My heart pounded as the guards fastened the shackles around my ankles, wrists, and neck. Why my neck? It made no sense, but to them, I was a dangerous criminal who could snap at any time.
My problem is I don’t remember what they charged me for. The trial was a blur. Pictures of the family I apparently murdered in a robbery gone wrong danced in front of my eyes while the prosecutor grilled me. The trial was only a week and by the end, I was sentenced to death. My cries of innocence didn’t sway them. Now I am shackled and making tiny steps toward the end of my life.
You would think I would try and plead, but it is hasn’t worked yet, so why would it work now? These guards don’t care what I say. What felt like an eternity passed as and we stopped in front of a massive steel door, rivets outlining the entirety of the frame. The door swung open and the guards lead me in.
I glanced around and instead of finding a chair with vials and syringes, there is a metal table with a folding chair on one side, with no cameras or windows peering in–just another door on the opposite wall. The guards thrust me down in the chair and unshackled me. I rubbed my wrists after the guards closed the door behind them.
“What is going on?” I whispered, my voice hoarse from the lack of water and dehydration from crying.
The other door swung up, making me jump. A stick figure looking man in a starch black suit, thin-rimmed glasses, holding a black briefcase slinked in and stopped in front of me on the opposite side of the table. He smacked the briefcase on the surface, creating a loud clang to make me jump yet again.
“I am Agent Smith,” he announced, pulling a manila file out and tossed it in front of me, “You are Lexi Orr, 22 years old from Lakewood, Iowa. Graduated with honors at Lakewood Park Academy, graduated Cornell top ten in the class with a degree in linguistics and a minor in archeology with excavation work in Egypt, Thailand, and South America. All by the age of 22. Then you up and leave it all behind to come back to Iowa to treat your dying grandma, who passed three months ago.”
I picked up the folder to find my whole life story in it, “Who are you?”
“Agent Smith and you are just the person we are looking for,” he replied pulling out another manila folder, tossing it my way, “You are now Emily Brown from Michigan. Your flight leaves in 5 hours, but in the meantime, you are going to go through that door for some physical trait changes. Your long blonde hair will be dyed brown and cut to your shoulders, you will now have to wear brown-colored contacts, and you will have to undergo surgery to remove your fingerprints. Lexi Orr dies today.”
“Again, I ask who are you?”
He smirked, “You will find out during your training.”
“Would you rather have the needle?”
I shook my head, realizing something, “I didn’t actually kill that family did I?”
He smirked again, answering with the amusement in his eyes — No. He opened the opposite door, motioning me to go through, “Welcome to your new life. Good luck.”
I looked out the door to my new, forced life…a different kind of death sentence…
(Follow Lisa Orr in her adventures with Death Sentence Part 2)