Untitled

Homecoming Gallows Dance

The two women in the back of the police car looked out at the college campus in the pre-dawn twilight. The little teenager in handcuffs was terrified. She was a pretty little thing, with short, auburn hair and delicate features; hardly the type to be seen, manacled and shackled, in the back of a police cruiser. "My daughter will be going to school here, starting next fall," the friendly, middle-aged policewoman sitting next to Robin said, smiling in a maternal way, as she stroked the young woman�s hair gently. Her own dark, brown hair was shot through with gray. Her name was Detective Sergeant Carole Rogotzke, and she had become Robin's friend while escorting her back and forth, from prison to courthouse, during her trial. "I only finished one semester here; I was arrested just before the end of my freshman year", the girl said, wistfully. The middle-aged policewoman actually reached out and put a hand over Robin's. Robin smiled sadly back at her. Robin had always responded easily to a friendly word or gesture, and she'd gotten few of either since her arrest. There was her lawyer, a few friendly guards, and this officer, who'd become her friend. Most of the others were cold, like the uniformed policewoman, with the hard features, who drove the police cruiser.

�What time is it scheduled for?" Robin asked, shakily. The policewoman gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and said, softly: "9:00 this morning, my dear. I'm sorry." The hard-faced, blonde policewoman in mirror sunglasses, in the front seat, snorted: "I'm not. They should have started doing this a long time ago. They've been treating these rich kids with kid gloves for too long, when they get arrested for drugs." "That's enough! Will you leave the child alone? She has enough to�Wait, you're turning the wrong way�" They turned a corner onto a broad campus avenue that had been blocked off with police barricades manned by uniformed officers. "You're going to go right by the..." Robin whimpered when she saw the scaffold in the early morning light. The trapdoor was hanging open, with a sandbag hanging at the end of the rope. The younger policewoman turned and grinned nastily: "Well, Princess. Here's where you find out what happens to bad girls." "Damn you!" was all that the older woman could reply, putting a protective arm around the young girl.

Cut to a well-coiffured young woman, in an expensive black blazer, holding a wireless microphone: "What we're seeing in the background is, I'm told, a `galloping gallows,' a scaffold designed to be easily transported and erected. Under the state's new policy of privatized executions, this gallows is the property of the executioner, who has declined to be interviewed on camera. It is also the instrument of the state's new policy, providing for public hangings, held near the scene of the crime. Today, that policy is directed against a young woman, a former student, convicted of selling two kilos of cocaine to an undercover narcotics agent on this very campus. Later this morning, she is to be marched up these thirteen steps and hanged by the neck until dead." She put a great deal of relish into the "thirteen steps" and "hanged by the neck until dead." She turned, and the camera panned to follow her as she addressed a handsome, young middle-aged man in a brown corduroy jacket and open collar; his dark hair and beard were shot with streaks of iron-gray. "I'm talking now to Professor Richard Starke, professor of philosophy at this university, representing the campus chapters of the ACLU and Amnesty International. Professor, do you still have any hopes of stopping this young lady�s execution?"

"Karen, we're still hoping for some last minute action from the governor. He's shown little mercy for others condemned to die during his term; however, we were hoping that this girl's youth and the appeals from around the world asking for clemency would move him." She turned to address the camera again. "Yes, there have been appeals from Hollywood figures, noted writers, foreign heads of state, even the Pope. Those appeals have been sent for other people on death row, and they have still been put to death." "I know that," the professor replied, in an exasperated tone. "If the state does go through with this barbaric circus, maybe it will be the turning point in the trend toward more draconian punishment. Then, this poor child's death, terrible as will be, will have served some purpose. Finally, people are going to see that the individual on that gallows...." "Thank you, Professor Starke. Now we'll hear from State Senator Russell Hyatt, the author of legislation extending the death penalty and providing for public executions." She turned to a handsome man in a dark suit of conservative cut, with the oily smoothness of a televangelist. "Senator, do you support the death penalty, even for this young woman, who has never been in trouble with the law before?" The senator faced the camera with the ease of one who has made a career of playing the media. "Karen, surely no one could be pleased to see a young lady put to death�" A production assistant whispered to the cameraman: "Then, how come he never misses a hanging?" "...However, the people have mandated a tougher policy toward crime, and I intend to see that mandate carried out." Starke glared contemptuously at both of them and stalked away.

Robin had been moved to an improvised holding cell in the basement of the Administration building. Rogotzke regarded her young prisoner; the poor girl hadn�t been out of her cell in the last year, without being manacled and shackled. The handcuffs, belly chain, and legirons were a strange contrast with the pretty, white satin dress. "Robin, I'm going to remove your restraints, so you can be comfortable, while we wait." She unlocked one cuff, and slipped it through the loop of the waist chain. "I remember one other young lady I did this for. She gave me a cut lip, and tried to escape. She was younger than you, and all she was facing was a short jail term for shoplifting." Robin looked pained: "Carole, I wouldn't do anything like that to you. You�re my friend. Besides, we both know I can't escape." Rogotzke smiled back at her as she removed the waist chain: "Thank you, dear." The cuffs and waist chain went into her bag. " What I really wanted to say was, that I trust you. If something did happen, well, I couldn't blame you; I don't know what I might do in your situation. Oh, I know you wouldn't hurt me." She knelt and unlocked the girl's legirons: "As for escaping, well,.." She smiled up at the girl, as she removed the last nickeled cuff from Robin's slender ankle: "if you could escape, I just might help you." The girl rubbed her wrists - the cuffs hadn't been that tight. "Thanks, Carole. I appreciate this, and I won't give you any trouble." "I know you won't, my dear." The legirons were laid on the table next to her bag, the cuffs still open. They'd be needed later. The detective took her cell phone from her bag and checked the battery light. There was still a chance for a last-minute call from the governor. At this point, she was really hoping for that.

Robin slipped off the light sweater she had worn against the morning chill, and Rogotzke took it from her. "I never did compliment you on that dress, Robin." The dress was white satin, with a low-cut neckline. She wore matching white satin pumps, with high heels, and white lace stockings. "You look lovely." She smiled, sadly. The dress was meant to be worn for a prom or homecoming dance; although, somehow, it seemed appropriate for a brave, young girl to wear to be hanged in public. She was such a pretty child, and so young to have this done to her. "You really like it? "Robin warmed to the compliment, smiling back at the detective. The moment was shattered, when she said: "Dressed for the dance, just like she said." That had been the mean cop's parting shot: "Well princess, it looks like your necktie party will be the event of the season,� she had said, indicating the crowd. �Looks like you�ve dressed for the dance, and I�m looking forward to seeing those pretty little heels dancing in mid-air." That was when Rogotzke shut her up for the second time and steered Robin toward the administration building and the holding cell.

"I'm sorry, Robin. That was cruel. I'll put her on report for that. Hell, I'll ruin her career, if I get a chance,� Rogotzke said, grimly. "Thank you, Carole, I'm glad I've got someone like you here, not...someone like her." She was thinking: one cop is mean, one is nice, and another is just business. It was the same with prison guards and nurses. She thought of the guards who'd awakened her early this morning, and helped the nurse administer an enema. The nurse's face had been impassive as she bent the girl over, and, with a latex-gloved hand, shoved cotton into her anus to block it, so she wouldn�t soil herself. She'd smiled, without warmth, and said: "You don't want to ruin that pretty dress, do you, honey.� Then she handed Robin a diaper, without explaining its function, assuming that she had figured it out. She paused a moment, looking for something - anything - to talk about. "I'm glad you liked my dress. A friend bought it for me; she has very good taste. She also cut my hair, so my neck would be bare � for the hangman�s noose." She put a hand up to her throat. "I really wanted to look my best today, and leave a good last impression." "I think you're very brave, my dear." Carole put an arm around the girl's shoulder. "I'm not, you know. Not really." She turned her face toward the detective. "Carole, I'm really scared." "I understand, dear. I don't blame you. I would be too." And I am, she thought. God, I thought I was in favor of this "get tough on drugs," policy. I though they'd be hanging drug lords and big time pushers in their fancy suits. Now, I've got to watch over a brave girl in her pretty dress, and hand her over to an executioner who�ll hang her by that pretty little neck, and, I'll have to have to watch.

"Carole." "Yes, dear, what." She came back to reality quickly, and tried to smile for the girl's sake. "Do people really...dance..like that...when they're hanged." Rogotzke's heart went right through the floor. Starke was trying to gauge the mood of the crowd. Some people obviously were either opposed to capital punishment, or were at least in Robin's favor. There were signs saying: "Free Robin," "We're With You, Robin," and even "We Love You, Robin!" There were other signs saying: "Death to Druggies!" or "Hang the Bitch!" One character, in a cowboy hat and sleeveless vest, carried a naked Barbie doll hanging by a length of cord around its neck. He was wearing a moronic, loose-lipped grin that Starke longed to push down his throat with a fist. Starke walked away, trying to put as much distance between himself and the cowboy. He tried to find his Amnesty International group; but he had lost them as the crowd surged in for the show, and he was distracted by the media. Well, they had agreed someone had to make a public statement; but would it do any good? The people around him now showed little sign of being pro or con; mostly, they were just here for the show. Some of them even carried binoculars. The young people standing next to him seemed to be mostly Goth types. Both boys and girls wore dark clothing. The girls affected pale makeup, with dark eye shadow and lipstick. There was one very interesting girl, in a low-cut, long, black velvet dress, with a black choker around her neck, and black lipstick and fingernails. When she turned to smile at him, he glimpsed plastic vampire fangs. In broad daylight, yet! Playing a little loose with the legends, aren't we, dear? Now, who did she remind him of? "Want to stay and watch with us, professor?" She asked.

"I may not have a choice. I can't find my Amnesty group. I came here to protest this, not to watch." The girl with the vampire fangs said: "I don't see how anyone could resist." She was carrying a pair of pearl finish opera glasses. "Isn't it beautiful?" She nodded toward the black-painted gallows, and snuggled against her boyfriend, a slender youth in skin-tight pants and poet shirt. Starke started to make a comment; but bit it back. Suddenly, he remembered who she reminded him of - the girl in his classes a decade ago. She'd worn long, black dresses to campus parties, wore very dark eye shadow, and carried a long, black cigarette holder. She read Beaudelaire, the Marquis de Sade, and Jean Genet, and had the same fascination with death and evil as these beautiful young monsters. She'd taken the initiative in their affair, and had shown him his own dark side, years ago. He really couldn't condemn these children "Oh, look!" The little Goth girl was raising her opera glasses. Two young women in red coveralls and hard hats were closing the trap with a pole, while a tall figure in black approached the scaffold. �The executioner!" Her mouth was wide open in wonder, fangs showing. Inside, Detective Carole Rogotzke was trying to answer her young prisoner's questions as delicately as possible.

"Does it hurt" The detective had expected and dreaded this question. "No, dear, it doesn't." She sighed and continued: "They call it a hangman�s fracture - a fracture of the neck, with concussion. Either the concussion, or damage to the spinal cord, will render you unconscious quickly, without pain." She silently prayed that what she was telling the girl was true. "I understand that it's quick, if your neck is broken; but, that if the hangman makes a mistake, you die slow, by strangulation." She noticed the detective shivering. "Carole, I'm sorry if I'm making you nervous." "Oh no, child! You ask anything you need to; you say anything you need to get you through this. Don't apologize to me." She continued: "And, don't worry, this executioner is very good." The executioner pulled the release handle. The trap opened, the sandbag dropped, and the rope twanged. There was a hushed "Ohhhh!" from the crowd. Robin turned her head. "What's going on outside?" "Are they hanging someone else?" "No, dear, no. They're just...testing the trap." "Oh, God, I'm scared, Carole. " She put her arms around Rogotzke, hugging her tightly. Rogotzke hugged her back. Outside, the executioner's assistants had removed the sandbag, and closed the trap again. Strong, black-gloved hands were tying the rope into a classic hangman's knot, with eight turns of rope.

Robin was shaking as she held on to the detective. "I don�t know if I can do this. I don't think I can walk to that gallows and let them put a rope around my neck." Now it comes, Rogotzke thought. I have to tell her to be brave and walk out there, or they'll come and drag her. And, I'll have to help. The girl was thinking: They�re going to take me out there and hand me over to the hangman. He'll be some awful old man. He'll smell awful and have cold hands. He'll put those old, cold hands on me, and then..... Meanwhile, the executioner was descending the steps of the gallows. The little goth "vampire" was watching excitedly through her opera glasses. Rogotzke was trying to think of words that would give the girl courage, when the door opened. Robin clung to the older woman�s neck for a moment, then looked up. "Cassandra!" She stood up to greet her friend. "Hello, my darling." The lady entering the room was a tall brunette, with short-cut black hair that was rumpled, as if she had just taken off a cap. She was carrying what seemed to be a leather cap. She wore a tight jumpsuit of some shiny stretch fabric, with knee-length leather boots, a wide leather belt, and leather vest, all in black. Black gloves were tucked into the belt. Two slender, black leather straps hung from a belt clip. She carried a large, leather bag over one shoulder. She laid her bag and the �cap� on the table and opened her arms.

Robin rushed to embrace her friend, and put her head on the tall woman's shoulder. Cassandra stroked Robin's hair affectionately. "Yes, I'm here, Robin, and I'm going to take care of you.." She lowered her voice: "Robin, darling, I have to tell you something. I tried to talk to the governor, to ask him to stop this; but, he wouldn�t see me." She looked over Robin's shoulder at Rogotzke. "There won�t be any last minute call from the governor. You're going to have to be brave." "At least you'll be with me, Cassandra. Will they let you accompany me..all the way to the gallows? I�d like to have you there." The tall woman sighed: "They'll have to, darling. I'm the executioner." The girl laughed, nervously: "Cassandra.that's not funny. Don't joke about something like that." The girl was near panic. "No, sweetheart; it's not funny. I'm not joking." Cassandra�s voice was low, gentle, as if reassuring a frightened child: "I'm your executioner." The younger girl tore herself from the other's grasp and stepped back in horror. "No." Rogotzke stopped her, with an arm hugging her waist. The arm was gentle, comforting; it also prevented her escape. "Cassandra, I thought you were my friend." "I am your friend, love. Please believe me."

"That first time, when you visited me in prison, you were just sizing me up as a victim." Robin glared at her. The tall woman kept her distance. "Yes, that's what I was doing that first time. I have to pay that visit to�every person I�m going to hang, to determine how far I'm going to have to drop them. I got your height and weight from the prison doctor. The rest, well, I have to get that from looking at you. But, when I saw you standing there, so lost and lonely and frightened, you touched me. I wanted desperately to see you smile, and I did make you smile, and even laugh, didn't I, love?" She reached out a hand, the girl stepped back, still glaring at her. The tall woman let the hand drop. "In the short time we've known each other, I learned to love you; you're an easy person to love, Robin. I still want to be your friend." "Cassandra, how can you be my friend and still do this to me?" The tall woman sighed: "Robin, darling, how cans I be your friend and let someone else do it? I don't want this to happen; remember, I tried to stop it. But, if it's going to be done, I've got to do it. If I were a coward and turned this over to someone else, I wouldn�t know if that person would be gentle with you, or if they'd cause you pain. I'm a bad person, I know; but, I'll be gentle with you. More than that, I'm good at what I do; I promise I'll make it quick, and you won't feel any pain." She paused as the girl raised a hand to her throat, then continued: "And, I don't want a stranger�s hands on you, at the end. I promise that no one will touch you, but me, and Carole of course, no matter what happens." "You mean, if you have to drag me?" "Yes, I'm sorry. I'm a big girl; I can do it, if I have to. I'll hate it; but, I'll do it. Robin, look at me, darling. I wish you could understand; I can't let anyone else do this." The girl looked up at the tall hangwoman. "Yes, maybe I do understand. Code of Bushido."

Cassandra looked back at her with interest; maybe there was more depth to this child than she realized. "Yes, darling. Something very like that. You do understand." Rogotzke was standing there with a puzzled expression. "Why don't you explain Bushido to Carole; I don�t think she understands." "Bushido is the Japanese code of chivalry, Carole. Part of that was ritual suicide, Seppuku, most people call it Hari-Kari." Rogotzke shuddered. Robin was watching the lady, she now knew to be her executioner, as she continued. "A warrior who was dishonored was expected to commit suicide by running himself through and disemboweling himself; a lady had to cut her throat. In either case, the ritual was ended when an executioner beheaded the person with a samurai sword, ending their pain." Cassandra removed a wide, black leather belt, with leather cuffs attached, from her bag. Short lengths of chain attached a second pair of cuffs. "The executioner was always a trusted friend. It was considered an honor to assist a friend in Seppuku." She looked her executioner in the eye: "You're right, Cassandra. I would rather have a friend do this; I'd rather have a friend with me at the end." She turned and smiled at the detective: "You too, Carole. I'm glad you're here with me." "Thank you, dear. I would have turned this down, except that I didn't want someone with you..at the end...who wasn't kind to you." Robin turned back to her executioner. She was trying very hard to sound brave; but, her voice came out small and shaky. "Well, what comes next?" Cassandra held up the leather harness. "Come here, child. I won�t hurt you. No, let her come by herself, Carole." The girl stepped forward. "Now, raise your arms, love." Robin complied, and the belt was placed around her, just below her breasts, the cuffs hanging down in back. Cassandra smiled at her young victim, as she fastened the buckles. "You can put your arms down now. This won't even ruin the line of your dress; you'll still look lovely." "I don't think it will ever catch on as an accessory." Cassandra looked up to see that the girl was actually smiling back at her.

"No, I'm afraid not." The executioner took the girl's right hand, stepped behind her, and gently, but very efficiently, pulled her arm behind her back, and fastened a cuff, just above the right elbow. She pointed, over Robin's shoulder, at the legirons on the table. Rogotzke retrieved them and knelt to fasten them. "Now the other arm, darling." Robin looked down at the policewoman fastening the shackles around her slender ankles. "Are those necessary. You know I can�t escape." "I'm sorry, dear; but, they are necessary. At least they�re required,� the detective said, apologetically. "As for escaping,� Cassandra said, as she buckled the second wrist cuff in place, "I'd help you, if I thought you could." She leaned over Robin's shoulder, and smiled. "As a matter of fact, I thought of several good escape plans myself. All of them brilliant, except they wouldn�t work." She gently tightened a strap to pull Robin's elbows together. "That's not too tight; is it, love?" "No, it's not." Cassandra put her hand in one of the girl�s pinioned hands and squeezed it gently. "Are we still friends?" "Yes! It's all right, Cassandra." Cassandra picked up the "cap" from the table and put it over her head. The "cap" was actually a black leather executioner�s hood that covered her head except for her eyes, mouth and jaw. Robin shuddered a little. An executioner putting on his hood was an old image from the movies; it meant that the final moment was drawing near. "That's scary," she said. Cassandra paused. "I can take it off, if it frightens you, darling." "No. I'll be all right. I guess an executioner should wear a mask. It's all part of the mystique." Cassandra smiled at her. "You know you have a romantic streak in you, Robin." "So do you, Cassandra; but, in you, it's dark." "I know that, darling." Cassandra gently pulled the neckline of the girl's dress down off her shoulders. "This is meant to be worn off the shoulders. There, you look lovely. You're a beautiful, young woman, Robin." She brushed her fingertips against the girl's cheek affectionately.

Robin looked down shyly. "Right now, I wish it was someone else telling me that. No, I'm sorry, Cassandra. I didn't mean it like that." Cassandra smiled back at her. "I know what you're trying to say, darling. You wish it were young man, under better circumstances. So do I. But, there are going to be a lot of young men out there admiring you today." "Is there much of a crowd out there?" "Yes, there is, darling; but, don't be afraid. Actually, a lot of those people out there are on your side; they think you're the victim of an injustice." She stepped back and pulled on her black leather gloves. "Now, I'm afraid it's time, Robin. We're going to have to go. Be brave for me." "I'll..try," the girl replied shakily. "But, I don't feel brave." "Don't worry about feeling brave, sweetheart. Just act it, and you'll be all right." The girl in black velvet watched through her opera glasses as the trio emerged into the morning sunlight: the young girl in white satin, the hangwoman in black, and the policewoman. "Oh, she�s lovely, and so brave. Here, look!" She handed the opera glasses to her boyfriend.

"Yeah! She is. And that hanglady in black is so cool." He looked back over his shoulder at the professor, who was glaring at them. "Hey, Prof. I feel sorry for her, too. But, if she dressed like that, she wanted people to see her." The girl added: "I know I'll cry for her. At least we're a sympathetic audience. We can appreciate her courage, and her beauty, and the beauty of all this." She waved a hand in the direction of the gallows, and turned to watch the pageant unfold. "Beauty! Young lady, A woman, about your age, is about to be put to death, and, she doesn't deserve this, anyone ever does." She turned to smile at him again. "Yes, I know it's an injustice. Cruelty, pain, injustice, and death, especially the death of a beautiful, young woman. It has all the elements of good tragedy." Starke was silent. She would have talked like that, the girl he�d known. She'd recline naked across his bed, an unfiltered cigarette in a long holder, while she read from the Marquis de Sade, reciting passages of torture and execution to shock and titillate him. He wondered for a moment whether she was here, in this crowd. Damn her, she would have enjoyed this spectacle. The execution party reached the foot of the gallows, where the prison warden was waiting with the death warrant in his hand. �Good morning, Robin. I'm sorry, but I have to read this to you." He paused, then began reading: "Robin Layne, you have been found guilty of capital offenses covered under article 39 of the state penal code. The sentence of the court is that you be hanged by the neck until you are dead. Have you anything to say?"

"Only that I was telling the truth. I didn't know what was in that package I gave to the officer. I didn't know it contained drugs,� the girl replied. The warden swallowed hard, and asked: "Do you have anything more to say." His voice was shaky. Robin just shook her head no. "Then, may God have mercy on your soul. Madame Executioner, do your duty." The executioner took Robin by the shoulders, and gently turned her around, facing the gallows steps. Rogotzke knelt and removed her leg irons, so she could climb the steps. "Carole, say goodbye." The older woman put her arms around Robin, hugged her close, still holding the irons in her hand, and kissed the girl's cheek. "Goodbye, Robin. I hope you'll forgive me for my part in this." Robin kissed her back. "There's nothing to forgive. I'm glad you were here." "It's all right, dear," her voice was near breaking. "Goodbye, I�ll always remember you." "Goodbye, Carole." She turned to the executioner; "I�m ready."

Cassandra put an arm around her waist to steady her as they ascended the steps slowly. Rogotzke watched from the foot of the stairs, trying to hold back her tears. As they climbed the last few steps, Robin could see the scaffold floor, with the large, square trap in the center, and the black iron lever to the left of the trap. Robin looked up at the noose, with the big, brutal hangman's knot, with eight coiled turns, hung over the center of the trap. There was a short line painted on the trap, just below the noose, just like the lines Robin had seen when she had acted in a play during her senior year in high school. They were the "toe marks;" that marked where an actress was to stand during a scene. "Robin, please step forward and place your toes along that line. That's it." Cassandra held the noose to the side, while Robin stepped forward on the trap. Cassandra stepped in front of her, holding the noose. "Now, you may want to close your eyes for this." The hangwoman dropped the noose over her head; but didn't tighten it yet. Instead she dropped to her knees and took a leather strap from its belt clip. "Put your feet together, please, sweetheart." The girl complied, and Cassandra strapped her ankles together. Another strap pinioned her legs just below the knees. She stood up again and faced the girl. "Robin, do you forgive me for this?" "Yes, I do, Cassandra. I'm not angry with you anymore. This isn�t your fault." "Thank you." Cassandra leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. There was a gasp from the crowd at the sight of an executioner kissing her victim. "You've been a brave girl, and I'm proud of you. Now, close your eyes again, darling� She kissed the girl again, this time on the eyes. "Keep them closed." Quickly, she pulled a black, spandex hood from a pocket of her vest, and dropped it over Robin�s head. She fastened the velcro tabs to secure it. She placed a finger under Robin's chin and tilted it up gently; then tightened the noose, carefully placing the knot under and just forward of her left ear. Then she stepped back, off the trap. She took a second to contemplate her beautiful and brave little victim, then she pulled the lever.

There were moans and screams from the crowd as the girl dropped through the gallows trap. She plummeted toward the ground, only to be brought to a sudden stop by the rope. There was a twang, as the rope grew taught, and a loud crack, as Robin�s delicate neck broke. The impact knocked off one of her high-heel pumps. She spun slowly to the left, and began her dance. The straps limited her kicks, so that she could only bring her feet up toward her body. The goth girl watched through her opera glasses as Robin danced on the rope. "Oh! Is she suffering?" "No, I don't think so,� her boyfriend said. "It's supposed to be all reflex." "Are you sure?" Starke asked bitterly. The boy turned and shrugged. There were more groans from the crowd. Carole Rogotzke had turned her back, just before the executioner opened the trap. She was trying hard not to turn around; she knew too well what was going on under the gallows. Finally, Robin drew her feet up for the last time and let them drop. A shudder ran down her body, and her feet quivered for a few seconds, then she was still, except for the slow, pendulum motion. Someone near Starke said: �That�s the longest dance I ever saw!�

The crowd had grown quiet, so quiet that all Carole could hear was the sound of the rope creaking. Finally, she couldn't resist turning around to see her young prisoner and friend slowly spinning and swinging at the end of the rope, the coiled knot still in place beside her head, which was bent over at a sharp angle. She let out a groan and turned away again. Cassandra was already descending the steps. At the bottom, she put a hand on the detective�s shoulder to comfort her. "Carole, she didn't suffer." The older woman turned and slapped the executioner, putting all body weight behind the slap. The blow carried enough force to rock the hangwoman. "You murdering bitch!" "Feel better?" Cassandra put a hand to her cheek. Carole just said: "No!" Then she walked away toward the administration building. She was able to reach the holding cell before she broke down. The executioner turned and walked toward the gallows, pausing just outside the crossbraces at the rear. She motioned the younger of the two uniformed officers who had accompanied them, with a gloved hand. The officer paused, then stepped forward, hesitantly, looking up at Robin, as she swung gently back and forth on the rope. "This your first execution?" Cassandra asked. He nodded. "Yes, well, would you please retrieve my bag from the room we just left. It's a large, leather briefcase with a shoulder strap. I'll need it to hold the harness and some other things." The officer never took his eyes off the hanged girl. "She's not going anywhere. Now, please go. Oh, and if Detective Rogotzke is there, just leave her alone for a while."

"Yes, ma'am." The young officer turned and walked away, still looking scared. Cassandra thought: is he more frightened of seeing that poor child die, or of me? Well, I scare a lot of people, including myself. The little goth girl in black velvet handed the opera glasses to her boyfriend. "Isn�t she beautiful, hanging there? So graceful, so peaceful." She was obviously turned on by the execution, as were most of her friends; but, when she turned to look back at Starke, tears streaked her eye makeup. "You see, professor, I do feel for her. She died so bravely, that gave her death a terrible sort of beauty." Starke couldn't reply. He was relieved to see the small sign of humanity the girl's tears represented, but, still horrified by the mixture of lust and total fascination he saw on the faces of the goth kids, and many of their straighter contemporaries. He was more horrified by his own excitement. He was watching a young girl being put to death, and he was incredibly aroused. The goth girl's boyfriend handed the opera glasses to Starke. "Take a look, prof. She is a beautiful sight." Starke hesitated. "Go on. If she went to the trouble of dressing for the occasion, she'd want us to look." Starke took the glasses, hesitated again, and then raised them to his eyes. There was a terrible beauty to the sight of that slender young body, in its white satin, turning and swinging slowly, in the morning breeze. The black leather straps and the black hood, instead of being terrible, now seemed to set off the whiteness of her dress and shoulders. And, there had been grace and beauty in the courageous way she had marched to the gallows and climbed those 13 steps. But, God, it was wrong to feel such excitement at an unjust death.

The kids were wasting no time in recriminations. The boy who had handed him the opera glasses was bending his girlfriend�s head back for a deep kiss. All of the goth kids who were paired were kissing and/or embracing each other, including two girls in black vinyl and fishnet, wrapped in each others' arms. For a moment, Starke�s only regret was that he had no one to cling to in the moment. He raised the opera glasses one more time. The girl in black velvet was indulging a fantasy of standing on the gallows herself. She'd be dressed in her long, black velvet gown, and goth makeup. Her hands would be bound behind her with black cords, not a harness, and she'd get a black satin blindfold, not a hood. The hanglady would kiss her, a deep, passionate kiss with tongues touching, then drop her through the trap. Her legs wouldn't be bound; she'd kick her heels in mid-air, as the crowd lusted for her death, and for her. She could almost feel the cords binding her wrist, and the rope around her neck. Starke raised the opera glasses to watch the executioner approach her young victim, still swinging, slowly, in mid-air. Someone in the crowd screamed: "get away from her!" as if she could still hurt the poor girl. The executioner paid no heed to the crowd; she knelt, removed the straps binding the girl�s legs and clipped them back on her belt. Then, she picked up the white satin shoe that had fallen off the girl's foot, and gently placed it back on her foot. Starke lowered the glasses again.

Cassandra reached up to steady the swinging body as the doctor approached with his stethoscope and clipboard. Cassandra�s assistants brought up a stepladder and set it up next to Robin�s dangling body. The doctor paused a few feet away and looked up at her, with the most tragic expression on his face. He climbed the ladder, to a level where he could feel the side of her neck. �Fracture of the second and third cervical vertebrae," he said sadly. "A broken neck as always. You're an artist, Cassandra. Damn you!" He glared at the executioner, who met his gaze without flinching, and then he placed his stethoscope against the girl's chest. He took it away after a moment, turning his head away. He was unable to hear the girl's fading heartbeat for the pounding of his own. Starke watched the doctor and the executioner as they, in turn watched the life run out of the hanged girl. Someone blocked his view; he took the glasses down. The little Goth girl was holding out her hand; he returned the opera glasses with a guilty expression. The girl leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, "Don't feel too guilty about being turned on by all this, professor. Most of the people here were." Starke looked around guiltily The police were clearing a path for a hearse to drive up to the gallows. The doctor put his stethoscope to the girl's chest again, then shook his head, and recorded the girl's heartbeat on his clipboard. Fourteen minutes had passed since the trap opened. The young policeman returned with Cassandra's bag. He wouldn't approach the hanging body, so Cassandra went to him. "Excuse me, ma'am;" he said," but, I thought you'd want to know. Detective Rogotzke was there. She was holding the young lady's sweater, and crying her eyes out."

"Leave her be. She needs to be alone for a while. Thank you." She took the bag. The officer touched his cap in salute, without answering, and walked away. The doctor was staring at her, wondering what to make of this exchange. Some of the crowd was already drifting away, although the goth kids were apparently determined to stick it out to the end. Across the green, Starke could see the cowboy who had let out the whoop as the girl was being led out to her death. He was bending over, clutching his groin. The Barbie doll was lying on the ground. It looked like Robin still had some friends on this campus. Starke actually smiled, despite his long-standing commitment to nonviolence. The asshole deserved it, richly. The mortician's assistants carried a stretcher up to the gallows as the doctor checked the girl's heartbeat one more time. This time he nodded, and made a final entry. "Robin Layne, I pronounce you dead, as prescribed by the laws of this state." He came down off the ladder. "Now get that poor child down from there." He tore his stethoscope from his neck. Nineteen minutes had passed since Robin had dropped through the gallows trap. Cassandra climbed the ladder, while the mortician's men were opening the body bag. She steadied the girl's body again, and pulled off the hood. The face was colored a dark, purple-red. The tip of the tongue was just barely visible between the girl's teeth. She reached down and pulled a small knife from her boot top, then motioned for the mortician's men to come forward and take the girl's arms, while she cut the rope. Robin�s head fell forward as the rope was cut. Cassandra patted the girl�s shoulder: "It's all right, darling. It's all over. You can rest now." She loosened the noose and slipped it off. There was a groove around Robin�s neck, where the rope had tightened; the flesh was reddened, abraded. She put the noose and the hood in the leather bag with the harness, then looked on sadly as the body bag was zipped shut and carried away.

Starke watched the executioner turn and walk away as the hearse drove away. The goth kids were finally leaving. The girl in black velvet turned to him and smiled. A conspiratorial smile? After all, they had shared dark secrets about each other. Starke took a final look at the gallows, where the executioner's assistants were already beginning the process of dismantling the gallows, then he began walking off in a blue funk, depressed at the horror he had seen and his own reaction. He was lost in his own dark thoughts, when a long, black, stretch limousine pulled alongside and stopped, a few feet away. One of the darkened windows was rolled down, and a young woman�s head leaned out. "Richard! I thought that was you. Come on, get in." "Cassandra? I don't believe it. What are you doing here?" He smiled at her. She was wearing something tight and black, and holding up a long cigarette holder in one elegant hand, flamboyant as ever. She didn't answer his question directly, just motioned him closer: "Come on, get in, before someone recognizes me." She rolled up the window again, and opened the door for him. He got in and closed the door behind him. "What do you mean, recognize you? Oh, my God!" He took a closer look at the black outfit, boots, black leather vest and all. I don't believe this." She held up the leather hood, so he could see it. "Believe it. I told you I was a monster a long time ago, Richard. You should have believed me." He noticed, for the first time, that her eyes were red, and there was a bruise along her jaw. "I didn't believe it then. Now, I don't know. Cassandra, you frighten me" "I always did, love, if you remember." "How the hell did you get into this business?" "You mean hanging people? It's a long story, Richard. Listen, before you judge me." She drew on her cigarette nervously, then began: "When the state first replaced lethal injections with public hangings, I just had to attend." She smiled, "You know my fascination with death and cruelty. The first hanging I witnessed was a young cop killer; the hangman was old Crazy Joe, the preacher.

You probably saw him today, at the edge of the crowd, passing out pamphlets and haranguing people with hell, fire and brimstone." Starke nodded. "I think he did the same thing with his victims. I know the poor kid was crying and incoherent on the gallows. The old bastard practically had to drag him up the steps, and he wasn't gentle. He was also totally incompetent as an executioner; the boy died slowly, of suffocation. Old Crazy Joe didn't even get all the elasticity out of the rope, the poor kid bounced up and down like a yo- yo when he dropped." She drew on her cigarette again. "It was the first time I had ever seen death close up. I felt pity for the boy; but, at the same time, I have to admit I found it incredibly exciting." She had a far away look in her eyes; Starke shuddered at what she must be thinking. "I also thought I could do the job better than that old bastard, which isn�t saying an awful lot." "So, I did some research on hanging. You know about my collection of books on execution and torture." Starke nodded slowly. "I've been adding to it. I found a memoir of James Berry, the 19th century British hangman, which contained his table of drops by body weight, and some advice on varying the drop." Cassandra continued: "I got some more advice along those lines from a doctor. No, not the young man you saw out there today; he doesn't like me at all. I can�t say I blame him." She smiled sadly. "No, this was a lady doctor.

We spent an interesting evening discussing the physiology of hanging, and the effects." She smiled again; this time, the wicked smile Starke remembered. "She was as fascinated by my dark side as you were; she also discovered her own, just as you did." She ran seductive fingers along the back of his neck. "It was an interesting evening." She took her fingers away and continued: "I found a sketch for a galloping gallows - a portable gallows - that had been used on the American frontier, and hired carpenters to construct it. The design is authentic Old West, with a few modern changes, like non-rust alloys in the trap release mechanism.� She fitted another cigarette to her holder, as she spoke, and lit it. She let the cigarette holder dangle from her lips while she put on the black leather executioner's hood. " Then I had to design a costume. This hides my identity; besides, an executioner should wear a mask. It's all part of the mystique, as a friend recently told me." "My first hanging was a young bank robber and murderer." She smiled, remembering. "Was it everything you expected, Cassandra?" "Oh yes, it was. I can't describe it, and you can't imagine. My first thought was: "who wouldn't enjoy this?" Starke was silent for a moment, then asked: "even the girl you hanged today?" She took a deep breath, then began: "Richard, whatever you think of me, and believe me, I know I'm an evil bitch, you have to believe that I liked - I loved - this girl, and cared about her. I got to know her." "Tell me about it,� Starke said, gently.

"I saw her, in prison..my usual professional visit. The prison doctor provides me with my victim's height and weight. He hates that; I think that's why he hates me so much. Oh yes, I do call them victims, not clients. I hate euphemisms. Where was I? Oh yes, I needed to see her in person, to determine her body type and the other factors that I need to know to figure the exact drop needed to break her neck painlessly. She didn't have an idea of what I was really doing. I guess she assumed I was a rich lady doing charity work with some prison rights organization.� Cassandra smiled sadly: "She smiled at me when I touched her cheek and let my fingers run along the side of her neck. She must have thought it was just a friendly caress; actually, I was gauging the strength of her neck.� Starke shuddered at the image, and at Cassandra�s strange, far-away smile. �She was such an appealing child, so lonely and scared. I guess she touched some spark of tenderness still remaining in me. I liked her the second I saw her." She was silent for a moment. Starke said nothing; finally she continued: "Well, apparently she liked me too. Can you imagine that, she liked me? Even not knowing that I was to be her executioner, I'm surprised." "I'm not." Starke replied. He put a hand over hers. "Thank you, Richard. Well, she actually asked me if I could come back and visit her, and I did. I guess I was as glad for her friendship as she was for mine. I have enough pull with the state to be able to visit her as often as I liked, even if it wasn't regular visiting hours. We talked about a lot of things; you know, girl talk." She smiled. "She was such a sweet kid. I actually tried to stop the execution, believe it or not. I thought this was an injustice, just as you did. I made trips to the governor's office between visits to Robin. He wouldn�t see me. Yes, I see that raises your opinion of me. No, don�t argue, let me finish. I was alternating visits to my little friend, trips to the governor's office, and preparations for her execution. I'd talk to Robin, return home and prepare the rope to hang her." "But, then how could you do it? How could you be the one to hang her, knowing she considered you her friend?"

"Richard, you don't understand. Because I was her friend, I had to be her executioner. You remember the alternative, don't you? Old Crazy Joe! I snapped that pretty little neck and killed her quickly, without pain. That old bastard would have strangled her, and he would have scared the poor child to death with his hell, fire and brimstone rant. She was scared enough as it was." She looked away: "And, I didn't want those old, cold hands on her; he wouldn't have been gentle. I didn't want anyone's hands on her, but mine, at the last. No, Richard, no one was going to hang my little Robin by the neck; no one but me." "I'm sorry. It must have been hard." "It was hard in more ways than you can understand." She unzipped her left boot and put her foot in his lap. "Be a dear and help me off with my boots, would you?" He pulled off the boot; she repeated the process with the other. "You asked about whether I enjoyed this execution?" "Yes, well I'm sorry about that." "No, don't be. I'm going to cry for her.." She pulled off her leather vest and began unbuckling the wide leather belt. He looked again at the redness around her eyes: "I think you already have, Cassandra."

She smiled, a sad smile. "Yes, I have, and I'll cry some more; but, the horrible truth is, as much as I learned to love her, I knew I was going to enjoy hanging her more than I've ever enjoyed hanging anyone before." She pulled down the zipper of her jumpsuit and began taking it off. "I told you she touched something tender in me; she touched my dark side as well.� Cassandra had a far-away look in her eyes as she remembered the sight of the doe-like in the girl being led into the room where the interview was to take place. She wore an orange prison jumpsuit, handcuffs, a belly chain, and legirons. �I thought she was the most appealing little creature, standing there in her chains, with her long hair around her shoulders, and that long, delicate, white neck, that neck that would be so easy to snap. She was like a little gazelle, set out to bait a predator, and I was that predator. I am a monster, Richard. I hanged a good friend today, and I both loved it and hated it." "Well, Cassandra, if you're a monster, so am I. You know how angry I am at this kind of injustice. I tried to stop this too. But, when it actually began, I found I was being turned on. Turned on! Hell, I was as rampant as a teenager. I guess I'm still hot." He looked at her guiltily. She kissed him gently, then put a hand up to his cheek. �Poor Richard. I showed you part of your dark side; but, there's still more there that you're just discovering. Don't feel too guilty, my darling, people have been getting turned on by watching public executions as long as they've been executing people."

"Well, we're a lovely pair of ghouls, aren't we?" He released the catch of her bra, and pulled it off. There was a tattoo of a hangman�s noose on her left breast. He leaned forward to kiss it. She pulled off her panties, then unzipped his jeans, and pulled out his erect cock. Then she draped a leg over his, and seated herself in his lap, taking his cock into her already well- lubricated cunt. She rode him with slow, expert motions, while she kissed his lips and neck. The images going through both their minds were of a beautiful, young girl, in a white satin dress, swinging at the end of a rope. She screamed as her orgasm began, and shudders ran through her body, just as they had through Robin�s body as she danced on the rope. Starke closed his eyes, put his head back, and groaned as his own orgasm came. Cassandra kissed him on the neck, just below and forward of the left ear, where the knot would go. As he regained control, he found himself looking into a pair of beautiful, green eyes and a wicked, red mouth, framed by an executioner�s black hood. That night, he awakened to find her crying beside him. He held her gently for a while; then, they made love again; this time tenderly, with long, slow thrusts. A few days later, he was waiting in her study when she returned from Robin's funeral. She was all in black, a long, black dress and gloves, a wide- brimmed black hat with a veil, and a black cape. He took her hat and cape from her. She poured herself a brandy and fitted a cigarette into her long, black holder. He watched her body moving in the tight dress, and her legs, in black stocking and black high-heels. She hadn't said a word yet.

He followed her into the study and took a seat on the couch opposite her chair. The newspapers he had been reading were piled on the coffee table. She smoked and drank in silence while he watched. Then, he asked: "Was this the first time you've attended the funeral of one of your victims, Cassandra? I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to be cruel." She smiled at him: "I know you didn't, darling. Yes, it was - the first time, that is. I wanted to see her one last time. She was lovely. I was afraid it would be a closed coffin service. I was so afraid that I�d spoiled her beauty." She took a sip of her brandy, thought for a second, then smiled again: "She was wearing the white satin dress; it was her wish to be buried in it." She sighed: "God, if her parents knew who had selected that for her. Oh, don't worry, I avoided the family, I kept to the back and slipped out quietly as soon as it ended. They didn�t have a chance to connect me with the monster in the black hood who strung up their little girl." She changed the subject, abruptly: "What are the papers saying?" "It's the outcry I expected. All the major papers are full of editorials condemning this as a barbarism. I've yet to see one editorial saying that this young lady..."

"Her name was Robin. Remember that." "Yes. I've yet to see one editorial in support of this execution." He went on, more softly: "You should see the editorials and letters praising her courage on the gallows. Robin's now a tragic heroine to the same people who were crying for her blood a few days ago." "Poor darling, just before I walked her to the gallows, I told her that young men would be watching her and admiring her. I don�t think she would, or could, understand that people could be erotically stimulated by seeing a lovely young girl hanged by the neck." She smiled at him: "People like those Goth kids you told me about. The little girl in the black velvet and vampire fangs sounds interesting." "Yes, you remember I told you she reminded me of you, years ago. She had that same dark quality that always fascinated me about you." He was silent a moment: "You showed me a dark side to myself, that was another aspect of my fascination. I saw that dark side again a few days ago, and I'm still frightened by it." "Poor Richard, you've always wanted the world to be as enlightened and humane as you are." He started to protest; but, she continued before he had time to interrupt: "No, don't contradict me. You are a very rational, compassionate man. Mostly." She smiled: " No, don't put yourself down because you were aroused by a hanging, love. Remind me to show you a passage from Charles Dickens about the hanging of Maria Manning in 1849. He found the whole thing deplorable; but, he did describe, in his own words �the woman�s fine shape, so elaborately corsetted and artfully dressed, that it was quite unchanged in its trim appearance as it slowly swung from side to side.�" Both were quiet a moment, then Cassandra grinned evilly: �Oh Richard, you should see your face right now.�

"Going back to the subject of people being turned on by a hanging, it seems that my erstwhile debate partner, State Senator Russell Hyatt was mightily aroused." "Yes, now tell me something I don't know, love. He's never missed a public hanging. After each of the first few, he'd show up here, trying to buy the nooses and hoods. He even made a couple of attempts to get into my pants; the idea of sleeping with someone who had taken lives aroused him. I threw him out, of course. The bastard!" Starke decided not to ask what she had done with Robin�s noose and other relics. "I doubt very much that you'll be hearing from him anytime soon. As I said, he was turned on, so much so, that he tried to grope the young aide who accompanied him. Now, he's facing a charge of sexual harassment, not his first, and I don't think he'll wriggle out of this one. At least, it'll lose him the support of the religious right, which was most of his base." "Yes, they were the loudest of the people clamoring to have Robin put to death." He picked up one of the editorial sections he had been reading: "Well, they haven't backtracked on that; but, they are silent; except for condemning the `atmosphere of licentiousness' surrounding her hanging. They didn't mention Hyatt." "No, they wouldn't."

"There's another bit of news; it seems that our governor picked the day after Robin's hanging to announce his bid for the presidency. " Cassandra looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Over the last few years, politicians have found that they could win votes by bragging of the number of people they've sent to death row. That's the real reason for the rise in the number of executions and the number of crimes covered by the death penalty. Why do you think he refused to even hear a plea for clemency for Robin." "So, that's the real reason my poor, darling Robin had to die, to further the political ambitions of those bastards." She put a hand over the silver locket. "Yes, well now, they're both going to find that they�re carrying the weight of Robin's death like an albatross." He stared at the locket, guessing at its contents. She read his interest, and without speaking, opened the locket. Inside were a lock of auburn hair, and a picture of a smiling young girl. "I helped Robin fix her hair, the night before her execution. The picture is one of Robin's freshman class pictures. She gave it to me, along with several others to remember her by. Of course, she didn�t know who I was at the time.�

She sat in silence, fingering the locket. Then, vehemently: "Richard, ruin them for me. Don't let them disassociate themselves from her death and go on with their careers. You know I've got money, if you need it." "I'll do that. Does this mean you're giving up wearing the executioner�s hood?" "No, love, not yet. Let's not argue, now." She came and set beside him on the couch. "I'll quit when this country finally abolishes capital punishment. Until then, I'm the lesser of evils, remember? I break necks, I kill quickly, and I'm a lot kinder to my victims." She ran fingers down his neck, seductively, and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Oh, yes, Cassandra, I almost forgot. Robin's friend, the one who gave her the package of cocaine to deliver she�s slated to go, in a couple of weeks, isn't she? I'm going to try to save her, too." Her fingers continued to work their magic around his throat and down his chest. "I know you will, darling, and good luck. If you don't succeed, I'll be the one to hang her. She�s got this coming, and I�m looking forward to putting a rope around that soft white throat. I�ll put the knot right there.� She kissed his neck just below his left ear, and raked fingernails down his chest. Both of them were breathing harder, by now. �And, I�ll pull the lever to open the trapdoor with these fingers. Then, you�ll watch as she�ll drop and slowly swing, from side to side.� She kissed him, then looked up at him, and smiled her most predatory smile. �You will be there won�t you, Richard? At least, to protest?"

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