Octopus

“Why would you put a window in such a stupid place?” Paul asked.

“What?” the doctor looked up. “Oh, that. Well this room wasn’t always an examining room. In fact I’m not sure what the room might have been used for in the past. They gave us this area to expand the infirmary about the time I started here. When ever they offer us perks, particularly extra space, we don’t ask questions.”

“That’s one ugly looking curtain you got there, Doc,” Paul laughed.

“Well, we’re more concerned with it allowing for privacy that for its aesthetic value.”

The doctor went through the normal routine of listening to Paul’s heart, taking his blood pressure, and so on. As he did so, he said to Paul, “What’s up these days, Paul?”

“You know. Same-old-same-old,” Paul answered, adding a laugh at the end.

“Same-old-same-old, indeed,” the doctor replied, adding his own small chuckle. “How are you feeling?”

“Fit as a fiddle, Doc.”

“Is that so?” the doctor asked. “That is certainly what we like to hear.”

“Yeah,” Paul went on. “I can’t remember when I felt this good.”

“Well, it certainly has been a while since you were last in here,” the doctor said.

Paul sat on the edge of the examining table watching the doctor go through his preparatory tasks. The chart got reviewed, some noted got jotted, and some items got unpacked from cupboards on the walls. Eventually, the doctor turned back to Paul.

“I suppose we should get started,” he said.

“Sure thing,” replied Paul.

“I need you to go ahead and remove your shirt and your t-shirt.”

Paul stood up from his seat and began removing the orange shirt. He looked at the tag on the pocket and seemed to wander off in his thoughts for a moment.

“You still with me, Paul?” the doctor asked.

“Oh, sure, “Paul answered. “I was just thinking how much I hate this color. I think I can pretty much guarantee you I ain’t ever gonna wear it again.”

“I believe you, Paul. It isn’t one of my favorites, either.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be, huh?” Paul quipped.

“I’m gonna forget about this dumb-ass number, too. Although from what my Ginny says, you gotta use your social security number for so much these days, it’s a lot like having a serial number.”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “She’s right about that.”

“That’s what makes all this identity theft so easy, you know?” Paul said. “When I get out of here, I ain’t using any credit cards at all. Sure, I won’t have much to worry about getting stolen from me. And sure as shit my identity isn’t anything anybody in their right mind would want. But, you can never be too careful, though.”

“That’s the truth,” the doctor agreed. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“So what’s the deal here, anyway, Doctor Franks? I mean, what do I need to be doing here, healthy as I am?”

“It’s standard procedure, Mr. Sykes. You know, just one of those rules we must follow. We like to be thorough, particularly where lives are concerned.”

“How about it! There ain’t no shortage of rules around here,” Paul said. “I’m looking forward to being able to make up some of my own.”

“Mr. Sykes, I know it isn’t really my business, but isn’t failure to follow rules why you’re here in the first place? I mean, so to speak?”

“Sure, Doc. I know what you’re gonna say. I gotta stay out trouble, right? Well, don’t you friggin’ worry. I’m towing the line from here on out. I just want to blend in and disappear. No more trouble from me, if you know what I mean.”

“I believe you, Mr. Sykes,” the doctor said.

Just then, the door opened and a male nurse walked in pushing a large cart with various buttons and knobs on it, in addition to eight electrodes at the end of eight long, narrow leads. The nurse pushed it into place near the examining table and left the room.

“All right, Mr. Sykes,” the doctor said. “I need to you lie back on the table.”

Paul complied with the doctor’s request, positioning himself so as to have his head rest on the small hard pillow at the end of the table.

“Sure hard to get comfortable on these things, Doc.”

“My apologies for that, Mr. Sykes. This won’t take long. It’ll all be over shortly.”

The doctor produced a plastic bottle from a door in the newly arrived cart. He squeezed some of its contents (a clear jelly) onto his gloved hand and approached Paul.

“This is likely to be a bit cold, Mr. Sykes. I need to connect these monitoring electrodes to your chest. This is a jelly to help conduct the signals. Totally painless, I assure you.”

As the doctor’s hand began to rub the jelly onto Paul’s skin he gasped, “Holy shit, Doc! That stuff’s like friggin’ ice!”

“My apologies, Mr. Sykes,” the doctor answered in a monotone. He reached to the cart, and flipped a switch. He gathered up the leads and their electrodes and began to place them on Paul’s chest and abdomen.

“There we go,” he said when he was finished. He glanced at the cart and then, “All looks well.”

Another moment or two of silence passed until the doctor said, “Mr. Sykes, how long have you been here?”

“Eleven years, 3 months, and 5 days,” Paul answered. “But who’s counting, right?”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “May I ask how you got here? I know it’s none of my business, I’m just curious.”

“Nah, ain’t nothin’, Doc. I don’t mind tellin’ you. I was convicted of three murders. Not something I’m proud of by any stretch.”

“I see,” said the doctor. “Who did you murder?”

Paul hesitated for a moment, looking at the doctor sideways. Then, “One was a guy who stole some of my drugs. See, I was a pusher back then. The other two were just two of his boys that just happened to be there. I suppose none of them deserved to die, but they wasn’t exactly what you’d call model citizens, Doc.”


“No, I don’t imagine they were,” the doctor agreed.

“Why you so interested, Doc?” Paul asked.

“Well, Mr. Sykes,” the doctor began, “I am of the opinion that before I send one of you men off from here, it does some good if the things that put you here in the first place are in the forefront of your mind. It seems to be the most appropriate thing to be thinking about. You know, from a rehabilitative perspective.”

“If you say so, Doc,” Paul sounded dubious. “The only thing on my mind is luck.”

“Luck?” the doctor asked.

“Yeah, luck. You see, Doc, I don’t know if you know this, but I was never supposed to get out of here. But, as luck would have it, they found new evidence in my case.
The guys I killed had taken money from another dealer to kill me. So my attorney was able to get my conviction over turned on the basis of self defense. I say that’s lucky.”

“Certainly would seem so,” the doctor agreed. “All right, Mr. Sykes. What I need you to do now is to relax. Close your eyes and try to take slow breaths. As still as possible, if you would. This thing is finicky sometimes,” the last of it said motioning to the cart.

“Not a problem, Doc.”

“Perhaps you could think about what you’re planning to do when you get out of here? Happy thoughts, either way,” the doctor said.

“Happy thoughts, huh? Not too much happier than getting out of here. You know what I’m looking forward to the most?”

“What’s that?” the doctor asked.

“Taking my daughter out to dinner. Someplace nice, you know? Hey, Doc, can you recommend someplace like…”

Suddenly every muscle in Paul’s body tensed in unison. The spasm lasted for only handful of seconds. His expression never changed except for the involuntary opening and closing of his eyelids. When his body relaxed, the doctor approached him. He placed his stethoscope on Paul’s chest near one of the contacts.

“He’s dead,” the doctor said. Just then, the curtain on the opposite wall started to slide open. Seated on the other side of a wired glass window was a group of people.

The door opened and a man in a suit stepped in.

“Warden Polk,” the doctor said.

“Not to bad, Peter,” the warden said. “I do wish you’d go a little lighter on those questions, though.”

“Well, John, let’s just call it my on little drop of justice.”

“It makes the witnesses squirmy, Peter. Especially the inmate’s family.”

“I’m sorry, John. I know you disagree, that most of the world disagrees, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a last bit of conscience cleansing.”

“Whatever,” the warden said.

“Listen. Even since they passed the law we’ve been doing these humanitarian executions. So, we lie to them, tell them their getting released, them hit them with the Octopus, here. It removes the cruel from ‘cruel and unusual’. I believe that they should at least have their crimes somewhere near the surface of their minds. It’s only fair on my mind.”

“In your mind,” the warden repeated. “Yes, in my mind. And since the law states that a physician has to administer this ‘procedure’, and since you know damn well most refuse, allow me this small, small, concession.”

“Ok, Peter,” the warden said. “We can talk about this more later.”

They watched as the rest of the gallery cleared out from behind the glass. The closed circuit television screens that allowed them to see when the curtains were closed were now visible. The nurse wound the eight leads and placed them back on the tray.

“By the way, Peter,” the warden said.

“Yes?”

“Good answer on the curtain question.”

“Thanks, John,” the doctor said. “He was right, you know?”

“What?”

“That curtain really is ugly.”