Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given - Duane Dog Chapman [1]
When I got home, I hid my bike in a neighbor’s garage. I wanted to be careful not to give the cops a reason to come knocking on my door. If they showed up, I’d have to run. If I headed back to Phoenix, they’d probably find me there. I could go to New Mexico or Texas. I had been thinking of getting out of the Disciples anyway. Maybe this was the right time. I had to think, clear my head. I took a couple of Valium and slammed an ice-cold beer to help calm my nerves. My anxiety was growing with each passing minute. I jumped every time I heard a car outside, thinking it might be the cops.
I was tired—mentally exhausted—so I lay down on my old worn couch. I kept my heavy black boots on just in case I had to run. It didn’t take long for the Valium to kick in. Soon I was out cold. It seemed like I had been sleeping for only a few minutes before I heard a loud pounding on the door.
“Open up. It’s the police. We know you’re in there. Come out with your hands up and no one will get hurt.”
I immediately jumped into action. I thought that if I got a running start out the door I could make it over the hedges in the backyard. I checked for my wallet and a picture of my mom. I was making a run for it. I wasn’t about to go down without a fight. Hell, at the very least, I’d give them a good run.
I bolted through the door and leapt across the yard in two giant steps. I put my entire body into it. I was up and over the hedges like an Olympic high jumper. I hit the ground hard, so hard I momentarily lost my breath. I rolled out of my fall and made it to my feet in one fast motion. My legs were moving as fast as they could run. I was in a full sprint. Sweat from my brow stung my eyes. I turned the corner onto Sixteenth Street to find it barricaded with cops and patrol cars. The police had formed a human chain so I couldn’t bust through. I scanned the perimeter to see if I could take a chance. But it was clear I had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I threw my hands up in the air.
“You got me.” I began to laugh, but it wasn’t funny. No, there wasn’t anything funny about what was happening. I was screwed and everyone knew it.
As I stood in front of the judge on my day of reckoning, I heard him say, “Duane Lee Chapman, you have been found guilty of murder in the first degree. I hereby sentence you to death. You will suffer as your victim did. I sentence you to the gas chamber.” The judge slammed his gavel down like he was hammering nails. And he was—the nails to my coffin.
The next thing I knew, a guard held each of my arms as two of them led me to the chamber where I was set to die. I sat straight up, scared and confused as they strapped me in so tight that I was unable to move. I could barely see the bucket underneath me, but I knew it was there because I could hear the bubbling sound of toxic substances as the guard slowly switched on the gas.
“Breathe in, Chapman. Long, deep breaths.” The officer was instructing me on how to die. I closed my eyes, squeezing them tight.
I didn’t want to be there. “Please God. Make this stop,” I pleaded.
Suddenly I heard a voice I’ll never forget. It was the voice of the Almighty.
“There’s a thin line between success and failure, Duane. You have crossed that line one too many times. I have waited for you to find your way, but you failed me, and now, you will be eternally lost, my son.”
Suddenly images began flashing in my head. My mind became cluttered but my heart was strangely calm. I saw myself thirty-five years older. I had a family. Children, grandchildren, and a beautiful buxom blonde I didn’t recognize by my side.