Life After Death: The Shocking True Story of a Innocent Man on Death Row

where Jason and Jessie were (though ironically, Jason was soon after transferred to Tucker). I was awakened at two a.m. by a group of madcap guards, funsters with M-16 assault rifles and attack dogs. They roused all thirty-seven of us in the barracks and two others who were in the hole, wrapped us in chains, and packed us into vans like sardines. There were eight prisoners and two guards in each van. It was a tight fit and a long, uncomfortable ride.
    Once we arrived, we were placed in what amounts to solitary confinement. It’s a concrete cell with a solid steel door. We never came in contact with other inmates, and you could talk to the person next to you only by pressing your face into a crack and screaming. It was filthy. They cleaned the hallways and visiting areas if an inspection was coming through, but never inside the cells. I hadn’t felt sunlight on my skin in months. It took a while to adjust to the absolute confinement and isolation, but I had a hell of a lot more privacy, which is a rare commodity in prison.
    I was forbidden to communicate with Jason and Jessie, per prison administration orders, though nothing had been declared legally and in spite of the fact that they were housed together and had been sleeping in beds side by side for a couple of years.
    My first appeal was turned down by the Arkansas court system in 1994. Big surprise there, eh?
    My second appeal, known as a Rule 37, encompassed the myriad complaints of ineffective counsel in my defense, and ultimately opened the door to the incomprehensible and unending legal labyrinth that became my ongoing defense and effort to be freed.
    As I already mentioned, Joe and Bruce’s efforts culminated in the documentary
Paradise Lost
, which was released at Sundance and other festivals in 1996 and played in several small theaters, including the Quad Cinema in Manhattan and a theater in Little Rock. It had a huge impact on our case and raised awareness about the murders. Among the many people who saw it over the next several years was Eddie Vedder, of Pearl Jam, who was intrigued enough to reach out to my attorney at the time. Unfortunately and ironically, my attorney had never heard of Pearl Jam, so it took some time for Eddie to find someone receptive to his offer of support. In 1999, he finally made contact with my team and became involved in the fight to prove my innocence. His financial donations to my legal fund and his sheer devotion and energy in advocating for my release marked a pivotal moment in the years spent on my case. Eddie has shown himself to be a true friend time and time again. How many rock stars do you know who visit guys in prison when they come through town? It’s always a tremendous amount of fun whenever he stops by and tells of his latest adventures.
    After ten years, Jason and I caught sight of each other on a Friday afternoon in 2004, while Lorri and I were in the midst of our weekly picnic. I looked up to see him about thirty feet away in the hallway, looking at me through the glass. He raised his hand and smiled, then he was gone, like a ghost. I wish I could have talked to him, if only to say, “Just hang on.”
    That’s the same thing I keep telling myself.
    Just hang on.

Twenty-five
    I
went through the HGA prayer ritual three times today. At about 8:30 a.m., around noon, and at about 6:30 p.m. I’ve been reciting the prayer exactly as written in Abramelin and then praying the prayers again in my own words, making them as heartfelt as possible. Some of the newness is beginning to wear off and cause it to seem like actual work. However, for some reason I can’t define I feel my faith in the procedure growing.
    I had a dream that I was fighting with a lion and a dog on the street where I used to live in Lakeshore. I was holding the lion’s jaws open with my hands, even though it was tremendously painful. I kept the lion between myself and the dog, so that every time the dog lunged at me it would bite the lion instead. I eventually managed to dart through the gate and close it behind me.
    When I was going through the last prayer today I had a pleasant experience. I was on my knees, head bowed, when I suddenly felt as if I were looking down into a room. The only description I can offer is that everything was white and, I’m tempted to say, made of marble. I was looking down on it from a height of between fifty and one hundred feet, but I wasn’t seeing it with my eyes.
    From ecstasy to drudgery. I move from