The Secret
She pressed record on the small electronic device and placed it on the table, then asked, without any preamble, “So what did it feel like?”
Walter William’s tension eased a little; she didn’t ask the obvious question, the elephant in the room. He liked her more because of it. Perhaps he’d chosen the right person. “What did what feel like?”
“Dying.” She smiled politely before correcting herself, “Well, almost dying.”
He could tell she was nervous, and appropriately so. When he’d asked for her, the world was shocked. So many people over the decades had tried to get him to talk; the police, detectives, lawyers, psychologists, doctors. Some asked less politely than others, but Walter suffered all the abuse, all the beatings, and kept his mouth shut. He had vowed not to tell a soul. But now he was ready to bare it all, and he was far more nervous than the woman sitting across from him.
“Which time?” he asked.
“Well, start from the beginning.”
Walter thought back: the electrocutions. Back when the state used the electric chair he’d been sentenced to death. It didn’t go according to plan. The switch was thrown and he danced in the chair as ungodly amounts of pain coursed through his body. He was told he lasted for nearly a minute before someone turned it off. They were supposed to let the current flow until he was dead, and no one had lasted more than thirty seconds before. But Walter did not die.
“Mmhuph!” he had mumbled at them. Some people were shocked; others were afraid. Not only was he still alive, but conscious and able to speak. It was unheard of.
A guard walked over to remove Walter’s mouth guard, allowing him to let him speak. “Again!” the convict commanded weakly.
So the switch was thrown again, and this time for one minute and thirty-four seconds. Smoke drifted lazily from Walter’s hair; his body lay limp. But his chest still rose and fell, slowly but surely. A doctor approached the chair with trepidation, ready to check his pulse, fearful of the obvious truth. But before he could touch Walter’s body, it jerked violently, and tensed, as if having a seizure. His head slowly rose. Blood drooled from his lips, from a tongue nearly bitten off after the guard forgot to replace the mouth guard. Tears were in his bloodshot eyes; they stared at the people in the audience but didn’t really see them. “Please kill me,” he sobbed.
Some chose to leave the room, unable to watch as the switch was thrown a third time. Nobody knew what to do. The guards were spooked; doctors were baffled. No human body should have been able to withstand it. Time wasn’t kept the third time Walter Williams was electrocuted, but they say it was over three minutes before it was turned off, and he was taken back to his cell.
“It was agony,” he told the reporter. “Like all my nerve endings were on fire.”
“Then why did you tell them to keep doing it? Most people would’ve been happy to…to escape death.”
Walter looked at her sadly and said, “Because I wanted to die. Because death is escape.”
He thought he’d broken her heart when he said this, such was the look on her face; a mixture of fear and grim understanding. He didn’t like it, and wished she’d just appear like she always did. It would be easier that way for him. Every time he’d seen her on TV she was always jovial and upbeat, even when reporting harrowing news.
You see many people on TV, but you can’t get to know them, not really. They’re all actors playing characters; celebrities with an image to maintain. Even the ones supposedly acting normal were still fake, putting on airs, pretending to be something they’re not. Very few people actually portrayed themselves, hiding nothing from the camera, and they usually aren’t around for long – interviewees in documentaries or game show contestants. Rare were the folks you could truly learn something about, like the reporter in front of him.
Her name was Janice Bryten. She was in her early thirties now, much like he’d been when the murders began. Blond hair, blue eyes, pretty in an old-fashioned way. She probably could’ve done anything she wanted with her life, but she’d pursued journalism. He’d watched her grow up on television. It seemed like only yesterday she was reporting the weather. Soon after she was doing interviews for locals, those feel-good stories that usually ended the program. It wasn’t long before Janice was promoted again, now covering live news as it happened on the street.
Then two months ago Walter found she was a news anchor, and he felt it was time. Surely she was strong enough now to do what was right. And speaking with her for a few minutes before the interview began proved his suspicions. She had an old soul, as they said, and he believed he’d finally found the right person. He didn’t even feel like killing her. Although what he was planning to do was far worse.
“So next was lethal injection?” Janice asked after an uncomfortable silence.
Walter smiled. “You’ve done your homework.”
She smiled tersely back at him and shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
Part of him just wanted her to ask the question and get it over with, but he could see she was nervous, was slowly gathering the courage. Each question she asked was just a step towards the end. In truth, he was dreading it himself, worried about what would happen when he told her. It was similar to death, he supposed; he desperate for it to come, yet not actually wanting it. But he knew he couldn’t die until he told the secret.
He’d brutally murdered over a dozen people when they’d finally captured him all those years ago. Men, women, children, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t stop himself. He wasn’t rabid like an animal, but calm. His heart didn’t race; he didn’t get off on the thrill of murder like some. It was almost as if, much like Janice, he was just doing his job.
Of course that wasn’t quite the case, and everyone demanded to know why. Why that victim, why use those weapons, why that time or that place?
And Walter remained mum.
“The injection was the most peaceful,” he said, recalling it sadly, fondly, like one might when speaking of a pet that’d just passed. “Just like going to sleep, actually. How many times did they do it?”
Janice picked up a folder from the table, her notes and research. She didn’t even know his name when she’d gotten the call. Some old man in his sixties serving multiple life sentences asked for her and her alone to speak to, to finally confess after nearly half a century in prison. She assumed it was because she had a pretty face, that all those years locked away gave a man cravings. But as she delved into Walter’s history she grew chills, and soon cold feet. This man couldn’t be killed? What supernatural power did he possess? And now he wanted to be alone with her in a small room to…talk?
She initially declined the opportunity, wanting nothing to do with him. She didn’t want the burden of the truth. But the police insisted, hoping to get a confession and close the case. Her boss insisted, eager for the scoop of a lifetime. The world insisted, desperate to finally know what drives a man to such savagery. How could she say no, when countless others would kill to be in her place?
“Twice,” Janice answered.
Walter nodded. “Sounds right. Then they gave up, stopped wasting resources.”
“Why didn’t it work? Why didn’t you…” she trailed off.
“Die?” Walter finished. “Because I can’t. Not until I tell the secret. Why I did it.”
“Why did you wait so long? You could’ve told anyone.”
“No!” Walter snapped. “I couldn’t tell anyone.” He sounded angry, but his voice cracked and his eyes belied sorrow. Weariness was etched into his features. He rarely slept well, haunted by his atrocities. He could barely recall his younger days, when life had been good. His wife was his first victim, and greatest regret. He shouldn’t have married her; spared her the horror of his hand. He remembered strangling her, tears in both their eyes, and knew why she had to die, but not how he knew it. It seemed like the right thing to do. From then on he had to kill every person he encountered by whatever means were at his disposal.
This was why Janice was so vital. He couldn’t get close to anyone without turning vicious. The only people he’d spent any amount of time with and not killed were the various prison guards. Even if he hadn’t wanted to kill them so badly, they were weak. Janice, he finally learned, was strong.
“But you can tell me?” she asked.
Walter nodded, his eyes watery.
Janice swallowed audibly and cleared her throat. “You were hanged next.” She still wasn’t ready.
“They went old school. Hanged until dead. They say they heard my neck break.” He’d been left hanging for over fifteen minutes before they took him down, believing him finally dead. The doctor who was to examine him was his next victim. Walter had gotten his hands on a syringe and stabbed the man in the face twenty-two times before guards pulled him off and beat him unconscious. The doctor survived the assault, but was left permanently blind. That was the last time Walter was left alone in a room with anyone.
Until now.
A month ago he’d asked to meet Janice Bryten in a room for an interview, alone and with the cameras off. The warden was stupefied at the request. Even if this reporter agreed to it, there was no way he was going to allow it to happen. But the temptation was overpowering, the chance to solve one of the great mysteries of their time. So measures were taken, waivers were signed. Walter would have his hands and feet cuffed to each other and the table. Two guards were posted outside the door, with another four watching through two-way glass. Janice was even offered a weapon for protection. But even with all that, everyone was still on edge.
“You blinded that poor doctor,” Janice said gravely. “You tried to kill him, this man who meant you no harm.”
“Yes,” Walter replied, hanging his head. “I did. No one ever meant me any harm. The harm was always my doing.”
“Why?”
He jerked his head up, meeting her eyes. Tears spilt down his face.
“Why did you do it?” she asked again. “You obviously didn’t want to. I can see it pains you to talk about it. So why?”
Walter took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. When he opened them again he asked, “Are you sure you want to know?”
She took a long moment to decide, eventually nodding.
He suddenly reached out to her, and his hands stopped before they were halfway across the table, restrained by their shackles. She recoiled in her chair, wishing she’d accepted the billy club a guard had offered her.
Walter wasn’t used to the cuffs. It had been years since he’d had company. After the umpteenth time guards had pulled him off a fellow inmate it was decided that he should be kept in solitary confinement permanently. If only they’d learned that sooner they could’ve saved a few lives.
“Sorry,” he said, truly looking it. “I just wanted…would you mind turning off your…?”
Janice looked down at her voice recorder, then back at his sorrowful, pleading eyes. She reached up and turned it off.
Walter then beckoned her closer with his finger, and against her fear and better judgement she stood up from her chair and leaned towards him, until she was inches from his face.
Then he told her his secret.
It was two days later that a rapping came on the door Walter William’s cell, and a tray was pushed through the slot. He woke, draped his feet over the edge of his cot and stretched, feeling groggy. Horrific images of his nightmares began to dissipate from his mind. He’d hoped the visions would have stopped plaguing him since he’d met with Janice, but that wasn’t the case. If anything he felt worse.
He thought about her as he went to collect his tray; breakfast and the newspaper, worrying that he’d made a mistake, that maybe he’d told the wrong person. The look on her face was a mangled wreck of fear, horror, disgust, acceptance, like she’d finally understood. Without a word she packed up her things and went to the door, knocked on it and was released. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since.
Then he opened the paper and saw her face on the cover. She was in handcuffs. He read through the article and was flooded with relief. Apparently she’d stopped at a red light, got out of her car with a knife in her hand, jumped into the next vehicle and began stabbing the driver, eventually killing him. Then she calmly got out, ran to the nearest pedestrian and began stabbing them, and anyone else she could get close to. All told she’d killed fourteen people and injured several more before being apprehended.
Walter smiled. Although more senseless murder was not something he wished upon the world, it meant that perhaps his suffering was coming to an end. He’d certainly felt frailer in the last couple days, like bread left out too long, dry and ready to crumble. Whatever sustenance keeping the secret had given him had worn off. Perhaps now he could die now, and hopefully before the reporters came. It was time to let someone else bear the burden.
He knew the world was going to go crazy over this, and certainly make a big deal of his connection with Janice. They would hound her like they’d hounded him, demand to know what he’d told her, desperate for the answers he’d withheld from them for so long.
Walter hoped beyond hope that Janice Bryten would be able to keep his secret.
The Chris Effect 
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