The Practitioner, Book One: Kimberly, A Typical Hanging

Chapter One: Arrival on Sunday

It’s been more than twenty years now since the government admitted that magic exists, and in fact is our only chance to save mankind from calamity. Magic is powered by life energy. A single person, even the greatest practitioner, has only the life energy generated by a single body, which is far too small for problems like the reversal of climate change. A practitioner like myself must absorb someone else’s life energy immediately after their death. The circumstances that enable us to collect a person’s life energy are subject to the complex rules of magic. Most of them spell out the Selection of who is to be chosen and the relationship between the practitioner and the person who is put to death.

The life force of men and women over thirty is much weakened, and often tainted by anger and sorrow. The ideal person to collect life energy from is someone put to death just after puberty. It is better if that person expects death and is not taken by surprise. A week of anticipation is the right amount. The one put to death should not suffer for more than a moment or two. He or she must accept death and feel only nervous, rather than terrified. (On the other hand, he or she must not be totally calm, and certainly not unconscious. Nervousness is good; outright fear is bad.)

Magic has a gender reversal: a male practitioner - such as myself - can only collect the life energy of a female. There are a few female practitioners who require young males to be put to death, but the ratio of males to females is seven to one. Finally, the proper collection of life energy requires a strong emotional bond between the practitioner and the one who dies. I need to feel deep affection for the girl, care for her, have sex with her if she chooses and give her my personal attention: I must put her to death with my own hands. There are several ways to put a girl to death which meet the essential criteria. I have my own routine, which is more or less standard. It is based on a classic American gallows.

On Sunday afternoon, the Selection Board van delivers the girl to my home. (Like most practitioners, I have a mansion surrounded by deep woods. Isolation helps me draw into myself as much of a girl’s life energy as possible.) As the van pulls into my garage, the Van Team takes what remaining possessions the girl has. She is about to begin a new life, and a brief life. Everything is taken from her, to begin acclimating her to her fate so that when I pull the lever as she stands on the trap, she accepts her death. Perhaps she brought her laptop or some sentimental item such as a stuffed animal. The van drive can be as long as six hours, and she is certainly allowed to spend them comfortably. But she gives up whatever she brought when she arrives.

The Van Team’s last responsibility is to remind the girl to remove all her clothing. From the moment the van door opens and I greet her, to the last beat of her young heart, she will be completely naked. This makes her vulnerable, which prepares her for death. Her vulnerability and nudity also reinforces the bond we will form.

It would be difficult for members of previous generations to imagine how readily those who are Selected accept their fate. From their earliest age, our children are instructed that they may be Selected to die so that the Earth may be saved. In lessons, movies, TV, songs, news, books and even games, they are told that to be put to death for the Earth and the human race is the highest honor a young person can achieve. Most children (if not all of them) play dying games at school, study the death processes and watch videos of persons their own age die. The conditioning extends to every level of society: even the parents of the Selected are able to wave goodbye with a minimum of sorrow.

The Selection Board team visits the girl on Saturday at noon to tell her and her family that she has been Selected. She has a single night to say good by to her family and begin preparing. The van leaves for my estate on Sunday at noon. My Van Captain, Marci, calls me just before the van takes the turn-off, to report any problems that have occurred. Usually, there are none.

When the life energy collections began, girls and their families would wail, argue and even try to resist. But the Van Teams no longer require a dozen armed guards to carry out their work. The Captain, the physician and a single guard are enough. (All of them are female, of course.) No girls have every given my Van Team any serious trouble.

Sunday

Kimberly had been in the van for five hours. “How is she?” I asked Marcie.

“She’s doing well. No great emotional upset. She didn’t speak much but she was friendly enough. She undressed an hour ago, after she watched a few hanging videos. She had some questions about you, your estate and the hanging process. I let her have a couple of glasses of champagne, but she didn’t really need them. Her exam results were fine. She has a slightly elevated heart rate, but Phyllis says it’s just the normal. You’ll like her. She smiled most of the way here. No crying.”

“Excellent.” I ended the call and went down to the garage to meet Kimberly. Of course I had spent most of the day going over the details of her file, so I had some idea of who she was and how she would behave, but I aim always excited to meet a new girl and begin to prepare her to be put to death.

Kimberly climbed down from the van and looked around. She was thirteen, with shoulder-length straw-colored hair, which was freshly combed. Her green eyes were bright, a good sign. The ones who arrive depressed or frightened are usually disheveled and dull-eyed. Her figure was good, with gently-swelling breast buds, a flat belly and long legs for a girl of her age. Her mound was well-developed but had only a small tangle of hair. I usually evaluate a girl’s neck as soon as I meet her. Kimberly’s neck was dainty and slightly elongated, but not so much that I worried about decapitating her.

During the year or so before they are formally Selected, many girls will guess their approximate ranking on the Selection Chart. The girls who believe they are high up tend to be very careful of their appearance (except for the ones who fall into despair).

I introduced myself. We shook hands briefly. Kimberly looked me up and down. “You’re the guy?”

“Yes, Kimberly, I will be your companion this week, and in six days I will put you to death and collect your life energy, ” I said. Practitioners frequently remind their girls of the fate that is waiting for them. Of course they know it. But the frequent reminders prevent false hope and denial, while nudging her toward acceptance.

“Why are you wearing clothes?” she challenged me.

“I have to get your certificate from Marci, but then we’ll go into the Suite and I can undress.”

“Can I have more champagne?”

“Of course. As much as you want, for now.”

She nodded. Marcie handed me the USB drive with the Authorization to Hang and special handling instructions. I put my thumbprint on her pad to formally take possession of Kimberly’s body and life.

“Good luck, Kimberly, ” said Marcie as she got back in the van. “Take care of yourself. Die well and make us all proud.”

Kimberly nodded. There was just a trace of a sarcastic smile on her face.“Drive safely, Marci.” I took Kimberly by the hand and we went inside. The hallway from the garage to the conservatory runs the length of my mansion. On the right side is the door to the “Suite, ” where she would live for six days until I took her life. A black door is directly across then hall from the Suite entrance. Kimberly stared at it. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“That’s the door to the gallows room, yes, ” I replied.

“Can I see?”

“On Friday night, I will take you on a tour and answer any questions you have. You will see everything then.”

We went into the Suite. It’s luxurious, with couches, recliners, board games and a craft table, a large-screen TV, two gaming systems, and a kitchenette with a refrigerator full of snacks, sodas, bottled water and champagne - in short, everything a young girl could want, except a proper vanity. A vanity table sits between the bed alcove and the shower, but it has only combs and brushes - no makeup. The girls are not allowed to wear makeup in their last week, although they may style their hair. (Many girls with long hair arrange it in pony tails or braids for my convenience when I noose them. This isn’t strictly necessary. A nine-foot drop makes any amount of hair padding the noose irrelevant.) The bed is bigger than king-size, and has a memory foam mattress and silk sheets. The shower is large enough to accommodate two. The adjacent hot tub is also designed for two.

The picture windows look out on flower beds and woods. I use discreetly-hidden bait to lure rabbits, deer and raccoons for the girls to watch. Of course the windows are unbreakable. In fact, everything in the suite is designed to make it impossible to use any of as it an instrument of escape or suicide, and the computers monitor the hidden cameras all day and night. I am proud of the fact that I have been a practitioner for twelve years and put to death over two hundred and twenty girls without a single serious attempt at suicide or escape. (Other practitioners, who do not hold themselves to my exacting standards, cannot say the same.)

Kimberly wandered around the Suite for a bit and then faced me. “I thought you’d take off your clothes. It’s not polite, me standing here naked and you’re still dressed.”

“You’re right.” I smiled at her and undressed. As a practitioner, I have great power over my body. My age appears to be around thirty-five. My chest and arms are well-muscled, but not so much so that my appearance is in any way threatening. I study teen magazines to fashion myself according the look young girls desire in an older man. I do not make my girls “swoon, ” because that would be counterproductive. Rather, I am the handsome, kindly, trustworthy older man. The girls I put to death almost always feel passion for me, and most of them fall in love.

I feel the same for them, of course.

“What do you want to do, Kimberly?” I asked. “It’s entirely up to you. Are you hungry? I could send for something to eat.”

“I had a sandwich in the van. And an ice cream cone. No, I’m not hungry. I didn’t sleep very well last night. I was going to take a nap in the van, but I was too keyed up. Can I have a glass of champagne, and then take a nap?”

“Certainly, ” I said. “What would you like for dinner? Broiled Salmon with Asparagus?”

“That’s my favorite! How did you know?.. . I guess you know everything about me.”

“Not everything, not quite.” I smiled. “But, yes I do know a lot.” I took a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator and poured her a glass.

After dinner, Kimberly predictably asked for another glass of champagne. As I handed it to her, I said “You know, Kimberly, you don’t have to ask me for permission. You can help yourself any time you like.”

Kimberly took the glass. “What if I get drunk?”

“Most girls don’t get drunk.”

“I won’t. I hate drunks.” She sat down on one of the couches. “But I’m loving this.” She held up her champagne glass.

I sat down on the same couch, careful to keep a foot of space between us, although I had seen her eyeing my penis when she thought I wasn’t looking. I shrank my penis to 5 and ¾ inches flaccid, with a slightly bigger girth than average. Anything larger would intimidate some of the girls. Most girls who realize they may be Selected become sexually active. (Girls with an abundance of life energy mature early and tend to be very sexual and outgoing.) Nonetheless, occasionally I receive a virgin to put to death. Most of them choose to be sexually initiated before they they die, but not all. The entire point of my having sex with the girls I hang is to build a deep bond between us. I never force myself on a girl. Not only would that be distasteful and immoral, it would prevent any bond forming between us, and cause her life energy to dissipate uselessly at the moment of her death. That would wrong a girl terribly: to take her life, and yet fail to collect her life energy, making her sacrifice a waste.

“Most girls want to talk about why they have to die, and how they will die, ” I said. “Do you have questions for me?”

“No, we covered all that in school, ” she said. “I’ve always known I was gonna wind up like this. I mean, since I was eight. The boys at school used to tease me that I would be Selected because I got better grades and could beat them all at sports like swimming and running. And I saw in the mirror that I was pretty.”

“An abundance of life energy tends to make someone athletic, smart and attractive, ” I agreed.

“All the kids got Examined for our life energy when we were ten, ” Kimberly said. She finished her champagne without quite drinking it straight down. “I was Examined again when I was eleven, and that happens to, what, one girl in a hundred?”

“About that.”

“And went I went for my third Examination, I knew it was just a matter of when. I saw the expression on the examiner’s face, ” she explained. “That was six months ago. I’ve been preparing myself ever since.”

“Very admirable.”

Kimberly stretched. “What do we do now?”

“Whatever you like, ” I told her. “You get to choose almost everything that happens this week.”

“Until you put a rope around my neck and drop me in a hole, ” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yes.” It’s always best to go along with the blunt-talking ones. Bravado isn’t always a cover for being frightened.

“That’s what this is all about.” Kimberly turned away from me and looked through the window out to the dusk. “I’m paying for this champagne with my life.”

“You could put it that way, ” I said. “Or, you could say that the champagne is a gift in honor of your sacrifice.”

She turned back to me. “I do have some questions after all.”

“Go ahead.”

”How many girls have you put to death?”

“In twelve years, just over two hundred and twenty.”

She frowned. “All on the gallows?”

“All of my young girls died on my gallows.”

“Did anything ever go wrong?”

“I have never made a mistake during a hanging that caused the girl to suffer, ” I said. “I have never failed to collect her life energy after she died.”

“Were any of them scared?”

“They were all nervous, as you will be, ” I said. I finished my own champagne. “No matter how calm and ready a girl is before hand, climbing the gallows steps is scary, and her moments on the trap are hard. But if you’re talking about uncontrollable terror, no. I prepare my girls well enough that any attack of nerves is manageable. The closest I’ve come to having a girl break down was when I hanged a girl named Melanie. She asked me to carry her up the gallows steps. Shaky feet, you see. I wondered if she might faint. That would cause problems. The girl must be conscious at to the drop. But she stood on the trap and waited bravely. She trembled a bit, but most girls do that.”

“How come you couldn’t prepare her well enough that her ‘nerves were manageable?’”

“For one thing, she was the youngest girl I ever hanged.” Questions like this always make me somber. “She was only eleven, but she had been through puberty. The Selection Board members argued for days about whether she should be picked so young, but the Examiners were afraid her life energy would be depleted if we delayed. She was placed with me because I’m considered the gentlest practitioner.”

Kimberly leaned forward and looked me in the eye. “Did you regret putting her to death?”

“I did. I regret every girl who had died at my hands. I shall regret hanging you, too.” I was careful to maintain eye contact. “My most passionate wish is that one day practitioners learn how to take a small bit of life energy from all humans, and we no longer need people to die in order to collect it.”

Kimberly looked away. “Have you done anything about that?”

“Others are working on the problem, specialists in magic theory. I participated in some experiments. None of them were successful.”

“So girls like me will keep on dying.”

“There are some boys selected, too.”

“They told us at school that practitioners are seven to one male.”

“That’s right.” I said.

Kimberly yawned and stretched again.

“If you’re still tired, you can take an early bedtime and I’ll answer the rest of your questions in the morning, ” I said.

“No, ” said Kimberly. She slid next to me and put her arm around me. I reciprocated. “Tell me about the sex.”

“If we have sex, it will be for two reasons, ” I said. Kimberly laid her head on my shoulder. “First, it will deepen the bond between us. At its best, sex is an exchange of affection between two people. I don’t just have ‘sex, ’ with my girls. We make love. The more we care for each other, the easier it will be me to collect your life energy when you die. And if you trust me, it will make things easier for you on the trap.”

“What’s the other reason?” Kimberly murmured in my ear.

I smiled. “It will help keep you calm and occupied until noon on Saturday.”

“What kind of sex can we have?”

“Anything you like, ” I told her. “Or no sex at all, it you prefer.”

“Could you kiss my vagina?” she asked. “I only ever had that one time, for a few minutes, from a guy who wasn’t really into it, just that it was something to go through so he could get what he wanted.”

“I will be happy to make love to you with my mouth, ” I told her.

“I’m going to die in a week, ” she said. “Let’s get started.” She took my hand and led me to the bed.

When we first lay down together, we did what all new lovers do. We explored each other’s bodies with our fingers and our mouths. We kissed, we nibbled, we embraced each other. I knew - because the Selection Board investigators are thorough - that the sum total of Kimberly’s sexual experience was three short-lived relationships with boys her own age, and two-one time encounters, one with a college boy and another with a man who hired her to babysit his kids. The Selection Board’s report suggested that her only orgasms were those she gave herself. She was definitely capable of orgasm: when I delicately fingered her clitoris, she came after a few minutes. (I was also sucking on the buds of her tiny breasts.) Using my Powers to read her bodily response, I could tell she was still aroused. Time for the main event.

I slid down to a position below Kimberly’s waist and spread her slender thighs apart. The muscles inside them quivered. She raised her knees to give me a better angle. Her clitoris was that of a grown woman. I teased her by licking her hood a few times, before I slid my tongue beneath it and licked her clitoris directly. I switched back and forth between rubbing it with my tongue and sucking it gently, drawing it into my mouth. Her hands pressed down on my head, and I understood. She wanted my tongue on her inner lips. I circled her entrance a dozen times, until her hands directed me back to her clitoris. I switched back and forth between the jewel under her hood and the lips of her vagina. I cannot say exactly how long I made love to her with my mouth before her first orgasm. Perhaps twenty minutes? But thereafter the orgasms came quickly. When I withdrew my head from between her legs, an hour had passed.

Kimberly lay her head back on a pillow with her legs still open, her eyes closed. I could tell from her breathing that she was nearly asleep. I turned out the lights, pulled the blanket over us, cuddled my body against hers and fell asleep myself.