by John Glatt
“I don’t love him,” she would later say. “I don’t want him. I’m scared of him.”
* * *
That summer, as Michelle Knight and Gina DeJesus lay chained together in the pink room, they bonded into a sisterhood. They told each other their life stories and discussed their most intimate secrets. They regularly endured terrible indignities together, inflicted by Castro, including sharing the same filthy plastic portable toilet, which he rarely emptied.
When he was out working, they watched the ancient TV he had given them, and it was their only window to the outside world. Michelle warned Gina never to let “the Dude” catch them watching any programs with African Americans in them, or they’d be punished.
“We liked The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and Friends,” Michelle later told People magazine. “At least we were looking at the same things the rest of the world was looking at, even if we were locked up in a prison.”
He also gave all three of his captives spiral notebooks, so they could keep journals and draw pictures. He would sometimes sneak a peek in them to see what they were saying about him, and be hurt if they ever criticized him.
“I wrote every day,” said Michelle. “Poems. Songs. Dreams of how I wished everything could be different.”
Michelle even made a list of what she needed for an imaginary camping trip, including: underwear, sleeveless T-shirt, long sleeves for when it’s cold, shorts, long johns, socks, compass, hiking boots, peanuts, chocolate-chip cookies and pegs.
The most prolific writer was Amanda Berry, who used her journals to mark the passage of time, carefully chronicling her everyday life as a prisoner, as well as the horrible sexual abuse she suffered.
Amanda kept three distinct journals: the “Blue Journal,” detailing her molestation by Ariel Castro; the “Miss Shady Hand Crafted Items,” containing her personal notes and drawings; and a black journal titled “Love,” in which she described herself as a “prisoner of war.”
She also wrote daily letters to her mother about her ordeal, and her hopes for them to be reunited one day.
“The journals have extreme detail,” said attorney Craig Weintraub, who would later read them. “And parts of them are very graphic about what occurred inside the house. The journals describe their relationships [with each other and Castro], the food, the clothing, the bathroom, the shower, the television and the chains and sex.”
Most nights, Ariel Castro would come into the pink bedroom and rape Michelle or Gina, as they gripped the other’s hand for comfort. He would also beat them in front of each other, although Michelle would always be hit harder.
“Hers were more like a smack,” said Michelle. “Mine was more like a fist. There were times that he would hit her too … and I would jump in front of her and take the hit.”
* * *
On Wednesday, July 15, Ariel Castro brought Emily and Arlene into the Cleveland Police Department’s First District Station, where they accused Fernando Colon of sexually molesting them. But as Castro no longer had custody of his daughters, Nilda was called in to sign a release form.
“The first I knew of any criminal allegations against Fernando,” she said, “was the day I was asked to sign a release form so that my daughters could talk to the detectives.”
When Nilda arrived at the police station, she was greeted outside by Ariel Castro.
“He was laughing and excited,” Nilda later testified. “He told me to go along with the complaints against Fernando, and he would buy me a new car. I told him I don’t need anything from [you].”
Then Castro suggested that after Emily and Arlene talked to the police, they all go out to dinner.
“Castro believes that we will be together again,” she said. “He told me that [Fernando] would know what it’s like to be on the other side of the badge.”
Six days later, Ariel Castro drove his daughters to the Justice Center, where they repeated their allegations to Detective Arthur King. With their father looking on encouragingly, they told the detective how their stepfather had been touching them for years.
“I was about eight or nine years old,” Emily said in her statement, “and I woke up to him touching me under my clothes. We slept upstairs and they had a bedroom downstairs. And every night around twelve or one he would go into our room and just feel on me under my clothes.”
Arlene told the detective how she had been molested by Fernando too.
“The first time … I was seven or eight,” Arlene said in her statement. “Me and my sister was sleeping in the living room. He came downstairs and … started touching on me and started feeling on me. And I don’t remember him penetrating me. I woke up and he said, ‘If you ever tell anybody this I would hurt you.’ He went back upstairs and I went back to sleep.”
Arlene said her stepfather next touched her when she was asleep on the couch.
“He started feeling on my chest,” she said. “I got up and went to my room and locked the door.”
The third incident she alleged happened when she was sleeping on the couch, and he came in to clean the living room.
“He started touching on my butt,” she told the detective. “Then I looked up and went to my room.”
A few hours later, police arrested Fernando Colon on suspicion of kidnapping and rape as he protested his innocence. When he was later released on bail, he moved out of his house into a nearby hotel, until a grand jury could meet to decide whether the case would go to trial.
* * *
Two weeks later, Emily Castro was hospitalized for three days, after taking a drug overdose at her aunt Sonia’s house. After she was admitted to Lutheran Hospital, Nilda telephoned Ariel Castro to let him know. He told her he did not care. But the next morning, he arrived at the hospital with breakfast for Emily.
The doctors told Nilda that Emily had overdosed on methamphetamine and marijuana. When she asked Emily about it, she replied that her father had given her the money to buy the drugs.
After she was discharged from the hospital, Emily moved back in with her mother, while Fernando Colon moved into his sister Sonia’s house, until the molestation accusations could be resolved.
* * *
By the fall, everything seemed to be going according to plan for Ariel Castro. Not only had he successfully kidnapped three women, but his vendetta against Fernando Colon was well under way.
His job was also going well, and despite his suspension for leaving the young boy on the bus, the Cleveland School District had just given him a raise to $17.26 an hour. He also had the summer off while the schools were out.
Inside 2207 Seymour Avenue, Castro now began referring to Amanda Berry as his wife, and gave her a new color television. Most evenings, Michelle and Gina would hear Amanda going downstairs to his room, where they spent hours watching television together.
“I had no idea if he still had her chained up or what,” said Michelle.
After informing Michelle and Gina that he and Amanda were now “married,” he started taking them outside into the backyard, which was littered with barbwire, rusty chains and plastic tarps, where he would rape them.
“This made me wonder,” said Michelle, “if, in his twisted mind, maybe he thought he should try to hide from her all the sex he was still having with me. He kept on raping Gina too.”
* * *
With everything running smoothly with his three prisoners, Castro settled into a daily routine. Every morning, he would carefully lock the bedroom doors and leave the house by the back entrance to pick up his school bus at the depot. Then he would drive it to the Burger King on West 110th and Lorain Avenue, where he had snatched Amanda Berry, for his morning coffee.
“He used to park his bus down on the hill,” recalled Ashley Bright, who served him. “He came in his uniform and the black leather hat. ‘Hi, how are you doing?’ Then he’d have his coffee and leave.”
Around nine-thirty, after finishing his morning route, he would park his yellow school bus outside his house with the engine running,
and go in carrying large bags of McDonald’s and sodas.
“What brought that to my attention,” said Israel Lugo, who lives three doors away, “is that my daughter at the time was taking the school bus, and it would pick her up in front of the house.”
On several occasions, Castro parked the bus outside Lugo’s house after his morning shift, so his young daughter’s bus had to stop in the middle of the street, blocking traffic.
“I would get upset,” said Lugo, “so I started watching his movements. And sure enough, every morning he had a bag of McDonald’s and he’d park his bus there and leave it for at least forty-five minutes to an hour. He went in the house and came back out. Clockwork. He did this every day for a long time.”
Over the next few years, Castro’s yellow school bus became a well-known sight on Seymour Avenue.
“He used to park the school bus here all the time,” said Jovita Marti, who lived opposite. “He’d go in [to his house] and stay maybe half an hour, forty-five minutes, and then go. Every day. Sometimes twice a day. We saw him plenty of times with a big bag of McDonald’s. I thought, he’s a single man and probably eats from McDonald’s all the time.”
Then in the evening, Castro would come home and be very visible.
“He’ll jump on his motorcycle,” said Lugo, “and take off for a little bit. Then he’ll come back and switch his clothes and jump in his car and take off. It was Ariel doing Ariel.”
Castro also drove his school bus over to Tito DeJesus’s house, picking up musical equipment for gigs.
“I’d walk out the door and [say], ‘Dude, you’re bringing a bus over here in front of my house?’ He’d say, ‘Do you want to go for a ride?’ I’m like, ‘No, Ariel, I bussed when I was a kid. I don’t want to go on a school bus again.’”
On hot summer nights, Castro would often hang out at his neighbors’ barbecues, strumming Latin songs on his guitar.
Neighbor Juan Perez had known Ariel Castro since he was six years old and liked him.
“He was a nice guy,” said Perez. “He gave the kids rides up and down the street on his four-wheeler.”
But some found it strange how Castro never entered his house through his front door, and had all his windows boarded up.
“His windows were always closed,” said Altagracia Tejeda, who lived opposite. “I never, ever saw a window open or the curtains drawn.”
Every night he would turn on his porch light, although he never sat outside. And no one was ever allowed in the house, except his brothers Pedro and Onil and the few musicians that came over to practice.
“You can’t even put a foot on the step,” said Lugo, “he didn’t like that. He was very protective.”
Castro kept his growing collection of cars, motorcycles and his red pickup truck in his garage, where he would often work on them.
A few times a week, Castro went over to his mother’s house for a family dinner. After eating he would suddenly leave without a word, before returning later as if nothing had happened.
“He would disappear for an hour or so and then come back,” said his eldest daughter, Angie. “And there would be no explanation where he went.”
According to Michelle Knight, Pedro and Onil Castro regularly visited the house, while she, Amanda and Gina were chained up.
“The brothers never knew about us,” she said, “and they were too drunk to know. They’d have a six-pack before they came over to the house, and they wouldn’t recognize the noise because the radio was on.”
On weekends, neighbors would often see him carrying his double bass out of the house, to take it to shows.
“He was a sharp dresser,” recalled Daniel Marti. “On Friday and Saturday nights he would dress up and go out and do his little gigs. He was a clean, very representable guy. He was popular because he played an instrument.”
Ariel Castro often played Belinda’s Nightclub, where he always came alone and was usually late.
“He would bring his instrument in and his amp,” said club owner Bill Perez. “Shake my hand and then have a beer and whatever.”
Tito DeJesus says Castro always dressed up for a gig, and fancied himself a ladies’ man.
“He would be suited up,” said Tito, “playing the bass and smiling. He would always wear these hats, because his hair had started thinning and he was very self-conscious. One day he shaved his head. He got a razor all the way down.”
After a couple of beers, Castro always wanted to dance.
“He would go pick out a stranger and say, ‘Want to dance?’” recalled DeJesus. “And many times they would say no.”
But the arrogant bassist always refused to take no for an answer, and pestered the women to dance with him.
“He would come back very mad,” said DeJesus, “because they didn’t want to dance with him. I would say to him, ‘You shouldn’t do that, you’re going to embarrass yourself.’
“But he’d say, ‘Yeah, but still look who I am. I’m a bass player. I’m onstage.’ I told him, ‘Who cares. You can be Liberace. You can be the president; if they don’t want to dance with you, you can’t force them to dance with you.’”
Daniel Marti also saw him harassing women on the dance floor.
“If he liked a girl he’d be bothering and bothering her,” he said. “And the girl would say, ‘No. No.’ But he would keep insisting and trying to go out with her. And women just blew him away. Women just didn’t like being around him.”
Then after the audience left at around 3:00 A.M., Castro would buy large amounts of fried pastelillos, shish kebabs or fried pork left over at the concession stand, to take home.
“So at the end of the gig on Saturdays,” said Perez, “Ariel would buy twenty-five to thirty dollars’ worth of food. We all knew he was single and has no one to take care of, so we all wondered why is he buying so much food?”
* * *
That fall, Lillian Roldan’s mother died and she asked Ariel Castro to lend her the fare to Puerto Rico for the funeral.
“I called him,” Lillian recalled. “I said I needed a favor as I want to see my mother. And he lent me a thousand dollars to go to Puerto Rico.”
When she returned she repaid him, as he told her he did not want to see her anymore.
* * *
In mid-September, Ariel Castro, Jr., moved to Fort Wayne, Indiana, after graduating with a degree in journalism from Bowling Green State University. He had spent a year living in Rochester, New York, where he had interned on the Democrat and Chronicle newspaper. He had recently gotten married, and had been hired as a reporter on the Fort Wayne Journal Gazette.
On the way there, he brought his new wife, Monica, to 2207 Seymour Avenue to meet his father. Monica had heard horrendous stories about Ariel Castro, and how he had abused the family growing up.
“They were like hostages in their own house,” she said. “[My father-in-law] always gave me the heebie-jeebies. I don’t think we were there more than twenty minutes.”
While she was there, Monica did not see anything suspicious.
“I had always heard how he locked everything, like, obsessively,” she said. “So if I’d seen a lock, I’m not sure I would have thought it was out of the ordinary.”
While they were in Cleveland, Nilda Figueroa told her son about his sisters’ allegations of sexual molestation by Fernando Colon.
“She didn’t believe them,” Ariel, Jr., would later explain, “as she talked to my sisters and talked to Fernando. But she … didn’t want to be in the middle at the same time.”
* * *
On November 1, 2004, a grand jury indicted Fernando Colon on twenty-eight charges of rape, kidnapping, and molestation. Detective King’s case to the grand jury was based solely on Emily and Arlene’s statement, although they could not give specific dates when the alleged molestations had occurred.
14
“SHE’S NOT ALIVE, HONEY”
On Wednesday, November 17, 2004, Louwana Miller appeared on The Montel Williams Show, asking TV p
sychic Sylvia Browne what had happened to Amanda. A year earlier, Louwana had first seen Browne on the show, and was convinced she could help find her daughter. So she’d enlisted the help of WOIO-TV reporter Bill Safos, who had arranged for her to appear on the nationally syndicated show.
“Louwana was so excited,” recalled Safos. “It had been nearly a year of asking me and here we were, the moment she’s waiting for.”
At the start of the show, Montel Williams ran a brief videotape about Amanda Berry’s disappearance before introducing Louwana, to the applause of a studio audience.
“It’s been a year and a half since I’ve heard anything from my daughter,” Louwana told Williams. “I need to speak with Sylvia to see if she can help me find out where my daughter is.”
After asking several questions about her daughter, the TV psychic said she saw Amanda’s black hooded jacket in a Dumpster with DNA on it. Louwana then told her that it was believed that Amanda had got into a white car with three people inside.
“There was only one person,” said Browne. “Now the thing that gets me is this sort of Cuban-looking [man], short, kind of stocky build, heavyset.”
“Can you tell me if they’ll ever find her?” asked Louwana, close to tears. “Is she out there?”
“She’s…,” began the psychic. “See, I hate this when they’re in water. I just hate this. She’s not alive, honey. And I’ll tell you why. Your daughter is not the type that wouldn’t have checked in with you if she was alive.”
“Right. Right,” Louwana agreed.
“But I’m sorry they didn’t find the jacket … because that had DNA on it.”
“Is there any way … this case will be solved?” asked Louwana.
“I think it will,” said Browne, “especially if they look for this person.”
“So do you ever think I’ll get to see her again?” Louwana sobbed.
“Yeah, in heaven. On the other side,” replied Browne.
“Let me take a little break,” said Montel Williams. “We’ll be right back.”
After Sylvia Browne’s grim prediction, Louwana finally lost hope that Amanda would ever be found alive. She went home and cleaned out her daughter’s bedroom, took down her pictures and gave away her computer. She told friends she was now “98 percent” sure that Amanda was dead, and was not buying “my baby” any more Christmas presents.
