"That's not wise. You'll be disturbing a condemned prisoner unnecessarily."
"If I ever want to sleep again, I gotta do this. Please, Paul."
McSorley considered silently. "Very well. I can see this has affected you deeply," he relented. "The guard will take you. Just remember, Williams knows he's the next to go. Even though his final appeal hasn't been decided on, he's apt to be on edge."
The last control door rolled shut and Harold Haines walked gingerly to the cell containing Convict Six, Remo Williams.
Williams was stretched out on his cot, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes shut.
Harold Haines cleared his throat noisily, but the prisoner's eyes didn't open.
"I see you in my dreams," he said, his voice hoarse. "And I see Betty Page. Go away."
"You don't understand, Williams. Your name is Williams, isn't it?"
"In here, I'm Convict Number Six."
"You're supposed to be dead."
"Dead Man's my other nickname. So what?"
"I executed you."
"You did a lousy job of it." Williams' voice sounded bored, but his dark eyes opened. They regarded the ceiling.
"It was a long time ago," Haines continued. "Up at Trenton. I used to work at Trenton State, where you were. "
The prisoner took his time sitting up. He didn't want to show any interest, but his movements were too casual. Harold Haines knew every trick in the convict book. Williams wanted to get a closer look at him without betraying his interest. Every convict knew that once you let the man know what you wanted, he'd use it against you.
"Do you remember me?" Haines asked.
Remo's eyes bored into his. They were flat, dead-looking eyes. Bullet holes in concrete had more life in them than Williams had in his eyes. He looked older. Not twenty years older, just older. The dead eyes narrowed involuntarily.
"You look familiar, yeah," Williams said slowly. "But I don't place the face exactly."
"Up at Trenton, I wore a hood that night," Haines said tightly. "The night I pulled the switch on you. But I was the prison electrician during the day. You might have seen me around."
"Sorry."
"But I remember you real good. Where you been these last twenty years, Williams? What've you been doing?"
Remo Williams said in a voice as dead as his eyes, "Time. I've been doing time."
"Well, you ain't been doing it at Trenton State. Everybody up there knows, like I know, that you died way back when."
"You're dreaming. I'm here because I killed a guard up at Trenton. His name was . . ."
"Yeah?"
Remo's forehead wrinkled in thought. "MacCleary or something like that," he said slowly. "Yeah, MacCleary. He was hassling me. So I offed him. Now I gotta pay for it."
"I don't know if I have the stomach to fry you a second time."
Remo gave out a sad grunt of a laugh. "Don't you know?" he said airily. "Second time's the charm with guys like me."
"But you don't get it. You're already dead. I executed you twenty years ago!"
When, after a long time, Remo Williams said nothing in reply, Harold Haines shuffled off down the line. He felt like a Dead Man himself.
Remo Williams stared out the bars of his cell, wondering what was going on. The executioner's face had looked familiar. Where had he seen it before? And what was that crap about having been executed up at Trenton State? Remo suddenly remembered the dream of the other night. The dream in which he had been executed up at Trenton. But that was only a dream. It had never-could never have-happened.
Then the buzzer announced lunch and Remo sat up. His lungs felt like concrete. He wondered if it was the fear in his gut or the heavy cigarette smoke in his lungs. Funny how he'd been reacting to cigarettes.
Harold Haines returned to Warden McSorley's voice on leaden feet.
McSorley looked up sharply. "Have your little talk with the condemned, Harold?"
"He didn't know what I was talking about," Haines said dully.
"Well, it may not answer all your questions, but it settles some of them. If the man were dead, he'd certainly know it."
Harold Haines did not return Warden McSorley's tight smile.
The phone rang and McSorley answered it with a curt "Excuse me." Then: "Yes, Warden Reeves.... What's that? ... When?" McSorley's face suddenly tightened. "I ... I see. Actually, Warden, it was just that his name came up in a death-cell confession. Yes, I agree with you. We can't very well try a man who's already paid the state the ultimate penalty. Thank you for your time, Warden Reeves."
When Warden McSorley hung up the phone, his face was even paler than Harold Haines's running-to-fat features now.
"He's dead," McSorley said in an arid tone. "He was executed in 1971 for murdering a pusher. The Warden didn't seem aware that it was his signature on the release that transferred Williams to this facility."
Harold Haines sat up with a start. "Why don't you say something?"
"Because I value my job and my pension," Warden Paul McSorley said flatly. "I've got a man on death row who's supposed to be in his grave. I can't send him back to Trenton. They'd never accept him and they'd begin investigating. I know how these things work, believe me. Someone handed me a red-hot potato knowing if I ever found out the truth, I'd be the man with microwaved fingers."
"But what are we-you-going to do?"
"If they turn down his last appeal-and right now I'd wager my home and life savings that they do-the governor will sign his death warrant, and you, Harold, will not only carry it out, you'll never speak of this to anyone. Is that clear?"
"For God's sake!" Haines burst out. "The guy was a cop once. He was on our side."
"According to his sheet, he killed a prison guard named Conrad MacCleary in cold blood. I don't know what's real here and what's not, but I'm simply going to do my job and I strongly urge you to do the same. We're not young men, either of us. We know how the world works. Let's deal with this unpleasantness as quietly and quickly as good public servants and get on with the rest of our lives. Now, I expect you'll want to go home, Harold. You killed a man today and you look like you could use a stiff belt."
"I don't drink. You know that. I gave it up when I felt myself sliding into the bottle."
"Harold," Warden McSorley said, handing him a file, "I'd give alcoholism a second look were I you. Now, please excuse me. And take this with you. On your way out, ask my secretary to kindly return it to Central Files."
Harold Haines took the file marked "Remo Williams" and closed the door behind him silently.