Chapter 1: Do Not Pass Go

A little about myself—my name is Carter Davis, [formerly known as Spencer Devereaux, formerly known as Inmate #82793]. I am 35 years old and just recently released from the Ogden Hills Federal Penitentiary, after a full pardon. I was convicted at age 17 for a double murder I didn’t commit—which never happened, to begin with—but I’m getting ahead of myself. I had become a celebrity of some notoriety during that awful time, then an even bigger celebrity once public opinion shifted in my favor. I eventually found myself acquitted, thanks to the tireless efforts of several key amnesty volunteer groups. This is why I changed my name and did my very best to completely disappear from society as a whole. Okay, okay—slow my roll and get back to how it all happened...

This whole entire, bizarre story began in the early summer of 2001. As mentioned, I was 17 and soon to graduate from High School (with honors) and was already signed up to enlist in the Marine Corps. I was scheduled to ship off to Parris Island two weeks after graduation. Eventually, I hoped to become a Combat Engineer and blow shit up all day. I worked part-time at our local AM/PM right off the Interstate and typically closed the store at midnight before heading home. Part of my closing routine was to empty the garbage, take all the bags out to the dumpster behind the store, and make sure the Heads were locked up. The scene of the [un]crime was in the lot right behind the building, not even 100 yards from the overpass. What a scene it was...

At first, I simply noticed a white Corolla parked in the shadows and thought nothing of it as I placed all the garbage bags into the dumpster. Turning back, I saw that the driver’s door was slightly open and the glass was busted out. Even more unusual was the severe spider webbing on the windshield. Now that was odd, I mused to myself and sauntered right on over to have a look. The outside lighting did little to illuminate this part of the lot, but I could see the sparkles of broken glass and ... oh Fuck! Were those bullet holes in the windshield?

If I had only stopped right there.

If I had simply turned around and returned to the store to call the cops...

My mom used to say ‘Would’ve never will and could’ve never can.’

Instead, I did everything that I could possibly do—wrong. Well, I did NOT pick up the gun (contrary to police reports). My prints were never found on that weapon. They were all over the car door though. I didn’t see the blood until I put my hands right in it as I grabbed the door frame and pulled it further open. The dome light was busted so I couldn’t see just how much blood there was inside. But I could smell it. Feeling the wetness on my hands I looked at them and that is where my mind just ... Yeah, I lost my shit! I must’ve wiped them on my letterman jacket because it was entered into evidence. I also stepped in a small pool of blood and then stomped right on the fucking gun which was laying on the ground, accidentally kicking it under the car. My footprints were everywhere.

Alright, enough, I’m not in a place where I want to relive all those stupid fuck-ups that ultimately destroyed my life. In a nutshell—I booked it the hell away from there. I never finished closing the store, didn’t get on my bike, and I sure as hell didn’t call 911. Instead, I ran—straight home, 4 ½ miles away, crept inside so I didn’t wake anyone, and retreated to my room where I huddled on my bed like a stricken child. Hell, maybe I even sucked my thumb. I just know I was scared shitless.

It got worse two hours later when the cops showed up—a lot of them. The flashing lights lit up the entire street on our block. Mom and Dad were at the door and I heard their muffled conversation and the alarm in their voices. It was the police that kicked in my door and cuffed me right on the bed. I don’t remember being led to the car. I do remember seeing the tears in my younger sister’s face in the hall, and the brief ride to the station. Booking was a blur but I remember being stripped and wondering when (and why) there were plastic baggies taped over my hands.