You can't imagine how differently you see the world when you're on the run. Every day you face the sheer terror of just waking up and wondering, will today be the day? Or will you get to spend one more day of freedom to enjoy the things you love? Yet, at the same time, you don't fully get to enjoy them because you're constantly looking over your shoulder. I guess I'm not making much sense here, so let me back up and fill you in. This is my story.
My name is Melody Rose Patton, or at least it used to be. It all began during the summer of 1982, back when I was young, carefree, and stupid. I had been orphaned at the age of four and was being raised by an aunt and uncle who really didn't want me. They could care less what I did as long as I didn't cause them any problems, which was easy since I rarely stayed at home. I was sixteen and didn't care about anything except having a good time.
I lived with my boyfriend, Richey, most of the time. He was twenty-one and into the big hair heavy metal bands. We lived for the moment. One afternoon, while we were high on coke, we went downtown and got married on the spur of the moment. I had a fake ID at the time so there was no problem. I thought being married would be fun. That was my first mistake.
My second mistake was not questioning Richey when he went out and came home with money every night. Keep in mind, I was young and nieve. As long as he kept food in my stomach, a roof over my head and drugs in my system, I could have cared less. I should have cared. I should have made it my number one priority to find out what my husband was up to.
One night, curiousity got the best of me and I insisted on Richey taking me along with him. To me, it was all just a game anyway. That was the night that would change my life forever.
At fist we picked up a couple of Richey's buddies. They sat in the backseat of the car laughing and having a good time. I myself was in just as good of a mood as them, not knowing how my life was about to change. My first clue was when we pulled up in the parking lot of a liquor store. Richey grabbed my hand and laughed an evil laugh. We went inside where Richey proceded to rob the place. The clerk was a frail, elderly gentleman who did as he was asked. As we turned to leave, the guy yelled out to Richey that he was punk. To my horror, Richey turned around and shot the man! I was screaming as he grabbed my arm and ran out the door. One of his buddies had jumped in the driver's seat and squealed us out of the parking lot. I sat in the car in shock. Richey was stuttering for his friend to keep driving. We drove around for a few minutes and ended up back at his friends apartment. Richey was shaking and claiming how we had to get out of town. He split the money as preplanned and looked at me. He lay out the plan about how we had to give up our apartment and get out of town as quick as possible. We hopped in the car and headed out. For two days we stayed on the move, staying in seady hotels across the country. I had never been more scared in my life, not of going to jail, but of the man that I lay next to at night. He had killed someone in cold blood, all because the man had called him a name. Richey could sense my fear and warned me not to try anything. Every night I was scared I wouldn't wake up in the morning.
On the third week, I could take it no more. As we stopped to fill up the car at a gas station, I went in to use the restroom. I demanded the clerk to call the police that my husband had murdered someone and ran for the bathroom to hide. When I emerged fifteen minutes later, the officers already had Richey in handcuffs. An officer was waiting on me to take a statement. THey decided to go ahead and take us both downtown for questioning once he realized that I was also involved . They then contacted the Atlanta Police Dept.
After giving my statement to the police over and over, they booked me in jail for the night. That night I sat up crying. How had I managed to get myself in this mess? At seven the next morning, I heard my cell bars being opened. The officer led me down a hall where a detective was waiting. We went back into the interrigation room where he offered me a deal. If I would testify against my husband, they would drop all charges against me and set me up with a new identity after the trial. I immediately jumped on the chance, thinking this was my way out.
During the trial, Richey managed to get quite a few messages across to me, letting me know in not so subtle ways, that I would pay dearly for what I had done. Every night, I slept with one eye open. As the verdict of guilty was read, Richey vowed to get rid of me if it was the last thing he did. I trembled as they led him away.
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