Hanged Till Death

He limped out the dark passageway into the closed courtyard with the sun blatantly shining into his eyes blinding him for a moment. The cool metal surface of the heavy irons on his wrists and feet felt like a boon in the biting heat of the sun. He did not have to worry about the sun for long, he thought, as he walked forward with the pace of a streamlet concluding its journey into the ocean having shed all the extraneous volume for a moment of peace.

Two men, dressed in the traditional khakis walked on both sides of him, following him silently as their uniforms ruffled. It was customary to hold the condemned prisoner by the arms and lead him to the stage. But the respect for this particular man was spread wide enough for the officers to sidestep that particular practice.

The courtyard was dead silent, providing a preview of what was to follow. The clinking of the chains the prisoner was bound in, was reverberating from the walls of the courtyard, providing the music for his final procession. And even though the ground scorched his feet, he could not wince, for he had made peace with his actions a long time ago.

As he clambered up the wooden steps, restricted by the clamps on his limbs, he felt the feeling of ascension. He felt the rustle of a silent wind on his face as he came eye to eye with the last circle he would ever see. He watched from the side of his eye as the executioner, clad in a black mask edged towards him. The executioner stumbled a little as he reached the prisoner. Appears to be a rookie, he thought as the executioner fumbled with the keys. Having removed the irons, the executioner proceeded to tie up the prisoner’s wrists in rope. He could hear a muffled sniffle, as if from a cold gone bad. Poor man, he thought, having to come to his job on a sick day. Having tied up the wrists, it was time for the final adornment. A black cloth was pulled over his head. He closed his eyes. It was time.

He looked out the little window, through the wrought iron bars and into the clear sky. The vacant sky and the eerie silence was making him uncomfortable. As he lay on the stone slab of a bed, looking out to the sky, he felt as if being compressed by his surroundings. Breathing was not coming naturally to him.

It had been only a fortnight when he had been walking up the lane that lead to his mansion. It was way early in the morning for any other soul to be out and about. Retired General Troy Hanson was heading with a mission. Just as he reached the gate, he saw him coming out for his morning walk. A man like him, what other option did he have to enjoy the nature without facing the world than to get up this early for a walk, thought Hanson as he retrieved his gun from the holster at his legs. He stopped for a few moments to give him the distance. Hanson would have a single shot to do this. The man was too powerful for another attempt. He followed the man to a relatively secluded spot and then concluded that it was time. He ran up to the man and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. As the man turned, Hanson’s mind went numb for a moment. It wasn’t cold feet. It was something different. It was the momentary silence one could expect just before a bomb explodes. And as the moment exited, Hanson pulled the trigger. His veins pulsed as he pulled the trigger five more times before the gun became a cap to his anger and his bullets emptied. This was not how he had planned to do it. He had wanted to look the man in the eye and ask him for his reasons. He wanted to see the man cry and beg for forgiveness. He wanted to punch him and beat him senseless for all that he had done to his family. But he did not anticipate the gut-wrenching anger and the mind-numbing urge to use that anger on him in a single shot.

As he walked back to his brother’s home, he breathed. He breathed after a long time. Killing was not really a new experience for him. He had fought all his life for his country. Of course, avenging someone gave an entirely new dimension to killing, which he did not regret. He had avenged his brother’s death. He did not bother about the consequences of this revenge. After taking a bath, and slipping into some fresh clothes, going over to the police station for surrendering would be the first thing he would do. He did not fear, for he had avenged his brother. He had killed Gorn Pavich.

He walked through the sticky mud on the river bank, followed by one of his subordinates. It was past twilight, and the evening twitter was long gone. He held in his hands a suitcase with vital documents. It was important that the deal go right. As he reached the first of the shored boats, he came to a stand still. It was time to wait.

He reminisced all that had happened in his life. Being overshadowed by a brother like him was definitely intimidating. But he had learnt way early in his life, that the source of all his failures was he himself. And now he had a family of five to support. He chuckled as he realised that his brother, even in retirement, was sharing the burden of the household with his pension while he himself struggled under the wrong type of people. Ever since Troy went off and got enlisted, Savor had lost his way of sorts. He took the wrong decisions, made friends with the wrong type of people and ultimately joined the wrong type of job under the pressure of supporting his family.

Gorn Pavich was the strongest man in the state and being his second-in-command was nothing less than luxurious. Savor had started working for him when he was the most helpless and had quickly risen through command. It was only when his brother got retired and moved in with him that he was reminded of all his brother stood for. Savor never really wanted any of the power that came with his job. It was only ever the money that he required. Now, Gorn Pavich was the kind of person who people knew was a murderer, a drug and arms dealer and a bad man in general. The only problem was that nothing could stick to him. He never left any proof.

A month ago, a government agent came with an offer to help bring down Pavich in exchange for government protection and support to his family. As he looked at his watch, standing in the squelching mud, waiting for the government agent who was supposed to retrieve the files, he saw a light of sorts across the river. And then there was a sharp pain at the back of his head as he fell down. As everything blacked out, he could only see the silhouette of his subordinate standing over him with the suitcase in his hand. Savor Hanson was dead.

Troy had to wait only for a few hours as the local law enforcement converged on him. It was not as if he had tried to hide. He did not even have to personally go and surrender to them. It took a little bit more than a fortnight for them to come to the decision of his punishment. Pavich’s death was too high profile to go unnoticed. While most of the people did know about his shady background, no legitimate proof meant that the jury, the elite and educated of the society had to vote for his execution on the grounds of justice.

Troy had suspected for quite some time that Savor worked with Pavich. But when he heard the rumours about Pavich ordering the hit on his brother, none of it mattered. He did not care whether or not his brother worked in a mob or a church. Pavich’s notoriety was spread wide enough for Troy to know that Pavich had ordered for his brother to be murdered. Pavich was the reason that Savor’s wife and three kids would have to struggle the rest of their life with the little pension he received. Pavich had to die.

As he waited in his prison cell for the day of execution, he received the news that his brother had enrolled in some form of government insurance, and his family was financially insured after his death. Troy was as serene as one could be in the face of imminent death. All that was left for him was the wait.

He struggled to hold back his emotions as he saw the man walk up to the stage. Even in the face of death, his brother never departed from the calm expression on his face. Savor stood helplessly, as his brother faced the loop. It was time for his job now.

Savor remembered waking up in a warm room on a soft bed. The blow on the head was pretty hard. But he had been prepared for it. It had been part of the plan all along. The deal with the devil had been for the complete disappearance of Savor Hanson to bring down Pavich. For it was not only the documents, but sensitive intel to the inside workings of Pavich’s clockwork that the government required which Savor could deliver. His subordinate was already working for the government. All they required was a witness for the murder of Savor Hanson. The agent had been very considerate to Savor’s condition and had offered him legitimate job with a high pay and complete anonymity. Though repulsed by the idea initially, he realised the job could be his one shot for an honest living, given that he had minimal education and no qualifications. He decided that staying dead would be a much better path than to face his brother and his family disappointed of him making such poor choices and performing such jobs.

As Savor completed finished tying the wrists, he felt the presence of his guiding brother one last time as he stifled his tears, barely sniffling. He pulled over the black cloth over his face. Each moment forward was to be agony for him now, he thought. As he walked over to the lever, he completed his own set of prayers for forgiveness, as Savor Hanson pulled the lever. Troy Hanson was now dead.

All our life, we see people, passionate for one thing or another. We hear them talk about things they would ‘kill for’. Some kill for their country, others kill for power, and yet others kill for family. What the question really boils down to is whether or not is your desire worth killing? Is anything worth killing?