A state of disobedience

Greensville Correctional Center, Jarratt, Virginia

For once the Warden regretted a death penalty case the feds had not insisted on taking over themselves when they had a chance to. But in the current political enviroment, and with Virginia having no noticeable squeamishness about putting convicted murderers to death, the feds had simply stood aside.

Still, thought the warden. I wish I didn't have to go through with this one.

"It's time, Alvin."

Scheer looked up at the warden, and the two burly guards accompanying and nodded, calmly and with great dignity. "Yes, sir. I figured it would be."

"The governor—"

Alvin held up his hand to cut off the warden's words. "I never asked anybody for clemency, Warden. All those appeals? Well-meaning folks, most of 'em, I'm sure. But I never asked."

"I know," answered the warden.

Looking over at the tray of half-eaten food, the warden queried, "The meal, Alvin? It was cooked okay?"

"Yes, sir. It was just fine. Only thing is I weren't all that hungry. You understand." The condemned man smiled.

"Sure, sure. I understand."

Another man walked into the cell, more or less stiffly. "Alvin," said the warden, "this is Dr. Randall. He's going to give you a shot to relax you."

Scheer looked suspiciously from the warden to the doctor. "This isn't the one that's gonna kill me, is it?"

The warden shook his head. "No, son. But it will relax you some so you aren't so afraid."

Scheer felt his hackles begin to rise. He started to say, "I ain't—" Then he laughed at himself and said, "Thanks, Warden . . . Doctor."

"What's the shot, doc?"

"Just thorazine, Mr. Scheer. Nothing to harm you. Now if you would roll up your sleeve?"

Alvin bared his arm. "You know," he observed, "if'n you folks really wanted to be kind to me, that there thorazine stuff would kill me so quick I wouldn't even know."

To this the warden said nothing, though he privately agreed. A fair number of the condemned had come through this facility after being housed for some years up on death row in the Mecklenburg prison. Most of them the warden considered to deserve to die, and in many cases to die more painfully than they did. Alvin, though, had been a model prisoner in Mecklenburg—so it was reported, and quite easy to deal with for his necessarily short stay in Greensville.

Alvin tried not to flinch as the doctor's needle entered his arm.

* * *

The walk from the cell to the execution chamber was a short one. Alvin noticed a partition that had been set up, then let his eyes rest on the gurney on which he would begin his final sleep. Though drugged, he understood that much clearly.

Alvin could not see, because the partition shielded it from view, the electric chair that remained an option and was still, occasionally, used.

In the chamber, the warden invited Alvin to make a last statement. He just shook his head in negation and said, "I've never been a man of many words, sir."

Also in the chamber was, among the other witnesses, a tall, gray-haired man in a military uniform. The warden nodded at that man who then arose and walked to Alvin's side.

"Alvin, I'm General Schmidt, from Texas. I just want you to know two things. One, you did what I wanted to. Two, your kids are going to be cared for. My word on it."

"Good enough for me, sir. Thank you."

Schmidt grasped a shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze before returning to his seat.

The two guards assisted Alvin onto the gurney, then began strapping him down, arms, torso and waist. Alvin lay quietly, cooperating when asked. The strapping finished, the guards stepped back. One of them made a small head signal for the medical technician to come forward.

Expertly, the technician found Alvin's veins and tapped them. A saline drip was started to keep the veins open while the tubes that would carry the lethal drugs were connected.

Alvin closed his eyes and made himself think of his wife as she had been. He imagined her scolding him, Alvin Sheer, you've got to take responsibility for your actions. Even the scolding brought a smile to his face, unaccountable, perhaps, to the witnesses.

The warden's head nodded a last time. From behind the partition two men began to force the drugs through the tubing and into Scheer's veins. First came a heavy dose of sodium pentathol. It rendered Alvin unconscious, though not necessarily incapable of dreaming . . . the smile remained, after all.

The sodium pentathol would have killed Alvin eventually on its own, so high was the dose. But no chances were taken with such matters. It was immediately followed with a lethal dose of pancuronium bromide. Alvin's diaphragm and lungs were instantly paralyzed. This, too, would have killed him, eventually.

Lastly was administered a killing solution of potassium chloride. Alvin's heart stopped. Perhaps his dream remained, for a few minutes.