Richard Stephenson - Collapse

Richard quickly tied the strips of cloth together and made a rope. He then grabbed his sock and filled it with wet toilet paper, giving it weight. Once he had tied the sock to the end of the rope he very carefully swung the rope up and over the beams twelve feet above. Richard carefully measured the rope and did a few calculations in his head to ensure the rope wouldn’t break or stretch under his weight bringing him back down to the floor. He tied the end of the rope to his bunk and grabbed the noose with his right hand. Richard then moved to the stage of the plan he looked forward to the least. Richard stood with his back to the wall and defecated into his boxers. Feces ran down the back of his leg and hit the floor. With his bowels empty, he began to urinate, soaking the front of his boxers and causing the urine to drip onto the floor, mixing with the feces at his feet. He knew he had only seconds before the stench might awaken the guard. He stood on his bunk, slipped the noose around his neck and jumped. He made sure to kick the top of his sink when he swung over to it. He managed to knock down a tall stack of legal papers upon which every single thing not nailed down in the cell was resting. The tower of paperwork fell like dominoes into a row of Styrofoam cups filled with water and trash. If his guard was a heavy sleeper, he would be dead in a matter of minutes; he had no way to get himself free from the rope dangling from the beams above him. His life was now literally in the hands of the man sleeping three feet away from him. If he didn’t wake up and manage to get Richard down, he would begin to suffer brain damage in four minutes time and after that, death would come for him. Richard was ready for death and welcomed it; either way he would win.

Deputy Beauford Clements had no idea that he was asleep. He usually drifted off and woke when the lights came on at 5am in the basement of the Winchester County Courthouse. Once the lights came on, Beauford had an hour before his shift ended. He had just enough time to rub the sleep off his face and drink a few cups of coffee from his thermos before he went home. It was the perfect arrangement, to Beauford it was like a vacation. He could go home and spend the day playing with his dogs, only needing a short nap in the afternoon to energize him for the rest of the day. He almost felt guilty drawing a paycheck from the good citizens of Winchester County. Beauford was reaching retirement age and had the most seniority of all the other deputies. When the SEAL had been given his own private guard on a permanent basis, Beauford knew a good thing when he saw it and jumped at the opportunity. The guy living in the cramped cell was actually quite interesting. Beauford had gotten to know the man quite well. For weeks he talked with the prisoner for hours on end before he settled in to get a few hours of sleep. That had changed recently, however, and the guy hadn’t spoken a word to him in days. Instead, he cried like a baby in his bed, calling out his son’s name. Beauford had to stop himself from crying as well; he hated to see his friend in so much pain. Poor guy. When Richard first arrived at the small prison, the stories he told were like something out of a Vince Flynn novel. If Beauford had possessed a talent for writing, he could easily write a best-selling novel. However, Beauford could barely pencil whip his logbook without it being chock full of mistakes, so his aspirations of becoming a famous novelist would never come to pass.

Beauford had really taken a liking to inmate Dupree. He often told Richard that it was a damn shame that he was in the cell in the first place. Any father in the world would have done the same thing he did. The ones that couldn’t do it didn’t deserve to have children in the first place. Richard thanked him enthusiastically and joked with Beauford that he should let him out of his cell so the two of them could go get a beer. Beauford knew the man wasn’t serious; they were friends and Richard would never do anything to jeopardize his retirement. No way, no sir. He knew that if Richard was like the other piece of shit trash that he had spent twenty-seven years dealing with he would have told on Beauford when he saw the six-inch folding knife he kept in his boot. At first he was nervous that Richard would turn him in, but Richard never said a word about it. That was when Beauford knew Richard was truly his friend. Beauford was going to ask Richard if he could come visit him in prison.

Beauford was yanked violently out of his slumber when a deafening crash resounded throughout the otherwise silent wing of the basement. Beauford screamed like a little girl, which he hoped Richard didn’t hear. The last thing he wanted was for Richard to see him as anything less than his equal. Beauford’s heart pounded violently in his chest and adrenaline dumped into his blood stream assuring that he was awake and ready to respond to whatever was to come. He knew it was called the fight or flight response, the evolutionary holdover from his caveman ancestors that ensured their continued survival.

The first thing Beauford noticed after his embarrassing scream was the stench of shit. Richard must have been sitting on the toilet and accidentally knocked over the stack of legal work on the sink next to him. Beauford looked at the toilet but found it vacant. Did Richard crawl back into bed and not flush the toilet? No, that couldn’t be the case because it didn’t explain the racket that woke him up.

Beauford wiped the crust from his eyes and without realizing it, his hand lowered to his chin to wipe the drool away. He blinked his eyes a few times so he could see into the cell and figure out what Richard was doing. Peering towards the back of the cell, Beauford realized that he would never see his retirement.

Richard was dead.

“No, no, no, no NOOOOOOO!”

Beauford began to cry. He had allowed his friend to die a few feet away from him. How long had he been asleep? How did Richard not wake him? He couldn’t have been sleeping that heavily. He was a pro at sleeping on the job; he never fell into such a deep sleep that he didn’t know what was going on around him. He needed to be able to sit up and act alert if someone turned the key to the lock at the end of the hall.

He had to do something. He screamed at the top of his lungs.

“SOMEBODY HELP! I NEED HELP! GET IN HERE NOW!”

He frantically waved his arms at the camera at the end of the hall like a crazy person. He hoped and prayed that Doug would see him. The guy in the control booth never slept, but he did like to read Lee Child novels, and the latest one had hit the shelves last week. Please be looking at the camera, Doug.

No time. Richard needed his help. In a state of total panic, he forgot that he had a telephone on his desk, one that he seldom used since he was asleep for most of his shift. Beauford fumbled his keys and after what felt like an eternity managed to unlock the door. He crossed to the other side of the cell and almost slipped and fell in the fetid excrement. He grabbed Richard by the waist and hoisted him upwards, hoping that Richard might still be alive and able to breath.

Why is no one coming?

He was never going to be able to get Richard down. Beauford was fifty-six years old and couldn’t have been in worse physical shape. He got winded just walking from the parking lot and down the stairs to the basement. Beauford began to cry even harder but regained hope when he realized that Richard’s salvation was in his boot. With one hand, he grabbed at his left boot and pulled the knife out. He let go of Richard, unfolded the knife, stood on the bunk and cut him down.

Surely they would be here by now; why is nobody coming?

His radio.

Beauford had forgotten to hit his alarm. One of the first things he did when he sat down at his desk was to turn off his radio. The County Courthouse shared a radio frequency with the Deputy Sheriff’s office and the Fire Department. The thing went off the whole damned night with people checking in every time they pulled over to take a piss and people having discussions about what gas station had the best coffee. It drove Beauford insane, and he saw no reason to allow the damn thing to keep him awake. He promptly hit the red button that would send help his way.