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Lea Stacey

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Lea Stacey

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My name is Camille, and I'm surrounded by, "walls of solid stone, two or three feet thick, the door of wood and iron, a foot thick, and the iron grating which strained the light" (Thoreau, par. 13). Although, I feel that "I saw that, if there was a wall of stone between me and my townsmen, there was a still more difficult one to climb or break through, before they could get to be as free as I was" (Thoreau, par. 13). How did I get myself into prison in the first place though? It's not like my sentence could be any worse...

Except it is. I've been sentenced to the death penalty, which I am to attend tomorrow morning. "I was not born to be forced" (Thoreau, par. 14), but I suppose I should be thankful to be relieved of my sad life. But, why?

It's a depressing story, really...

There was a shop I had often passed on the streets with my partner in crime, Michael, who also happened to be my boyfriend. The shop itself was a gold mine; plenty of the items in the store were items I wished we had had the financial stability to provide ourselves with. It was hard for me to find a job of my interest, or within my education level since I had dropped out of high school in the middle of my second year to support what little of a family I had left, due to my mother leaving us when I was so young. Plus, I never had the money to go to college, or even finish high school in the first place. However, Michael had finished high school, and even took the basic classes he needed in college, but didn't have any interests for a career. Michael knew this fact and took it upon himself to plot a strategy to obtain some of those items- this meant sneaking in late at night and slipping out with a lot of those items in hand. Many people don't believe women are capable of getting away with these types of crimes, but I believe "traditional markers like male/ female or gay/straight are simply social constructs, out of which individuals can and must struggle to achieve new and more satisfying identities" (Fukuyama), and that 'Human behavior is "socially constructed"; "society has defined cultural stereotypes that push particular people into certain roles and away from others" (Fukuyama).

After a couple of days, carefully planning the night, we finally got the courage to carry out the scheme. Too much planning had gone into this to back away from it now. We packed lock picking tools in a small, black duffle bag, a knife and a gun, and even obtained a map of the shop so that we could plan our route of entrance and escape. It was decided that we would enter through the back door after picking the lock, and obtain a couple of the things i had my eyes on most of all- a television, a couple books I felt would help with my intelligence, some jewelry, and any cash we might be able to slip from the cash register. If we were caught in the act, we had to act and think fast since we didn't plan to be caught in the first place- we were confident in our abilities. As it was argued many times between whether we should walk or drive, we believed driving would be easiest, and much safer.

We had little conversation in the car that night, which was mostly due to the fear of our plan going wrong for either, or both, of us.

Michael parked the car in the back of the shop, since that was closest to our exit, while I got out and pulled the duffle bag out of the car. We both walked to the door, and Michael took out the lock picking tools. He had picked many locks and had a boat load of experience in raiding shops, so I let him guide me since I was still slightly new to this. Sure, I had done stolen before, but I had always had an accomplice to help me clean up anything I might have left sloppy.

Within a few minutes, Michael had unlocked the door. He gestured for me to go in first, and we entered. It was dark, but not dark enough for us to be blind to what the store contained around us. We could see the aisles and the shelving, the cash register, and the bigger items within those areas, but anything beyond that was a struggle to see. As I looked around in amazement, Michael decided to walk around to see what we could manage to take feasibly. Eventually, I began to walk around doing the same thing, stuffing what I found small and interesting enough in the bag. Michael came back to me with plenty of valuables in his hands, dumping them in the bag, which was practically full at this point.

"Michael, I think that's plenty, we should go. But grab one of those nice televisions on the way out", I demanded as I pointed to the one I wanted.

He complied, and we made our way to the back door. But, before we could make it to the door and leave, the lights shot on and a man appeared in front of us. He looked as though he had just woken up, wearing pajamas, slippers, and a robe. The man also carried with him a crow bar, and sleepily yelled, "Where do you two think you're going?! No way am I letting you roam free with items I pay to stock and sell! Thought you were so slick, huh? Thought you'd get away with it? Well, think again!"

It was then that the man ran towards us swinging the bar back, preparing to hit me first, but Michael grabbed it just in time. Getting frustrated, the man pulled back and came swinging his fists towards me, screaming and "had resolved to punish my body; just as boys, if they cannot come at some person against whom they have a spite, will abuse its dog" (Thoreau, par. 13). The bag fell off my shoulder, as the man had me pinned against the wall, as I just took the blows, crying. Michael was enraged, and pulled the man off of me; he knew it brought back memories of my childhood, where my father would constantly beat me due to his drunkenness for almost 9 years of my life. I dropped to the floor in embarrassment and tried to recover from my episode, as Michael fought the man, which angered me beyond words. "Bones mend and become actually stronger in the very place they were broken and where they have knitted up, mental wounds can grind and ooze for decades and be re-opened by the quietest whisper" (Fry), which is exactly what had just happened for me. I couldn't just let Michael fight the man to his death, so I got up and pulled out the knife he told me to carry in my pocket. I was so embarrassed and scared, but I had to defend Michael. I ran up to the man and slit his throat, "But I didn't realize what I'd done till I heard the sound. Like somebody drowning. Screaming underwater" (Capote, pg. 244). There was blood... spurting out everywhere... even on me...

The man's wife must have heard all of the commotion, because soon enough she was downstairs screaming bloody murder. Before I could think about it I had stabbed her in the gut as I screamed in frustration and agony at the same time. Michael tried to pull me back, but I was in some sort of trap in my own mind. All my morals had been ignored- my anger and adrenaline took control of my mind and body. After it was all done and over with, I had finally realized what I had done. I dropped to the floor and started crying the hardest I've cried in my life. I was having a panic attack after everything that had just transpired. I was basically "under a mental eclipse, deep inside a schizophrenic darkness, for it was not entirely a flesh-and-blood man" I had '"suddenly discovered"' myself 'destroying, but "a key figure in some past traumatic configuration"... One of them, or all of them.' (Capote, pg. 302) Yet, I had killed an innocent woman who was just checking on her husband... "Well, I don't know about you, but when I recall childhood pain, I don't recall the pains of toothache, a thrashed backside, broken bones, stubbed toes, gashed knees or twisted ankles-- I recall the pains of loneliness, boredom, abandonment, humiliation, rejection and fear. Those are the pains on which I might and, still sometimes do, dwell, and those pains, almost without exception, were inflicted upon me by other children and by myself" (Fry, par. 3).

At that moment, I honestly just wanted nothing more than to kill myself just so I wouldn't have to live with the guilt of killing people who meant me no harm, in their right minds. After all,"If a plant cannot live according to its nature, it dies; and so a man" (Thoreau, par. 14), so why should I live when I denied another being that ability tonight? I thought of all the possible ways I could, and realized a knife was just in front of me on the floor. Michael, however, interrupted my thoughts and got on the floor to pull me into his arms to comfort and calm me down. He kept telling me it wasn't my fault, that I did what I had to do to defend myself, that I was haunted by my past in the moment, and that I was just afraid. I could see it pained him to watch me be in so much pain, so I pulled myself out of his arms and replied with, "We have to go. NOW."

However, we were prevented from doing so by a couple of officers who surprised us when they burst into the shop to inspect the scene. We concluded someone had heard the ruckus and called the police to check out what was going on. Obviously, they had connected the dots as one officer confiscated our duffle bag and weapons, and the other checked us for any other items or weapons. Afterwards, we were taken into custody.

At some point, we had a few trials regarding our innocence and what our sentence should be, but in the meantime we were in prison to serve time. It was at this point that

"I saw that the State was half-witted, that it was timid as a lone woman with her silver spoons, and that it did not know its friends from its foes, and I lost all my remaining respect for it, and pitied it" (Thoreau, par. 13). Eventually, they came to the unanimous decision that I should be sentenced to death for the murders I committed and my mental illness, which became "unsafe for a society". Michael, on the other hand, only got life without parole. However, after the trials had been finalized in the decisions of our fates, they decided to call say that "The crime was a psychological accident, virtually an impersonal act; the victims might as well have been killed by lightning. Except for one thing: they had experienced prolonged terror, they had suffered..." and that my life "had been no bed of roses but pitiful, an ugly and lonely progress toward one mirage and then another." (Capote, pgs. 245-246) I only wanted to prove my intelligence and skills, as a human, which I was never able to do in my entire life, due to the way my home life was. Now I realize I'll never amount to what I'm overcompensating for...

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My name is Camille, and I'm surrounded by, "walls of solid stone, two or three feet thick, the door of wood and iron, a foot thick, and the iron grating which strained the light" (Thoreau, par. 13).

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Lea Stacey

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Case Information: Case Number: 1895420 Date: April 15, 1965Reporting Officers: Alvin Dewey, Herbert Nye, and Roy Church. Prepared by:...

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Lea Stacey

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Death Penalty | Piktochart Infographic Editor

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Lea Stacey