The Drumm family spent the night in a budget motel on the outskirts1 of Livingston, less than four miles by car from the Allan B. Polunsky correctional facility, where Donte had been locked up for over seven years. The motel did a modest trade with the families of inmates2, including the rather bizarre cult3 of death row wives from abroad. At any given time, around twenty condemned4 men were married to European women they could never actually touch. The weddings were not officially sanctioned by the state, but the couples nonetheless considered themselves married and carried on to the fullest extent possible. The wives corresponded with each other and often traveled together to Texas to see their men. They stayed at the same motel.
Four had eaten at a table near the Drumms late the night before. They were usually noticeable, with their thick accents and suggestive clothing. They liked to be noticed. Back home they were minor5 celebrities6.
Donte had rebuffed all offers of matrimony. During his final days, he turned down book deals, requests for interviews, marriage proposals, and the chance to make an appearance on Fordyce--Hitting Hard! He had refused to meet with both the prison chaplain and his own minister, the Reverend Johnny Canty. Donte had given up on religion. He wanted no part of the same God so fervently7 worshipped by the devout8 Christians9 who were hell-bent on killing10 him.
Roberta Drumm awoke in the darkness of room 109. She had slept so little in the past month that her fatigue11 now kept her awake. The doctor had given her some pills, but they had backfired and made her edgy12. The room was warm and she pulled back the sheets. Her daughter, Andrea, was in the other twin bed, only a few feet away, and seemed to be sleeping. Her sons Cedric and Marvin were next door. The rules of the prison allowed them to visit with Donte from 8:00 a.m. until noon on this, his final day. After their last farewell, he would be transported to the death chamber13 at the prison in Huntsville.
Eight in the morning was hours away.
The schedule was fixed14, all movements dictated15 by a system famous for its efficiency. At 5:00 that afternoon, the family would report to a prison office in Huntsville and then take a short ride in a van to the death chamber, where they would be herded16 into a cramped17 witness room just seconds before the drugs were administered. They would see him on the gurney, tubes already in his arms, listen to his final words, wait ten minutes or so for the official declaration of death, then leave quickly. From there, they would drive to a local funeral home to retrieve18 the body and take it home.
Could it be a dream, a nightmare? Was she really there, awake in the darkness contemplating19 her son's final hours? Of course she was. She had lived the nightmare for nine years now, ever since the day she'd been told that Donte had not only been arrested but also confessed. The nightmare was a book as thick as her Bible, every chapter another tragedy, every page filled with sorrow and disbelief.
Andrea rolled from one side to another, the cheap bed squeaking20 and rattling21. Then she was still and breathing heavily.
For Roberta, one horror had been replaced by the next: the numbing22 shock of seeing her boy in jail for the first time, in an orange jumpsuit, eyes wild and scared; the ache in her stomach as she thought about him in jail, locked away from his family and surrounded by criminals; the hope of a fair trial, only to suffer the shock of realizing it was anything but fair; her loud and unrestrained sobbing23 when the death sentence was announced; the last image of her son being led from the courtroom by thick deputies so smug in their work; the endless appeals and fading hopes; the countless24 visits to death row, where she watched a strong, healthy young man slowly deteriorate25. She lost friends along the way and she really didn't care. Some were skeptical26 of the claims of innocence27. Some grew weary of all the talk about her son. But she was consumed, and had little else to say. How could anyone else know what a mother was going through?
And the nightmare would never end. Not today, when Texas finally executed him. Not next week, when she buried him. Not at some point in the future, when the truth was finally known, if ever.
The horrors add up, and there were many days when Roberta Drumm doubted she had the strength to get out of bed. She was so tired of pretending to be strong.
"Are you wake, Momma?" Andrea asked softly.
"You know I am, honey."
"Did you sleep any?"
"No, I don't think so."
Andrea kicked off the sheets and stretched her legs. The room was very dark with no light filtering in from the outside. "It's four thirty, Momma."
"I can't see."
"My watch glows in the dark."
Andrea was the only one of the Drumm kids with a college degree. She taught kindergarten in a town near Slone. She had a husband and she wanted to be at home, in her bed, far away from Livingston, Texas. She closed her eyes in an effort to fall asleep, but only seconds passed before she was staring at the ceiling. "Momma, I gotta tell you something."
"What is it, honey?"
"I've never told anyone this, and I never will. It's a burden I've carried a long, long time, and I want you to know it before they take Donte."
"I'm listening."
"There was a time, after the trial, after they'd sent him away that I began to doubt his story. I think I was looking for a reason to doubt him. What they said sort of made sense. I could see Donte fooling around with that girl, afraid of getting caught, and I could see her trying to break up and him not wanting to. Maybe he sneaked28 out of the house that night when I was asleep. And when I heard his confession29 in court, I have to admit it made me uneasy. They never found her body, and if he threw her in the river, then maybe that's why they'll never find her. I was trying to make sense out of everything that had happened. I wanted to believe that the system is not totally broken. And so I convinced myself that he was probably guilty, that they probably got the right man. I kept writing to him, kept coming over here to see him and all, but I was convinced he was guilty. For a while, it made me feel better, in some strange way. This went on for months, maybe a year."
"What changed your mind?"
"Robbie. You remember that time we went to Austin to hear the case on direct appeal?"
"Indeed I do."
"It was a year or so after the trial."
"I was there, honey."
"We were sitting in that big courtroom, looking at those nine judges, all white, all looking so important in their black robes and hard frowns, their airs, and across the room was Nicole's family and her big-mouthed mother, and Robbie got up to argue for us. He was so good. He went through the trial and pointed31 out how weak the evidence was. He mocked the prosecutor32 and the judge. He was afraid of nothing. He attacked the confession. And he brought up, for the first time, the fact that the police had not told him about the anonymous33 phone caller who said it was Donte. That shocked me. How could the police and the prosecutor withhold34 evidence? Didn't bother the court, though. I remember watching Robbie argue so passionately35, and it dawned on me that he, the lawyer, the white guy from the rich part of town, had no doubt whatsoever36 that my brother was innocent. And I believed him right then and there. I felt so ashamed for doubting Donte."
"It's okay, honey."
"Please don't tell anyone."
"Never. You can trust your mother, you know."
They sat up and moved to the edges of their beds, holding hands, foreheads touching37. Andrea said, "You wanna cry or you wanna pray?"
"We can pray later, but we can't cry later."
"Right. Let's have us a good cry."
The predawn traffic picked up as they approached Oklahoma City. Boyette's forehead was pressed against the passenger's window, his mouth open in a pathetic drool. His nap was entering its second hour, and Keith was happy with the solitude38. He'd stopped back near the state line for a cup of carryout coffee, a dreadful machine brew39 that he would normally pour into a ditch. But what it lacked in flavor it more than made up for in caffeine, and Keith was buzzing right along, his head spinning, his speedometer exactly eight miles per hour over the limit.
Boyette had requested a beer at the last stop. Keith declined and bought him a bottle of water. He found a bluegrass station out of Edmond and listened to it at low volume. At 5:30, he called Dana, but she had little to say. South of Oklahoma City, Boyette jerked from his slumber40 and said, "Guess I dozed41 off."
"You did indeed."
"Pastor42, these pills I take really work on the bladder. Can we do a quick pit stop?"
"Sure," Keith said. What else could he say? He kept one eye on the clock. They would leave the expressway somewhere north of Denton, Texas, and head east on two-lane roads. Keith had no idea how long that would take. His best guess was arriving in Slone between noon and 1:00 p.m. The pit stops, of course, were not helping43 their progress.
They stopped in Norman and bought more coffee and water. Boyette managed to blaze through two cigarettes, sucking and blowing rapidly as if it might be his last smoke, while Keith quickly refueled. Fifteen minutes later, they were back on I-35, racing44 south through the flat country of Oklahoma.
As a man of God, Keith felt compelled to at least explore the subject of faith. He began, somewhat tentatively, "You've talked about your childhood, Travis, and we don't need to go back there. Just curious, though, if you were ever exposed to a church or to a preacher when you were a kid?"
The tic was back. So was the contemplation. "No," he said, and for a moment that seemed to be all. Then, "I never knew my mother to go to church. She didn't have much of a family. I think they were ashamed of her, so they kept away. Darrell certainly didn't do the church thing. Uncle Chett needed a good dose of religion, but I'm sure he's in hell right now."
Keith saw an opening. "So you believe in hell?"
"I suppose. I believe we all go somewhere after we die, and I can't imagine you and me going to the same place. Can you, Pastor? I mean, look, I've spent most of my life in prison, and, trust me, there's a species of mankind that's subhuman. These people were born mean. They're vicious, soulless, crazy men who cannot be helped. When they die, they gotta go to some bad place."
The irony45 was almost comical. A confessed murderer and serial46 rapist condemning47 violent men.
"Was there a Bible in the house?" Keith asked, trying to stay away from the subject of heinous48 crimes.
"Never saw one. Never saw much in the way of books. I was raised on porn, Pastor, fed to me by Uncle Chett and kept under Darrell's bed. That's the extent of my childhood reading."
"Do you believe in God?"
"Look, Pastor, I'm not talking about God and Jesus and salvation49 and all that. I heard it all the time in prison. Lots of guys get really turned on when they're locked away and start thumping50 the Bible. I guess some are serious, but it also sounds good at the parole hearings. I just never bought into it."
"Are you prepared for death, Travis?"
A pause. "Look, Pastor, I'm forty-four years old, and my life has been one massive train wreck51. I'm tired of living in prison. I'm tired of living with the guilt30 of what I've done. I'm tired of hearing the pitiful voices of the people I hurt. I'm tired of a lot of shit, Pastor, okay? Sorry for the language. I'm tired of being some degenerate52 who lives on the edges of society. I'm just so sick of it all. I'm proud of my tumor53, okay? Hard to believe, but when it's not cracking my skull54, I kinda like the damned thing. It tells me what's ahead. My days are numbered, and that doesn't bother me. I won't hurt anybody else. No one will miss me, Pastor. If I didn't have the tumor, I'd get a bottle of pills and a bottle of vodka and float away forever. Still might do that."
So much for a penetrating55 discussion on the subject of faith. Ten miles passed before Keith said, "What would you like to talk about, Travis?"
"Nothing. I just want to sit here and look at the road and think about nothing."
"Sounds good to me. You hungry?"
"No, thanks."
Robbie left the house at 5:00 a.m. and drove a circuitous56 route to the office. He kept his window down so he could smell the smoke. The fire had long since been extinguished, but the odor of freshly charred57 wood hung like a thick cloud over Slone. There was no wind. Downtown, anxious cops were blocking streets and diverting traffic away from the First Baptist Church. Robbie got just a glimpse of its smoking ruins, illuminated58 by the flashing lights of fire and rescue vehicles. He took the backstreets, and when he parked at the old train station and got out of his car, the smell was still pungent59 and fresh. All of Slone would be awakened60 and greeted with the ominous61 vapor62 of a suspicious fire. And the obvious question would be, will there be more?
His staff drifted in, all sleep deprived and anxious to see if the day would take a dramatic turn away from the direction it was headed. They gathered in the main conference room, around the long table still cluttered63 with the debris64 of the night before. Carlos gathered empty pizza boxes and beer bottles, while Samantha Thomas served coffee and bagels. Robbie, trying to appear upbeat, replayed for the gang his conversation with Fred Pryor about the surreptitious recording65 from the strip club. Pryor himself had not yet arrived.
The phone started ringing. No one wanted to answer it. The receptionist was not in yet. "Somebody punch 'Do Not Disturb,' " Robbie barked, and the phone stopped ringing.
Aaron Rey walked from room to room, looking out the windows. The television was on, but muted.
Bonnie entered the conference room and said, "Robbie, I just checked the phone messages for the past six hours. Nothing important. Just a couple of death threats, and a couple of rednecks happy the big day is finally here."
"No call from the governor?" Robbie asked.
"Not yet."
"What a surprise. I'm sure he lost sleep like the rest of us."
Keith would eventually frame the speeding ticket, and because of it he would always know exactly what he was doing at 5:50 a.m. on Thursday, November 8, 2007. The location wasn't clear, because there was no town in sight. Just a long, empty stretch of I-35, somewhere north of Ardmore, Oklahoma.
The trooper was hiding in some trees in the median, and as soon as Keith saw him and glanced at his speedometer, he knew he was in trouble. He hit his brakes, slowed considerably66, and waited a few seconds. When the blue lights appeared, Boyette said, "Oh, shit."
"Watch your language." Keith was braking hard and hurrying to the shoulder.
"My language is the least of your problems. What're you gonna tell him?"
"That I'm sorry."
"What if he asks what we're doing?"
"We're driving down the highway, maybe a bit too fast, but we're okay."
"I think I'll tell him I'm jumping parole and you're my getaway driver."
"Knock it off, Travis."
The truth was that Travis looked exactly like the sort of character who would be jumping parole, right out of central casting. Keith stopped the car, turned off the ignition, straightened his clerical collar and made sure it was as visible as possible, and said, "Don't say a word, Travis. Let me do the talking."
As they waited for a very deliberate and purposeful state trooper, Keith managed to amuse himself by admitting that he was sitting beside the road, engaged in not one but two criminal activities, and that for some inconceivable reason he'd chosen as his partner in crime a serial rapist and murderer. He glanced at Travis and said, "Can you cover up that tattoo67?" It was on the left side of his neck, a swirling68 creation that only a deviant might understand and wear with pride.
"What if he likes tattoos69?" Travis said, without making a move for his shirt collar.
The trooper approached carefully, with a long flashlight, and when things appeared safe, he said gruffly, "Good morning."
"Morning," Keith said, glancing up. He handed over his license70, registration71, and insurance card.
"You a priest?" It was more of an accusation72. Keith doubted there were many Catholics in southern Oklahoma.
"I'm a Lutheran minister," he said with a warm smile. The perfect picture of peace and civility.
"Lutheran?" the trooper grunted73, as if that might be worse than a Catholic.
"Yes, sir."
He shined his light on the license. "Well, Reverend Schroeder, you were doing eighty-five miles an hour."
"Yes, sir. Sorry about that."
"Limit out here is seventy-five. What's the hurry?"
"No real hurry. Just wasn't paying attention."
"Where you headed?"
Keith wanted to fire back, "Why, sir, is that any of your business?" But he quickly said, "Dallas."
"Got a boy in Dallas," the trooper said, as if that fact were somehow relevant. He walked back to his car, got inside, slammed the door, and began his paperwork. His blue lights sparkled through the fading darkness.
When the adrenaline settled down and Keith got bored with the waiting, he decided74 to make use of the time. He called Matthew Burns, who appeared to be holding his cell phone. Keith explained where he was and what was happening to him at the moment and had trouble convincing Matthew that it was nothing but a routine speeding ticket. They managed to work through Matthew's overreaction and agreed to start calling Robbie Flak's office immediately.
The trooper eventually returned. Keith signed his ticket, retrieved75 his documents, apologized again, and after twenty-eight minutes they were back on the road. Boyette's presence was never acknowledged.
收听单词发音 |
1
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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edgy
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| adj.不安的；易怒的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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deteriorate
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| v.变坏；恶化；退化 | |
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skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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heinous
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| adj.可憎的，十恶不赦的 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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tumor
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| n.（肿）瘤，肿块(英)tumour | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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57
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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66
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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tattoos
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| n.文身( tattoo的名词复数 )；归营鼓；军队夜间表演操；连续有节奏的敲击声v.刺青，文身( tattoo的第三人称单数 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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registration
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| n.登记，注册，挂号 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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retrieved
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| v.取回( retrieve的过去式和过去分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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