When I got the message to call him, I tried to keep my expectations low.
“They denied us, Ray. I’m sorry.”
I held the phone away from my ear. I had been so sure that there would be a miracle. I was so sure that because two judges had finally taken my side, everything would be fixed. I was never going to get out of here. I was going to be strapped to that gurney and have a cocktail of drugs first paralyze me so I couldn’t scream and then slowly and painfully kill me from the inside out. I was going to be put to sleep like a stray, rabid dog. My life mattered only that much—maybe even less. The dog would have comfort in his death, perhaps. I would miss this life. I would miss Bryan. I knew he had watched men he cared about die. I had watched the same. There are no words for how that scars you. There are no words for how every death kills a little piece of you off. Your soul dies a little, your mind cracks a bit, your heart pounds and bleeds as a piece of it tears off. A mind, and a heart, and a soul could only take so much.
I wiped at my tears and took a deep breath before I held the phone back up to my ear. Bryan was still talking. “Maybe I didn’t do enough. I should have—”
My heart ached for this man, so I interrupted him.
“Mr. Stevenson, this is Ray Hinton’s assistant, and he asked me to tell you to go on home now; it’s Friday. He said you have yourself a nice dinner, drink a glass of wine, watch a movie … do whatever it takes to feel better, and he said that you should just forget about Ray Hinton for the weekend.”
“Ray—” Bryan tried to interrupt me.
“This is Ray Hinton’s assistant, and he said to tell you that if they let him go outside this weekend, he is going to shoot some basketball and relax and take some time away from all these legal matters. He said you should do the same, and he’ll call you first thing Monday morning.”
Bryan laughed softly.
“Ray also said you have his permission to enjoy your entire weekend. Enjoy the sunshine. Take a nice walk in the woods. Forget about Ray Hinton, because Ray Hinton is going to forget about Ray Hinton for a while.”
“You tell him thank you for me.” I could hear that Bryan’s voice was lighter.
“You can tell him yourself when he calls you Monday morning.”
I hung up the phone and went back to my cell. What lawyer needs a convict’s permission to go out and enjoy his weekend? Bryan cared about me so much that it moved me in a way that was beyond words. I knew he was doing everything he could to save my life. He deserved to have a weekend free of the burden. I wanted Bryan to hold his face up toward the sunshine. He deserved some moments away from this place, away from the disappointment of the courts.
It was dark in my cell, darker than it should have been for 5:00 P.M. in April. I wondered if I would ever get a chance to turn my face to the sun as a free man. I wondered if there would come a time when the fight was over.
On Monday morning at 9:00 sharp, I yelled to the guards that I needed the telephone. I called Bryan’s office collect. Ms. Lee answered and then put Bryan through right away.
“Ray, how are you doing this morning?” Bryan asked.
“I’m fine, Bryan. How was your weekend?”
“I had a great weekend, Ray, a really great weekend.” I could tell by his voice that it was true. There wasn’t much I had to give to Bryan, so I was happy I could give him the weekend. But the weekend was over.
“Well, it’s 9:00 A.M., and I told you I would call, so now get back to work on my case!”
Bryan laughed. “I’m going to come see you. I have something I’d like to talk to you about in person.”
“You have an idea about what to do next?”
“I do, Ray. I do.”
“All right, then, I will see you as soon as they let you come.”
We said our goodbyes, and I was happy to know that Bryan wasn’t giving up yet. If he wasn’t giving up, then I wasn’t going to give up either.
I gave Lester the news the next time he visited. Sylvia wasn’t with him. She’d had a difficult time with a female guard during her last visit, and she was taking a break from death row for that reason. I was livid when I heard. I would talk to the guards. They could mess with me all they wanted, but they weren’t going to mess with the people I loved or with my visits.
Lester had gotten my birth certificate, and we talked a little bit about where I would go if I ever got out. My mom’s house had been empty for ten years and would need a lot of repairs before it was habitable again. We had been talking about me walking out of there for twenty-seven years. Before long, I would be on death row for longer than I had been a free man. There was less energy in our imaginations about the future. We were both getting old. I looked at him, and for a second, my whole time on death row flashed before my eyes—but this time without him in it. He had never missed a visit since I had been arrested in 1985. It was 2013. The world had changed, but Lester’s friendship had remained the same. I could feel tears forming in my eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Remember those days when we used to walk home and jump in the ditch and hide?” I asked.
“Yeah, I remember.”
“What were we afraid of, exactly?”
Lester didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, and his eyes were sadder than I had ever seen them before.
“I’m getting tired,” I said. “The court denied my rehearing. I don’t think I have many more options. They don’t seem to care about the new evidence. They don’t seem in any hurry. They’re going to either give me a date or bounce me around from court to court until I die. For the first time in a long time, I don’t know if I’m going to walk out of here. I just don’t know.”
“You can’t stop fighting.”
“Why? Why can’t I stop fighting?” I wasn’t being funny. I just was tired. “I’ve lived a full life.”
Lester gave a grunt like he didn’t believe me.
“Lester, I’ve won Wimbledon five times. I’ve played third base for the Yankees and led the league in home runs for ten straight years. I’ve traveled the world. I’ve married the most beautiful women. I’ve loved and I’ve laughed and I’ve lost God and found God again and wondered for too many hours what the purpose is for me going to death row for something I didn’t do. And sometimes I think there is no purpose—that this is just the life I was meant to live. I’ve made a home here and a family out of some of the most terrifying men you’d ever meet. And you know what I’ve learned? We’re all the same. We’re all guilty of something, and we’re all innocent at the same time. And I’m sorry, but a man can go crazy trying to make it all fit into some plan. Maybe this is the plan. Maybe I was born to live most of my life in a five-by-seven so I could travel the world. I would have never won Wimbledon if I hadn’t gone to death row. Do you see what I’m saying, Lester? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Lester cleared his throat. “I remember walking home with you and jumping in that ditch and you saying to me that it’s strange what a person could get used to. Do you remember that?”
I shook my head. I didn’t remember that.
“Well, you said it. And you know why we were so afraid? Do you know why, Ray?”
“No. Why?”
“We were afraid because we couldn’t see what was coming at us. So we hid in those ditches. We hid rather than face whatever might be in front of us.”
I nodded.
“We’re not kids anymore, Ray, and we’re not afraid. We’re not going to hide in a ditch together. We’re going to face whatever happens. We’re going to face it, and we’re going to fight if we have to fight, and we’re not going to ever get used to this. You were not born to die on death row. I know that for a fact.”
Lester had never been a talker, but he had something to say this time.
“Okay,” I said.
“We’re still walking home, Ray. We’re still just walking home together.”
* * *
When I walked into the visiting area and saw Bryan wait
ing for me, he looked serious. More than serious, he looked determined in a way I hadn’t seen before. We’d had so many denials, so many phone calls where he had to tell me they’d ruled against me, that sometimes we didn’t even want to talk about my case. Sometimes we just laughed. At nothing in particular, and everything. Some days we were like two teenage girls who can’t stop laughing even when their teacher yells at them. Some days it all seemed so crazy that I was still in here that we just had to laugh our heads off. It felt good to laugh like that. It kept us young, and it kept us sane.
Bryan smiled when I walked up. “How you doing, my friend?”
“I’m doing all right.”
“Listen, I have an idea. I want you to really think about everything I’m about to say before you decide. We’ve got some strategic decisions to make. As we’ve discussed before, our next option is to apply for a petition of writ of habeas corpus in federal court. The options are limited. We have severe time restraints and very limited issues we can claim violated your federal rights. Federal habeas doesn’t provide the same opportunity to prove your innocence, Ray. They can’t look at an innocence claim. We are only going to be able to bring up the suppression of evidence with the worksheets and the ineffective assistance of counsel. If we lose in the U.S. District Court, then we would file an appeal with the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Eleventh Circuit. The State will file their briefs. It will be similar to the Rule 32, but with a more limited focus. The State is going to argue that the federal courts have to defer to the rulings made by state court judges in federal habeas. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I nodded and motioned for him to go on.
“There’s only one last opportunity for us to talk about your innocence, and that is if we go to the U.S. Supreme Court now. We can’t claim innocence in the federal habeas, only how your federal rights were violated. The Supreme Court is not going to grant relief on the innocence claim alone, but I think we can present to them a narrative that might motivate them to do something. Your innocence will matter, Ray. It’s the last time it will matter to a court.”
I nodded again. I wanted my innocence to matter. I wanted it to matter forever.
“Listen, though. If they deny the cert, then nobody’s going to ever listen to your innocence claim again. If we don’t go to the Supreme Court now, we’ll have another chance at the end of this federal habeas process, which could take years. You should know that. Be prepared for that. But when the Supreme Court reviews then, it will be only a review on the very restricted issues we bring in federal habeas. What I mean is, they’re not going to look at your innocence. They’re going to be very narrow in what they consider, and the chance for relief will be greatly reduced.”
“And in federal habeas, I can get bounced through different courts again? Bounced back and forth, but just federal courts this time?”
“Pretty much. You know how the State’s been with your appeal. That’s not going to change. If anything, they’re going to ramp up the opposition in federal habeas. I mean, we can go to the Supreme Court after for review, but we could be in litigation for years, and they rarely, I mean, it’s going to be hard either way … and there’s something else, Ray. If we take your case to the Supreme Court and we lose, things could speed up. It could make it harder for us to win in federal habeas and harder for us to stop them from killing you.”
I interrupted Bryan.
“Do you have money for the vending machine? I’d like a drink.”
“Sure, Ray. Sure.” Bryan gave me some quarters, and I walked over and got a Coke out of the machine.
I sat back down and opened the soda. “A man needs a drink when he’s making a big decision.”
“Ray—”
I held up my hand to silence him and drank a long swig of the soda. For the first time in my life, I wished I had some hard liquor. I had never been a drinker, but I imagined that soda was full of scotch.
“Bryan, I’m innocent. I want the courts to admit I’m innocent. I want the world to know I’m innocent. I don’t want life without parole. I want to walk out of here. I want to live the rest of my life a free man. I would rather die. If I can’t prove my innocence, I would rather die.”
“So what do you want to do, Ray? It could take another eight or nine months to file, and there’s no guarantee and—”
“I want to go to the Supreme Court now, Bryan. I want them to know I’m innocent. I want them to hear my case now, when we can present everything. I don’t want to spend another ten years in the courts. I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can be here until I’m seventy years old and still be fighting.”
We were quiet for a while after that. I looked around the visiting area. I had spent so much time here over the last few decades. I had eaten a lot of key lime pie out of the vending machine. And I had come to respect and love this man who sat in front of me. He was tired too, and I was just one of many battles he was fighting. We both deserved a win.
It was time.
And if it wasn’t, then I would take my Thursday. I would eat my last meal, and I would thank Lester for being the best friend a guy could ever have, and I would tell Bryan Stevenson that he couldn’t save everyone and I knew he had done everything he could. I would have joy knowing that I lived as big a life as anyone ever could live in a five-by-seven cell.
And God have mercy on their souls, but I knew what my last words would be.
I am innocent.
22
JUSTICE FOR ALL
As there is no issue here worthy of certiorari, this court should deny review in this matter.
—LUTHER STRANGE, ALABAMA ATTORNEY GENERAL, TO THE SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES, NOVEMBER 2013
There are certain moments that stay with you. For most people, it’s when they get married or give birth to their first child. For others, it’s when they get their first job, or meet the woman or man of their dreams, or maybe it’s something as simple as being acknowledged by someone or finally getting the nerve to do something they’ve always been afraid of.
I spent the six months it took for Bryan to file my petition with the U.S. Supreme Court reflecting on my moments—but only the good ones. I didn’t want to review the bad moments. My mother’s death. The arrest and conviction. The fifty-four human beings I had watched walk to their own executions. I knew all their names, and in July, the night before Andrew Lackey, a white man who had only been on the row for about five years, was taken to the death chamber, I said fifty-three of them aloud in my head. Some people count sheep. I counted the dead. Wayne. Michael. Horace. Herbert. Arthur. Wallace. Larry. Neal. Willie. Varnall. Edward. Billy. Walter. Henry. Steven. Brian. Victor. David. Freddie. Robert. Pernell. Lynda. Anthony. Michael. Gary. Tommy. JB. David. Mario. Jerry. George. John. Larry. Aaron. Darrell. Luther. James. Danny. Jimmy. Willie. Jack. Max. Thomas. John. Michael. Holly. Philip. Leroy. William. Jason. Eddie. Derrick. Christopher. I didn’t want to add Andrew’s name to the list. Not yet. Not when there was still hope. The man before Andrew had only been there four years. Like Andrew, Christopher didn’t want to appeal. They were young guys, but both were not in their right minds. You could tell they were slower than most. I wasn’t sure they really understood where they were or that they were choosing not to appeal their convictions. It was sad, and I felt older than my fifty-seven years. I banged on the bars for Christopher and for Andrew, just so they would know they weren’t alone. I had made noise for a lot of men as they faced their own deaths.
I tried to keep my mind focused on the good moments. The moments before my arrest were warm summer nights playing baseball with Lester and the other kids in Praco. We were so blissfully unaware of how dangerous the world was. Even the bombings and protests in Birmingham had seemed far away from our sanctuary in Praco. I wished we had never left there. What if we had stayed in Praco and I had stayed in the mines? How would my life have turned out? What would have been my important moments? What if I had married my Sylvia when I had the chance? I would be
a father, maybe even a grandfather by now. How many baseball games had I missed? How many walks in the woods? How many sunrises and sunsets could one man miss in his life and still have a life? I had lived in darkness for so long, I almost couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be a free man under a shining sun. I thought about what it felt like to make a woman laugh. A simple moment when a woman reaches out and touches your arm. I remembered how good it felt to hold a woman in my arms and have her look into my eyes. Would I ever kiss a woman again? Even if I got out, who would want to kiss the man from death row? I tried to remember the moments I spent fishing with my mama or sitting next to her in church and praying. I remembered the food she used to make and the love that I could taste in every bite.
The good moments after coming to death row were harder. Doubled up laughing with Lester and Sylvia at visits. Telling them stories that kept them grinning and helped them to believe that life on death row wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Sitting with Bryan talking about my case and also talking about football. Making him laugh. Seeing the strain leave his eyes for a half an hour. Helping another man get through a long, dark night on the row. Just voices in the darkness calling out to each other. We all did our time differently. I traveled in my mind. I had a whole, full life in my imagination, and so I didn’t always ache for what I was missing. Some guys never spoke. Some guys never stopped being angry. Some guys prayed to God, and some nurtured a darkness that no man should ever carry. I tried to remember the moments on the row that would make my mama proud. I tried to focus on the moments that held light and laughter. It’s what helped me get through. My case was winding down. I knew that. There was a clock counting down to the day I ran out of time—the day when I got my execution date and had to learn how to live with knowing the date and time of my death. I didn’t want to know. I would rather it be a surprise than have to live out thirty or sixty days seeing the faces of the men practicing for my death.
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