If you were ever wondering what it’s like to attend an execution, I’ll fill you in.
On Nov. 13, I witnessed my second execution when child rapist and murderer Bryan Jennings received a lethal injection. The first was in 2008 when I witnessed the execution of another child rapist and murderer, Mark Dean Schwab.
Members of the media are transported by van from a staging area just outside Florida State Prison in Starke on to prison grounds and then to the death chamber. You are only allowed to take your single car key and a driver’s license. No smart watches, phones, computers or anything else is allowed. The prison provides us with a pad and two pencils once we are inside.
As darkness descended upon the prison and the van made its way deeper into the prison property, I recited the 23rd Psalm or at least what I could remember of it.
As I leaned into my faith, I trusted God that God was with me. At that moment I spotted a cute black and white kitty, which resembled one I have at home. She lay in the grass, oblivious to the cells surrounded by thick concrete walls and miles of razor wire all around her, and I smiled.
She was also oblivious to what was about to take place.
We were led into a small room with four rows of chairs and a large viewing window in front of us covered with a curtain on the other side. The media took its place in the fourth row, raised slightly from the other rows in front, sort of a mini-bleacher.
The room, painted in the brightest white paint imaginable, smelled sterile but not quite like a doctor’s office. With no talking allowed, and enforced by two hulking Florida Department of Law Enforcement agents, the only sound was the humming from the split air conditioning system on the wall and the soothing strokes of our pencils taking notes on our notepads.
The waiting was excruciating and surreal.
At 6 p.m. on the dot, the curtain was raised. Bryan Jennings was already there, with his eyes closed, along with three execution team members. He was lying on a gurney, his face red, his hands restrained, facing us. That’s when an execution team member gets on the telephone that has an open connection to the governor’s office.
The man hung up the phone at 6:02 p.m. and asked Jennings if he had any last words.
“No,” the killer replied, still with his eyes closed.
At 6:03 p.m., as the drugs were being administered from another room we are not able to witness, Jennings opened his eyes briefly and stared at the ceiling.
At 6:04 p.m., his body jerked then twitched for the next two minutes as his face turned even more red.
Two minutes later the twitching stopped and one of the men in the room fluttered Jennings’ eyelashes with his hands, and shook him twice, saying his name very loudly with each shake.
“Inmate Jennings! Inmate Jennings!” he yelled.
Jennings twitched again. Then at 6:07 p.m. his mouth fell open. A minute later it fell open even wider.
At 6:10 p.m., three minutes later, all the color had vanished from his face. The red replaced by a sickeningly gray hue. Seven minutes later his lips appeared to turn blue. At 6:19 p.m. a doctor was called in to check his vital signs. She pronounced him dead at 6:20 p.m.
One minute later the curtain was lowered and we were escorted out.
I looked for the kitty as we were driven back to our cars and the staging area and was disappointed she was no longer there.
Contact Torres at jtorres@floridatoday.com. You can follow him on X @johnalbertorres
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This article originally appeared on Florida Today: Inside Florida’s death chamber. What it’s like to witness an execution | Opinion
Reporting by John A. Torres, Florida Today / Florida Today
USA TODAY Network via Reuters Connect
