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

from prison the next morning, as he did every Saturday.
    I paced back and forth in my prison cell, two steps to the door then two steps back. Over and over and over I paced, at all hours of the day and night. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t read, couldn’t even sit still. I wept. I cursed. I raged. To see home so close and yet still beyond my reach was pain beyond articulation.
    By Monday night, August 16, still no word. Lorri was frantically making preparations for my release anyway: figuring out how to get me an ID, what to do about travel outside the state, not to mention the imminent upheaval of her own life. We had talked often about what would happen if I were freed—she would have to walk away from everything she’d built for herself in Little Rock, because there was no way I could stay for any period of time in the state of Arkansas.
    On the night of the seventeenth, word came through to Lorri that Jason had finally agreed. He had finally realized that I was in danger, and that we were all at the end of our rope. He also realized he was going to be left behind if he didn’t come along with us on the deal. My own case had garnered much of the WM3 publicity, and if we managed to be freed without him, there would be very little interest left in his case. The funds were nearly gone as it was. During all this time, I called Lorri constantly throughout the day for updates. I couldn’t eat or sleep and my nerves were raw. There was nothing that could hold my attention—if we didn’t pull this off, Lorri and I both knew this would be it. We were out of energy, out of options. I found out that night, too, that Jason had said yes—and for the first time in days, I sat down on my bed.
    We had no idea when we’d be getting out—only the warden and head guard knew what was happening within Varner, and any information leaked would put the media into a frenzy. On the afternoon of the eighteenth, after being seated alone in a prison office for a while, I was shackled and led outside to a van. Jessie was sitting inside and started talking immediately, as though not a day had gone by since we were arrested. He talked about the girlfriend he’d had at age seventeen and going back home to West Memphis. It was overwhelming. We drove to Tucker to pick up Jason. As he got in the van, he looked over at me and I said, “We’re going home.” He replied, “Yep,” and after a few minutes we started talking. There were two guards up front and they wouldn’t stop talking, either. They stopped at a gas station and bought us candy bars and Mountain Dews, and we sat in the backseat in shackles, drinking through straws. It was the strangest celebration I’ve ever been to.
    We got to the jail in Jonesboro in the late afternoon. As we pulled up, one of the guards said, “Shit, they’re already here.” Someone had leaked to the media and there was a crowd. We were told to get down as we drove into the garage, where we were unloaded and taken into the jail. We were put in separate cells overnight, no phone calls allowed. Steve Braga, Patrick Benca, and a couple others came to visit that night and dropped off clothes for the hearing. They told me that the word was spreading now, and that Lorri, friends, and supporters from all over were making their way to Memphis that night. They told me to expect a fairly quick hearing—I’d be entering my plea, and the judge would formally accept it. I sat on the edge of the bed all night, waiting for morning.
    The hearing started at about eleven on the nineteenth. I was roused by one of the guards, given my clothes and a shaving razor, and after I dressed I sat on a bench waiting for Jason and Jessie. I watched a guard knotting Jessie’s tie for him. We were shackled for what would be the last time, and before we got into a van, a security guard informed us that if he said the word, we were to drop to the ground without thinking. A convoy of vehicles drove to the courthouse. We were taken into the jury deliberation room, and sat, still shackled, for about a half-hour. Lawyers for all of us came in finally, as well as Lorri—neither of us has much recollection, it was so crazed. There was a separate room for family members, and Patrick Benca kept texting photos of us to various people next door—as far as I’ve been told it was emotional pandemonium. My mother and sister were there, though my mother sat in the courtroom throughout, giving interviews and talking to the