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.

The Process (Part 1)

Later, the guards woke me up and told me to pack my stuff up. They were moving me into a protective custody cell due to all the publicly.

The "holding cell" as they called it, was small. There was just barely enough room for the other inmate and myself to fit. The only other things in the cell were an iron bunk bed, a stainless steel toilet with a sink attached to it, and a small metal table bolted to the wall. This was my new home. Already in the cell was a black guy in his early 20’s watching me enter the cell. I hesitated at the door not sure what to do. Was I supposed to introduce myself? It is a strange feeling to suddenly find yourself living in a close quarters with a complete stranger.

He must have sensed my unease and said, “Don’t worry. I don’t worry I’m not looking for any trouble.”

While I unpacked my few belongings and made up my bed we talked a little bit. His nickname was Little Tick-his father being Big Tick. He had been in the jail for a few weeks for killing his girlfriend. The only problem was he didn’t do it. Of course, most of the people in jail and prison will claim they are innocent of the charges against them. Most of them are in fact guilty, but Little Tick was actually telling the truth. A few months after I first walked into that cell, he was released. It turned out his girlfriend had tried to stab him while both were having a drug and alcohol induced spat. She missed and stabbed herself in a major artery in her leg and died. Little Tick had blacked out and had no memory of that night. He honestly didn’t know what had happened but he felt pretty confident that he wouldn’t have stabbed her.

I tried to say as little as possible about myself. I was still a bit shell shocked from all the madness of the day. Tick did ask what I was in jail for and as soon as I said I was from Oklahoma he said, “Oh, you’re the ones everybody is talking about.”

I was called to court a few days later for a bond hearing. Again the cameras were waiting outside of the courthouse to film me walking into court with shackles on. I was hoping I might find a glimmer of hope at the bond hearing. If it was set low enough, I would be able to get out soon. Since the crime I was charged with was only accessory to armed robbery. I thought I had a pretty good chance at being free again, but at the hearing I learned my charges had been upgraded. Now I was charged with principal to armed robbery, which is basically the same as armed robbery. As before, the prosecutor stressed how brutal the crime had been. The woman, who was a mother of five, had been shot in the neck and paralyzed from the shoulders down. Bond was set at $500,000. At that point, I knew I would not be able to get out anytime soon.

Later, at my arraignment hearing, I would plead not guilty and wait to see what would
happen.

Note from Johnny

I have not heard from Ben in some time. I think he has been moved to a
different unit. I will post more of the story as soon as possible.
Sorry for the delay.

The Arrest (part 3)

Twenty days after our arrest, June 22, 1995, Sarah and I were flown to the New Orleans International Airport escorted by five detectives from the parish where the shootings happened.  During the flight I overheard them saying they might need to put bulletproof vests on us “just in case.”  I had expected some reporters, but the possibility of someone actually trying to shoot us had never crossed my mind.  Needless to say, I was very apprehensive about arriving in Louisianan.

We landed in New Orleans later in the afternoon.  Neither Sarah nor I were given the vests, and I wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.  The section of the airport we entered at was completely empty.  We had been taken to a different entrance than the other passengers, so it was just the detectives and the two of us walking the desolate hallway.  At the door, we were met by more cops and plainclothes detectives.  I noticed the tension in the air and the feeling they were all getting ready for something.  They boxed Sarah and I in separately, and we started down a long, vacant hallway.  As soon as we turned a corner, I understood what they had readied themselves for.  In front of us was a wall of reporters.

I couldn't believe there were so many people waiting for us.  Apparently, we were big news in Louisiana as well.  There were even tourists mixed among the reporters snapping picture as well.  Most likely, they had mistakenly thought a celebrity would be coming through the terminal when they saw all the television reporters waiting.  As if on cue, they all surged towards us.  A wave of reporters crashed against us and the chaos erupted.  Everywhere I looked there was a camera stuck in my face and questions shouted at me.  I looked over at Sarah and noticed she had started crying.  The reporters were asking her questions like, “How does it feel to shoot somebody’s mother?” just trying to get a reaction out of her.  The detectives slowly plowed through the mass of people and made their way through the airport.

Outside, at the front of the airport, we were placed in separate cars and sped away.  The local television vans followed inches behind, it seemed, from our bumper.  I couldn't believe how hard they were pursuing us, and worried what the reception at the jail would be like.

            I was driven to the Tangipahoa Parish Jail at Amite, Louisiana.  On the way there, the car I was in got tied up in traffic, and I lost sight of the car Sarah was in.  By the time I reached the jail, she had already been booked in; and, after a few minutes of waiting, I was led to a dorm.  The dorms were open area with no individual cells like you would see on TV. Each dorm housed 16 inmates each.  I was given sheets and a blanket and some other personal hygiene products and led inside.  I made up my bed and went to sleep.  Just as I was about to drift off, I saw Sarah and myself walking through the airport on the television attached to the dorm’s wall.  I closed my eye wishing it was all just a dream, but I knew it was all too real.

The Arrest (part 2)

After she left, the agents took us back downstairs to the parking lot and drove us to the Muskogee County Jail.  We were in separate cars and the one I was in took a longer route to the jail.  When I arrived, Sarah was already inside.

There was only one agent with me in the car when we pulled into the entrance.  Inside the parking garage, the agent parked the car, pulled his gun out and placed it under the front seat.  No guns were allowed in the jail, and I assumed he didn't want to go through the process of checking it in.  He then got out and walked around the back of the car to let me out.  As he reached the middle of the trunk, he realized his mistake.  He had left his gun alone with me in the car.  This must have passed through both of our heads at exactly the same time.  I turned around to see where he was.  He was frozen in his tracks staring.  There was no protective grill between the front seat and back and, little did he know, I could slip my hands out of the handcuffs.  All I would have to do was jump into the front and I would have the gun.

For a split second I did considered going for it, but on second thought, the jail was on one side of me and the police department was on the other.  I wouldn't have a chance.  I almost didn’t care.  The agent recovered and pulled me out of the car.  He almost looked grateful when I was safely out of the car.

Taking the first step through the county jail front door was the official end of Life-As-I-Had-Known-It.  It's an odd feeling to know you are no longer free; that you may spend many years in a place that has bars on the windows and doors.  All my past problems seemed so small then.  The worries that had kept me up at night in the past became inconsequential.  I actually felt a bit relieved knowing my former problems were no longer relevant and my new situation was completely out of my hands.

The first few days were a blur.  It seemed like all I did was sleep.  I had no strength or even enough motivation to stay awake.  There were no windows in the section of the jail I was in, so I kept track of how many days passed by the number of times breakfast was served.  Three breakfasts has passed before I was brought to court for a bond hearing.  The district attorney stood up and began describing how gruesome the crime was and how dangerous Sarah and I were.  It was surreal to hear a speech so familiar on TV crime dramas.  But knowing they were talking about me.  She convinced the judge to set no bond for either of us.

Back at the jail, I was moved to the second floor where they house inmates who are expected to stay for awhile.  It was much better than where I had been the previous few breakfasts.  There were windows, a television, and we could buy cigarettes and other items from a canteen. There were windows as well.

My first real scare came quickly.  A deputy pointed me towards a cell and told me that was where I would be sleeping.  The small room consisted of an iron bunk bed and a toilet/sink combination.  My cellmate introduced himself as, “Hey, your girlfriend’s dad just sentenced me to seven life sentences.”  My stomach sank.  I never considered how Sarah’s family would affect me in the jail, but it was at the forefront of my mind now.  Many of the people in the jail had been sentenced by her dad, and it was very likely I could be a target of revenge for them.  I imagined my new cellmate would now take out his aggression on me, but he didn’t.  Later he told me he bore no ill will towards the judge.  By all accounts, Sarah’s dad had a reputation as a fair judge.  Thankfully, no other confrontations occurred while I was there.

After a few days, I came out of my stupor enough to consider my predicament.  The first thing I did was call home.  I wanted someone to come and get me.  In my mind I knew I had no bond and couldn't get out, but I still hoped there might be someway.  My mom answered the phone.  She was still upset with me, but she was worried as well.  She told me Sarah and I had been on the news every night since our arrest.  The newspapers had us on the front pages too.  I had known Sarah's dad was a judge, but I learned her uncle was the State Attorney General and her grandfather had been the governor of Oklahoma in the past.  It was big news.  Neither of us had any idea what to do or even if there was anything we could do.  It was beginning to look hopeless, but at least the authorities had not found out about the other crimes yet, I thought.

Over the next weeks, I went to various extradition hearings so I could be returned to Louisiana.  Each time I stepped out of the jail it was a circus.  Photographers would rush up clicking pictures and reporters would shout a million blurred questions.  It was all just so unbelievable, like it was only a dream I would soon wake from.  My fifteen minutes of fame had come in the worst possible way.

The Arrest

The next day at the amusement park, we left the dark cloud of the past behind for a few hours.  We all smoked a mountain of pot and wondered around the park in a chemical induced haze.  Sarah, Heather, and Katie road a boat ride and ended up getting soaking wet.  It was almost as if the horrible past had never happened.  I almost felt normal.  It was kind of chilly when the sun went down and the girls were freezing in their wet clothes.  With the day spent and the girls chilled to the bone, every one was ready to leave so we headed back to the car.

In the parking lot, Terry decided he was going to go home.  He and Katie were about to move into a new apartment together and he wanted to get started moving stuff in.  Sarah wanted us to stay at her house again since her parents were at the cabin for the rest of the weekend.  We would have the house to ourselves.  Terry left in his car, and the rest of us crammed into Heather's Jeep.

It was around midnight when we finally arrived at Sarah's house.  We pulled into the driveway, but her parent's cars were still there. Heather pulled back out to park on the side of the street so the Jeep wouldn’t block Sarah’s parents in.  When she did, another car crept away from the curb at the end of the block and slowly crossed the intersection.  Heather parked and I noticed another car parked at the opposite curb as will.  No one else seemed to notice, but I knew something was horribly wrong.  I could feel the tension in the air like it was a physical force.  Sarah's dad came outside and told us to come inside. Something didn't feel right and screams of alarm blasted inside my head.  Yet, no one else seemed to notice anything.

I didn’t know what was going on, but the car I had seen and Sarah's dad coming out in the middle of the night to greet us was all wrong.  Something was defiantly up.  When everybody else had climbed out of the car, I stayed in and just sat there trying to figure out what was going on.  Sarah and her dad were both telling me to get out of the car and, reluctantly, I did.  I walked up the sidewalk toward the house and shook Jim's hand and then walked into the house.  Inside the doorway, I saw Greg, Heather, and Katie staring outside, looking pale and shaken.  Just as I turned to see what they were looking at, a man walked up and asked, “Which one of you is Ben?”

Nobody said anything.  I looked for Sarah but couldn't see her anywhere in the yard.  It was as if she had simply disappeared.  The man identified himself as a detective with the Muskogee police department.  Again he asked who Ben was.  Still no one said a word.  It was pointless for me to stay silent.  Eventually they would figure out who I was, so I stepped forward and told him I was Ben.

He led me outside onto the porch and brought me to an imposing figure wearing a trench coat and obscured by shadows.  The second guy pulled out his wallet and showed me his badge.  He was an F.B.I. agent.  He read me my rights and then asked me the big question, “Have you ever been to Louisiana before?”

I had hoped against hope this would all be related to something else, but from the minute the mysterious car had pulled away from the curb I knew subconsciously it was for the murders.  They had finally caught up to us.  It was all over.  When I told him no, he seemed to have expected this answer and knew it was a lie.  I was sure Sarah's parents had already told them we had driven there together.  The agent didn't ask me anymore questions after that except my full name and social security number.

After the questions were over and the panic had subsided some, I noticed my surroundings. There were people everywhere when just seconds before it had been empty.  The whole yard was filled with officers and the street was overflowing with cars.  They had waited for us all day unsure of when we were to return from Tulsa.  It registered in my head that when Heather had backed out of the driveway to park in front of the house, the car I had seen pulling into the intersection had tried to block the street off thinking we had spotted them hiding.

I saw Sarah talking to her parents and holding her cat.  Then she was handcuffed and led away to one of the unmarked cars.  Not long afterwards, I was handcuffed as well and taken to a separate car.  They put me in the back seat and four other agents climbed in with me—two in the front and two in the back.  The guy in the front passenger seat turned around and screamed not two inches from my face for most of the trip screaming jumbled incoherent cop phrases like, “You’re going down!” and “How do you like being the rabbit, huh?”  The other agents seemed embarrassed by what he was doing, and eventually someone told him to cool it.  I didn't pay much attention to him anyway, but one thing he said caught my attention.  He had said that if the woman who was shot died within a year, we would be charged with first-degree murder and given the death penalty.

The woman didn’t die in the robbery.

I didn't quite know how to feel about it.  If the woman didn't die, we would be charged with only attempted murder.  On the other hand, since the woman was still alive, she would be able to identify Sarah.  My heart sank a little bit with these thoughts.

We pulled up at the federal court house in Muskogee where the F.B.I. had their offices and were taken upstairs.  Sarah looked really small and frightened, and I thought I probably looked the same way too.  Our world had just been turned upside down.  We had just gotten back from a day of fun at an amusement park, but now we found ourselves arrested by the Feds.

Sarah was taken into an office to be questioned, but it wasn't long before she came out.  She stared at the floor and wouldn’t look in my direction.  I wanted to get her attention so she could give me some indication of what to expect.  She looked completely broken and didn’t respond.

Next, they came for me.  Inside the office, three officers were sitting around a desk.  On the desk was the gun we had used in the shootings and the box of bullets we bought in Memphis.  My rights were read to me again, and I signed a paper saying I understood them.  They asked me again if I had ever been to Louisiana, and again I told them no.  They asked me other questions, quizzing me about things that had happened during the shooting, but I continued to deny everything.

Finally, one of the agents stopped everything and said, “Look, Sarah has already admitted to shooting that woman.  We got the gun, a witness, and we already know you were with her in the car.  It's pointless to try to deny it.  You know what happened.  Sarah is trying to save herself, and you should be doing the same thing.”

His words made me pause.  By the questions they asked it was obvious someone had talked to them.  On the desk were the gun and bullets, and I could see a reward poster with a picture of Sarah on it taken from the security camera in the store.  It was fuzzy, but it was not hard to identify it was Sarah.  I asked to see it and they handed it to me.  It was clearly Sarah.  I broke down.  I knew there would be no way we would be able to beat the charges in court.  Sarah had already admitted doing it, I thought, and I decided I might as well too.  Little did I know, it had been Patrick who had turned us in while he was mad at Sarah.  One night when he had given her a large dose of crystal-meth, Sarah had told him everything.  When she had him arrested, he told the police about what she had said out of spite.

The questions started up again; but I only told them half-truths, trying to put the two of us in the best light as possible.  I portrayed it as if the shooting had been an accident.  I admitted we had planned to rob the store, but the shooting was never a part of the plan.  Before, no mention of the murder in Mississippi had been made, so I was careful to avoid any detail that might lead them there.

After the questions were over, they showed me a warrant allowing them to search my mother's house.  They were looking for the poncho Sarah had worn in the store.  It was at my mom's house in plain view on my bedroom floor.  Instead of the cops showing up in the middle of the night unexpectedly, I asked if I could call my mom and ask her to bring it to them.  They let me make the call.  After I hung up, I was led to a little holding cell while we waited for her to show up.  The shock and fear had worn away, and I was left with a empty deflated feeling.  I had no idea what my future held, but I knew prison was on the horizon.  I hoped since the woman wasn't dead, we would be able to get out of jail quickly.  More than anything, I wanted to be able to go home, but I knew this wasn’t possible.

My mom showed up about thirty minutes later.  She was furious and fed up with me.  I had caused so many problems for her recently, and she was tired of dealing with it all.  This was the final straw.  She had the poncho with her and gave it to the agents.  We were given a few minutes alone to talk.  She told me she loved me but was not going to put up with me anymore.  She said whatever was to happen I would have to deal with it by myself.  With that, she left.  It hurt to hear those words, but I knew she was right.  All of this was my own fault.  I couldn't blame her for what she had said.

The Aftermath (part 3)

It was a few days later when Sarah called and told me she wanted to come over to my house.  I was glad because I still missed her a lot, and I thought this might give us a chance to work things out.  Her car was still broken down, so I borrowed my mom's van and left to get her.  When I knocked on the front door, I could hear her and her parents inside yelling at each other.  She came to the door and told me, with tears in her eyes, it would be a minute until she was ready.  I went back out to the van to wait.

An hour or more passed before she came out, and when she did she was in a fetid mood.  I tried to talk with her, but she was preoccupied with whatever was on her mind.  I assumed it was the argument with her parents, but she didn’t seem to want to talk about it.  I didn't press her.  When we got to my house, my mom was mad because I had been gone longer than she had expected.  I told her it wasn’t a good time.  Knowing Sarah had just gotten into a fight with her parents, it would be just perfect for me to get in one with mine.

In my room, just as I closed the door and sat down, Sarah said she wanted to go home.  It was maddening.  I could feel the heat fill my face while the reason was leaving my head.  What made me snap was when she said she was going to call Patrick to come and get her.  I had waited all this time to sit down and try to work things out between us, driven all the way to Muskogee, and sat in the van forever just to have her leave as soon as we got back.  I missed her so much, and to hear her tell me she wanted to leave hurt.

To cover the pain, I got angry and started destroying everything in the room.  Whatever I could lay my hands on I destroyed, but it didn’t lessen the pain at all.  With the room in shambles, I sat down in the middle of the mess I had made and cried.  That seemed to be all I ever did in those days after the crimes, make messes and cry.  Sarah had sat in a chair stunned, never moving during my rampage.  I didn't understand anything about her anymore and I hated the whole situation. At some point, Sarah came over to me and kissed me. Then she called Patrick and left.

After that, I spent almost everyday in a kind of daze.  I was back to my old self again, wondering the streets by myself, lost in thought.  I wanted to find someway out of my mental turmoil, but it seemed hopeless.  I wanted to tell someone that I needed help, but something always stopped me from asking.  I had only had one real relationship before Sarah which had ended in disaster as well.  I began to wonder if I just wasn’t meant for love and relationships.  I wondered if there would ever be a time I didn’t feel like life had played some silly ridiculous joke on me.

I met a guy named Terry soon after the time of the meltdown.  He had started to hang out with the Commune gang while Sarah and I were driving the highways of America.  He was quiet a lot, which was fine with me.  I didn’t feel like talking too much so it worked out perfect.  Mostly, we drove around in his girlfriend’s car all day getting high, or just listening to music in silence.  We both had secrets, I assumed, and neither one of us wanted to probe.  Together, we lost ourselves in a haze of pills, pot, and LSD.

Things continued to spiral downward.  A friend of mine was arrested for possession of marijuana.  Another one of the Commune gang and I went out to his house to get any other drugs out of his house just in case the cops decided to search it.  I rolled all the drugs we found in a paper sack and stashed it in my closet.  My mother found it and kicked me out of the house.  I sank into depression, and. I could no longer see anything left to live for.  I thought a lot about killing myself daily, and asked a Terry if I could borrow the gun I had seen him carry.  I told him it was for “protection.”  Everyday I woke with desperate thoughts and emptiness.

A week had passed since I had seen Sarah when she called at the Commune looking for me.  I got back with her later that day and to1d her about getting kicked out of my house.  She told me to stay with her for awhile.  Her car hadn't been fixed so I had to find my own ride.  It was late and most of my friends were asleep.  Nevertheless, I managed to cajole someone into taking me.

When I got to Sarah's house and knocked, her dad answered the door.  He said Sarah wasn't home but would probably be back in a few minutes.  He invited me in to wait.  It was an hour later before Sarah finally showed up—with Patrick.  Sarah saw me sitting in the house and was surprised.  She had thought I wouldn't be able to get a ride so late.  She went outside and told Patrick her parents wanted her to stay at home.  Hearing this, he went berserk.  He had expected her to go back to his house with him and was furious when she wouldn’t leave with him.  I knew the feeling.  When Sarah saw how he was reacting, she ran inside and locked the door.  I could hear him screaming outside that he was going to kill everybody in the house.

Sarah didn't want her parents to wake up since they had just gone to bed a few minutes earlier.  She called the cops and waited hoping Patrick wouldn’t do anything too foolish.  When they came Sarah went out and told them she didn't want Patrick arrested, just removed from the property.  However, he had some traffic warrants and was arrested anyway.

Patrick didn’t bother us anymore that night, but every time we heard a sound outside, we thought it was him prowling around the back yard.  We talked for awhile but not about the things we needed to say.  I felt really distant from her now.  When I had kissed her earlier, mostly out of habit, she didn't respond.  That chilled things quickly.  After awhile, we just lay down in the den and went to sleep.  She told me she had been awake for a couple of days and was really worn out.  I wasn’t sure sleep would solve either of our problems.

In the morning, Heather pulled up and a few minutes after that Terry and Katie showed up. Greg, a friend of Sarah’s showed up later in the day as well.  We bought some beer later in the evening and we had a little impromptu party.  Sarah invited everyone to spend the night, and we made plans to go to an amusement park in Tulsa in the morning.  The impromptu party had turned into an entire weekend of fun.