Moving To Mississippi

 

In September of 1998, Sarah decided to plead guilty to her charges. A month later, she was sentenced to thirty-five years in prison. On December 7, 1998, I was brought to court and also sentenced to thirty-five years. The court process had taken two and a half years and it was such a release to finally have this stage of the court proceedings behind me.

Immediately, when I returned to the jail, I was processed by the Louisiana Department of Corrections; but, instead of being transported to the Louisiana prison system, The Mississippi authorities were there to take me to DeSoto County to face the charge of murder. I packed up all the belongings I had collected over the years, which wasn’t much, and said good-bye to the friends I had made while there including a number of the deputies.

I was nervous about finally facing the charges in Mississippi, and I wasn’t sure what the sentence would be. I knew there was the possibility of receiving a death sentence; but, with the inner freedom I had found in Jesus Christ, I could accept the lack of physical freedom or even death. I knew, in either case, the life ahead of me would be hard but I had gotten myself into all of this and deserved whatever I was given.

The DeSoto County jail was much smaller than the Louisiana jail had been and the atmosphere was vastly different. I could feel the hostility towards me, but I understood why. While I was being booked in, they had a deputy stand guard over me. Apparently, the security there was not very tight and escapes were somewhat regular. They were not going to take any chances with me. The leg chains they put on me for the road trip were left on throughout the booking process.

At the jail in Louisiana, everyone knew I was a Christian and had seen the changes in my life. That wasn’t the case any longer. While some has heard of my conversion, most couldn’t care less. The D.A. had given a press conference detailing my unexpected confession; but for the most part, I would have to prove myself all over again. It had taken quite a while for my fellow inmates to accept my faith as genuine while in Louisiana. I would have to begin from scratch in my new environment.

I was placed in a holding area with some other people waiting to be booked in. There was a woman in a cell across from us wo was flashing anyone who looked in her direction. One of the guys in the room with me told me to come and check it out. When I refused, everyone looked at me kind of funny. They asked me if I was gay and started making jokes. While it felt a little embarrassing, it was an opportunity to share my faith with them. This did not go well. After explaining how I had found God and accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior, they went nuts. For the rest of the time we were waiting, they made fun of me. I had never experienced this kind of response before. I had read about the persecution of the apostles when they began to spread the gospel, but I never thought it would happen to me. I wanted to lash out and but I realized this was not how I was to show the changes God was making in my life. I focused on the fact that Jesus has also suffered many things from others because He was different. It still hurt.

After a few hours, I was placed in a cell by myself. There were no windows, not even a mirror; and I hoped I wouldn’t be kept there for very long. The days passed uneventfully in my bleak and depressing cell, which gave me plenty of time to prepare myself mentally and spiritually for my looming court date. I had spoken with the public defender and told him of my intention to plead guilty. When he returned the next day, he told me I would receive a life sentence without the possibility of parole. I signed a paper verifying I understood exactly what I was doing. Like the first time I stepped inside the jail in Muskogee, a surreal feeling came over me as I signed my life away.

Friday, December 14, 1998, I was woken up and told I would be going to court shortly. I quickly got dressed and made myself as presentable as possible. All the other inmates being transported to the courthouse were already lined up and being loaded into vans—except me. Worry began to creep over me as I was told to stand to the side and I watched the other inmates leave together. Something was not right and I could feel the tension begin to build in the room. At that moment, I noticed older police officers and plain clothed detectives file in. Their faces were a mixture of grim frowns and angry furrows. I was led, without anyone speaking, to an unmarked car. From the bits and pieces of conversations and news articles I had seen, I had learned that Mr. Savage was a pillar of the community and a faithful Christian. These were his friends and I began to wonder if I was even going to make it to the court house. At the very best, I was expecting to be beaten and I didn’t blame them. To my relief, we drove to the court house but took un expected path. I was never told, but I believe I was driven past my victim’s family house.

Just as in Louisiana, the media was waiting for me. The deputies escorting me were extremely nervous because of the presence of the reporters and the veteran police at the courthouse. Added to this was the fact they were all told before we left the jail, I was dangerous and an escape risk. I was scared one of them might shoot me purely on accident. One deputy, young and obviously new, couldn’t keep his fingers from twitching which was resting on the holster of his gun. I tried to walk as softly and steadily as possible.

Inside, the court house had been cleared with only family and friends of the victim allowed inside. The judge came in and we all stood. The charges were read and the district attorney said he wanted to drop all the charges except for the charge of capital murder charge. When the judge asked me how I wanted to plead, I said guilty. I had done it. He went through the process of telling me exactly how long my sentence would last, forever, and that I didn’t have to plead guilty if I did not want to. He read my sentence out: life in prison at hard labor with no possibility of parole. I’m sure more was said, but everything was quickly going out of focus as the enormity of it all hit me. I had known it was coming, but it still sent me into shock. 

People always ask me how it felt to hear the judge sentence me to the rest of my life in prison at age eighteen. Oddly, it was a good moment for me in a sense. I had wanted to do this for almost two years, and it felt great to finally get it behind me. While I could not go back and undo the damage I had caused, pleading guilty was the only way I could help make the situation a bit easier. While its difficult to say I was doing something good, but it was the one thing I could do to spare the family any more pain. A trial would have just caused them to have to revisit the worst day of their lives over and over again.

Then it became the worst day of my life, not because of the sentence but because I finally had to face the victims of my crimes.

I was not expecting the family to make a statement, but I guess I should have. I thought it was something only in movies, but this was all too real. Mrs. Savage came up to the stand first. The thing I remember most about her was how pale her skin was as if all the blood had drained out of her face. I have no idea and cannot even begin to comprehend how difficult it must have been for her to face me, her husband’s killer. I felt like I was falling down a cold dark hole as she began to tell me how much I had hurt her and her family. While I had thought of how much damage I had caused for this family, I could never truly know how they felt. I had lost family members, but never as the result of a horrific violent crime. Being in the room with the family made it all very real and personal. She mentioned Mr. Savage was a Christian, and it was this fact which hurt me the most.

Next, one of Mr. Savage’s daughters took the stand. I was ashamed when I saw her because I recognized her face from the photos in the wallet I had stolen as if I had not only taken his life but has spied on a private family moment. My heart sped up and I was having trouble focusing on what was happening around me. It was too much for me to take in when the enormity of what I had done to this family was thrown directly into my face. It was more than just memories and words on court papers. It was real people’s lives I had devastated. I had taken away her father, and could never change this. Her words were biting, reflecting her anger. I prayed somehow God would take all of their pain away I had caused. I deep down hoped there would be a way they could forgive me though I didn’t deserve it, but I could see that was not going to happen.

Before I realized it, the court proceeding was over and they were trying to lead me away. I felt deflated and so exhausted that a hundred years of sleep would not help. As I was led out of the court house, a reporter asked me if I wanted to say anything to the Savage family. No words seemed adequate, and just mumbles out, “I’m sorry.” How could mere words help in this situation?

Driving away, I wondered if I had really changed from the person described during the sentencing; and if so, how much? I didn’t feel like I was the person they had been talking about in court. Before, I had killed and felt no remorse. Now, I couldn’t even lie without feeling terrible inside. I was thankful I had been arrested because, through it, I had found God. If Sarah and I had never been caught, I probably would have killed myself long ago. Now, not only was I alive, but I was really living. The life that lay ahead of me would be hard, I knew; but I had put myself in prison and knew I could trust the Lord to help me make it through it. It didn’t take much time before the doubt began to creep in.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact I had killed a Christian man loved by his family and the entire community. I hoped, beyond reason, the family could somehow forgive me, but it didn’t seem possible. I began to wonder if God really could love me. I knew what was in the Bible, but in my heart I felt unlovable. In truth, I had always felt this way. I felt like the monster the media said I was. I was a murderer and this fact would never change. “Could God really love me”, I kept asking myself. I would have never said it out loud, but my faith was shaken to the core. The sheriff told me there were reporters at the jail wanting to talk to me, but I declined. There were no words.

With court behind me, I had looked forward to being moved to the Mississippi State Prison at Parchman and finally being housed in the general population. To my disappointment, I learned I would once again be placed in a lockdown, maximum security unity—Unit 32.