Almost Home by Damien Echols

Author:Damien Echols
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

I arrived at the county jail and was escorted to my suite. It was a dark, dank cell that smelled of feet and corn chips, a tiny space with a brown solid steel door.

There was no entertainment except the graffiti, which covered every square inch of the walls. I was amazed at the bits of information people had thought important enough to write there. For instance, someone thought it vital that the world know someone named “Pimp hen” was adept at certain sexual maneuvers. I felt a bit like an archeologist in a tomb.

I was left alone for what I estimated to be two or three hours, but it’s impossible to really tell time in a place like that. It’s a form of mental torture, and I only knew that it seemed like an eternity. I kept wondering, “Where is she? Is she in Damien Echols

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this building? Do they have her in a filthy rat hole like this one?” The graffiti offered no answers to these questions. I was pacing like an animal when a guard came and opened the door, motioning for me to follow. I was lead to an office in which sat a bloated, corpulent man with beady little rat’s eyes. Jerry Driver and I had come face to face for the first time.

He seemed to have a pleasant enough attitude as he introduced himself. He started asking questions and I answered honestly, thinking there was no reason not to. He asked why we were in the trailer, and I told him we had run away because her parents wouldn’t leave us alone. No, we didn’t know where we were going, and no, we didn’t know what we were going to do once we got there. We figured it would come to us in time.

This is where things started getting weird. The smile never left his face, which looked like folds of uncooked dough. “Have you heard anything about Satanists around town?”

I thought that a bit odd, but answered, “No.”

He continued to press on—“You haven’t heard anything about Satanists, plans to commit sacrifices or break into churches?” His beady little rat’s eyes gleamed at me, like he was really starting to get off on thinking about this stuff.

You could tell something just wasn’t right about him.

I was pretty certain I would have remembered a roving pack of bloodthirsty devil worshipers if they had passed me on the street while chatting about such topics, so I told him, “I’m pretty certain I don’t.” He seemed to be considering something as he chewed his bottom lip with tiny, yellow stained, rat teeth.

Finally he shifted his obese bulk to pull something out of his desk.

I could practically see his whiskers twitch as he said, “What can you tell me about this?” The object he held was Deanna’s little green diary. I wanted to reach out for it, but knew it was pointless. I brushed aside his question, knowing that it would be like trying to explain something to the Spanish inquisition.

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