The murderer in the bright orange prison jumpsuit sat quietly on his own in the crowded visitor’s room. I sat down opposite him, surprised that I didn’t feel more scared.
As soon as I shook hands with Wayne, I saw his eyes were filled with sadness.
At 29, he was only seven years older than me, but our lives were worlds apart.
I was on holiday in Alabama from my home in Australia. He was on death row after he and an accomplice had robbed a pawn shop and shot the owner dead.
I was staying with a friend for a few months and she was involved in a scheme to support prisoners facing execution. She’d persuaded me to visit one, just to chat and offer comfort.
So here I was, talking to Wayne.
“You know, I was supposed to die today,” he told me. “But it got put off again. Dunno why.”
As a child, my mum had told me how opposed she was to capital punishment. Now, I understood.
Wayne lived in constant uncertainty. Would his execution be moved to next week? Next month? Next year? Knowing that it had taken 20 minutes for his partner in crime to die after a botched execution only made his fears worse.
This is no way for anyone to live, I thought. Especially since Wayne had a nine-year-old daughter, Michelle, who he missed terribly.
Desperate to cheer him up, I talked to him about Australia. He loved hearing my accent.
“Say that again,” he said, grinning.
I decided to stay in America a few more weeks so I could keep visiting the prison. I felt closer to Wayne than any of the other death row prisoners.
His family, who were six hours away in Indiana, were grateful. They even invited me to visit them.
“Whatever you say, don’t tell Michelle her daddy’s going to die,” Wayne’s mum, Juanita, whispered to me.
Having me around was an enormous help to Juanita. Many people even thought I was Michelle’s mum!
But after a while, I ran out of money and had to return to Australia.
“I’ll miss you,” Wayne said when I farewelled him. His eyes were filled with the determination of someone who was hoping like hell to survive.
“I’ll stay in touch,” I promised.
Wayne’s letters slowly trickled out, but Juanita kept in touch regularly. By the time her letter arrived saying that a date had been set for Wayne’s execution, it was too late for me to reply. His death was only hours away.
I stuck a photo of him on the wall. This was as close as I could get to him.
My mum and I lit candles and held a vigil.
I watched the clock nervously.
“They’d be pulling the lever now,” I said.
Seconds later, the photo fell to the floor.
I started to cry uncontrollably.
“It’s Wayne’s way of saying goodbye,” Mum said.
It was only many years later, when my marriage ended, that I learnt of a website for death row prisoners who wanted penpals.
A lot of the men on the site sounded sleazy.
But the profile of Robert ‘Bobby’ Van Hook caught my eye immediately.
I’m not going to be here much longer, he wrote. I need someone to be my friend.
A birthday card from Bobby
I sent Bobby a letter offering my friendship, along with a photo of myself.
You look beautiful, he replied. I’d given up hope of anyone ever writing to me.
I learnt that 31 years earlier, he’d entered a gay bar intending to rob someone. Instead, he’d lost control and murdered David, a 25-year-old man.
For his crime, Bobby was sent to Chillicothe Correctional Institution in Ohio. He faces execution in July next year.
As a kid, he’d witnessed his father try to kill his mother. When she ran away in fear, his father got him hooked on drugs and alcohol by the time he was 13.
Things weren’t any easier for him in prison. He was attacked by other inmates, who assumed he was gay because of his crime.
Bobby was truly sorry for what he’d done. He desperately wanted to apologise to David’s family.
From reading his letters, I had no doubt he felt remorse for his crime.
Bob with the prison’s minister
Receiving hundreds of messages and videos from him became the highlight of my life. We poured our souls out to one another and my heart skipped a beat each time I checked my email or letterbox and saw Bobby’s name.
He felt the same about me.
I think I’m falling in love with you, he wrote me.
Later, he recorded a song for me.
“Oh Janey, will you marry me?” he sang while strumming his guitar.
I sent him back an email with just one word: YES!
I know how crazy that sounds – we’d only been writing for two months – but it felt so right. I knew what sort of person he was from his letters. He was genuine, kind and sensitive, not a cold-blooded killer. He’d done a very bad thing when he was younger; he did not deserve to die for it.
Many people don’t approve of what I’m doing. I suppose they worry for my safety, but I’m not marrying Ted Bundy!
“You can’t put all murderers in the same basket,” I tell them.
Next July, I’ll fly to Ohio and marry Bobby in prison – the same month he faces execution.
His lawyers believe there’s still a small chance his sentence could be overturned.
I just hope a judge will look past Bobby’s one mistake and see the same caring man I do.
No-one has ever loved me like Bobby.
