Free The Dead and the Dying by Amy Cross Page A

the prison gates this morning and -" I stop immediately, as I realize I should never have admitted that I went to the prison.
    "We'll make a culture vulture of you yet," he says, patting my shoulder. "You want to come out for a drink tonight? A few of us are heading down to that new sports bar by the river. We're hoping and praying that they'll show some actual sport, but likely as not they'll have the fucking news channels on all evening. Still, if you're gonna have a depressing night, you might as well get wasted in the process. Am I right?"
    I sigh as I click through to one of the library's research portals.
    "Am I right?" Harry asks again.
    "You're right," I reply firmly. "In your limited context, at least."
    "So you're not coming?"
    "Sorry. I'm busy."
    "Got a date?"
    "No," I reply, sighing again. "No date. Just me."
    "Going down to the prison gates again?"
    "No!" I say firmly, although I immediately realize that my denial was a little too firm.
    "Hey, there's no shame in it," he replies, holding up his hands. "That whole place is gonna be a fucking carnival of grotesque human squalor. Hell, depending on the night goes, the guys and I might just get wasted and come down to join you. I've never been wasted outside a prison gate while some nut-job gets executed. It might be a new experience. Something to tell the grandchildren one day, you know? When they ask where I was at the exact moment Sam Gazade was finished off, I can proudly tell 'em that I was standing outside the gate with a beer in my hand and a fucking great big grin on my face. How does that sound for a story, huh?"
    "Perfect," I reply. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I have a lot of work to do today, and the library closes at five on Saturdays, so do you mind if I just..." I wait for him to get the message, but he seems more interested in leaning over and looking at my laptop screen. "Harry, I'm busy!" I say firmly.
    "Fine," he mutters, turning and heading to the door. "Whatever. Give me a call if you change your mind about tonight, though. It'd be great to have you along while we're executing a few kegs, if you know what I mean."
    Once he's left the room, I sit back and let out another sigh. A visit from Harry Gillespie was just about the last thing I wanted to deal with today, and now I'm totally out of sorts. Staring at the list of research journals on the laptop screen, I realize that Harry's comments have pretty much nixed any chance that I might get some work done. Although I'm tempted to see if I can push through the malaise, I figure my best bet might just be to accept the inevitable and call it a day. Besides, it's not entirely Harry's fault; ever since I was down at the prison this morning, I've been feeling a little strange, and that encounter with Paula Clarke didn't help. Everything just feels kind of weird right now, as if the entire town has fallen under some kind of strange spell as we get closer and closer to Gazade's execution. I can only hope that, once the man's dead and everyone calms down, things will get back to normal.
    Just as I'm about to close my laptop down, another email arrives in my inbox, and to my surprise I see that it's a message from Paula Clarke. Opening it up, I'm surprised to find that she's already managed to make all the changes to her essay that I requested. Although I'm a little dubious that she could have got all that work completed so quickly, I decide to open the attachment and taken a look. If I'm lucky, she'll have got the essay back on track, and I won't have to worry so much about some of the stranger ideas she expounded last time, although -
    As soon as the document opens, I feel a cold shiver pass through my body.
    This is worse.
    This is far, far worse.
    I asked Paula to remove all the outlandish, provocative passages about violence and gender, and replace them with academic, properly-referenced discussions of the key texts and the issues raised by the essay title. Instead, she's removed all the other sections and