LPfiction

Category Linkin Park

Interviews with the Crystal Killer by im.no.saviour

Written for the latest graffitidec challenge - http://community.livejournal.com/graffitidec_fic/86166.html


Gratzi, Tracie & Morgan for your help. This format's a little different, so sorry if it's weird. And for the record, Michigan does not have a death penalty.


----


The following primary source document (hereby known as 476-03-842) is transcribed from an audio-recorded interview that took place between July 18, 2010 and July 24, 2010. 476-03-842 is copy-written and is the sole property of the State of Michigan. Any unauthorized reproduction is illegal and may result in a fine up to $800 (eight-hundred U.S. dollars) and / or seven (7) years in a maximum security correctional facility. 476-03-842 is to be used for archive and educational purposes only.


WARNING: If you are under 18 years of age, it is recommended you do not read 476-03-842. The State of Michigan (under Law 38-A, Section F) is not liable, accountable or otherwise responsible for any trauma or similar conditions cause in direct relation to 476-03-842. Please read with caution.




--




[audible click; recording begins]


Delson: My name is Bradford Phillip Delson. I make my earnings as a journalist. Today is Sunday, July eighteenth, year twenty-ten, eleven-hundred hours - Eastern Standard Time. I am currently seated in the Alger Maximum Correctional Facility, Interrogation Room B across from Chester Charles Bennington.


Bennington: Am I supposed to say hello?


Delson: No, I wasn't finished yet.


Bennington: Oh, my apologies. Well please, do continue.


Delson: Mr. Bennington is currently housed here...


Bennington: 'Housed', good term.


Delson: ...as an inmate awaiting death row.


[twenty second period of silence]


Delson: Now you can talk.


Bennington: Do I have to sound as proper as you?


Delson: You can sound however you'd like.


Bennington: Good. Hi, cassette recorder, my name's Chester and, according to Mr. Farrell and his team, I did a really bad thing.


Delson: Care to elaborate?


Bennington: There was a lot of ice.


Delson: Anything else?


Bennington: About me or what I did?


Delson: Either or.


[thirty-two second period of silence]


Bennington: My favourite colour is blue.


[thirteen second period of silence]


Delson: So shall we get down to business?


Bennington: I don't like to think of your visit as a business relation. It's more of a... forced attachment, don't you think?


Delson: No one's forcing me to be here.


Bennington: True, but I'm not here on my own free-will.


Delson: Where would you be, if not here?


Bennington: By force or choice?


Delson: By choice.


[twenty-four second period of silence]


Delson: If you could choose, where would you be right now?


Bennington: Summer of '91.


Delson: What's so good about then?


Bennington: That's when I met him.


Delson: Who?


Bennington: Michael.


--


You would think growing up in Northville, Michigan would be a bit like growing up in a television sitcom [think Happy Days], but let me be the first to assure you, my life was anything but.


There was a beautiful backdrop of green trees in the summer and fresh pavement; downtown was like a Hollywood dream. But there was no casual humour, no laugh tracks and, despite my best wishes, no convenient cut away and certainly no closure at the end of the day. In fact, most of my nights were spent wrapped in a dirty sheet, crying for some sort of peace.


That all changed the summer of '91.


I remember when I first saw him. I was sitting on the front porch of my father's Victorian home, immersed in the new Violent Femmes' album when the moving van pulled up.


The house across the road had been vacant for months after Mrs. Lee finally joined her husband. I don't think anyone wanted to buy it since she went in the master bedroom, but his dad didn't seem to mind; I think his mom was a little spooked though.


Either way, his parent's car followed the van and when he stepped out, my god, I'm sure my mouth was hung open. I was shocked that he smiled at me, though I'm sure he was just being polite at that point, after all, I was a gawking mess; he never was a rude kid, even to those who mistreated him.


--


Delson: Why do you think that is?


Bennington: He had a good heart. He could only see the good in people. And when he loved, it was unconditional - even when you didn't deserve it.


Delson: Do you think you deserved it?


Bennington: No.


--


He came by later that afternoon, while my father was still at work. Seeing him up-close made my stomach twist and my pulse quicken.


I invited him in from the summer heat, grabbing us some cokes, and we sat on the couch.


"I used to live in Detroit," he told me, "but my dad got sick of the city, so we moved here. Have you lived here your whole life?"


"Born and raised, but I can't wait to get out. Just two more years."


"I know what you mean, about getting out." We both got lost in our own personal struggles for a few minutes. "Anyway, what's there to do for fun around here?"


I couldn’t tell him. I kept to myself most of the time. No one really spoke to me in school, save for Kimmy.


--


Delson: Kimmy? [sound of papers shuffling] Kimberly Johnson?


Bennington: Yes.


Delson: But... the police weren't aware that you knew her that long. They thought you met at--


Bennington: Her last name used to be 'Martin'. You'll find Kimberly Martin's grave up in Northville, but it's just a tombstone. Though, I'm sure you know where her body is.


--


Kimmy and I were barely friends. She was just someone fucked up enough to sit with me at times.


What could I tell this kid? I mean, it's not like I was imagining his charm and friendliness - he had to have been popular in Detroit. There was just no way around it: I was positive that, in a week at most, he would be riding bikes with Matt Jenkins and his friends. That thought left me defeated.


"I don't know, I'm usually here listening to music."


"What do you like listening to?"


"Well, my dad just bought me the Violent Femmes and they're pretty good. There's this band I heard about, Pearl Jam, and they're supposed to be putting out an album soon - I think I'll like them. What about you?"


"N.W.A. is tight, but they just put out their last album. This group, A Tribe Called Quest, their new album is dope."


That just confirmed it. I had no idea who he was talking about. Make it three days. Three days and he'd realise I wasn't anyone worth spending time with.


But two weeks had gone by and, without fail, he was at my front door every day. Sometimes I would wait for him on the porch or we would go for walks or trade music [I came to enjoy A Tribe Called Quest] and every day, I grew more comfortable around him.


--


Bennington: I was new to friendship, new to someone actually giving a shit, you know? His reaction the first time he saw my scars and bruises amazed me.


Delson: Why is that?


Bennington: He was the first person that ever told me it was wrong.


--


Mid-June, the heat had finally got to us, so we rode off to Phoenix Lake about fifteen minutes out. That was my favourite place to be. Water always calmed me; it made me feel invincible. This place had the added bonus of being secluded, not to mention gorgeous. Surrounded by trees, not a road in sight - it wasn't destroyed by people. I wanted to share that with him, what good I still had left in my life.


By the time we got there we were both so desperate to get in the water, I didn't think twice about stripping down to my boxers. My wounds had become a part of me, they were always there. Maybe in different places, but always strategically hidden under my clothing. I couldn't remember the last time my body was my natural pale shade.


He had only gotten as far as removing his shirt and had just begun unbuckling the belt around his shorts before his hands fell to his sides.


I turned to face him, wondering what had made him stop. Was there someone around? Did I do something wrong?


"What's the matter?" my face twisted into a puzzled expression.


He said nothing, just took a few steps toward me. I was uncomfortable having him that close, given our dress.


Oh god, I was sure my body had betrayed me. I closed my eyes, sighing, ready to give a practiced speech that included, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't want to ruin our friendship. I understand if you don't want to be around me anymore."


But before I opened my eyes, I felt his fingertips under my ribcage, gliding over my slick skin. I inhaled sharply, if not from the contact then from the dull sting, and opened my eyes as he snapped his hand away and looked up.


"D-Did I hurt you?"


"No, it's alright."


"Wh- How- No, it's not alright," his brow furrowed and I hated to think I caused that, "Who did this to you?"


"I- M- Look, can we just swim?"


I tried turning away from him, from the direction of that conversation, but he placed a hand on my forearm, rooting me on the spot.


"Chester, where did they come from?"


My heart started pounding, I could hear my breath become laboured and I got this awful lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow down. I blame it on the heat, but I got a little dizzy and my vision started blurring.


I don't think he could resist tracing the scars on my stomach. I don't think I could comprehend the fact that his eyes were clouded with tears.


"Please," I couldn't talk about that, I couldn't have him touch me, "Just forget it, okay? I'm fine."


"No, Che-"


"Look, I've been dealing with this for years. I'm still around, I'm coping, whatever; just fucking-- just leave it alone."


"Chester, I just want to help."


"What can you do? Don't you think if I could get away from this situation, I would? I don't have anywhere else to go. I can't stop him and you're a fool if you think you can."


That was my breaking point. Sixteen years of my father's abuse and neglect and my own self-harm came piling on me. I couldn't support myself, couldn't get enough air into my lungs, couldn't see beyond the spin of the grass blades below me.


He dropped to his knees beside me, cradling me in his arms, careful not to graze any of the marks on my body. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I could barely hear his whispers over the sound of my own cries and gasps.


It was so unfamiliar to me - having someone hold me; having gentle, compassionate contact. Having him cry and apologise to me. I wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, he shouldn't be sorry, but all that came out was a strangled sob. If anyone, it should be me. He didn't deserve my anguish thrown at him. I didn't deserve his comfort.


--


Delson: Why was it so hard for you to think that someone cared?


Bennington: In my thirty-four years, no one ever has except for him. He was the first and he was the last.


[audible click; recording ends]




----




[audible click; recording begins]


Delson: Today is Monday, July nineteenth, year twenty-ten, fourteen-hundred hours - Eastern Standard Time. I am currently seated in the Alger Maximum Correctional Facility, Interrogation Room B across from Chester Charles Bennington.


I'm curious, Chester. The way you talk about him and what you said yesterday...


Bennington: Yeah?


Delson: I'm just thinking out loud.


Bennington: What do you want to ask me?


Delson: Were you - I don't want to offend you.


Bennington: Are you serious? You’re worried about offending me? Look where we are!


[eight second period of silence]


Delson: I suppose you're right.


Bennington: Ask.


Delson: Were you gay?


Bennington: It's not like it goes away.


Delson: Was Michael? You can't just nod, Chester, I don't make enough to afford video equipment.


Bennington: Yes, Bradford, he was.


Delson: So you two were together.


Bennington: That story is far more entertaining.


--


I have to say I was mildly curious when he came over with his backpack. After all, it was July - summer was in full swing.


He told me he had to show me something and I had no clue what to expect. He was nervous about it that was for sure. He wouldn't hold eye contact with me and he was sitting on my bed folding and unfolding his hands in his lap.


"What's eating you?" He didn't respond, so I studied his bag, letting him take his time.


He had messages scrawled in pen all over the fabric:

"I'll miss you! xoxo Jess", "Call me! ;) - Sophie", "Have fun in Fucksville. - Mark", "Keep dancing! - Marie", "I love you! - Chriss", "You better fu--"


My view was obstructed when he unzipped the bag. His hands shook every so slightly as he pulled out a glossy book.


"Uhm, why are you showing me the April edition of Playgirl?"


"Don't laugh at me."


"I'm not going to laugh," he looked back at me wearily, "I promise."


"I was going through boxes looking for this band I thought you'd like and I found this under some books." He looked at me guiltily.


"Did you-"


"I tried."


"What do you mean?"


"I couldn't... finish."


"That's okay, you're not dirty or anythi-"


"I mean he couldn't help me finish," he gestured to the cover for emphasis, "I-I thought of you."


I frowned. How could he think I was remotely good-looking, let alone fantasy-worthy? I couldn't wrap my head around this perfect boy liking me.


"This was a bad idea," he stuffed the book hastily in his bad and stood, "I'm just- I'm not feeling too well, I'm gonna go home." He made his way toward the bedroom door as I realised what he thought.


"Shit, no! I was-" he was beyond listening to words and fast on his way to the staircase.


I darted down the hall after him, grateful for the first time for the corners in the hallway.


Just as he rounded the second, I lunged, pinning him against the wall.


His eyes were unnaturally wide and I felt terrible for making him afraid of me. Then I realised how close we were.


"Sorry," I mumbled, quickly stepping back, "Just... don't run from me." We both stood catching our breath. "Come back to my room." He nodded and we turned back.


I sat at the head of my bed, he sat at the very edge of the bottom. I didn't want this distance, tension even, between us so I gestured him closer. Hesitantly, cautiously, he shuffled toward me, nearly visibly relaxing under my gaze.


"Okay," I started, completely unsure of how to have this conversation, "you're, uh, you're not gonna run out on me, right?"


"No," he exhaled a weak laugh.


"Good," I racked my brain for how to handle this. I didn't know how to tell him that he shouldn't be insecure because it was really my insecurity getting in the way here.


He spoke first, "If you want to, we can forget that whole thing."


"No, I just - Why?"


"Why what?"


"Why me?"


"You really don't understand?"


"No."


"I guess I know how you feel." he looked five seconds away from pouting.


"You have no reason to feel like that. Y-You're perfect."


He searched my eyes for the longest three seconds of my life before the corners of his eyes crinkled and a smile spread across his face.


"We're a pair of idiots, aren't we?" he laughed.


My expression mirrored his, "Yeah, we really are."


The next moment reminded me a lot of a movie. Our laughter died down, our eyes locked and I thought, 'This is it, don't fuck this up. You cannot lose this one'.


--


Delson: Did you?


Bennington: Fuck it up?


Delson: Yeah.


Bennington: Well, it wasn't the last time, so I guess my inexperienced ass did something right.


Delson: [laughs]


How long were you together?


Bennington: Seven years and two months.


Delson: But didn't the--


Bennington: That was the hardest part, keeping that from him. I managed for two years, but just couldn't anymore. I'm not even sure if he knows.


Delson: What you did?


Bennington: That or where I am or what's going to happen to me or even if he cares.


Delson: I think you're being too hard on yourself, Chester.


Bennington: I think you're forgetting just who I am, Bradford.


[audible click; recording ends]




----




[audible click; recording begins]


Delson: Today is Tuesday, July twentieth, year twenty-ten, sixteen-hundred hours - Eastern Standard Time. I am currently seated in the Alger Maximum Correctional Facility, Interrogation Room B across from Chester Charles Bennington.


Bennington: I don't care, I'm saying hello this time.


Delson: That's cool, they already know everything else.


Bennington: Now that just ruins my rebellious attitude, thanks.


Delson: [laughs] I'm only going to be here for a bit today, so any long tales will have to be saved for tomorrow.


Bennington: How about we just bullshit today then?


Delson: What do you want to talk about?


Bennington: Anything but this god-forsaken place.


Delson: Can I ask you a question?


Bennington: You just did.


Delson: Okay, smartass, my question is: What happened the last time you talked to Michael?


Bennington: That's a long story.


Delson: Okay, okay, fair enough.


Bennington: Any other questions?


Delson: Not really a question, it's more of a request. Well, a demand really, because if you get out of line all I have to do is yell 'security' and we're done - so don't get all riled up, okay?


Bennington: What could you do to fuck with me in the state I'm in? Very little upsets me these days.


Delson: This might.


Bennington: What did you do, Bradford?


Delson: I did a little research last night...


Bennington: And?


Delson: I got Michael's address and number.


Bennington: What? Why?


Delson: In case y--


Bennington: No, Bradford. No.


Delson: I--


Bennington: Guard, I'm ready to go now.


[door opens]


Delson: Chester, I'm--


[chair legs scrape against floor]


Bennington: I'll see you tomorrow.


[door closes]


Delson: Well that went as planned...


[audible click; recording ends]




----




[audible click; recording begins]


Delson: Today is We--


Bennington: Skip the bullshit today. I can't fucking believe you. You're an asshole, you know that?


Delson: That's pretty bad coming from you.


Bennington: Fuck off.


[forty-six second period of silence]


Delson: I'm sorry.


Bennington: You should be.


Delson: It was wrong, okay?


Bennington: You're damn right it was wrong. I am four fucking days away from my death and you bring him up like I'm supposed to be okay with that? I've spent the last eleven years trying to come to terms with leaving him. I don't need this shit right now.


Delson: What happened between you two?


Bennington: I don't want to talk about him today.


Delson: Fine, then. Tell me about her. Will that be an easier story for you to tell?


Bennington: Yes, it will.


--


I attended Wayne State University to major in Civil and Environmental Engineering. I wanted my hand in helping to save the world - find new ways to fuel our planet using renewable resources. Like I told you earlier, water always calmed me, so I focused in on that - using water powered equipment.


Sophomore year, I ran into Kimmy. I was shocked, to say the least. Her senior year, my junior, she had disappeared. Taken from her home in the middle of the night, that's what they told us. I think her mom was too coked up to comprehend what had happened. The one who took it the hardest was Kimmy's best friend, Julie Suthers. Julie never made it to graduation that year, or any of the following. She was shipped away to an institution after she was found bleeding in the art hallway.


Ms. Johnson, as she went by, didn't understand the impact she had on the people around her - most importantly Julie.


Kimmy tried to ignore me, but that proved impossible after a short while. I was determined to find out what the hell she was thinking. We finally talked two weeks after I first saw her.


She had no remorse whatsoever for what she had done, wouldn't listen to a word about Julie and I was beyond pissed about it all.


"You think because you've changed your name, hair colour and clothes that you have no connection to who you used to be?"


"I'm not like you, I couldn't just sit back and take that shit. I had to get out."


"You couldn't wait? You had to leave like that? Leave Julie like that?"


"Do not mention her. And yes, damnit, I had planned that for years; I just needed to save up the money."


"I can't imagine doing something like that to my best friend, regardless of what's going on."


"You have no idea what it was like. She was an addict, Chester. She ruined my life."


"No, Kimmy, I don't think you know what it's like. Your mother had a drug problem, so fucking what? She never laid a hand on you, did she? No. And you didn't see Julie afterwards. You didn't see her lying in the hall bleeding after she sliced herself open with a sculpting blade."


"Shut the fuck up, you little faggot." I had no intentions of doing so, and I think she realised that then, because she started walking away from me.


I shouted after her, "Have you visited her now that she's tucked away in an asylum?"


"Fuck you."


"Have you seen your mother now that she snorts twice as much a day?"


She didn't retort that time, kept running. I caught up to her and grabbed her arm, glad for the fear clearly shown across her face.


"You're worthless, Kimberly, you're fucking worthless. I hope this eats away at you until you've got nothing left, just like the people you left behind."


I left her there, in front of her dorm building and walked straight to the art center.


--


Delson: No one saw you two?


Bennington: Of course people saw us. But who wants to get in the middle of a couple's argument?


--


The Fine Arts Department had just about everything I needed: the gloves, the ceramics oven and the sculpting knife. The building I spent most of my time in had everything else.


It wasn't hard getting into her room. I was let into the building courtesy of this kid outside having a cigarette and her roommate answered the door when I showed up.


Kimmy had already taken two Seroquel pills and I thought, 'This is fucking perfect'. All I had to do was wait for her roommate to pass out. Once she did, I put on the gloves, picked up Kimmy and we were on our way.


--


Delson: Again, no one saw you two?


Bennington: Come on Bradford, let's think about this. Girl passed out in boy's arms while boy carries her across campus. Did you even go to college?


--


Our first stop was the Contamination Center. All those hazardous materials in Chemical Engineering, it can get messy. I think they had every cleaning solution known to man in that room - an obsessive compulsive's wet dream.


I laid her down in the bathing tank and after I made the incision across her throat with the sculpting blade [that was my form of revenge for Julie], I turned the shower on and sat back to wait.


She didn't fight, didn't even move that much when she woke up. I think she knew she didn't have a chance. I was mostly bored waiting for her to bleed out. It was rather disgusting watching her throat contract as she tried to gasp for breath.


It was a weird moment when she stilled completely. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to cry, throw up or laugh. I watched her for, I don't know how long. Her skin started during an unnatural white and the skin around the gash started getting wrinkled; that grossed me out so I set about to finish what I started.


The rest was easy. I walked over to room 2351 and started getting the water ready to be formed into ice, placed her in with the water.


While it - and she - froze, I went back to the Fine Arts Department and started up the ceramic oven. I threw the gloves, the blade and my shirt in the flames and watched them char and melt under the heat.


When that finished, I went back to the room she was in and watched her freeze. Her entire body had a blue tint to it; her face calm but her eyes open.


Fully frozen, I locked up the chamber, covered it up and went back to my room.


--


Delson: You weren't worried about anyone finding her?


Bennington: I didn't really care whether they did or not.


[seven second period of silence]


Delson: How did they link you to her death? It sounds like you took care of everything.


Bennington: Mr. Farrell found one hair follicle of mine in the melted down ice block.


Delson: Wow.


Bennington: Yeah.


Delson: I'm-I'm done for today.


Bennington: I won't be meeting you tomorrow.


Delson: Why not?


Bennington: Last minute overview of how they're gonna off me. I'll see you Friday.


[audible click; recording ends]




----




[audible click; recording begins]


Delson: It's Friday.


Bennington: What's the matter with you?


Delson: I feel sick.


Bennington: Because of what I told you Wednesday?


Delson: No, I don't think so. Because of tomorrow.


Bennington: [scoffs] Why?


Delson: I don't know. Anyway, how was yesterday?


Bennington: Oh, you know, they're going to strap me down, inject me a few times, let some strangers watch, all that good shit. I'm just hoping I make for some fun entertainment.


Delson: How can you talk like that?


Bennington: I've known where, what day and what time I'm going to die for three years. It's inevitable, I can't throw a fucking pity-party because of it.


[seven second period of silence]


Delson: Tell me what happened between you and Michael.


--


Spring term had ended, I just graduated and he officially became a senior. I was getting paranoid because the newspapers were filled with information about the investigation and the possibility of a lead, so I suggested to him that we go on a small vacation.


"Let's go to Hawaii." I knew he dreamed of going there.


"We can't afford Hawaii," he looked at me incredulously, "We can barely pay the bills for this apartment."


"I wanna go somewhere," I whined.


"Let's go home for a week."


"I don't want to go there."


"We haven't been there since your father's funeral," his eyes softened as he slinked himself around me, "How 'bout we go back and make a better memory?"


"My father's death is a perfectly good memory, thank you."


"C'mon, we can go out to Phoenix Lake or re-christen our bedrooms. We'll feel like teenagers again."


"It wasn't that long ago, I haven't forgotten."


"You know what I mean," he sighed, "You've been acting stressed and distant for the last year, Chaz. What the hell is going on? At first I thought it was school - your final year, exams, whatever - but you're done now and you're still acting the fucking same."


I was silent. It's not like I could jump and be like, 'Oh, hey! Remember that murder at my school? I did that! And now they're gonna catch me so let's flee the state or country! Will you do that for me?'


"Oh, my god," his eyes were wide and I swore I saw his mouth twitch.


"What?" I had a cautious edge to my voice because he looked seconds away from crying or having a mental breakdown.


"You've been cheating on me." Make that both.


I sighed and rolled my eyes, "You're kidding, right?"


"No, you've been fucking cheating on me!"


"Calm down, I wouldn't do that to you."


"Who? With who, Chester?"


"I've not fucking cheated."


"It was Rob, wasn't it? That art major you told me about, the one with the 'sexy arms'."


"Oh, for Christ's sake,"


"No, fuck you. It makes sense, it makes perfect sense now. I can't believe I was so fucking stupid."


"You know what? You're right, I've been cheating on you all year. I fucked him right in the art studio."


"You're an asshole." He was seething.


"He's better in bed." So was I.


"I hope you fucking rot alone."


--


Bennington: And he left. He'll never know he got his last request.


Delson: Have you tried contacting him since you've been in?


Bennington: I thought about it, of course. It was my favourite scenario to play out in my head after I got sentenced. Whenever I got fearful of death, the thought of him always calmed me down. But I could never bring myself to write him or anything. I'd rather him hate me.


[audible click; recording ends]




----




[audible click; recording begins]


Delson: How do you feel today?


Bennington: I feel like I'm hallucinating. I swear to god I just saw him in the hallway. I think I've been talking about him too much.


Delson: Weird.


Bennington: I know, right? Maybe the fact that I'm not going to be here in a few hours is starting to dawn on my brain.


Delson: I've done you a favour.


Bennington: I refuse to believe you've appealed my case.


Delson: No, no, but we are going to leave this room for a bit.


Bennington: Where are we going?


Delson: Right outside your cell.


[audible movement]


Bennington: You're accompanying me for my last meal?


Delson: No.


Bennington: Then what the hell? Why are we going there?


Delson: According to state law, within the final twenty four hours you're allowed a v--


Bennington: You did not.


Delson: See for yourself.


[door opens]


Bennington: Michael.


[audible click; recording ends]




----




On July 24, 2010, the execution Chester Charles Bennington, 34, took place by way of lethal injection. It was Michigan's fourth death sentence carried out since 1976.


I was given the privilege of spending the last week of Chester's life with him. During that time, a series of interviews took place with the intention of writing a detailed account of his final days.


No such article or piece of writing will be released.


There were five witness gathered in the viewing room. Three were anonymous state-selected witnesses who arrived seventy minutes prior to the execution. I arrived, along with Michael Shinoda, childhood friend of Bennington, about fifteen minutes prior.


When Prison Warden Joseph Hahn asked, "Do you wish to make a final statement?"


Bennington replied, "No, thanks. He already knows it all."


The first drugs were administered at 3:54 P.M. He remained calm throughout the process. Bennington, who was found guilty of first degree murder in the case of Kimberly Johnson (better known as the "Crystal Killer" case since Ms. Johnson was found frozen, postmortem, in ice), was pronounced dead at 4:37 P.M.


Bennington will be buried in his hometown of Northville, Michigan.


Article appears courtesy of Bradford Delson for Northville Record.

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