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  The story I was told--courtesy of everyone’s favorite FBI Agent--is that before Jenna and I had taken off to go eat at The Sawmill that night, Jenna had said a few simple words that struck Ralph like a slap to the face, opening an avenue of possibility that he, for a reason he could only chalk up to "blind ignorance", had never thought to explore.

  Geez, Dan. Talk about you picking the perfect time to vacation in Jacob’s Bluff.

  She had said it only moments before we walked out the door, and she might have said it only intended for me. But still, Ralph had heard, and his gears immediately had started to turn. Ralph might have been getting up there in years, but his memory was still sharp as a tack, and his intuition never slowed. He processed Jenna’s sentence, and when we left, he sat at the table and thought long and hard. When he thought he had his facts straight he called to Minnie, asking for further verification. After some discussion she confirmed exactly what he had thought. On the nights of both the murders, I had been away from the Sanderson Homestead. Both of the following mornings saying I had gone to the movies. Jenna’s words had made Ralph think for the first time that the only thing that had changed in Jacob’s Bluff since before the murders was my arrival. With Ralph’s curiosity peaked, and his bloodhound police nose picking up a trail, his eyes found their way to my laptop sitting only inches away from him. Thinking that there was no way he was going to leave the right stone unturned, he slid around to the other chair and pressed the spacebar on the keyboard. The screen came to life and Ralph found himself face to face with my manuscript that Jenna had been reading. His eyes looked to the top of the screen at the title of the document, and when he saw the word "Jackson" his cop mind immediately made the connection, instantly remembering the Holiday Inn alias.

  And so he read. And he read. And he read. Fast and frantic he had scanned the pages, eventually finding what deep down he feared he would find; the chapters that detailed both the murders.

  He called Special Agent Collins and told him what he had found, and then he called Herbie. He took Minnie, rushing her out of the house and to the Oldsmobile, and drove her to the police station. There he dropped Minnie off to stay with Herbie and met Agent Collins. Together they rode off in the Crown Vic, in search of me, finally having a name to their elusive town murderer.

  They went to The Sawmill first, rushing into the place and finding Jenna and I gone. Chuck told them that we hadn’t left but maybe ten minutes before. With that news they piled back into the car, sending out my description and my Jeep’s make and model across all the radio waves. Agent Collins was the one who suggested Larendale--admitting his incorrect guess to me, as I think he blames himself some for what happened--thinking that I’d be taking Jenna back to her hotel, or maybe out on the town. It was Ralph who had suddenly gotten the idea--another of his instinctive premonitions--that they stop and turn around. Agent Collins said he only questioned Ralph once, but then he saw the look in the man’s eye and did a U-turn right in the middle of the road when they were maybe halfway to Larendale. Fifteen to twenty minutes later they pulled back up to the house and found my Jeep.

  "No lights on," Ralph had said.

  "Circle the house once," Agent Collins had responded. "See what we find."

  Agent Collins went one way, Ralph the other. And just before they met each other around the back, Agent Collins had heard the sound of the tractor coming from the barn.

  "I could barely believe what I was seeing when I went in," he told me. "But I knew I had to take you down." He said this last part with a bit of a sneer.

  And so he had tackled me, and as he was wrestling to cuff me on the ground, Ralph had come in, panting, and after taking in the scene, rushed to the back corner of the barn, digging through his shelves of tools until he found his hatchet. He cut Jenna down, with no choice but to let her crumple to the ground as he did so, and then rushed to perform CPR. Agent Collins got the cuffs on me and pulled out his cell to dial 911.

  Jenna didn’t die, but there’re a lot of people who feel that maybe it would have better if she had. She remained in a coma for six months after Ralph cut her down, and when she finally woke up the damage the lack of oxygen her brain had suffered was immediately apparent.

  Her speech was nothing but mumbled slurs; sounds and grunts that might have started as words in her head, but came out as nothing but gibberish. Paralysis rendered the left side of her body completely nonfunctioning, and she was left with so little control of her right side she still couldn’t perform even the simplest of tasks. She wasn’t a complete vegetable, but her life was essentially over.

  America’s Justice System took swift action with me and I let it. I was appointed an attorney, of course, but I didn’t need one. I pled guilty to every charge they could think of for me. My lawyer said I should try the insanity route. I told him that yes, I was probably insane, but that was all the more reason for me to go to jail, not an excuse to stay out.

  And so, with my guilty plea, a jury of my peers convicted me on all counts and I was sentenced by the state of Oklahoma to death by lethal injection.

  Chapter 50

  So now we are at the end. I’ve been writing this manuscript by hand on notebooks from my cell on Death Row at the Oklahoma State Penitentiary for the past few weeks. I’ve been here a little over six years, and honestly I just don’t see why it’s taken them so long to juice me.

  I’ve had lots of time--lots of time--to think about all that has happened in my past, and the more I thought about it, the more I just felt like I needed to write it all down, get my story out, the whole story. I think there are some lessons to be learned from my experiences and my hardships, and if I’ve done nothing else right in my lifetime at least I can get some peace in knowing that maybe somebody will read this one day and it’ll keep them from making a wrong decision; from taking the first few footsteps down a dangerous path. That may never happen, but at least I know I tried.

  Jackson doesn’t talk to me anymore. He used to from time to time the first few years I was here, but I had lost all use for him and chose to always ignore him. I guess he eventually just gave up and allowed himself to be absorbed out of my subconscious and back into the nothingness of my imagination from which he was birthed. I don’t miss him. I wish I had never met him.

  Which brings me to one of my lessons: Do not be afraid to get help. My life--although at my own fault--took a hard spiral into hell real quick with a single car crash. I knew I was hanging on by a thread, and I knew that my mind was not in a healthy state. There are trained and highly educated professionals in this world that specialize in grief counseling, and all other sorts of mental wellness. I should have been wise enough to seek one out. I didn’t, and you saw how I ended up. Once the ball starts rolling, you’d be amazed at how fast it picks up speed.

  The next advice I’m offering is to fear love. I know, it sounds crazy, but hear me out. Love is the reason I did what I did. My love for Amy, the wife who I still to this day do not close my eyes at night without thinking of, drove me to the brink of insanity and then pushed me right in. Our love that we shared kept us safe together, and without her I was vulnerable, helpless. Love is great thing, one of the best and most powerful things us as humans get to experience. It is the cause of much joy, passion, and pleasure. But remember this: while everybody is eager to jump headfirst into love, not many stop and think about what will happen if their love is stolen from them. If suddenly where there was once tremendous warmth inside you there was left nothing but a dark, cold, gaping hole. How would you react?

  The more I reflect on the way I acted in Jacob’s Bluff the more it feels like the whole time I was living in a trance. I felt no guilt or remorse, and I saw nothing wrong with killing for my own benefit. Some of this was Jackson, no doubt, but a lot of it was me too. My third year in prison I summoned the courage and took the time to sit down and write three very lengthy letters to the families of my victims--Jenna included. I put much thought and effort into them, choosing my words caref
ully and fully aware of the fact that I would forever be an image of hatred in their lives. Still, I was sympathetic, and did my profound best to apologize. I don’t know if the letters were ever even opened, as I got no response from any of the families. But again, I can’t say I didn’t try.

  I hope this manuscript will make it to print someday, and if it does I’ll take this opportunity to try again. To the families of Heather Morris, Alexis Creasy, and Jenna McMurray; I am forever, and truly, sorry.

  The novel I started, Jackson: The Beginning, was obviously never completed--I must have known all along it wouldn’t have been--and God willing will never be read by anyone else again. My laptop was confiscated by the FBI once I was arrested, and I don’t know what happened to it after that. The only copy of the novel went with it, so I hope the hard drive was eventually destroyed.

  Well, ladies and gentlemen, I think I’ve finally said all that I need to say, and not a moment too soon. Two days from now they’ll be strapping me down and sticking an IV in my arm, offering the sweet release I attempted to give myself all those years ago in Ralph Sanderson’s bathtub. Their methods here will be much more precise than an electric toaster, and for that I’m thankful.

  Before I go, closing this notebook for the last time, I offer one last bit of information. If there is nothing else to be learned from my story, I think it’s this. Before the next time you ignore somebody or trust someone, before you discredit or dismiss, before you judge or fail to judge, remember these words: Our society as a whole is obsessed with finding and labeling the good and the evil. But in reality, we’re all capable of anything.

  Goodbye.