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The day had come.

Convicted murderer Donnie Ray Hyde was escorted from his cell on death row in handcuffs to a prison van.

It rolled from the Allan B. Polunsky Unit near Livingston through the East Texas countryside bound for Huntsville, a little under an hour away.

Hyde’s final journey.

He’d mentally prepared for this day, using the drone of the wheels on the asphalt to seek calm.

Hyde had been assured that all was in order for his mother to claim his body for burial next to his father and his brother, Brophy, at a cemetery in Kilgore. Hyde also saw to it that his property, a few Batman comic books and his radio, along with some money in his inmate trust fund, would be distributed to his friends, other men on death row.

He’d told TDCJ officials that he did not want his ailing mother to witness his execution. Only Ridley Martin, his lawyer, and Vince Azure, his spiritual counselor, were on his witness list.

Hyde regretted how he’d messed up his life. He would not blame God if He cast him into the fire for all eternity.

The van traveled along farmland, bordered by snake-infested swamps with birdsong rising from the treetops. Then, in what seemed to be no time at all, Hyde felt the speed decrease as they navigated through Huntsville to the prison in the heart of town. Soon, they came upon the Huntsville “Walls Unit.” Built in the mid-1800s, with its imposing brick walls of two-story buildings and guard towers, it gave off a forbidding aura.

This was the location of the execution chamber.

After some maneuvering in the courtyard, the van stopped.

Doors opened.

Taking quiet, deep breaths, Hyde, his handcuffs clinking, was escorted from the van into the chamber, known to inmates as the death house. It was a confined area, containing a handful of empty cells, beige in color. The area smelled of soap, fresh linen and lost hope. Inside, Hyde was strip-searched, given new prison clothes, then placed in the cell farthest away from the door to the execution room.

This was Hyde’s death cell.

Guards continued updating Hyde’s watch log, which they’d started days earlier. They noted his activities every thirty minutes in the days prior to his execution and now, with hours remaining, every fifteen minutes.

Executions were scheduled for 6 p.m.

Beyond the bars of Hyde’s death cell, almost within reach, stood a small table covered with a white cloth, a Bible and a landline phone. Hyde was permitted to make calls for goodbyes. He called his mother, barely able to summon the words to talk to her for the last time.

They reminisced about his childhood before he eventually moved the subject to what was about to happen.

“I’m sorry for all the people I hurt. I’m so sorry I brought all this on you, Mama.”

“You’ll always be my boy. We’ll all be together soon.”

Later, Hyde was visited by his lawyer, then his spiritual coun selor. Throughout their visits, Hyde could not resist staring at the two other phones on the wall of the death house: one was a direct line to the Governor’s Office; the other, direct to the Attorney General’s Office. The lines would remain open during the process in the event of a last-minute stay.

So far, they had not rung.

In keeping with his last-meal request, Hyde was brought a cheeseburger, fries, Dr Pepper, apple pie and vanilla ice cream. Later, Hyde was offered the chance to shower in the small stall near the cells. The guards explained how many of the condemned want to cleanse themselves before death.

Hyde showered and was given another set of fresh clothes.

It was nearly 6 p.m. when the warden and prison chaplain arrived. Hyde could not help but look at the phones on the wall while the warden spoke.

“All legal relief has been exhausted, Donnie Ray.”

Hyde looked at the chaplain, then the warden.

“It’s time, son,” the warden said.

Hyde was handcuffed and slowly taken from his cell. He stopped to stare. A few paces away was the massive beige steel door to the execution chamber.

Hyde had heard all the stories: how at this point some men cried out; how some felt their knees buckle and had to be steadied by guards.

The huge door opened.

“The Lord is with you,” the chaplain said. “Be strong.”

“Face it like a man,” the warden said.

Numb, Hyde found himself inside the small death chamber, staring at the waiting gurney. He was helped onto it by the guards. His handcuffs were removed and he lay on his back. The tie-down team secured his body to the gurney at eight points using thick caramel-colored leather belts, two of which secured Hyde’s extended arms on the armrests. The armrests were encased in white medical tape, filling the chamber with an antiseptic smell. A medical officer then affixed an IV to Hyde’s arm and a monitor cable to his heart.

Hyde gazed around the small room; its brick walls were robin’s-egg blue. The curtains were closed at the barred viewing window. He stared up at the bright light above, then heard witnesses shuffling softly into place near him on the other side of the curtained window.

Soon, Hyde would see the faces of the murdered girls.