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.

Coming Clean

 One of the kitchen trustees who passed out the food to the inmates in the holding cells said he had heard I was a Christian. When I told him it was true, he asked me why I never attended the Bible study services held inside the jail. I had never heard of any Bible study classes but was interested in attending. The trustee promised to get me on the list of approved inmates to attend the services.

While studying the Bible on my own and at the class, I had come to one conclusion. It was a sin to lie about my crimes. Detectives, prosecutors, and lawyers had come many times investigating the Mississippi murder, and I had always lied to them. In my heart, I felt horrible about doing it but felt I had to deny all of it. It was what you did when you were accused of a crime. I knew it was interfering with my relationship with God, and my cherished peace was beginning to crumble. I knew I had to confess, but the fear of the consequences prevented me. The thought of being sentenced to death or spending the rest of my life behind bars was frightening. I tried to push these thoughts from my mind when they swirled around my mind, but the task was becoming increasingly difficult. I had purposely never confessed the murder to God asking Him to forgive me for it. I wasn’t sure if He would forgive me, and I knew I would have to own up to it if I was sincere in my profession of faith in Christ. Days passed with this fight taking place in my heart; and, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I fell down on my knees and asked the Lord to forgive me for the murder and for lying about it. I vowed to tell the truth from that day forward no matter the cost.

The joy and peace I had felt the first night I prayed to God flooded back into my mind, and the weight from holding the guilt of my crimes lifted from me. That night I wrote a letter to Sarah telling her I was going to confess to the murder. It was such a release to be able to write those words down and not have to worry about hiding it any longer. From that moment on, my life changed dramatically forever. I was finally free from the person I had been. There is a passage of Scripture that describes what I was experiencing. It says, “Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come” (2 Corinthians :17).  I indeed felt new.

I decided to begin writing Sarah on a regular basis, and we tried to form a new relationship. Forgiveness wouldn’t come easy for either of us, but it was a step in I knew I needed to take. She had also given her life to Christ, I had heard, and we were able to begin the process of forgiving each other and moving on from our horrible past. There was still a lot of pain and hurt between us from all that had transpired. Each of us had tried to blame the other for what had happened, and we had said some pretty nasty things. I didn’t know where it would lead, but I was happy to begin working past issues out.

A few weeks after I wrote the first letter to Sarah, my public defender came to see me. Sarah had given my letter, in which I confessed, to her lawyer. To say it didn’t bother me would not be true, but it wasn’t important in the long run. I had planned to tell the Mississippi authorities myself, but I wish she would have given me the chance to do it. Of course, my lawyer was furious. When I explained I was a Christian now and told him I would no longer lie about my part in the crimes, he thought I had lost my mind. He berated me with red face and informed me I would never get out of prison. I didn’t care. I knew what I was doing was right and that was all that mattered to me.

Days later, the Mississippi district attorney for Desoto County and one of his assistants came to see me. They wanted me to take a handwriting sample to compare to the letter I had written to Sarah. I think I shocked them both when I told them I wanted to just confess. The assistant dashed outside to find a tape recorder while the other just sat there with the biggest grin on his face. They couldn’t find a tape recorder, so I just wrote out a confession giving them enough details to ensure they would know I was the one who committed the crimes. I think those two men left that afternoon as the happiest prosecutors in the country.

Back in my cell, I thanked God for helping me to confess my crimes. It was quite odd to express thanks for something that could result in my execution, but I hoped this would bring some solace to the victim’s family. I hated to think about the pain I had caused that family and the wider community. I knew the long wait for a resolution must be hard on them, and I wanted to help speed up the process if possible. As strange as it may sound, I looked forward to the day I could stand before the judge and plead guilty to murder.

The Process (Part 2)

     Jail is a horrible place to live, but after awhile, you get used to it. As the days passed, I became accustomed to the noise and lack of privacy. Everyday passed almost unchanged from one to the next. All the inmates usually end up doing nearly the exact same thing each day because of lack of opportunities to do anything different. After time it becomes a necessity leading to an effect known as "instutionalization." A person becomes dependent on the daily routine and any disruption to it can cause distress. This is not as strange as it may seem at first, because a change in the routine is usually from some form of violence taking place. Excitement is a bad thing in jails and prisons nine times out of tem. Inmates who have spent long stretches of time in prison loosen their ties to the outside world and can become unable to cope with life outside of prison or change within the prison. Once released, this crutch of the routine the prisoner has relied on for years is no longer there, and it is no surprise when they quickly return to prison again.

     Because of the media attention, the other inmates knew who I was. Sometimes I would hear people pass by my cell and say, "That's him." From time to time, I'd get hate mail or a letter from some unkown person telling me they were praying for me. A preacher from the town where the shooting happened came to see me after seeing the coverage on the news. I didn't care much for religion, but it gave me a chance to get out of my cell. I agreed to see him just to pass the time. The preacher, Jonnie Hernandez, turned out to be a pretty nice man and not at all what I imagined a preacher to be like. He didn't preach a sermon to me or tell me how much of a rotten sinner I was. There was no Bible thumping or guilt trips. He just told me he understood I was a long way from home and I could probably use a friend. He was right.

     He continued to come each week for nearly the entire time I was in Louisiana. During our visits, he would tell me of his life and carefully weave in little bits about Jesus Christ and how his life had changed since he was saved. I really didn't know what he meant by "saved" but it sounded interesting. He explained that Jesus had died for me so I could be forgiven for my sins. I said a sinner's prayer with him that day but my heart wasn't in it. I did it just to please him. I couldn't believe. Deep inside, I knew I was beyond redemption and love. I had crossed too many lines and gone too far, I believed, even for even God to fix.

     When I was back in my cell, I really started to reflect on the words the preacher had said. He had told me that despite my past, God loved me and sent His son Jesus to pay the penalty for my sins. While I didn't completely understand what he was talking about, I knew one thing. It sounded too good to be true, but I wanted to believe it anyway. I hated the way my life had turned out, and everyday was abject misery. Even
before prison, each day was something to be endured. I had never accomplished anything in my life. I had quit school, never had a job, and never even had a driver's license. I was the ultimate failure and it hurt. It wasn't a physical pain but something inside me hurt none the less. I was missing something in my life and never felt complete. I had thought I had found the thing missing when I had met Sarah, but as soon as she was gone it had come back. Reflecting back, I saw I was always attaching myself to others in order to feel complete. I probably would have given my life to this Jesus right then and there, but one thing was holding me back-the murder in Mississippi.

     The word confession and repentance kept coming up in my visits with Johnny. I didn't think I could honestly confess and repent for my sins to God, including the murder, while trying
to hide it from the authorities. I wasn't ready to admit to something like that then and couldn't imagine a situation where I would.