By His Own Hand

Jayal knew the only way he could ever escape the oppressive totalitarian state was by his own hand. For a month, he pretended to take the sleeping pills they allotted him each night, saving them for the night he would use them all one last time. 

He told no one his plan, not even his wife Analise, for he knew she would try to stop him. If he could make it look like he passed away in his sleep — an accidental overdose of a legally assigned drug — she would get his government pension and apartment. At least she wouldn’t starve or be thrown out on the street.

After checking the bedroom to be sure his wife was sleeping, he retrieved the bottle tucked away in a recess of the kitchen cabinet, poured a glass of water, and sat at the counter. He emptied the bottle’s contents into his hand and stared blankly at the little pills as he contemplated the irreversible act. He said a silent prayer, made the sign of the cross, and lifted the pills to his mouth.

A hard knock on the door startled him, causing him to drop some pills on the counter. He glanced at his wall clock. 9:54 p.m. He wasn’t expecting company tonight. Who could it be at this late hour? 

Another knock, harder, more insistent. He ignored it and hoped whoever was there would give up and go away. Surely there was nothing so important it couldn’t wait until morning? He had something more important to do.

Analise popped her head in the hallway door leading into the kitchen, her eyes widening as she saw the pills in his hand. “Aren’t you going to answer the door?” she asked.

“No, no, it’s too late. I think they’ll go away. I thought you were asleep, dear.”

“The knock woke me up,” she answered. “I think you should get it. Maybe it’s important.” 

A third knock, followed by several more in quick succession, angry pounding of a fist on wood, demanding a response, followed by a shout, “Open the door now, or we’ll break it down. It’s the police!” 

Jayal’s heart raced. “The police? Why are the police here?” 

 “We need to find out,” his wife said. “Please answer the door.” 

“I’m coming!” he shouted. “Please don’t break the door.” He unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door to two officers dressed in the crisp black uniforms of the secret police. 

“Mr. Jayal Smith?” an officer asked, 

“Yes, that’s me. How can I help you, officers?”

“You are under arrest for crimes against the state. You will be given a trial, and when you are found guilty, the sentence is death. 

“Death? What crimes?” He protested. “I’ve committed no crimes. I’ve done nothing wrong.”  

“Perhaps not yet,” the officer retorted, “but we have learned that you were planning to take your life, perhaps this very evening. Attempting suicide is a capital crime. You cannot deprive the state of its right to grant you life or death.”

“So you will kill me for trying — or failing to kill myself? That is insane!”

“That is the law,” the officer replied. “Ending your life is for the state to decide, not you.” He pulled Jayal’s arms behind his back, handcuffed him, and led him out the door towards the police car.

“Wait, can I speak to my wife before you take me away?” he pleaded. The officer glanced at his partner, who nodded, and he stepped aside to give him a private moment. 

Jayal turned to Analise, her arms crossed and the hint of a smile tracing her lips. “You did it, didn’t you? How could you report me? I’m your husband!”  

“Yes, I did it,” she confessed. “I’m not the clueless wife you think I am. I saw you stashing your sleeping pills and knew what you were planning to do. If they discovered you took your own life, I would lose your pension, the apartment, everything.”

“But if I reported your planned crime, I would lose nothing but you. And you were going to leave me anyway.” 

Their gazes locked, and a tear dropped from his eye. “Honey, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t take one more day of them watching me, controlling everything I do, sucking the very life out of me. You know how miserable I’ve been, how miserable I’ve made you. But I wanted to leave on my own terms, not theirs. Why did you betray me, Analise? I love you.” 

“I loved you once too, but not anymore. I’m glad you are leaving. I have plans that don’t include you. Goodbye, Jayal.” 

“Time to go, Mr. Smith,” growled the officer, “the judge is waiting for you.” The officers grasped Jayal’s arms on each side and led him out the door toward his inevitable fate.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Analise called after him, her lopsided smile curling into a smirk, “I’ll say ‘hi’ to my boyfriend for you. I’m sure he will really enjoy keeping your bed warm with me.”