Sumner did a slow turn, sighing. I said nothing; I knew Sumner wanted one last look around the room we had shared for a month. He said, "I hope you get a roommate who can lift you up as high as you can go. I know you'll be one of the best ever."
I smiled. "There's never any guarantees. I don't know if I'll even graduate. All I know is that when I do go, whether it's as a graduate, or at a demo or a party, you'll be there with me."
Sumner turned to look at me. "What do you mean?"
I fingered the envelope on my desk. Sumner knew what was in it — he'd seen me collect it, at the hair salon. "When I'm hanged, I'm going to have this lock of your headfur wrapped around my collar. You'll be just a couple of inches away from the rope."
Sumner put his arms around me and squeezed tight, tears running freely from his eyes now. "Shit. I wasn't going to cry, but that is just so sweet. Thank you."
He finally let go and looked up at me. "I'm ready. Do we have everything we need?"
I nodded. "We do here. Think a minute to see if you forgot anything you wanted to tell Gil and Brian."
Sumner shook his head. "There wasn't really that much to tell them. I got it all written down." He looked at the room again, then turned and grinned at me. "Let's go do it."
I turned and picked up the rope from my bed as Sumner pulled off his shirt and slid his shorts and briefs down his legs. Naked now, Sumner put his hands behind his back, his wrists crossed, and waited for me. I started wrapping the rope around both of his wrists.
"I wish they'd let you use a sex toy. You deserve to have a chance at an orgasm while you're hanging."
Sumner laughed. "I'm so hard right now, I think I can come without that. Just seeing everybody watching me will help. Doing the show will help too. Thank you again, so much, for that."
I finished the knot between his wrists. "Try to get out of that. I don't want you to get loose and mess up the demo, and everybody blame me for it."
Sumner tugged hard at his wrists, his forearm and shoulder muscles straining. "Yeah, that's good."
"Not too tight?"
Sumner laughed. "It doesn't matter if my hands go to sleep before the rest of me."
I picked up the bedsheet and thought. "I'm trying to think what's the best way to do this. Hold on." I lay the sheet out flat on my bed, put a rope across the middle of it, and folded the sheet across the rope. I lifted the sheet up at the fold, draped it over Sumner's back with the fold at the top, and wrapped the fold around his neck, the loose ends of rope projecting out from either side of it. I tied the rope loosely around Sumner's neck, finishing with a quick-release. I wrapped one more rope around the sheet at Sumner's waist, to hold the sheet closed, and tied it off with another quick-release. Sumner was shrouded in the sheet down to his knees. "How's that feel? Is that going to stay?"
He walked around the room tentatively. "I think so, if I don't make any sudden big moves."
I looked at the clock by my bed. "Five to eleven. We better go." I grabbed my electronic clicker, which all students had been told to bring with them to the demo, and clipped it to the waistband of my shorts. I put my pen and small notepad in my pocket, and looked up to see Sumner was looking at me, smiling. "I'm the one student who doesn't have to worry about that stuff today."
I smiled back and stood in front of him. "Yeah, you'll probably be the least tense student there. Ready?"
Sumner stood on his toes and kissed me, one last time, a long, soft kiss. I suddenly remembered Marshall's last kiss with Bailey, and my eyes stung. I know just a little now, just a shadow, of how they felt then.
Sumner broke off the kiss, and looked lovingly at me, our eyes just inches apart. "Funny to get so close so fast. Good time for it, though, right?"
"Wouldn't have missed it for anything."
Sumner turned suddenly, and walked toward the door. He stopped, and giggled. "Oops. A little help here."
I laughed, and reached for the doorknob. "You're acting more like a prince than a prisoner. Got me doing everything for you."
Sumner stepped out into the hall, letting me catch up with him so we could walk side by side.
Just in front of us, Hector, a ram from three doors down, burst out of his room and started running down the hall. He gave us a quick glance, then stopped suddenly. "I guess I'm not late, if you guys aren't there yet."
Sumner grinned. "Can't start without me."
Hector gave Sumner a puzzled look. "What's the sheet for?"
I answered, "Part of the show. You'll see in a minute."
Hector smiled. "Your hair looks really cute that way, Sumner."
Sumner beamed at him. "Thanks. It feels kind of weird. I don't exactly have time to get used to it. I love the way they made it look, though." At the salon, they had cut it down to about a 1/2-inch length, while shaping it at the edges so that it still looked nice. Sumner had had me hold my arm in front of his neck to block his view in the mirror from the neck down, Sumner spent a few minutes admiring his new hairstyle, seeing what his head would look like mounted in its niche.
Hector backed away, smiling. "I better get there so I can get settled before it starts. Really looking forward to your show, Sumner."
"Thanks."
Hector gave us a little wave before turning and sprinting away.
Sumner took a deep breath. "I hope I don't disappoint everybody."
I rubbed Sumner's shoulder. "I know you won't."
I paused at the door of the demo room, taking in the sight — I hadn't seen it other than empty before. My heart pounded, stimulated by the drama of the situation and my own role in it.
What appeared to be the entire First Year class was gathered on four rows of benches circling the hanging platform, above which the noose hung down, ready for Sumner's neck. The benches were semicircles, actually, four on either side of the platform, with small gaps between the semicircles affording walkways. The nearest of the benches was barely four feet from the noose, slightly elevated to give the students a better view, with each succeeding row slightly higher than the one in front. No student on any of the benches was more than about twelve feet away from the noose.
I looked at Sumner; his face was glowing with excitement. He whispered in a voice full of wonder, "They're all here for me!"
I grinned and whispered back, tapping my own head, "Remember, you'll be in here for all of them, always. You'll be part of their identities."
He sighed and leaned his head on my shoulder. "Thank you again. You've made this a really special day."
I shook my head. "No, you've done that."
The boys on the benches were chatting with each other as they waited — none had yet noticed us in the doorway. Chip, a hyrax, looked really cute in his red teacher's outfit. He was calling the roll, and had nearly reached the end of the list when he spotted me. He held up his hand as a signal to wait where I was for the moment. Baker, another teacher, walked toward the door.
Several boys on the far side saw us now, and suddenly broke into applause, joined by the others around the room, the ones on the near side twisting around to see.
Sumner flushed and laughed nervously, grabbing me into a hug. I smiled and turned him firmly back to face the room. "Come on, Sum. Just another performance of the play."
Sumner whispered, "This is just a little more intense, Wynn."
"It's exactly what you wished when you were doing the play, isn't it? When you were hanging, you imagined it was for real, right?"
The mouse shivered and grinned. "You know it."
The applause died out, and the conversations resumed at a more intense level than before. Chip reached the end of the list of names and nodded, then cleared his throat and held up his hand for attention. The murmuring of the gathered boys gradually faded.
Baker met us at the door. He smiled at Sumner. "I was going to give you kind of a pep talk. Do I need to?"
Sumner smiled back and shook his head. "I'm okay. Are we starting?"
Baker turned back toward Chip and nodded, and looked back at Sumner. "Not quite yet." The bull fished something like a cloth band out of the small pocket of his shorts. "I need to put this on you."
Baker lifted the band up toward Sumner's throat; it was a cloth choker, similar to the ones Marshall and Bailey had worn at their hangings. I suspected it had the same purpose. "Is that a pulse monitor?" I pulled down the bedsheet slightly, leaving room for Baker to overlap the velcro pads that fastened the choker.
Baker nodded. "We'll need it for the lesson today." He smiled again and gave Sumner a quick kiss on the cheek; then turned and walked back toward the middle of the room.
Chip was addressing the waiting class. "Everybody get out your clicker. Did anyone not remember to bring theirs?" He waited, but no one spoke. Some of the boys shifted in their seats, fishing their clickers out of their pockets; some had already been holding theirs. Chip nodded and went on. "I would suggest not taking notes during the hanging. We'd prefer that you pay full attention to what's going on, without being distracted by trying to write anything. During the hanging, some of you may have suggestions for Sumner, but please don't just speak out. Raise your hand and wait until Baker or I point to you. It's possible we might not want you to say anything right at that moment. Understood?" He waited for nods, and continued.
"Today, the one thing we want you to be watching for especially is the moment of Sumner's death. At the instant you think Sumner's heart has stopped, push the button on your clicker. The signal from your clicker will be time stamped in the computer, and compared afterwards with the actual time of death. The closer you are, the more points you'll score as your grade for this demo. Okay?" He waited again for positive responses.
Chip looked toward the door and smiled. "This is a little unusual, but I'm sure you all know Sumner and Wynn intend to put on a little show for you. Can you tell us a little more about it, Wynn?"
"It's just a little scene from a play Sumner did in high school," I said, "If any of you haven't seen the play 'The Wrong Man,' it's about a man who's hanged for a murder he didn't commit." I shrugged. "I guess that about covers it. Oh, none of you need to say anything during the show. It'll look like Sumner wants you to say something, but you're not supposed to."
"Are you ready, then?"
I breathed deeply, in and out, and looked at Sumner. "Are you?"
Sumner took a slow breath. "Wynn, I just want to say again thanks for everything. For last night, and making this easier for me, and... just for being such a great roommate." He grinned. "I won't wish you luck. You don't even need that. I know you're going to graduate."
I tapped my own head. "If I do, it'll be because I have you up here with me."
Sumner grinned and stood on his tiptoes to kiss me. "You know that means everything to me." He gestured then with his head. "Okay, let's go."
I patted Sumner's shoulder, then tried to settle my pounding heart. The mouse walked — more properly, trudged, into the room, his head down. I followed him toward the student-encircled platform, and through one of the two narrow walkways toward the center and the platform, between the semicircles of seats.
Sumner entered the inner circle, and stopped by the platform, at last looking up at the noose. He let out a moan and his knees buckled. I caught him and held him up until he stood on his own again
I had the first line. "Jansen Forest, according to the authority of the state, the hour of your execution is here." It sounded a little stilted to me, but real executions weren't really much less formal. "In front of these witnesses, you will be hanged for the murder of Roger Penney. Do you have any final words?"
Sumner turned slowly, with a hopeless look toward the onlooking students. He's really good with this, I thought. Well, I guess he's done it enough.
In a low but somehow penetrating voice, no doubt coached by the school's drama teacher, Sumner said, "I didn't do it, I didn't do it! Why doesn't anyone ever believe me?"
"Your trial was long ago, and the time for arguing your case is over."
Sumner snapped, "You asked if I had any last words! I just want to know if one person here believes me. Salem!" Sumner looked vaguely in front of him. "You knew Roger. You know me! How can you think I would do this?" I couldn't tell who Sumner was looking at — most likely he was carefully looking between students so none would think they were being addressed. The original name in that line was "Sandy," but there was actually a student here named Sandy, and we'd decided to change the name.
Maverick looked on with his characteristic smirk. I glared at him and gave him a tiny headshake. Maverick responded with a lift of his eyebrows and a shrug. I was glad Sumner wasn't looking in that direction.
The students, including Maverick, were completely hushed. Aside from Maverick, they seemed awed.
Sumner's shoulders slumped. In that same, low but penetrating voice, he said. "Just one person to believe me would be enough. I could be at peace with my death then, if I had the faith of just one person."
I stepped up onto the platform. "Jansen Forest, turn to face me." Sumner slowly turned, and backed off for a moment as if he intended to resist, then shook himself, squared his shoulders and stepped up, as if resigned to his fate and determined to die with dignity.
I reached out and pulled the ends of the slipknots holding the bedsheet. I tried to make the unveiling as dramatic as Marshall's, but the lack of springs made that impossible. So I did my best, flicking the sheet off Sumner's shoulders with my fingers so that it flew back behind me, settling to the floor just off the platform. The murmurs from the watching students told me I'd carried it off adequately. We hadn't been able to get permission to glitter-powder Sumner's body; the staff decided that would interfere with the students' concentration on the hanging process, and in the absence of sunlight it wouldn't have been as impressive as the truly stunning image of Marshall's body glowing. Sumner, of course, didn't have a body like Marshall's either, but, to my delight, Sumner, now naked, was suddenly standing so proudly, his eyes so alight with excitement and anticipation, that I could sense the air of astonishment enveloping the room.
I had to shake myself to get moving again, and worked to still the slight tremor in my fingers as I reached for the noose, and dropped it down over Sumner's head to settle on his shoulders. I nearly laughed as I saw Sumner's expression while I tightened the noose around his neck — Sumner was fighting to stay in character as the frightened, forlorn Jansen, but... there was one small inconsistency —not so small, actually: he was already more than half-erect. So was I, but at least mine was partly concealed by my uniform shorts. If I laughed, Sumner's pressed-together lips would split into a grin that would ruin his performance.
I took some time adjusting the knot to just the position I wanted. I knew that it wasn't, strictly speaking, necessary in this situation to make sure Sumner could survive as long as possible, but I knew that the longer Sumner could stay conscious and kicking, the happier he would be. At last I was satisfied, and managed to catch Sumner's eyes just before stepping off the platform. Sumner mouthed a very minimal "Thank you" that couldn't have been seen by any of the others. I wasn't sure for a moment what gesture he could give without breaking character. Under the guise of giving the noose one last check, I let one hand drop and gave Sumner's shoulder a squeeze.
I stepped down from the platform, and noticed Sumner taking a deep breath — not so much getting ready to have his air cut off, but an acknowledgment to himself that he was standing alone now, naked in front of all of his classmates, waiting to be hanged.
I said my last line, "It is now time to carry out the sentence of the court," and looked at Chip questioningly. Chip responded with a small shrug, gesturing toward me as if asking if I wanted to do it myself. I looked at Chip with a "for real?" expression, and saw Chip give a tiny nod.
I had never actually snuffed anyone before. I'd known that if I stayed on after graduation as an instructor I would probably hang a student or two before I was sold for a show, but that was off in the distant future. I felt doubly honored: only a few first-year students were given the privilege of snuffing their own roommates.
Concentrating on the moment so that I'd always remember it, I reached out for the lever and pulled it back, then stepped back and squatted down in the aisle between rows of seats so as not to block anyone's view. I heard Sumner let out a small gasp on feeling the platform start to descend, then he remained silent, concentrating on his breathing. His cock rose as the platform descended until it nearly touched his belly. He let out a barely audible squeak as the noose pulled him up onto his toes, and finally the normal, natural slight choking sound as the rope tightened around his neck and squeezed his airway closed, his toes losing contact with the platform.
It was hard for me to tear my eyes away from Sumner as he started to kick, his body automatically trying to find some support, but I took a quick look at the faces of my fellow students as they watched the hanging. I realized that many of them had never been so close to a terminal hanging before, probably having seen them only on TV, or from a greater distance at a public hanging, and in any case never before watching someone they knew personally. If they had seen a parent, older brother, or friend snuffed, it had most likely been by a standard beheading. It was one of the rare advantages in experience that I had held over the rest of them.
All of the boys were staring intently, not wanting to miss any details; they would have even without the classroom assignment requiring their close attention. Many of them appeared barely able to breathe as they watched — I felt the same way: I had come to feel so strongly connected with any boy who was hanging that it always affected my breathing.
I looked back at Sumner, noticing that he was forgetting some of his lessons. The necessary movements should have been automatic after his practice in the last several weeks, but possibly in his excitement he was imagining himself back in the role in the high school show, performed at a time when he knew no technical details about hanging. I was about to raise my hand, Jack's hand shot up to catch Baker's eye. After Baker nodded to him, Jack called out urgently, "Sumner, remember the head movements! You're not doing it enough!"
Sumner was, indeed, doing little organized head-rolling, and was very likely not breathing at all. He wasn't able to give a sign that he'd heard Jack, but he did lean his head back and start rolling the back of his neck from side to side against the rope. I breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Sumner's form improve.
The rest of Sumner's movements were instinctive random jerks and kicks. I could see the muscles of Sumner's back and arms strain as he tried to free his hands, his very hard cock bouncing from the effort. I blinked with a sudden insight. I had assumed all along that the reason all practice hangings, as well as this real hanging, were done with the boy naked, was that it helped them get used to being that way in preparation for their final show, some years in the future. But it occurred to me now that, as with so many things here, it was also part of the learning process for the students who were witnessing a hanging or practice. Watching the muscular strains and contortions of a hanging boy gave any onlooker that much better feeling for what was involved, and the instructional staff didn't want any part of that lesson lost by being covered up with clothing.
All of the boys had seen Maverick's stunning erotic moves, but Sumner had never tried any of them in practice. I'd thought about suggesting to Sumner that he try something of that nature, here in his final opportunity, but this was Sumner's time, and he should continue with whatever he felt most comfortable with. It had to be thrilling for Sumner to see such rapt attention among his peers for his final performance, and I didn't want Sumner's concentration disrupted by having to try something he didn't feel ready for. Only a few of the boys, including me, were beginning to work some of Maverick's routine into their own practice. I'd had a limited amount of success, but I found it nearly impossible to concentrate on Maverick's type of sexual thrusts simultaneously with my "survival" moves, and my hanging time dropped off significantly when I tried it. Several other students had also tried it, with the same problem.
I picked up the discarded bedsheet and put it in a crumpled pile on the platform, directly below Sumner's kicking feet. I backed away quickly afterwards and resumed watching.
As Sumner's spastic kicking started to slow, I took a quick look at my watch. Only two minutes so far, and Sumner already seemed on the way out. I knew Sumner was capable of more, but he was no doubt too distracted, and hadn't started well. He, like the rest of the class, had started getting a feeling for the breathing trick, and had done three minutes easily in practice in the room with me.
I fingered my electronic clicker and fastened my whole attention on Sumner's wriggling body, determined to spot the exact moment of death.
In about another minute, Sumner came, hard. He shot semen nearly to the edge of the platform. A few seconds after that, he stopped moving. The inevitable stream of urine cascaded down. Most of it fell on the bedsheet to be absorbed, rather than splattering. The electronic clickers made no sound, but I could tell by their movements that several boys had pressed the buttons on theirs, signaling the computer that they believed Sumner was dead. I thought them a little premature. A slight kick of Sumner's right foot caused several boys to groan, no doubt those who had used their clickers, though admittedly it might be due to random electrical surges in Sumner's nervous system. About fifteen seconds later I pushed the button on my clicker, responding to an undefinable feeling that my friend had left us forever.
A flurry of whispers was brought to a stop by Chip's hand raised in warning, and the room full of boys watched in silence as Sumner's nude body hung limp by the neck, gently swaying back and forth like a slow pendulum.
Baker broke the silence at last. "The system is telling me... let's see. Maverick came closest to identifying the instant of death. Could you tell us what you were looking for, Maverick?"
I'd seen Maverick sitting leaning forward, not bored for once, as absorbed as any of the other students in the spectacle of a real hanging, but now he sat hunched with his fist supporting his chin, the expression on his face returned to normal for him. Maverick said quietly, "Shoulder relax, to put it non-technically."
Baker gave a small nod, looking slightly surprised, and responded, "Could you go into a little more detail?"
Maverick nodded back. "Generally the shoulder muscles are tensed all through a hanging. It's an instinctive response to the effort to get air, even after loss of consciousness. You have to be looking for it to see it, because it's just a very slight change, but at the moment of death they finally relax. It happens after the bladder release. Holding your bladder isn't required for survival, and the body lets go of it to concentrate on trying to find air."
Kendrick, a mouse deer in the row behind Maverick, asked irritably, "Where'd you read that?"
Maverick answered in a bored voice, "Flanders," naming the text the First Years used for their Hanging Techniques class.
Kendrick, still more irritably, said, "I haven't seen anything about that in there."
Maverick shrugged. " 'S in chapter twelve."
A Lucas snarled, "We haven't got to that!" The dromedary looked like he wanted to spit in Maverick's face.
Maverick gave him the standard smirk. "Doesn't mean you can't read it."
Chip held up both hands in a calming gesture. "Okay, okay, enough. The demonstration is over, but before you go I want you all to show your appreciation to Sumner, even if he can't hear you."
I quickly stood and clapped my hands, and in seconds all of the boys were standing and applauding. I felt, somehow, that Sumner was indeed able to hear it. I felt very proud of Sumner. He'd gone out just the way he'd wanted to, and had earned every bit of the applause.
I sat on the edge of the platform while my classmates began filing out. I felt very strongly that he shouldn't be left alone, hanging dead in an empty lecture hall. I looked up as Chip said uncertainly, "Wynn? Did you want to take him down yourself?"
I shook my head. "I'm just going to stay with him, if that's okay. He loved hanging so much, I think he'd want to do it for as long as possible today."
Chip shrugged and smiled. This may not have been the first time Chip had seen this reaction in a roommate. "Okay. The furrier will be here in twenty, maybe thirty minutes."
I nodded back. "That's no problem."
Chip smiled. "You and he did a good job this morning. I've never seen a demo quite like that."
I laughed. "Beginning of a new tradition, maybe."
Chip laughed with me. "Probably. Well, I'll see you at dinner."
I waved as Chip left the room, the last person to go. I brought my feet up onto the platform and wrapped my arms around my shins. My head was at about the level of Sumner's feet, and I rubbed my cheek fondly against the side of his foot. I said quietly, "You were great today, roomie." I picked up the bedsheet and tried to wipe most of the pee off the insides of Sumner's thighs. I leaned away from Sumner's dangling feet and looked up. I'd never seen a hanging boy from this angle, and I rubbed myself absently, surprisingly aroused by the unusual visual stimulation. The pendulum swinging of Sumner's body was gone now, and he simply hung quietly, motionless, peaceful. I smiled, thinking how excited Sumner would be if he could see himself this way.
Then I sighed. Somehow I felt closer to Sumner now than even last night, when we'd been making love. I felt pride at being able to share such a happy exit with him.
I was startled when the door opened and two males entered, pushing a long, wheeled cart, obviously slaves who would take Sumner's body to the furrier. They were just as startled to see me. The one on the left, a hawk, opened his mouth, stammering uncertainly, "Umm... We're here to get him to the furrier. You're, uhh... done with him, right?"
I stood, stretching to get the kinks out from sitting motionless so long. I realized I'd been staring up at Sumner, my mind almost empty of thought, for an unknown amount of time. "Oh, sure. I was just keeping him company until you got here."
The other slave, a tall lagoskunk, pushed the cart to the platform and looked up at Sumner. "I imagine you want to save that rope."
"Oh! Right." I sighed, looking at Sumner. "We've got to take you down now, roomie." I untied Sumner's wrists, and let his arms swing to his sides; that set his body into the pendulum motion once more.
The hawk swung the lever forward to raise the platform. "You were his roommate, then? Want to help us get him down?" He stepped up onto the platform after it reached the level of Sumner's feet.
"Sure." I hopped up onto the platform, and wrapped my arms around Sumner's waist to hold him upright, giving him one last hug as the hawk loosened the noose and slipped it off over Sumner's head. Together we carefully lowered Sumner onto the cart. I arranged Sumner's arms with his hands over his stomach. "You'll take really good care of him?"
The hawk smiled. "Sweety, we'd get skinned ourselves if we didn't treat the students with respect, but it just comes naturally anyway. Most of the staff are here because we wanted to be students. We didn't make the grade, but we just wanted to be part of the Academy somehow. It's kind of... well, disappointing and satisfying at the same time, if you see what I mean."
I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant. I leaned down and kissed Sumner one more time, whispering, "We'll remember you, hon."