I'd like to preface this story by saying that in my youth, I was not a good person. People's opinions had a strong effect on me. The neighborhood I grew up in, Havenwood, was riddled with crime. As a result, most of those surrounding me were criminals. Seeing the smooth cars they drove and the clothes they wore made me believe that breaking the law was a cool way to move up in the world. Most of my friends thought the same way, and when they got involved in some bit of villainy, I was right behind them. Not joining in their crimes didn't seem to be a choice. The few times my gut told me their schemes were a bad idea, the questioning of my manhood put me back in line. They knew how to push my buttons and exploit my low sense of confidence. Growing up without a father can often do that to a man, and it took me a long time to learn how to overcome it. But the story isn't about that.
Throughout my younger life, I spent a large amount of time in some kind of jail or prison. It took a good 20 years to realize that path in life was a dead end. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a violent offender. Most of us weren't. My meaning is only to say that that kind of life gets you nowhere. And that was just where I was when I heard one of the sickest stories I've ever heard.
It was one of the many stints at a prison in Texas. I was moved from the local County Jail to serve the remainder of my 3-year sentence. I had learned over time that when sharing a cell with another man, it was important to be respectful and friendly, but to remember that no one was truly a friend. My new cellmate was a quiet, heavyset guy in his 40s. When I was moved in, he pointed to the bottom bunk, and I put my stuff down. I introduced myself, and he just sort of grunted and nodded his head. He appeared to be a quiet guy, and that was fine with me. Being a reader, I hated sharing a cell with a guy that talked constantly. He didn't offer his name, and I wasn't gonna push. If he wanted to know me, he'd tell me.
The first few days were quiet. We did our own things—chow and rec, usual prison stuff. On my third afternoon, as we were winding down after some gang members stabbed another, expecting the usual silent treatment from my cellmate, I rolled onto my bunk and cracked open a book. Minding my own business and focusing on my book, I hadn't paid attention to what he was doing.
I was shocked out of my own world by a low, gravelly voice above me. It was my cellmate. He began by asking me what I was in for. The shock of hearing him talk after all this time made me forget momentarily. "Oh, yes, sorry. Manufacturing meth and stuff. The usual for me," I replied. I knew he wanted to see my papers to verify, so I passed them up before he asked.
"Good to hear. If you were a pedo, I'd have killed you," he said. This wasn't a surprise to me. The usual attitude toward any guy that came in with any sort of child charges was "kill on sight." And if I was some kid-diddler, I deserved to die. He let out a low grunt in agreement, and I expected that to be all he had to say to me for god knows how long. But he was far from through.
"I've killed multiple men in my life, but I like killing pedos the most," he confessed. I was surprised a little by this. The fact that he told me my first day there that my soul mate was inside for making meth, so his talk about killing and talking so freely at that surprised me. Guys usually avoid talking about that stuff. There was a snitch around every corner. Maybe he was testing me or thought I'd be too scared to tell. Regardless of the reason, he didn't hesitate.
Being too curious to speak, I just listened as he told me the whole thing. "Back in '72, I was hitching across Texas. My dad had moved in with his girlfriend in New Mexico since my mama had kicked me out once I got expelled from school. My daddy's was the only place I had to go. Now, I ran into a dirty old beater every now and then, but not like the last one that picked me up. A long-haul trucker just took me as far as the New Mexico side of the state line, and I was hoping to get to my daddy soon 'cause I was running out of money. Had not seen anybody for a couple of miles."
"I managed to get picked up by this old man in a Ford truck. He seemed like a regular typeof guy, you know? Salt-and-pepper hair, wrinkled face, and a friendly smile. We exchanged a few pleasantries, and he told me he was heading towards Albuquerque. I figured that was close enough to where my dad lived, so I hopped in. We chatted about random stuff, and he seemed like a decent guy. Little did I know what he had in store for me."
"We drove for a while, and I was just enjoying the scenery when he suddenly pulled over to the side of the road. I thought maybe he had car trouble, but before I could react, he grabbed me by the neck, his grip like a vice. The friendly smile had vanished, replaced by a sadistic grin. I struggled, but he was much stronger than me. He dragged me out of the truck and threw me onto the ground. I was too disoriented to fight back effectively."
"He started laughing, a chilling sound that still haunts me to this day. He called me all sorts of names, vile things that no one should ever say to another human being. And then he told me his plan. He said he had a deep hatred for pedophiles, and he had dedicated his life to hunting them down. He claimed he had a 'special gift' for identifying them, as if he could see the darkness in their souls."
"He told me he had been tracking this particular pedophile for months, and he believed he had finally found him. He said he couldn't let me go because I might warn the guy or get in his way. I was just an innocent hitchhiker caught in his twisted game. He tied my hands and legs, gagged me, and threw me in the back of his truck. I was terrified, thinking I was going to become his next victim."
"He drove for what felt like hours, always keeping an eye on me through the rearview mirror. Finally, we arrived at a secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere. He dragged me out of the truck and threw me into a small, dark room. I was scared for my life, not knowing what he planned to do to me. I could hear him locking the door from the outside, leaving me trapped in that hellish place."
"As the days passed, I lost track of time. I could hear him talking to someone, but I couldn't make out the words. I wondered if there was another victim in the next room. I was weak, hungry, and desperate for any chance to escape. One day, he came into my room, untied me, and said, 'You're free to go.' I couldn't believe it. I thought he had changed his mind and was going to kill me. But he just opened the door and told me to run."
"I stumbled out of that cabin, not daring to look back. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, not knowing where I was or how far away from civilization. I eventually found a road and flagged down a passing car. The driver, a kind old lady, took me to the nearest police station. I reported everything that had happened, but they never found the man or the cabin. It was as if he had vanished into thin air."
"My cellmate fell silent after recounting his traumatic experience. I was left speechless, trying to process the horrifying story he had just shared with me. It was a chilling tale of survival and the darkness that can lurk in the hearts of men. Despite his own past as a criminal, he had become a victim himself, caught in the web of a deranged vigilante."
In the months that followed, my cellmate and I developed an unlikely bond. We shared our stories and supported each other through the hardships of prison life. He had found solace in sharing his tale, and I had found perspective in listening to it. It made me realize the importance of redemption and the power of overcoming one's past.
Years later, I was released from prison, a changed man. I dedicated my life to helping others break free from the cycle of crime, sharing my own story of redemption to inspire hope. My cellmate's story remained etched in my memory, a constant reminder of the darkness that can consume a person's soul and the strength it takes to rise above it.
"Shadows of Redemption" became the title of a book I wrote, chronicling my own journey and the stories of those I met along the way. It served as a testament to the power of redemption and the human capacity for change. Though my past was filled with shadows, I had found my own path to redemption, and I hoped my story would inspire others to do the same.