To her sentencing hearing, she wore the sweat pants and tee-shirt her brother had brought her over the weekend instead of the pant suit she'd been arrested in. She didn't care what she looked like. She already knew what her punishment would be, and her fever had gone above 105 that morning. She slouched, not out of laziness or disrespect, but out of weakness, closing her eyes and resting her burning head on her hand as best she could while the judge expounded on her crimes.
Then came the inevitable: "...are hereby sentenced to death. The method shall be crucifixion, to be carried out immediately."
She was vaguely aware of her lawyer rising. "Your honor, considering my client's poor health, I request that her execution be delayed until she recovers." She grasped for his hand, his cuff, his coattail - anything.
"No," she managed, "no," she shook her head, eyes still mostly closed.
"What?" he whispered, perplexed. "I'm trying to--"
"No, just do it."
"But you're--"
"Better this way," she paused for a deep, difficult breath, "than when I'm healthy."
"Is there a problem, Mr. Wood?" asked the judge.
"Uh, it would seem, Your Honor," he glanced back at her, troubled, then continued, "uh, that my client would like to... I would like to withdraw my request, Your Honor."
"Very good," the judge nodded, and as her lawyer turned back to her, the prosecutor arose.
"Your Honor," said the prosecutor, "Considering the defendant's poor state of health, we request that a doctor evaluate her before she is crucified to ensure that she is healthy enough to suffer meaningfully before death."
"Doc," the judge turned to a middle-aged man in a lab coat, "Would you please give the court your opinion of the defendant's health?"
Soon she had a thermometer in her mouth and the doctor's soft hands were feeling her throat. He looked in her ears and mouth and listened to her breathing, all of which felt strangely relaxing and familiar.
"Your Honor," said the doctor, turning to the judge, "She's got a very high fever. Her lungs seem to be fine, she probably has an infection elsewhere, but it would require more testing to identify the precise cause of her illness."
"Thank you, Doc," said the judge, "If she is crucified immediately, how long do you believe she is likely to suffer before death?"
"If she is whipped beforehand, she may suffer less than two hours, Your Honor. If she is nailed to her cross without any preliminary punishment, she's likely to suffer at least four or five hours."
"Will that be acceptable, Mr. Irons?" the judge asked the prosecutor.
"Is her mental state such that she will be fully aware of her pain, Doctor?" asked the prosecutor.
"Yes, she is exhausted but fully conscious. If anything, her suffering will be more intense, not less."
"In that case," said the prosecutor, "We request that she be crucified immediately without being flogged."
"So ordered," said the judge with a rap of his gavel, "Bailiff, please strip Ms. Lee of her clothes and conduct her to Harmon park and see to it that she is duly crucified there." The bailiff had her on her feet and quickly tugged her clothes off her body, even her panties, leaving her naked. She was humiliated but not surprised.
"Should she carry her cross, Your Honor?" asked the bailiff.
"No, I don't think that's practical," he answered.
"If she's not going to carry the cross, she should have her hands cuffed behind her," said the prosecutor.
"What for?" asked her lawyer, "She's obviously not in any condition to do any harm or attempt to escape."
"To signify her guilt," responded the prosecutor, "Without a cross to carry, she's walking to the park like the spectators."
"Have you looked at her!?" said Mr. Wood, face red, "She's stark naked!"
Ms. Lee leaned heavily on the bailiff, wishing these men would stop squabbling and let her go and die.
"Go ahead and cuff her, Bailiff," said the judge, and the cold iron locked her arms behind her. Then they marched her down the courtroom aisle and out onto the courtyard steps.
