Kevin LeRoy Lambeau was sentenced to death by lethal injection for the murder of his employer and next-door neighbor, Rice Johnston and their mutual lover Jesse Lee Hansen. It seemed an obvious crime of passion, but Lambeau lamely offered the defense that he must obviously be insane because his dog, Sophie, had told him to do it. The jury, being made of Lambeau's peers in society, if not intellect, took this as a pathetic and obvious play on the infamous Son of Sam killings Up North in New York City and were all too happy to throw the book at the befuddled shitkicker.
After twenty failed attempts to prove his insanity, a ream of appeals, and letters to both the Governor and two consecutive Presidents, Lambeau resigned himself to his fate; he'd shot Rice and Jesse Lee in the head while in the act of physical love and he reckoned he would die for it. He made an appointment with the Warden. If he was to leave this world, he wanted to spend the last hours with Sophie at his side.
Needless to say, this was an unusual request. Aside from the normal bureaucratic channels, there was also the emotional impact to consider; how would people react to this prisoner spending any time with the animal he claimed told him to kill two people, much less have it in the room with him as the poison shut him down? The request was denied, but allowances for Lambeau's exemplary behavior were taken into consideration and, in an odd compromise, Lambeau was allowed to visit Sophie if his sister Chloe brought her.
Before being allowed into the visitor’s area, Sophie would be carefully inspected by the guards. The Warden had never known such a quiet, gentle tempered dog. She was a Shetland sheepdog with soft brown eyes, drooping ears, and no voice whatsoever. Lambeau had told the story that he'd had Sophie's vocal cords cut by a vet when he started hearing her speak, but it hadn't worked. All that was left for the outside world was a rarely heard hoarse squeak. Until the prison doctor inserted his gloved finger into her rectum, she looked at the Warden adoringly, with her bushy tail wagging to and fro. The hardened old man found it hard not to want to pet her as she went through the indignities.
Lambeau would cuddle and pet Sophie during their short visits. The story inevitably reached the press and Sophie became a minor celebrity, recognized around the trailer park where Chloe lived. The children would pet her with their dirty hands and listen closely, in case she really could talk.
A few months after the visits started, Chloe died of a massive heart attack. She was only in her thirties and was in fine health. A medical examiner said it was probably was just some freak accident. There were clothes strewn about the floor, but no sign of a struggle. A fresh pile of dog excrement had been made on top of one of the shirts. Sophie had been found lying on the bed next to her dead mistress, calm as a stone and happy to see the policemen.
The Warden took it on himself to adopt Sophie. Lambeau, shaken by his sister's death, had become something of a pet project for him. After the funeral, he sat with the prisoner in the back of the bus with Sophie and brought up the topic of Jesus. Sophie went to sleep. By the time she woke up, Lambeau was weeping and holding hands with the Warden. When he wasn't holding impromptu prayer sessions with Lambeau, The Warden spent a great deal of his time at the church, doing odd jobs. He was too modest to take credit, but everyone in the neighborhood knew who mowed the lawn, refinished the door, and built the additional rooms for the preschool. Often, he wouldn't come home until very late at night. He'd never had a family of his own, so the only thing that would greet him was Sophie. He was beginning to feel his age and often went to sleep before he could spend any time with her. He would nod right off in the armchair, without noticing her entreating him for a pat on the head or a kind word.
On a Sunday morning, he was awoken early by Sophie's gasping bark. The Warden ambled downstairs with the frantic Sophie, who had long since trained him when to let her outside. But when he closed the door, he saw that she was simply sitting on the deck, staring at him through the dirty window she pressed her nose on. This usually meant she wanted in, but the Warden ignored her and made ready for church. In the shower, he supposed that he hadn't spent enough time with Sophie and she had wanted him to come out in the yard with her. He smiled at the idea that she was that devoted to him and let her back in.
As he knotted his necktie, he looked past the reflection of his shoulder and into Sophie's soft brown eyes. The way she was staring made him feel guilty. But rather than turning around and petting her, he finished off the tie and left the house.
In the middle of the sermon, the Warden heard the murmurs and smelled the smoke. It wasn't long before everyone knew the church was on fire. The evacuation was a mess; the Pastor had gotten all of the wailing old women out before he realized that nobody had checked on the Sunday School. His second trip out, he threw two screeching toddlers onto the lawn before dropping and rolling on the ground to put out his flaming robes. The church was empty by the time the firemen had run back to the station to get their truck, but no amount of water could salvage the building. By noon, the steeple had crashed through the roof. The Warden drove home. The firemen said it must have been arson, but couldn't find any proof.
Stepping into his living room, he was shocked to see Sophie lying by the tattered remains of his old family Bible. The shreds of paper were all around the carpet and on top of the desecrated Bible was a very wet pile of excrement.
The Warden's temptation was to punish Sophie, but after the long, awful morning, he couldn't bring himself to it. He simply sat in his armchair, patting Sophie on the head, and thinking of all of the work he'd put into the church. Then he threw his soiled Bible and the shredded pages into a plastic bag. As he walked to the garbage can, he thought of how Sophie had been laying outside the circle of paper, just on the edge. It had reminded him of something he'd seen Byron Idyallah (the self-styled voodoo killer) do in his cell. But Idyallah was just a crank who'd read a couple of books. And Sophie was just a dog. He thought nothing more of it.
The execution date had been set and Sophie's visits with her old master had to come to an end. The Warden noticed how Sophie had become solitary. She rarely ate and spent most of her time staring at the front door. The night Lambeau met his maker was full of lightning and thunder. When the Warden opened his front door, he found Sophie letting out soft, wheezing attempts at howls.
The night had been a troubling one for the Warden. He let himself sleep in, as he usually did after executions, but he tossed and turned, woke at the slightest sounds, and finally rose at noon from sweaty bed sheets and twisted blankets.
His arthritic knees clicked as he walked to the kitchen. He called the office to say he felt like hell and was taking a few days off. Lambeau had taken Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior the night before. The Warden decided that the least he could do was spend the day, praying for the boy's soul.
A scraping noise came from the garage. He'd left Sophie in there that night so she wouldn't keep him up all night, for all the good that had done. He called her from the kitchen door. She didn't respond.
Stepping down into the valley between his car and his boat, he found Sophie standing over a collection of his winter clothes. The Warden figured that she must have knocked over the box that kept them in the excitement of the storm.
But there were shoes, then pants, then a sweater, then a wool stocking cap, and nothing else. From where he was standing, they seemed to almost be arranged in the shape of a man. How would Sophie know to do this, thought the Warden.
He chuckled at her, "Now what's all this mess for, Sophie?"
She wagged her tail, squat over the wool cap, and relieved herself on it.
Before he could yell at her, the Warden felt a vein pop in his head. He became dizzy, fell backwards, and died.
With her nose, Sophie nudged herself under his still-warm hand and lay down at his side, waiting for the police to come.