Chapter One: The Submarine Door

I committed the deed and now I'm paying for it.
If I had to do it over again I would.
I leave my written words for you all to read.

-last words of Creed Turner, convicted of murder
executed by hanging, December 4, 1851

“Dead man walkin’.”

Audwin Bausch kept his eyes down on the plush white slippers that had been pressed onto his bony feet. The skid proof soul of the shoes squeaked as he shuffled his way down the long hall, flanked by two burly officers in uniforms of dark blue and a white clad female trailing behind them. There was an elderly priest clad in black raiment standing before the pill shaped door that reminded Audwin of the doors he had seen in a submarine once.

“May God have mercy on your soul.” The priest gave a cough that sounded like a dry heave and drew a cross in the open air in front of Audwin’s face with the tips of his forefingers. Audwin kept his eyes on him as the man stepped back, his robes whispering about his papery white legs. Beneath the robes, he was wearing blue socks. The sight was so unexpected that Audwin had to bite down onto his lower lip to keep from laughing aloud. One of the guards grasped his skin and bones upper arm and guided him through the submarine door into the chamber.

In keeping with the vague nautical feel of the room, the walls were painted a cheerful aquamarine, like the sea; the ceiling was doused with a clinical white, reminding Audwin of a doctor’s office. A table with two long, rectangular protrusions like the horizontal beams of a cross sat in the middle of the room. Various machines lined the blue-green walls such as the khaki heart monitor which sat in one corner by the head of the bed. A glistening metal box with nine colored bulbs in rows of three-three red above three yellow above three green- and two silvery switches was pressed against the wall to the left of the heart monitor, giving the room a laboratory feel.

The strange device with the six syringe like cylinders added to the effect, but instead of amusing him, the machine sobered the man in the pale slippers. The clear fluids held within the cylinders caught his attention and held it until one of the officers stepped around him to the cross bed, reaching beneath it and pulling out a portable set of two stairs. He positioned it by the foot of the bed. “Step up, Mr. Bausch.”

Audwin looked away from the fluid filled cylinders and crossed the floor in his slippers. He padded up the steps and looked down onto the table, noting the khaki leather restraints and the strange cushion running down the length of the table that was split near the end, forming leg like sections that had their own restraints. A white sheet had been pulled over the cushion; there was a hole in the sheet between the cushion’s ‘legs.’
“What’s that for?”

The officer did not answer him, but pressed a small key into the lock of the handcuffs and gestured for Audwin to lay back. With a sigh, the young man complied, resting his head on a thin white pillow. His arms were stretched out over the beams; his legs were straight and still, each resting on its private cushion. The officer took up the little stairs and set them back down beneath the table while the other moved to begin fastening the restraints. The two policemen buckled the bindings just under his elbow, across his shoulders and chest and hips, and finally around his thighs; they were tightened to the point of discomfort.

As he laid there, he noticed a mirror positioned to his left against the wall. “Are there people back there?” He rolled his eyes back toward his skull, looking at the woman in white standing by the upper portion of the bed. She pursed her red glossed lips together and wrung her gloved hands in front of her ample breasts. “Can they see me?”

The woman stepped toward his arm and tied something above his elbow. She took a square of cotton and began to rub alcohol over the place where she would be pressing the needle into his skin. Audwin looked away; he had never been fond of needles. Parting his lips, he drew in a deep breath as he felt the tip of the needle pierced the surface of his skin. The prick should not have bothered him. He had had so many chemicals dumped into the tunnel work of his veins it was a wonder that he had not developed super powers. The thought brought a little smile to his thin, cracked lips.

The woman moved away and the officers stepped back toward the machine with the red, yellow and green lights. The beeping on the heart monitor began to grow more rapid as the fist sized organ began to pound against his rib cage like knuckles against a punching bag. Audwin swallowed and released his breath in an unsteady sigh. He felt his hands began to tremble, and found it strange that he should be afraid after so long of knowing that death was at his doorstep. The sound of a clock ticking pervaded his thoughts, and he found his eyes searching the room for the infernal device. He finally found it perched on the wall above the mirror. He stared at it as the thin arm that counted the seconds began to draw closer toward the twelve.

“Any last words, Bausch?”

He swallowed again, sweat beading on his forehead as he tried to remain composed. “If you’d just bear with me… I’d like the chance to explain… to explain everything.” 

Chapter Two: Said The Spider

I won’t get a break.
- last words of Ross King, convicted of murder
executed by electric chair, October 16, 1933
before…
Audwin Bausch curled his arms beneath one of the plush black pillows that were gathered at the head of the square black mattress and buried his face into the soft fabric in the attempt to block out the sunlight spilling into the room through the white curtains which covered the full length window spanning across one wall of the penthouse’s bedroom. The black mattress was sat atop a round modern bed with two small circular platforms that jutted up from the white cushions of the bed.

Audwin groaned as music began to pour from the Blackberry sitting on one of the bed’s platforms. The infernal device convulsed violently, spinning in little erratic circles. Pulling one hand from beneath the pillow, the young man blindly fumbled for the phone. In a last frustrated effort, he slammed his palm down onto the twitching form and pressed one of the many buttons that covered its face. Bringing it down toward the pillow, he tilted his head ever so slightly to expose one of his ears.

“Audwin, where the hell have you been?!”

He groaned and turned his head to the side as his secretary hissed into the phone. “Veronica?”

“Are you drunk or something? Do you even know what time it is? You’re late!”

“Late…?” Audwin cringed as the spoken words irritated his raw, aching throat. He pressed the Blackberry between his shoulder and cheek and eased himself onto his elbows. He stretched out a hand and grabbed a glass that was half full of lukewarm water. He took a sip and swiped away the excess gathering on his lips with his knuckles.

“Yes it’s almost eleven!”

The water spewed from his pursed lips as if he were a fountain. “What!?” His eyes immediately shot toward the Bomba alarm clock that he had spent nearly a hundred dollars ordering and having shipped from Japan. The crisp white cards flipped quietly as the hour changed to eleven.

“Correct. It is eleven.”

Audwin threw aside his sheets and stumbled from the bed, nearly dropping the half empty glass of water as he tried to set it down on one of the bed’s platforms. Keeping the Blackberry sandwiched between his face and shoulder, he stumbled across the grey tiled floor, bypassing the fuzzy black rug that stretched across the floor beneath a pair of white, square seats. His bare feet slapped against the three stairs that led up to a raised rectangular section of the penthouse.

A full length window connected with a small portion of wall, which was decorated with three monochromatic paintings of various European wonders, to make the short end of the rectangle. The adjacent room could be seen through the wide glass panels that made up the greater part of the wall separating them. Audwin moved first to a squat black chest of drawers, pulling out one of the folded button down shirts and throwing it haphazardly over his unoccupied shoulder.

“Has he noticed yet?” Audwin shut the drawer with his hip and scurried to the closet, plucking a black suit from within. There was a pause on the other line.

“It’s Wednesday, so there is a chance he will be too lazy to make his rounds.”

“Thank God for Wednesdays.” Audwin lifted one arm and gave its hollow a tentative sniff. “Looks like I can skip showering.” He informed her without masking the pride in his voice.

“Just cover your man stench with Axe and you’ll be fine.” She sounded distracted. More than likely she was applying a fresh coat of red paint to her carefully cultivated nails.

A foot stretched out and kicked the bathroom door closed. This caused him to lose his balance, and he fell into a heap on the white tile. The Blackberry skittered across the floor, and Audwin could hear Veronica calling his name. Grunting, Audwin pushed himself onto his knees and snatched up the phone. He pressed a button on the side and laid the phone down on the black counter. “You’re on speaker.”

“Did you just fall?” She was trying not to laugh.

“Shut up.” Audwin shed his black lounging pants and kicked them to one side before stepping into the dark trousers.

“The firm is having its Christmas party today.”

Audwin coughed over his shoulder as he fumbled with the buckle of his belt. His hands then fled to button the front of the white shirt; his open cuffs fluttered by his thin wrist, sounding like a pair of small wings. A look of disgust crossed his handsome features. There was nothing he hated more than having to mingle with his coworkers. Still, it gave the female employees of the Bausch and Starr law firm a chance to get all dolled up. One of the girls would always dress in a skimpy Santa outfit to hand out the secret Santa gifts; this year was Veronica’s turn. Audwin was glad there really was not an Old Saint Nick or the thoughts that had just played out in his mind at the thought of Veronica in that tight little red suit would have immediately qualified him for a big ole’ shipment of coal.

“I forgot my tie!” He yanked open the door and staggered toward the chest of drawers while buttoning his cuffs. Kneeling in front of the ebony piece of furniture, he tugged out the second drawer and stared at the row of neatly folded ties. “Veronica, which one?!”

“What suit are you wearing?”

“The black one!”

“Purple.” The indicated tie was taken from the drawer, which was then closed with a satisfying smack. Audwin strode back to the bathroom and snatched his jacket from the counter. He watched his reflection out of the corner of his eye as he rolled his shoulders, putting on the jacket. In a few frantic moments, he brushed his teeth and applied the prescribed Axe body spray before jogging down the three steps and rushing from the bedroom.




“I’m going to need coffee.”

“I’m getting it now. It’ll be ready when you get here. You are getting here right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m stuck in traffic.” Audwin drummed the tips of his fingers against the steering wheel of his black Chrysler 300, peering through the tinted windows at the line of cars that stretched out in front of him. On the other end of the line, Veronica clucked her tongue.

“What has gotten into you lately? You’ve been late twice… well, this makes three I guess… three time this week.” He could hear her heels clicking as she walked, the whispering sound of her breath against the speaker. He coughed into his hand.

“I just haven’t been feeling well.”

“Are you still using that excuse? You were out of work so many days this month it makes almost a week! That’s not counting the two weeks last month and the week the month before and th-”

“I get it.” A series of sharp coughs punctuated his words, and for a moment the line was silent.

“Maybe you should see a doctor…”

“I did the first time. It’s probably the pneumonia. They gave me medicine, it goes away and a little while later, back it comes.” He rested the heel of his hand against the horn in the center of the steering wheel. His car screamed. “If my fever gets worse, I’ll go in. Right now I just kind of want to try riding it out, you know?”

“Alright, whatever you say. Just don’t you dare give it to me,” Veronica sighed into the phone. “Cream and sugar?”

“No, just black this time.” The cars inched forward. Audwin lifted his hand off of the horn and wriggled it, causing his sleeve to ease down over the watch he had fastened against his wrist. He cursed as he saw the position of the hands. His curse was echoed back to him in Veronica’s voice. “What? Veronica?”

“Mr. Starr wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, god, Veronica, please don’t give him the pho-”

“Bausch!”

Audwin closed his eyes. One hand lifted to rub the bridge of his nose. “Hello, Mr. Starr.”

“What are you doing, Bausch? You should have been here hours ago.”

“Like I told Veronica, I’m-”

“I’m beginning to think that you don’t take your job seriously, Mr. Bausch.”

“But I’m sick! I think I have-”

“Are you dying?”

“Well… I-”

“When you get here, you and I are going to have a serious talk.”

“Yes, sir.”
　



“He wanted me to tell you to step into his office, Mr. Bausch.” Veronica sat down the Styrofoam coffee cup on the desk in front of Audwin’s head.

“ ‘Said the spider to the fly,’” Audwin muttered, lifting his head so that his chin rested on the surface of the mahogany desk. He stared at the cup of steaming liquid a moment. “He’s going to eat me alive, Ronnie.” He forced himself to sit up and lifted the cup to his lips. His nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath of the drink’s aroma; a grimace twisted his lips as the action of expanding his lungs caused a dull pain to spread across his chest.

Veronica cupped her hands about her perfectly curved hips and her brows furrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be fine once I get this meeting over with,” Audwin took another drink of the coffee and combed a hand through his hair, attempting to bring some sort of order to the rat’s nest that had formed atop his head sometime during the previous night. He used the walk to Starr’s office to attempt to make himself look more presentable. Once he had raked his fingers through his hair so that there were no more knots, he began to work on straightening his purple tie and tightening it. His palms smoothed over his jacket and shirt. Other employees of the firm brushed by him carrying boxes of decorations and severed branches of the fake tree they always set up in the meeting room where the party would be held.

When he reached the door, he started to knock, but the door was abruptly pulled open. Instead of knocking against the wood, he found himself rapping his knuckles against Mr. Starr’s forehead. “Mr. Bausch!” Audwin jerked his hand down to his side, standing at attention. He fought the urge to salute.

“Sorry, sir.”

“I’m seriously beginning to question my decision to make you a partner in this firm, Bausch.” He punctuated each word with a violent jab of the tip of his index finger into Audwin’s chest as if it were a rapier. Audwin skirted by him into the office, sinking down into uncomfortable leather chair in front of Starr’s desk. The door slammed, and Audwin’s short, round boss waddled around the desk. The folded layers of his girth brushed against the edge, nudging the thin lamp and nearly spilling a metal cup filled with an assortment of fountain pens. With a grunt, he straightened the disturbed items and sat down; the expensive, reclining swivel chair released a low sigh as his weight settled. “Your performance of late has been… well, disappointing, Bausch. The man I asked to be my partner at this firm was a hard working man who came early and stayed late, who always put the clients first, who would never miss so much work. What happened to that man?”

Audwin shifted his hips in the seat unable to get comfortable. He knew that Starr chose this kind of chair for that reason alone. Whoever sat there would fidget and squirm in the attempt to find some angle or position in which they could find some reason from the stiff cushions. Seeing the other person of his desk, fidgety made him feel powerful. “I’m still that man.” He brought a hand to his throat, massaging it. He coughed.

“No you’re not!” His beefy fist smashed onto the surface of the desk. A vein was bulging on his forehead where his hair line had receded. Audwin stared at his greased brown hair that circled his scalp like a furry halo. At least it was not a comb over. “You are missing work, coming in late… slacking off when you are here,” He sighed and removed the thick rimmed glass from his flat, wide nose. “Using that childish excuse about being sick, I just-”

“It’s not an excuse!” Audwin pushed himself up from the chair.

“Sit DOWN.”

Audwin dropped back into the seat, feeling like a delinquent teenager in the principal’s office. The vein in Starr’s head was near to rupturing; Audwin stared at it and willed it to burst. Starr replaced his glasses and laced his fingers together in front of him on the desk. “Here is what I suggest. I suggest that you come to work on time, you actually do your work, and you stay late without overtime to get this work you’ve let pile up done.”

“But sir-”

“Don’t ‘but, sir’ me!” He was on his feet now, leaning over the desk so that his stomach pooled there. The skin beneath his jaw jiggled. “No more excuses from you! I’ve had enough! I don’t want to hear anything about it unless you are dying! Because if you miss one more hour of work, God help me, I will make sure that you are FIRED and that you NEVER work for any firm in this city AGAIN!” The storm was over. He sank back down into his chair, the vein vanished, and the crimson hue bled from his face. “Now go and enjoy the party, Bausch.”