It was near that time, somewhere around eleven and closer to the end for one, Jeremy Gregor, who was walking that last mile in approximately an hour. Few would attend, but the press had a field day before about what had brought him here and would likely go for a few last minute jabs at him, before he would face the fryer.

Enter George Mcfarland. He was one of those southern journalists from upstate and had a tough demeanor that through off most of the other writers from the area. It was suspected that he was an imposing sort, but he had a keen mind, despite what his good-old boy type accent and build would suggest. Like many in the surrounding counties, he followed this case from the get go and wanted to be the first to get a last statement from Mr. Gregor. It was to his surprise that he was the only one at the prison that night for he would be the only one admitted.

“Where are the other boys?” George asked the guard at the desk, looking about as he worked on his drawl behind a cigarette which dangled from his lips.

“Gregor only allowed you. Didn’t you see them fellows lined up outside?” he asked George, not bothering to tell him to place out his smoke.

“Didn’t look I guess. You gonna lead me in?” he asks the desk guard, who motions for one of the men down the hall to escort Mr. Mcfarland to the cell.

“Got ya” he replies and follows the silent guard down the dimly lit hall of the prison down multiple corridors till they approached death row.

“Gloomy spot, ain’t it?” George shivered, despite a strong stomach for most things, he still hadn’t found himself accustom to the world of the dead.

“Where is he?” he asks the guard, who points to a cell at the far end of the dark hall, obscured mainly in shadow, save for a small portion of light that through off a silhouette of a man, solitary and sitting.

George went over to the cell and the guard unlocked it. Within sat the frail and pale body of Jeremy Gregor, whether his mind was still incased within that sallow frame could not be determined just yet. The contrast between him and the beefy George could hardly be ignored. There was no denying that the man looked pretty bad, sort of like a corpse.