Lethal Injection Read online

  Lethal Injection?

  K & M LOVOLD

  Copyright © 2019 K&M Lovold

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental. The characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes.

  ISBN: 978-0-578-53729-0

  DEDICATION

  We dedicate this book to our three daughters, Lindsay, Brittany and Tiffany. You’ve grown up into beautiful, strong young women, and we couldn’t be more proud of you. Thank you for all your encouragement while we collaborated on our first novel together

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Malaki Pederson strode toward the death chamber just as James Caldwell, warden of Battlecreek Maximum Security Prison, stepped out of it, rubbing his forehead. He closed the door and latched it behind him.

  “How’d it go?” Malaki approached him.

  “It was an execution. Like always.” James straightened and raised his chin. “Have they taken him?”

  “Yep.” Malaki nodded. “He’s gone.”

  “Another one bites the dust.” James seemed to force a laugh. “Come on. Let’s do this.”

  Malaki and his partner strode down the hallway until they reached the end, and Malaki leaned into a seemingly blank wall and studied a tiny hole. From the almost invisible security scanner, a miniscule green light flashed, and the wall in front of them slid open and swallowed them instantaneously. It happened so fast if anyone happened to pass by, they’d think they were imagining things.

  Once inside the hidden corridor, their footsteps echoed on the hollowed walls until they reached the elevator, which dropped for about fifteen seconds, and then stepped out into another dimly lit hallway. They were so far underground now that, despite the concrete all around, the scent of earth wafted towards him.

  James wiped the sweat off his brow.

  “You OK?” Malaki asked.

  “Yeah.” James stared straight ahead. “I know I’ve only been doing this job for a little over a year but this part—getting into the hole without anyone noticing—is the worst part.”

  “Yeah, it can be a bit stressful at times, but you’re good. Nobody saw us.”

  They arrived at a room with a large glass window. Again their eyes were scanned and the door slid open. They moved deeper underground. Finally they reached their destination. One more laser check of their eyes, and the last door opened.

  Malaki headed directly to the gurney and stared down at the figure of a man lying underneath a white sheet. He let out a deep breath and rubbed the middle of his forehead, closing his eyes briefly. He’d helped with this part of the job hundreds of times.

  But this time was different. This time—

  “Ready?” James handed Malaki a pair of thin rubber gloves and then pulled some on his own hands.

  “Uh, yeah.” Malaki yanked the gloves on.

  The chamber they stood in resembled an operating room—immaculate white walls, stainless steel equipment so clean you could see your reflection in it, IV bags, needles, syringes, towels, and a plethora of other items. Next to the man on the gurney was a second gurney, vacant, with a crisp, white sheet, not a wrinkle on it. This gurney floated in midair with no legs underneath. Above the empty gurney was a round laser that would carefully encircle the second gurney. The laser was vital for them to accomplish their task on hand.

  James peeled the sheet back. “This is Ian Knockshine. Convicted of murder.”

  Malaki nodded along, letting James believe the erroneous facts, and then cleared his throat. “And he’s been cleared to head out?”

  “All cleared. Murdered a man and his four-year-old daughter. Sat in prison for a little over a year, and he just arrived here from the death chamber.” James poked Ian Knockshine’s pasty looking cheek.

  Malaki cringed and swallowed hard. “Very well then, let’s get started.”

  James stood at the foot of Ian, while Malaki stood near his head, and counted off. “One, two, three.”

  They lifted Ian and moved him onto the second gurney. Then they stripped him naked and situated his arms on the table next to his body, laying his hands perfectly flat. They only had so much time, but they’d done this enough times to have worked out a perfect rhythm—James situating the right arm while Malaki did the left, and then with a tiny brush, they swept Ian’s body of any dust or particles and proceeded to spray him with a thin layer of Luthite. It wasn’t pertinent to get the spray in every single crease or layer of the body; a thorough once-over was enough.

  After this, James pulled Ian’s eyelids open. Malaki clenched his jaw and looked away.

  “Green, lifeless eyes,” James whispered.

  Malaki nodded and pulled the round laser, the size of a tire from an eighteen-wheeler, from up above so it encircled the gurney, starting at the tip of Ian’s head. He held the laser steady, his fingers on the power switches. “Ready?”

  James stood back, rubbing his chin. “Yes, yes, he’s set. Go ahead.” James stepped farther away and Malaki clicked a switch here and a switch there. The laser came to life, a loud humming radiating from it, and then Malaki backed away and stood next to James.

  “I need a cigarette,” James said.

  The laser began its scan to read Ian's entire body, every bump and scar, every measurement precise. With that, it would create the exact replica of the body; nothing would be missing from it. But the scan took a little time—at least one hour—and then they’d turn the body over and the laser would go over it a second time. Then all the measurements were sent to Harrison Prescott, another member of The Circle, who was in charge of creating the duplicate.

  Not long after that, the chemical that had been injected into Ian for his “lethal injection” would begin to wane, but he’d be on his way out of here and on his way to his next destination before it fully wore off. At that time, he’d be injected with a new and different chemical that would change him for good.

  “Let’s head out. I’m starving.” Malaki strode toward the exit, but paused and took one last glimpse of Ian on the gurney before heading out the door.

  The door locked behind them automatically while the scanner did its job.

  They entered the underground kitchen and headed straight for the coffee pot. James massaged the back of his neck.

  Malaki pulled a sack of food out of the refrigerator. “You doing all right in this job, James? You seem to be pretty tense today.”

  “I’m all right.” James lit up a cigarette. “It’s just that, even after a year, I’m still not altogether used to
this part of the job. I’m always glad when you stop by and help me through it, I must say.”

  “No problem. We like to see you meld into your position and feel confident about it. What about Henry? He must be a great help I’m sure.” Malaki took a bite of his sandwich.

  Henry Nash was James’s second-in-command at Battlecreek Prison, but whenever Malaki stopped by to give James a hand, Henry got the night off.

  “Oh, yes, by far.” James took a drag of his cigarette. “But I know he sure likes the break whenever you come around.” Smoke streamed out of his nostrils.

  Malaki nodded. “Well, he’s only been married for five years, which is like a newlywed as far as I’m concerned, so that makes sense. Whenever he gets the chance to get home early to his wife, he jumps at it.”

  “James.” A deep voice sounded in the hole.

  Maliki twisted to see Charles Price cross the room, and James straightened his posture. “Mr. Price, I didn’t know you were going to be here. What brings you by?”

  Malaki stroked his eyebrow and nodded to James, who was obviously intimidated by the man, while Malaki thought him an annoying fly. Yet today was different.

  Mr. Price caught sight of Malaki. “Didn’t know you’d be here, Malaki. Good to see you.” Malaki and Price shook hands.

  Mr. Price oversaw every aspect of the death penalty program, Death Row Outpost or D.R.O.P. Only two employees of Battlecreek Maximum Security Prison knew what took place after certain executions: James Caldwell and Henry Nash.

  But Malaki was Price’s righthand man.

  “Just checking on James.” Malaki leaned against the countertop, his appetite vanishing, but he forced another bite of his sandwich. “Making sure he’s feeling comfortable and confident with everything.”

  “Good. Good. Is Henry here?” Price glanced about.

  “Nah.” Malaki took a gulp of soda, pushing the sandwich down. “I told him he could head out since I was here to help James with this last one.” He nodded in the direction Ian was being lasered, his mouth dry, his eyes fixed on Price.

  Mr. Price moved up to James, his large stature seeming to overwhelm him the closer he got.

  James cleared his throat. “We don’t often see you down here.” He scrambled to put his cigarette out in the sink.

  Mr. Price nodded. “I wasn’t far, and I’d heard one of your prisoners was just put to death.” His brown hair was slicked back, and Malaki noticed more gray in his trimly cut moustache and goatee than at their last meeting.

  “Yes, sir. He’s being lasered as we speak.” James grabbed his cup of coffee and took a slurp. “Do you need to see him?”

  Malaki coughed, dropping his sandwich, and rubbed his hands on his pants leg.

  Price eyed him for a moment then returned his focus to James. “No, no. I never care to look at our prisoners; they’re not worth my time. I had just heard a lethal injection had taken place and was wondering if it was someone in D.R.O.P.” He rubbed his goatee with his fingers, staring down at the ground.

  Malaki sagged against the counter and looked toward the ceiling, letting out a quiet, thankful breath.

  James lowered his voice. “Yes, sir.”

  Mr. Price nodded. “Well, that’s about it.”

  A questioning look washed over James. “That’s all? All right, very well… If there’s anything else I can help you with, just let me know.”

  “Have a good rest of the day. You, too, Malaki.” Mr. Price nodded to Malaki. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

  Malaki lifted a finger. “Have a good one.”

  Price marched away and disappeared through the door that lead to a long underground tunnel, out and away from this place of lies—an entrance that took you directly outside, not that anyone would ever walk by it, or even be near to it.

  James dumped his coffee in the sink and darted out of the kitchen. Malaki followed and found him staring at Ian through the window in the Replication Room door, the laser still rotating around him. It had to get every measurement exactly right to a tee, every proportion, every bruise, every scrape, every birthmark, every single minute detail.

  James pulled out another cigarette and lit up.

  Malaki stood next to him.

  “That was weird,” James said. “Why did Price show up here for all of one minute? It’s like he just wants to make his presence known. He seems so strange lately.”

  “Don’t let him intimidate you.” Malaki folded his arms across his chest. “To be honest with you, I can’t stand the man.”

  “Really?” James gaped at Malaki. “You wouldn’t know it.”

  Malaki gazed at the process happening on the other side of the door. “I’m good at hiding things.”

  To put it mildly.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Planet Reathran

  “Number 4—1—5—8! Wake up!”

  Someone or something shoved Ian’s shoulder with great force and the deep, rough voice of a man echoed off in the distance, while at the same time it sounded as if it were shouting in his ear.

  “Hear me? You’ve arrived at your destination. Wake up!” Another strong push on his shoulder.

  Ian’s eyes peeled apart, but a bright light forced them shut again. He coughed once and then an uncontrollable spurt of hacks burst forth.

  “He’s awake,” the voice sounded, and footfalls trudged away from him.

  Ian attempted to sit up but couldn’t lift his arms or move his legs. He must’ve weighed a thousand pounds. His coughing finally dissipated, his throat dry and scratchy like sandpaper.

  “Thirst…thirsty…” Ian sputtered, finally able to lift his heavy hand to his forehead to block the light out somewhat.

  “You’ll get a drink soon enough. Now get yourself awake. You’ve got work to do.” A different voice. Male. Not quite as rough as the first one but still gruff.

  Ian coerced his lids open, curious to source a strange buzzing noise, and glimpsed a man walking out of the small circular room Ian lay in, a gurney-like table stretched beneath him. He wore white pants with his bare feet sticking out and a white short-sleeved shirt.

  Two men stood off in the distance talking to each other. Ian couldn’t see their faces, but they looked tall. A screen occupied the entire wall directly in front of his bed, and one of the other men moved to stand before it. He began tapping numbers, the screen lighting up here and there.

  “Where… am… I?” Ian rasped. He licked dry lips and dropped his head back on the table. “What’s… going on?” He put his thumb and forefinger to the corners of his eyes. Thoughts and faded memories blurred like fog closing in on him.

  He burst into a hacking spell again.

  “Here.” One of the men stood above him, holding out a paper cup of water.

  Ian’s hand trembled as he reached for it. He willed himself to bring it to his lips without spilling but ended up with half of it all over him. He rested his head back on the table again.

  “Get your eyes adjusted to the light, take slow deep breaths in and out. You’ll soon be leaving the craft.” The man looked to be in his fifties; many lines and wrinkles etched his tanned, rugged face.

  “What? What’s… going… on?” Ian’s hand balled into a fist. “I can hardly move. How am I supposed to walk out of here?”

  “Wren is getting your IV ready.” The man motioned behind him, and Ian lifted his head as much as he was able and squinted unreliable eyes. The other man, his form blurring, busily tinkered with medical equipment and an IV bag.

  “What? Why?” Ian lifted the paper cup back out to the man. “More please… please.”

  The man took his cup but didn’t move, his bushy, white eyebrows narrowing as he stared down at Ian. He grabbed Ian’s hand and flipped it over so his palm faced upward. He tapped the top of his wrist. “He’s got a good vein going here, Wren. Shouldn’t be no problem.” The man sauntered away, his gray-white hair pulled back in a long ponytail.

  Where am I? Didn’t the guy say he was on a craft? An
aircraft? What was happening?

  “Where am I?” Ian coughed.

  The man who wasn’t “Wren” held out another cup of water. “You’re on Reathran. A planet 350,000 miles away from Earth, directly on the other side of the moon. This is where you’ll serve out the rest of your time.”

  The man could’ve smacked him across the face and thrown him into a slow-motion spin and drop, and he wouldn’t have been more stunned. It took several moments for the information to settle into his brain. He inhaled a deep breath, as the man had suggested before, and took hold of the cup, his arm a little lighter this time, and gulped it, water spilling down the corners of his mouth. “What are you talking about?”

  How did he get here? Who were these people? Who was he? The more he tried to think of specifics of his life, the more the haze tightened its grip on his throat and mind. Why couldn’t he remember anything?

  “Your memories are gone. Well, most of them. But you’ll remember one big thing eventually. At any moment, actually. Everyone does.” The man’s deep, etchy voice invaded Ian’s thoughts, seeming to read his mind.

  “Why is my memory gone?” Ian stared at the man, who kind of chuckled.

  Wren finally approached Ian. He had curly, ginger hair. “Number 4158, murderer of a father and daughter, you thought your prison sentence had come to an end, but it’s only just begun.” He grabbed Ian’s hand, tapped his wrist, and shoved a needle into it, and just as fast, injected a gold colored liquid.

  The needle stung. Ian clenched his teeth, more from the revelation than the pain. Murderer? Prison sentence? Why could he not remem—?

  He gasped as what felt like worms inching their way up his body rendered him speechless and thoughtless. He tried to stay with it, but his body went limp as the feeling moved up his toes, his feet, his ankles, his hamstrings—up and up they went, covering every part of his body. It wasn’t painful, but strange and suffocating. He looked down at his legs, but there was nothing there except the white pants and his bare feet, but when he laid his head back down, the worming sensation continued up his waist, his stomach, his chest, his fingers, his arms.