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Once Peter was done with all the questions, he stuffed all the papers into his briefcase and stood up to leave Sal alone with his meal to eat in peace. He figured that even if he didn’t deserve it, a small bit of his favorite food wouldn’t hurt. He'd already been planning on asking for a more inhumane death, and had been practically starving himself for the past three years. He’d debated on asking for a bologna sandwich since he felt like he didn’t deserve anything good in this place, but even he thought that was a bit much. Sal requested a single slice of pizza from his favorite joint in town as his final meal. It was exhausting to say the least, but he didn’t have to speak for the majority of it so he went along with the procedures. Once you’ve made that request, we’ll send it in and get it prepared for you while we go over a few more things.” He kept rambling on about information Sal already had given to the lawyers, court, guards, and now coroner several hundred times. “Now, first thing’s first we need you to decide what your final meal will be. His mask left him with a constant deadpan stare that nobody could ever decipher (except maybe for Larry) which helped hide the fact he was unamused by how eerily cheery Peter was.
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Please, have a seat!” Hickory gestured towards the second chair across from his spot at the desk, and Sal obeyed. I’ll be taking care of your final meal wishes, final statements, setting up the room, et cetera et cetera. I’m Peter Hickory, Nockfell Prison’s resident coroner. “Ah, Sally face! It truly is a marvel to be meeting you. In one chair sat a man in a finely pressed suit and slicked back hair that held too much gel. The guards led Sal into a room that held nothing but a desk littered with papers and a briefcase and two chairs. His mask did little to protect his one good eye, but at this point he didn’t care. It made Sal a little glad the prison had confiscated his glass eye as soon as he had arrived.
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The florescent lights above them as they walked down the halls seemed to scream into their eyes. The walls were white and untouched like they had just been redone, but the dust settling on the bottom trim said otherwise. We’ll be taking you to the waiting cell for your last meal and to finalize your information.” Sal nodded, a little too enthusiastically, and allowed the guards to lead him to a part of the prison he’d never been in before.
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“Inmate #081486, you’ve been scheduled for execution at 5 o’clock this afternoon. So, when two burly guards came to his cell and clasped the cuffs around his wrists, he knew he would finally get what he deserved. He couldn’t talk to Larry’s ghost even because he was stuck in the treehouse where he’d poisoned himself. He couldn’t count on Ashley to save him even though she kept vowing she would. Sal knew he couldn’t save his friend Todd, who was still in the hospital possessed by whatever the cult did to him on that fateful night. And he didn’t want to come back as a ghost. Sal Fisher, the Sally Face Killer, wanted to die as soon as possible. Every day he would beg and pray that it would be the day his sentence would be brought to fruition. He rarely ever left his cell, only ever spoke to himself and the “voices in his head” he still claimed to be Jim and Terrence, only ever ate enough to keep himself alive. Since his trial, he’d kept a low profile. But the mass murder of everybody living in the apartments was a story the whole state was tuning into. Teenagers had gone missing two years after that and were never found, so everyone presumed they were dead. The last murder had been 7 years prior, but was quickly solved and swept under the rug for the most part. In the small town, murder wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t common either. Killing a single person is no small feat, but to kill 1 5 people in one night? Nobody in the town of Nockfell had heard of such a catastrophe, let alone witnessed it happen. He’d beg the guards for his final sentence to be executed, but every time they would tell him “they’re not ready for you yet.” Some days he would get so fed up with the waiting he would attempt to go through with the sentence himself, only to be caught and thrown into the psych ward for a week. Every day that passed and he lived was another day he was left alone with his thoughts and memories. Three years he had been preparing for this day.