus could do without.

“Marcus, soon to be fried, Steath,” came the voice of the lanky, bespectacled guard, “How the hell are you this morning you sick fuck?”

“Well, being as is, I guess I’m all right,” He replied in a cheery, glad to see you and thanks for the concern voice, “Be better though if you let me out, but seeing as how you won’t do that, I’d settle for you keeping your cock sucker closed and giving me my meal you low life piece of dog shit.”

Marcus smiled warmly, pleased in himself at seeing the anger burn fiercely in the guards eyes, maybe he would get lucky and the guard would come in here and beat him to death, save him from waiting around for two more sleepless nights.

No such luck, “I see you have a sewer mouth,” the guard said with a widening grin of his own while unzipping his pants, “Well, you know what goes in sewers don’t you?”

With that said, the guard wiped out his dick and pissed all over Marcus’ eggs and toast. Marcus just grinned, “Very original,” he said in a sarcastic congratulatory voice, “what next, a hand stand?”

“All right Mr. Funny boy,” the guard replied putting on, what he thought of at least, was a mean face, “Now, I want to see you lick up every last crumb off this tray.”

“Yeah, well,” Marcus said, obviously board with the guards game, “I want to see you on your knees licking the shit from your mothers ass-hole while she finger-fucks her smelly, disease infested pussy. But, from the look on your pug ugly face, I’m not going to get to witness that, so you can take that food and shove it up your ass you monkey fucker.”

The guard stood with a dumb-founded stunned look on his face which made Marcus laugh. The mock laughter wiped the look from his face but he could still think of nothing to say or do in retaliation except slide the tray through the bars with the words, “Fucking starve then, it’s what you deserve anyway,” It wasn’t much of a statement, but it was still the final word, that was enough satisfaction for the guard.

“Have a nice day,” Marcus called out after him, making the guard hunch his shoulders in irritation.

The rest of the day passed slowly, each meal brought to him was a basic repeat of breakfast, though he was starving by supper time, he wasn’t about to give in and eat the pissed on food. He passed the day and ignored the hunger by burring himself in his thoughts.

“Jason,” he said softly to himself as he lay back in his cot, arms folded behind his head, “You got off lucky man.”

Neither Marcus nor Jason had any idea that the cops were onto them until the day their door came crashing in and twelve uniformed officers came charging in. Jason, who had told Marcus on several occasions that he had no intentions of going to the joint, ran Marcus’ hunting knife across his own throat. “Better that way,” Marcus said to himself as he lay there, staring at the ceiling in his cramped little cell.

He didn’t know what time he managed to fall asleep, but he was woken up at five in the morning by three guards who escorted him out of his cell and outside into the open air. He knew where he was being led, to a little building that stood like a ghost directly behind the prison walls. The building was nicknamed by the inmates, House of silent screams.

III

House of silent screams earned it’s nickname due to the tales which have circulated the jail by the inmates since the very first execution took place thirty seven years ago. It is said that on chilly, rainy nights, when the sky is at it’s darkest and the only illumination is the crackling streaks of the occasional lightning, the final screams of the condemned echoes out loudly from within the building, resounding across the court yard and jail.

There were many a hardened inmates who have lay awake with tears in their cold blooded eyes, pressing their hands to their ears, trying unsuccessfully to shut out the mournful wails of the lost spirits who had fried in the name of
justice

Marcus had heard the cries himself on many nights, he tried to fool himself, saying that it was just the wind, but in his heart he knew the source of the sound, and those cries echoed out in his mind now as he was placed in one of the only four cells in the building, a roomy, nicely decorated cell which had all the comforts of home, except, Marcus didn’t believed that anyone, including himself, could be anywhere near comfortable in this decorated lie.

His heart beat so loudly in his chest that he idly wondered if anyone else was hearing it; he tried to calm himself, after all, he still had this day to live and he didn’t want to spend it frightened. But no matter how he tried, calmness stayed as far from him as freedom, his heart never slowed and he wondered if he was going to die here and now, cheating the state out of it’s due punishment.

A guard came to his cell and gently placed a breakfast tray on the slide, so unlike the treatment he received just yesterday, even the food itself was different, it didn’t look, or smell, anything at all like left over army rations, on the contrary, it was quite delicious, restaurant quality. As good as it was though, it was far from enjoyable.

Marcus knew that this was a dead mans treatment, and this knowledge made the whole painted setting seemed more cruel than the prison and it’s inhabitants, the clean sheets, the graffiti free walls, the good food and the solemn politeness of the guards was nothing more than a deadly reminder of what was to come.

A few hours later a medium sized man with a kind face came into his cell, “Marcus Steath,” he spoke in a friendly tone, he even offered his hand in which Marcus gave a light and confused shake to, “My name is Warden Jay Higgins, I have to ask you a few questions, you feel up to it?”

“I have nothing better to do,” Marcus replied, trying to sound in control, “It’ll at least help pass the time away.”

With an understanding nod of his head the warden started, “At five fifty in the morning, you are sentenced to die by electricity passing through your body as deemed appropriate for your actions by the people of Chicago and thus, ordered by the courts to be carried out.” The warden sounded to Marcus as though he were blaming everyone but himself for the death of himself and those before him. Marcus wondered if the warden actually exonerated himself from all parts of the executions, if so, then he was a bigger ass-hole than Marcus first took him for.

“You are entitled to a last meal of your choosing,” The warden continued, his voice now sounding impassive, “Also, you are entitled to see a religious consultant of your choosing for either comfort or forgiveness.”

Marcus, though scared to death and relishing the company, grew tired of the man and his words, maybe if he would speak in a normal voice instead of this phony, “I’m so sorry about your fate, but it’s not my fault” tone, he wouldn’t mind the guy sticking around. “About that last meal,” Marcus said sounding as though he were going to make a request, then, quickly switched over to his hardened street tone, “Save it, nothing worse than wasting a good meal on someone who won’t be able to enjoy the feast, and as for your so called religious consultant, stick it, I never put much faith in religion.”

“Awful brave for a man in death’s house,” the warden said, offended by the rudeness displayed to him.

Marcus looked coolly into the warden’s eyes, his face showing none of the fear he felt, “I know where I am, and I know what's going to take place, I know exactly what I’ve done, who I’ve done it to and I know I deserve to die. It’s simple you see, just accept that part, and the rest is easy.”

The warden nodded his head as if he’s heard this same speech a thousand times in the past by men who broke down when the end came. Seeing this displayed in the wardens face as he got up to leave, Marcus called out to him, “Hey,” he waited until the warden faced him before continuing, “When the next chilly, rain filled night arrives, I guarantee my screams won’t be heard along with the others.”

The warden nodded his head a little more convincing this time, so Marcus let him wander off and he lay back in his cell to face his last few hours alone, “Guess I’ll be joining you in a few hours buddy,” he said softly as if Jason could actually hear him, “Maybe we’ll continue our work in hell, start out with old satin himself.”

His words brought him hopeless laughter which soon, turned into silent tears of recognition.

As hard as he tried, he could not stop the tears from coming, once started, it all poured out, his fear, anger and self pity all came at once in an uncontrollable bout of tears. The guards in the House of silent screams never said a thing to Marcus about it, Marcus believed it to be out of respect for his fate, but in truth, they had all seen bigger and tougher men than Marcus Steath break down.

Marcus was up when the guards came for him at quarter past five, at least, he thought to himself, that was the last sleepless night I’ll spend. Right then, the full weight of that thought struck him like a thunderbolt, it stole his breath right from his body and for a moment, he actually thought he was going to piss all over himself, but the feeling passed as they continued to walk him onward.

Fear hit hard as they neared the door which led to the chair, adrenaline raced through his him, threatening to explode out his body if not released, his breath came fast and hard, “please,” he begged desperately, “don’t do this to me, please.”

His plea fell on deaf ears, the guards, stone faced, heard more cries of mercy from those that showed none than they cared to recall, just continued to drag him through the thick doors where his destiny awaited.

Marcus’ pleas stopped as a wave of awe struck him upon seeing the chair, he spoke his last normal toned sentence, “Here at death’s throne I stand…ready to die for my sins.”

They placed Marcus’ sweaty body down in the chair, his last vision before a dark hood was placed over his head was the warden mouth the words, “I’ll hear you soon boy.”

The switch was thrown, the lights flickered, a deep hum, which was more felt than heard, resounded from death’s throne and Marcus Steath’s life had come to an end.

Three months later, Charles Reign, a convicted arsonist, lay awake in his cell during the first night of his incarceration, listening to heavy October rain and cold wind wreck havoc outside the prison, when suddenly, he heard a heart stopping sound which froze the blood in his veins.

The noise outside, that heart wrenching, pitiful echo, sounded like hundreds of tormented souls screaming for release from some kind of torture. There was one particular voice, one tormented scream, he could hear clearly above the rest.

There was no sleep for Charles that night, for that heartbreaking scream kept resounding in his ears as if it had finally found a place to rest.