When my shaking ten-year-old begged me to hurry home, I had no idea a nightmare was waiting. I raced inside to find my husband and child cold and motionless on the living room rug. Paramedics rushed in, but the lead officer grabbed my arm, shaking his head. “Ma’am, this wasn’t an accident…”

the far wall. It wasn’t phrased as a question. It was a complaint regarding a mechanical failure.

“Yes,” I replied, feeling a phantom chill ghost down my spine. “He survived the execution. Because he fought off the sedatives long enough to dial my number.”

Mark let out a short, breathy chuckle. It was a hollow, desolate sound, reminiscent of dry, dead continue reading …