“Eleven hours left,” the Prisoner says.
1:01 a.m. on the digital clock on the wall of the room. The Chaplain stares at it. He has been watching the time count down for almost an hour, ever since they got in this room, the whole time the Prisoner has been talking. Each time the number changes he gets a chill. Feeling death in the room, creeping closer. Feeling the souls of all who have waited here before. The Chaplain isn’t sure exactly how many executions have taken place in this prison. But he is sure that whatever the number, it’s too many.
While the Prisoner talked, the Chaplain tried to focus. And he did. Most of the time. But occasionally his thoughts rushed through to his own childhood, to his parents – both now dead. To his relationship with Miranda, his sister. A tough little gir
