Yours for Eternity: A Love Story on Death Row

by Damien Echols

  You forgot to ask about the numerology when you were here on Friday. Anyway, I don’t remember much about it, because it was something I barely even paid attention to. The main thing that I remember is that I was looking at the chart one day, and I thought, “If I have done this correctly, it means that I will be released within my 23rd year.” That’s it.

  And I do not want to hear even one more word about you being fat. I refuse to hear another word of it.

  I am going to go insane while you are in W. Virginia. I can feel it beginning to set in already. It’s a feeling of near panic. But I can handle it. I have to. It’s just three days. It’ll be much better when we go there together, but right now I am very jealous of that place.

  I am yours forever,

  Damien

  December 29, 1997

  My beautiful Damien,

  Damien, you must never feel sad because you think you don’t give me any presents—don’t you know you give me everything I could ever want every single day!?! You are the most miraculous gift. I don’t need or want anything else. Even when we are together, I still just want you. There is nothing this world has to offer that I want. Nothing. Just you, just your love. Anything else pales.

  I love you, my darling,

  Lorri

  February 5, 1998

  My Dearest Damien:

  This is going to be funny in a way—the first letter that I tell you all that has happened. Right now, I feel very, very down—for a lot of reasons, I think—because I can’t talk to you anymore. But Julie called and talked to me for about an hour and I found her very depressing . . . Stuart calls me every day wanting to talk about the clothes he is wearing in Egypt—and all I want to do is to talk to you. All the other stuff just makes me want to go to sleep. It’s funny, though, writing it down makes it seem “different.”

  *

  It’s so strange to me—these people, Julie, Susan, Stuart . . . well, not Susan so much—but the others. They will always ask about you—yet they know nothing, really. I mean Julie does somewhat and Stuart in another way—they just are always so respectful when they ask about you. Susan is different because anytime I talk to her, I am constantly talking about you—but sometimes she asks me things, she likes to ask me things about your legal situation, which I can’t always answer.

  Last night, when I told Linda—after a while she asked me what you (or we) were doing to prepare for your trial (!?).

  She said . . . “You should get a copy of the transcript and go over every point together—make sure he has an answer to each and every one of them.” She’s very practical. But Damien, when that trial is approaching, we will do stuff like that—because I will stop at nothing to get you out of there.

  I want to marry you more than anything, but this is what I mean when I say it has to be right, everything must be fixed.

  My dad told me once, when my grandfather was still alive, they were very close—when he was going up to visit he would say, “Dad, I’ll be up on Sunday.” He wouldn’t say, “I’ll be there at 12:00 on Sunday” because he knew if he were late at all, my grandfather would fret and fret. Sometimes I do that with my dad, now. I don’t tell him things that would worry him—there’s no point, but to hurt him, cause him pain—I inherited my “anxiety” from him—not that it’s an excuse, and I do want to fix it—especially now that it has been injected into you—but Damien, I will tell you everything, as if you were here living with me. And this is the start.

  *

  I just want everything to be where I want it to be, but I don’t want to wait. But that has always been the way I am.

  *

  Damien, I can’t wait to hear from these phone people . . . I get a nervous stomach (in a good way) whenever I think of being able to talk to you whenever we please. It will change our lives!! We could talk 2 hours on a Saturday! Make love, argue (and finish), tell stories—all of those things.

  Yours forever,

  Lorri

  postscript, 2014

  I made my first visit to Arkansas in the summer of 1996. So between phone calls, postage, and visits, by the fall of 1998 our relationship was taking a toll on my finances. But by that time, I had already made the decision to move south. I had no idea how my life was going to unfold; I just knew it lay in being closer to Damien and somehow playing a role in the fight for his freedom. I’ve always regarded that moment in time as when I switched to automatic pilot. I remained in that mode for a long, long time.

  I had only experienced the small town where the prison was located in Tucker, Arkansas. I knew I would never survive living there, so my initial plan was to relocate to New Orleans. I thought it would be close enough to visit Damien on a regular basis, and I could still live an interesting, urban lifestyle. I needed to know that I could find good coffee and French movies.

  I was wrong about New Orleans—I lived there for a month before it became clear that at seven hours away by car, it was too far. But before I left, there was one task I needed to undertake. Damien had been sending my letters to Rick in Baton Rouge, and I wasn’t comfortable with a stranger having access to them. It was 1998, before I had a cell phone, so I stopped at a pay phone and called to let Rick know I was going to his home to pick them up. New Orleans is a strange, spooky, wonderful place, but Baton Rouge just seemed scary to me. Maybe it was the fear of going to an unknown man’s house, who happened to be an undertaker. My gut was telling me to turn around, but I was determined to get my letters.

  It turned out to be much easier than I expected. Rick was as polite as can be, and I remember even having a lovely chat with him. However, there seemed to be a sign from the gods, a sight I recall as clear as if it were yesterday: I saw a car burning on the side of the road. It was pitch-black, and not another soul on the interstate. I saw it for a while before I got right next to it, and as it became a spot on the horizon behind me. That fire was one of the eeriest sights I’ve ever encountered.

  Shortly after my pilgrimage to Baton Rouge, I relocated once again to Little Rock, Arkansas, which turned out to be a lovely town with lots of big trees and Victorian houses. I set my sights on a beautiful brick 1856 row house with a porch swing, and within two years I would be living in one of the upstairs flats. The ceilings were fourteen feet tall, the windows were many and over seven feet tall, and it was surrounded by beautiful oak trees. I had a porch, had adopted some stray cats, and was soon at home in a very southern way.

  I didn’t know anyone, only a few people I had met at the prison on visitation. I managed to get a job in the city government as a park designer. No one at my new job knew anything about my connection to Damien, and as much as I disliked the undercurrent of lies that was forming in my life, I felt it was necessary in order to protect my privacy. I concocted a story that I was doing research about southern prisons for a documentary, thus setting up a weekly visit to Tucker. I managed my work hours around Damien time, and everything became about our schedule: daily phone calls, weekly visits, and the daily trip to the post office to mail letters.

  It’s hard to believe that my life would settle into a routine. I’d work through the week, then go see Damien on Fridays for three hours. We would talk every day; sometimes we’d go crazy and talk all day—both of us knowing we couldn’t afford it, but somehow we managed.

  Lorri

  February 6, 1998

  My Beautiful one,

  I am including Fr. Charles’s card. He and I just talked about him performing our wedding ceremony, and he said that he could do it, but there’s a lot of paperwork and stuff that would have to be gone through, an annulment. Anyway, he said it will take at least a year to go through it all. He said to give you this card, and for you to call him at the St. Judes number. We must talk more about this tomorrow.

  *

  I love you so very much. My life is yours.

  And I want to make love to you and hear you, too. But I think w
e should wait for that new phone line. Then it will be better. I miss hearing you. But I miss seeing you even more. I love you, Lorri.

  You have once again said something that would never have otherwise crossed my mind—about it being sad that our daughter would never experience a love like ours. I didn’t stop to think it was sad, because I was so caught up in us. But now that you have drawn my attention to it, it is sad.

  And Lorri, I understand perfectly what you were saying earlier, but it still hurts me, hearing you talk about those contact visits, knowing how badly you want them, and knowing that I can’t give them to you. I would cut off my hands to be able to just kiss you.

  Lover, sometimes I become scared because I think of being out there with you, just living for and with you—then I look around me and see where I am, and anything else seems too good to be true. I see these bars, and it sometimes feels that there will never, ever be a time when those bars are not there. You have no idea how that feels, what it’s like. It’s a nightmare that you can never wake up from. I can feel you so very close, I can hear, see, and even smell you—yet there is still a huge gulf between us, keeping me from reaching out and touching you. And then you must once again leave, and I must return to this burial chamber and continue to stare at these bars, thinking about what’s so very close, but beyond my touch. Sometimes the only thing that gives me the strength not to collapse is to hear your words, your voice, promising me that our time will come. You are my light. I just want to live in you. I don’t want to be touched by anything but you. You are my soul. I love you so much.

  *

  Lorri, I want you to be at those court hearings. It will be very scary without you there. I need you there. I’ve been thinking about the trial, too. I want you to come during the first few days, for the jury selection—but I don’t want you there during the state’s part—which is the first part—but I want you there during the defense. I was talking to Cally about it. We’ll talk about it more when the time draws near.

  I am yours for eternity,

  D.

  February 1998

  Damien, now I am in London. I slept on the plane—71/2 hours to get here and now I have five hours to wait here in the airport. I can’t stop seeing your beautiful face everywhere I go. You told me to concentrate on the thing about all of this that I like. Well, what I like is thinking of you so that is what I do. That is what I like best about this trip. And trying to stay happy that soon I will be back with you. Nothing out in this world matters to me. Nothing. There is nothing I can see or do that compares to how I feel when I hear your voice or see you.

  *

  I knew this would happen . . . the more “away” physically I am becoming, the closer I am feeling. And waves of emotion keep sweeping over me. I am able to think of everything—but differently. I do believe I will figure a lot out. I was just thinking of how angry you were at me on Friday night—Damien, we have to fix that, because I don’t want to feel like this ever again—I know there are so many things I don’t understand, but you’re right—never have you talked to me with such anger, such resentment—I’m not disregarding the situation—and I hate my reaction to you. Most of the time I just don’t know how to react, for I’ve never had to think like that before . . . Maybe if you told me what it is that makes you so angry—I know the obvious things, but when I asked you if I was a part of your anger—I am not being whiny or trying to make you feel bad—Damien, I want to fix it, I want to know what it is that has seeped in—because it makes me angry, too. I don’t want to hear you like that as much as you don’t want to be that way. But I have a lot to do, too. I want to take better care of us. You kept saying you couldn’t afford for us to be that way before I left. Damien, we can never afford to be that way. I want to know and I want you to know everything that I feel. I want to hold you like you are the most precious treasure on this earth, because you are. And while I cannot control the stupidity that surrounds you and continues to grow—I can be to you what I want to be, what I need to be—everything that you need, everything that you want. Don’t you know that’s what I am? I hope that while I am away you decide that you want to be with me as much as I need to be with you. There’s no question. I cannot live without you, but I don’t want it to be this way.

  *

  I wish your mother would let me have some baby photographs of you—or when you were little. I would love to have them. Even just one. Do you think she would? Would it be wrong to ask her? Damien, I just want to have it. I’ve seen a photo of you . . . in that movie, there is a picture of you and your sister. I used to freeze the screen so I could see it—but I don’t do that anymore.

  *

  Damien, I have just come from the Egyptian Museum and it truly has done something to me. All of those incredibly beautiful and magickal creatures. I have no doubt my love that you are of them. And after I saw Queen Tiye, who is the most beautiful woman and the face of Aka nation (sp?), I am so stricken. This is of you, purely of you, and even though it was like pulling teeth, thank you for allowing me to come here. For it is because of you. I know you feel so disappointed with this place now—there are things for me to learn and I would give anything to have you here with me, so I could learn. With you—I can do anything. As I walked through that place I never felt so sad, so loved, so happy, so beautiful—because I have you, because you are not far away from me and because I am coming home to you and more than everything—that I am going to marry you. And you are brilliant and beautiful and strong and mine.

  *

  It’s 7:42, almost time to speak to you. Tonight I will make love to you. I have been thinking of you constantly, my love. Damien, life is not going to remain “easy” for us until we are together. We want each other too much—even this, me seeing these things without you, it’s just not right.

  Tonight, I was talking to an Egyptian woman. She asked if Stuart and I were friends or what. I said yes, for a long time. She asked if I was married or in love. I said I was very much in love and then she said, “He is not jealous?” I said, “Yes, very much so, but not of Stuart (exactly)—other things.” She said, “Would you not be jealous if he went with a woman on a trip?” Oh Damien, it made me think, of course! I said, “I could never stand it, I would be out of my mind with jealousy.” Why have I been so stupid? My place is with you, never, ever with anyone else. I just know when we are living together, we will never be parted. Never, ever. It kills me to think how foolish I have been, I will make it up to you. I will, in so many ways. I am only devoted to you.

  *

  Just now, at 8:00, I put my hands on the rail in the bathroom, spread my legs standing up, on my toes, and felt you fucking me. It was the loveliest thing of the day. I hope you were doing the same.

  *

  Damien, I have so much to learn, I am only beginning. Words have been going through my head, like “beloved” and “loving desperately.” I like to think of you as my beloved, for you are. And as far as being “desperately in love” I feel that at times, too. I think it stems from not being able to touch you.

  *

  It’s Wednesday night. As each day goes by, I feel the weight on my heart grow lighter, as I get closer to you. At times I feel . . . what an incredible experience, but it isn’t without you. No one could ever understand but you that nothing means anything and I can’t feel anything without you. I can only hope you will want to hear about things I have done, or read these pages.

  One thing that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about is that I have been given a gift, Damien; the main purpose, the only purpose of my life is that I will be able to free you and love you, to live with you and have a child with you who will spread magick throughout her life. We just have to trust and hold on to that trust and love through the “tough times” and I mean the times we want each other so much that we could literally claw each other to death—I want, I need to be more careful, to be more careful of your heart, because it tears
me apart to see the effects things have on you. You are so very precious to me and I have made some seemingly bad decisions, but I always come around to where I need to be.

  Please know you are my life. Without you, I cease to live. I know this missive will be all over the place, jumping from thought to thought, from emotion to emotion, from place to place, from day to day. But I write anytime I get a spare second.

  *

  Today, a Muslim woman pulled me aside to tell me the importance of marriage. She told me that an Egyptian man marries only once, forever. Well, I told her that is the only true marriage—forever, nothing else is marriage, but how many wives does an Egyptian man have? Which, of course, was not the thing to say, but I will not be lectured when she has no idea what love is. No one can talk to me about it.

  *

  Thursday morning. I didn’t sleep at all last night—the nights are very hard for me—things come after me, will not leave me in peace—I tried to seek some peace reading Sandman—but it scared me even more. I am like a little girl, afraid of the dark, when morning comes I am all right. It is not good for me. It comes from being so far away from you. Last night my heart was beating so strongly. Several times I just sat up in bed, looked around me, wondered where I was. I was almost delirious. Yes, during the days I am stronger—and I am getting closer. I hope you are faring well, my love. I think of you constantly. I hope you are eating and sleeping and I hope you have peace of mind and are waiting for my return—as I am counting the minutes. If I find out when I get home that you have put another of your spells on me to make me miserable and not be able to sleep, I am going to wring your little neck. If I find out you’ve done this to me again, which after last night’s bout with the ghosts and how my heart was pounding—you will pay dearly, my little man. Don’t you think for a moment I am not capable of the same, however, it will be something else entirely. And if I arrive home and don’t find amongst my many missives from you a Valentine’s message, more wrath will come your way. I mean it. I don’t care, you have already spoilt me with last year’s beautiful card.