Yours for Eternity: A Love Story on Death Row (3 page)

The more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve come to realize that these letters show the secret imaginations that guided Damien and me through all the things that we’ve accomplished—in our love, and in the world. We didn’t know what was going to happen when we started writing to each other, but looking back it’s uncanny how many things that we wrote about in those first letters actually became our reality.

These letters that cover a vast part of our eighteen years together are a gift to us both. I don’t know many marriages that have a diary, a written record from the very beginning. While our circumstances were certainly not ordinary, the evolution and creativity in our courtship, and in our ongoing commitment to each other, are similar to what many people in lifelong relationships experience. It’s universal. What I want to impart through our correspondence is that no matter what anyone may be going through, here’s the thing: If you love each other, and if your relationship is worth the pain or the hardship, stay with it. The extraordinary treasure of sharing another person’s life is one of the most gratifying experiences of being a human being.

Writing this book also gives Damien and me the opportunity to see again who we were and, in striking contrast, who we are now. Inside and outside of our marriage. Our relationship has been probed and questioned, and while we may not always have the answers, this is our side of the story.

Lorri Davis

New York, 2014

postscript, 2014

Looking back through these letters is like walking through a haunted house. In a lot of ways, I’ve tried to live my life with the motto “Don’t look back.” There are just too many ghosts following behind. Especially as I grow older. It seems like something happens every day to remind me that I’m not a young man. My steps aren’t quite as certain as they were ten years ago. There are more strands of white in my hair and beard. And last night as we were getting off the bus, Lorri got her finger caught in the door and nearly broke it. It hurts my heart to see it today, the way it’s swelling and turning black. Neither of us is as resilient as we once were. Looking back only reminds me of that even more.

Another thing I’m reminded of is how scared I was in the beginning. The reason I kept all of Lorri’s letters at first was that I was scared that sooner or later she’d leave. That one day the letters would slow to a trickle, and then disappear altogether. I thought perhaps she’d meet someone else, someone she could actually touch, could fuck, could build a life with. Or that she’d realize how long and miserable the battle was that stretched out before her and decide it just wasn’t worth it. I think that was because no one I’d ever known had ever stuck with me before. Sooner or later, every single person I’d ever known had either betrayed, left, or forgotten me. Every single friend, every family member, every lover. That was all I knew, and I didn’t realize that life could be any other way. So I kept those letters, protected them as if they were the dearest treasure in the world, because part of me believed that one day they would be the only thing left of this beautiful and maddeningly magickal time of my life when I actually felt alive. I believed they would be all I had left of Lorri. I protected them like I was protecting my heart. Looking back I also see how I was never really even alive until I arrived on death row. I was beginning to be born on the day I was sentenced to death.

Another thing I realize in hindsight is how very little I ever wrote about the torture I was going through. These letters are completely void of the beatings, the starvation, and the psychological trauma I was enduring on a pretty regular basis. There are a couple of reasons for that. The first is that it played no part and had no place in the world we were creating together. And it was indeed a world that we were creating. Even though we were separated by space in the physical world, we were together in every other realm—the emotional, the mental, the astral, the etheric. The only part of us that wasn’t joined together was our skin. Letter by letter, story by story, we were building a secret place that was far removed from daily prison life. We were building a packet of magick that became our refuge and sanctuary—and I did not want the horrors of my physical situation to seep into that place and corrupt it. I wanted to keep it as pure as I possibly could.

The other reason? Because I didn’t want Lorri to have to carry that burden. Imagine the person you love most in all the world being tortured and abused right in front of you, and there being absolutely nothing you could do about it but sit and watch. The torture, pain, and humiliation isn’t something that lasts an hour—or even a day. It’s something that goes on year after year, with no end in sight and no way to change it. Having to witness something like that is the stuff that Hell is made of—and there was no reason to heap that weight on top of everything else that Lorri was carrying. She was already carrying more than any human should ever have to.

Another interesting thing about looking back is how my understanding and practice of magick grew throughout the years. In my youth I viewed the practice of magick as something “special” and separate from the rest of life. It was something you broke out on special occasions, like Christians who only think of their god for an hour on Sunday. As more and more time passed, magick became part of my every waking moment. I eventually learned that we’re doing magick all the time—most people are just doing it unconsciously. Over time I began doing magick nonstop. I’d begin doing it before I ever got out of bed in the morning, just to make the day go as smoothly as possible. I’d do it so that I could call Lorri on time, with as little interference from guards and malfunctioning phone lines as possible. If I lost or misplaced something, I’d do magick to find it. If I was being plagued by a particularly vile guard, I’d do magick to banish him from my life.

Then there was the ultimate goal of my freedom. The last year that I was in prison, I began doing magick for hours a day to secure my release. Within one year, freedom came to me like a sudden landslide.

Damien Echols

New York, 2014

April 10, 1996

Lorri,

Thank you so much for writing. I’ve been waiting. I knew that sooner or later someone would take notice. You have no idea how much it means to me for people to offer their support. You asked if there was anything you could do to help. You’ve already helped more than you know, just by writing. Thank you. Do you have any idea how it feels to be called a killer by everyone who sees you, even though you know you’re innocent? I go through hell every day, sitting here waiting to die for something I didn’t do. It’s a nightmare.

Thank you for the review of the film. I had heard about it, but this was the first chance I’ve had to read it.

Yes, I have a way to listen to music. I have a radio that stays on 24 hours a day. Music has always touched me in ways that nothing else can, the way some people are touched by art or poetry. I think that if they took away my music, I would die. Music and reading are pretty much what I live for at this point in time.

The way you described the place you grew up, I guess our situations were pretty much the same. Even though everyone there hated me, it was still my home. I loved the land, if not the people. No matter where I moved, I always came back to West Memphis.

Yes, Father Damien’s plight was something that really drew me, amazed me, and interested me. I’ve always been amazed by people who would spend their lives serving a cause, even though they knew they would never be rewarded for it.

It seems that this film is beginning to turn things in my favor a little. There have been several small articles in various papers recently that seem to be pointing to my innocence. Every little bit helps.

There is also a book out now about my case, that’s helping a little. It’s called
The Blood of Innocents
. There’s another one being written even now that should
really
help.

What do I think of the review? Well, it’s better than some things that have been written about me. I’m not complaining.

Well, Lorri, I’m closing for now, but I truly hope to hear from you soon.

Forever here,

Damien

p.s. What did the other people who saw the film seem to think of it?

April 13, 1996

Damien,

I am so happy you wrote back. Now I can explain a little more about the film and what happened afterward. First of all, I love movies more than most things—but I’m pretty picky about what I see. I don’t see many documentaries—but a friend of mine had tickets to
Paradise Lost
, and for some reason—I really wanted to see it. The description in the film series program (New Directors/New Films) did not prepare me for what I saw. Both directors were present at the screening—and there were 400 people in the theater. They had a question and answer session after the movie—and everyone more or less voiced the same opinion—how could this have happened? I, by that time, was already on my way to one of the strangest of weeks I’ve ever experienced.

By the way, the questions most asked after the movie had something to do with that knife—the audience found the whole case ludicrous, and were amazed that a guilty verdict was delivered with no evidence save that incredibly incompetent confession—which wasn’t even used in your case.

So . . . I came home that night and I couldn’t sleep—I couldn’t stop thinking about your situation. It started getting increasingly worse. I lost my appetite. It’s all I could talk about.

Damien—now I’m prone to being maybe a bit obsessive, maybe a bit too idealistic, definitely too sensitive—but I also think I’m pretty realistic and level-headed. Well, something happened—my friends
thought I was losing my mind—all I knew was I couldn’t stop thinking about you in that place—knowing—it was all so very wrong. I see and hear and read about injustices all the time. Unfortunately, I see people starving in the streets, here, I read about people dying for no reason. And yes, I hate it—but nothing has ever gotten through to me like you did. Maybe it’s because you remind me a little of myself—I don’t even know how, maybe growing up the way we did. I really can’t explain it. One thing in my life that has never failed me is intuition or insight or being slightly psychic—call it what you want—but when something is so strong in my head—I know I must follow it. It didn’t even occur to me to write to you for a few days. Then I decided I had to help you in any small way I could. It’s something I really want to do.

So I’ll start by sending you books. And since I don’t know what you like to read, I’m sending you:

1. A book by my favorite writer—Julio Cortazar called
Cronopios and Famas
. J.C. can be very silly, but he’s so magical. If you like this one—you’ll like his other stuff because this is one of the most obscure of his books.

2.
Franny and Zooey
by J. D. Salinger—you’ve probably read this—but I keep this book wherever I go. Whenever I’ve been so sad that I can barely go on, I read this and it helps—so I hope it will help you.

3.
Heart of a Dog
—this book is just so funny to me. I think the writer is an ironic genius.

Please don’t hesitate to tell me what you want to read. It’s so easy to send books. As a matter of fact, I request that you send me a list of things. Do you like magazines?

Let me explain how I feel about this . . . it breaks my heart that you are where you are and you are forced to endure it—so I am committed to doing whatever I can to make your life a little more bearable—so don’t hesitate to let me know if there is something you want.

By the way—your handwriting is so beautiful. Do you draw? I have a feeling you do. I feel a little more informed about you—I know it’s not very fair. I know what you look like, what your temperament seems to be—you seem
very
composed and intelligent. It makes me feel a little sad—but what do you do—movies are like that. If you want to tell me more about yourself, please do. I’d be very interested. You just seem like a “true” person. I hope you know what I mean.

Damien, I promise I’m not a weirdo—(I was laughing when I wrote that).

I’m just following my heart on this one and I want to be a friend to you for as long as you want me to be—and maybe we really can become friends. If you haven’t noticed, I love to write.

But, I will close for now.

Thank you for writing back to me.

Sincerely,

Lorri

P.S. I love to go back to West Virginia. I know what you were talking about—I love the land there—I love how quiet it is. One of my closest friends grew up in Arkansas—she calls the two places parallel universes! I’ve been to Arkansas—and I agree—the mountains are the same, the people, even the accent. My family still lives there and I go back as often as I can—but they don’t really get me much there. Sometimes I feel stunted when I go there—verbally.

—Is it OK to send you packages?

—Do you have a Walkman or way to listen to tapes?

Bye for now,

Lorri

April 1996

Lorri,

You have no idea how it made me feel when you said the audience had a positive reaction to the film. I thought my heart was going to burst. It gives me hope. Thank you so much.

So, your friends thought you were losing your mind over this case, huh? I just wish everyone could see the film and be as open-minded as you were. Here in Arkansas, I’m a very hated person, because everyone believes all they hear. They don’t even bother to look at the actual evidence, they just listen to rumors and gossip.

I have beautiful handwriting? Thank you. No, I can’t draw, even if my life depended on it. Jason’s the artist, I’m the poet. I’m sending one of the latest things I’ve written, so be sure to tell me what you think. I wrote it about two weeks ago.