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

picture it’s hilarious. He’d order a cup of coffee and then look intently at the waitress as he emphasized the words
two
and
sugars
. When she turned to walk away, he’d call out to her with a “Hey!” When she looked back, he’d make direct eye contact while solemnly and slowly holding up two fingers to remind her, “Two.”
    My little brother, Timothy, was a quandary, too. It sounds odd when I say he was just like my father yet completely different, but it’s true. His mannerisms were completely his own, yet everything he did seemed like something my father would do. I lost all contact with him though; when I was arrested, he went to live with his mother, yet I often think of him and wonder what kind of person he turned out to be.
    We arrived in Oregon and moved into a three-bedroom apartment in a town called Aloha. It was a very nice place and I was given the biggest room, though I had nothing to fill it with. Unloading furniture from the trailer, I realized my mother had brought almost none of our personal belongings. I asked her where everything was and she said she’d left it all in Lakeshore. This was almost impossible for me to believe. She didn’t try to sell anything to get more money for the trip, she didn’t even give it to others who might need it—she just abandoned it. The only thing of mine brought along was a single suitcase containing my clothes and music. This blew my mind.
    When I later returned to Arkansas, Jason told me he was walking past one day and noticed everything I owned in one big pile by the curb—television, stereo, baseball bat, antique Japanese rifle, skateboard, electric guitar, and more that had been in the house. I asked him if anyone looked through it and took anything, to which he shook his head and said, “We figured it must not have been any good, or they wouldn’t have thrown it away.” Things we had spent a lifetime collecting were now gone as if they never existed. I would have been more upset if not for the fact that in two days I’d be starting a new job. I figured I’d soon be able to replace everything since I’d be working full-time.
    My father was the manager of a local chain of garages and gas stations, so he gave me a job working for him. I would be bringing home well over four hundred dollars every two weeks, and the job was easy enough. I was assigned to work shifts with an old Vietnam War vet named Dave, in a garage that attracted very few customers. We mostly sat and watched the traffic pass while sipping cold drinks and listening to country music on the radio. Dave was a cynical, cantankerous old bastard, and he became the closest thing to a friend I had in Oregon. Despite our age difference, we got along quite well together. Most of Dave’s vocabulary consisted of swear words, and he fired them like bullets at everyone and everything on earth.
    Now that I had a full-time job, I was no longer in school. I never made the decision to quit; it was more like my parents made it for me. They didn’t actually say, “You’re quitting school,” but they didn’t have to. It was pretty obvious when they enrolled my sister and brother in a new school and didn’t do the same for me. I was resentful but said nothing. At least I was making money now.
    My little brother began developing some odd habits. He would watch
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2
over and over, even though it scared him so bad he couldn’t sleep at night. He mimicked characters from the movie, walking around the house scratching his head with a coat hanger while pretending to eat flakes of dandruff. He had a small plastic sunflower that wore sunglasses and a bow tie, and when placed next to a radio it danced to the beat of the music. He carried it everywhere with him, and as far as I know, it was his only playmate. My sister began to hang out with some pretty shady characters and was always drinking or partying with them. This was the first time in her life she’d experienced any freedom, and she was taking advantage of it. When we were with Jack he’d rarely let her leave the house.
    After we’d been there about a month, I decided the time had come to call Deanna’s house. When her mother answered I had my sister ask for Deanna. The second she was on the line I took the phone and said, “It’s me.” Her voice sounded odd, almost like a little girl, when she asked, “Where are you?” I told her I was in Oregon and asked if there was someone hovering around her, to which