Chapter 1
A Stacked Deck
3. 27 04
There I was,
The process of physically going to
court was grueling. Every morning at
I was kept in a single cell, in
solitary confinement because of my “high security risk” status. Any capital
murder defendant the state tries to convict and sentence to death is considered
a high risk prisoner. My cell was about 12 ft. by 12 ft. in size. In this cell
there was a concrete bunk built into the side wall where I would lay my two inch
thick mattress. At the foot of the bunk there was a small steel table secured
to the front wall. It was placed in such a way that I would sit on the end of
my bunk to write letters, eat meals, and read. The florescent light in this cell
was left on 24 hours a day. At all times there was a bright light shining down
on me. This light shined into every corner of the cell. There was no escaping
it. This was done to keep me from getting enough sleep and thus keep me
unbalanced. The jail supervisors knew that an unbalanced, sleep-deprived
prisoner was easier to handle. At the back of the cell there was a toilet-sink
combo, made of
stainless steel, with a stainless steel mirror
above it. In the other back corner of the cell there was a small shower. I lived
in this cell for 23 hours a day for a year. I had no television, no radio,
nothing to occupy my time except a limited access to paper back books.
If I timed it right, I would be
ready by
After they would give me my
clothing back I would be allowed to put on my boxers and sox. The guards would
then roll the door open, and a minimum of two guards would step into my cell. I
would be forced to lift both arms up over my head, and let all of the breath out
of my lungs while they placed a R.E.A.C.T. stun belt on me. This belt had to be
put onto my bare skin. The stun belt actually consisted of a body wrap made
from an elastic-nylon type of material, about eighteen inches wide. They would
place this wrap around my body unbelievably tight, encircling my torso four to
five times. They would be sure to carefully place a metal box attached to the
wrap over my kidney. This box was 8 x 8 x 3 inches in size. This was the
shocking element of the stun belt, which at all times had to be securely
fastened to my body. With the R.E.A.C.T. (Remotely Electronically Activated
Control Technology) stun belt, they were able to administer a 50,000 to 70,000
volt shock to my body. The shock is sustained for approximately eight seconds.
It is triggered by a hand held transmitter and usually causes the recipient to
lose control of his limbs, to fall on the ground, to urinate, and to defecate
upon himself. In forcing me to wear this stun belt, they maintained a total
supremacy over my psyche. They forced me to constantly think about the
terrifying shock and the humiliation of soiling myself.
After placing the stun belt on me,
they would then put a belly chain around my waist, and through a ring on this
chain they would handcuff me. In this way they would effectively tie my hands in
front of me. Then they would place shackles on my ankles, forcing me to shuffle
my feet when I walked. My walking stride was cut in half due to the short chain
on the shackles. I was forced to wear these restraints every time I left my
cell. There was no choice in it, for if I refused any part of it, they would
call a goon squad of 15 guards dressed in riot gear who would proceed to beat me
into submission. They would hold me on the ground and, using brute force, they
would put these restraints on my body.
When I was at last dressed and
these restraints on me, I would then shuffle the half mile trek that would take
me to the court house. We used underground tunnels that connected the jail and
the court house. When I got to the basement of the court house, I was then
placed in a solitary holding cell. If I was lucky and the transport guards were
in a good mood, one might remove my handcuffs. If not, I would sit in this cell
alone, handcuffed, shackled, and wearing the stun belt for two hours, waiting on
9 AM to come around. Then another set of transport guards would escort me up to
the floor where the courtroom was, and where my trial was being held. Once I
got to the court room I was placed in another holding cell, alone, and would
wait on the court room bailiff to come tell me the trial was about to begin. For
three and a half months I was subjected to this physical and mental torture and
could do nothing about it.
I sat on the far end of the defense
table, with my two attorneys at one side, wishing I could wake up from this
nightmare I was living. I was forced to sit with my back bowed at all times
because of the stun belt box being affixed to the small of my back. This was
very painful, and I endured it everyday. The guard in control of the remote hand
held transmitter, sat directly behind me. He was an ever-present reminder that
if I made any sudden movements he would shock me. He’d tell me several times a
day, “you’re making me nervous, and when I get nervous I am going to end up
shocking you.”
A myriad of thoughts were flowing
through my mind during this time. I was so tired of it all that I just about did
not care anymore. I was so tired of the whole court process, so ground down by
it all, that I almost welcomed the end of the trial, and yes, even a death
sentence. Almost. This brutal and inhumane treatment by the guards, and by the
whole court process so affected my mind set that I really did not care anymore.
I was resigned to the fact that I was headed to death row in
going through right then. I was scared of that
thought, but then again I wanted the nightmare to end, and I was so effected by
the continuous torture, that in some little way I was wishing for death. I was
wishing for a release from the physical and psychological abuse that I was being
subjected to. My life was flashing before my eyes. Thoughts and memories of what
I once had, of what I was losing forever, were shooting through my head. My
family was now in the court room, but I was not allowed to look at them. That
was one of the most difficult things that I had to endure, not being able to
look at my loved ones, to see my mother and be able to tell her silently that I
loved her. I was not allowed to do that. Those in charge told me that it made
them nervous.
I was able to have one piece of paper in front of
me and a pen to write my attorney a note if I needed to. They lengthened the
chain that secured my handcuffs to my midsection so that when I leaned forward I
could scrawl out a note if I had to. On the table sat a pitcher of water and a
cup for me to drink from. I was told to not pour the water myself. No, I could
not do that either. I had to ask my attorney to do that for me. Again, it made
them nervous, me moving and pouring water in a cup. When they got nervous they
were more likely to shock me, so I sat there in a perpetual state of fear and
anxiety waiting for the shock to be administered to me.
I was not allowed to testify on my
own behalf in my trial. My attorney told me that it would be suicide to do so.
If I did I would be the door to all kinds of questions in regards to my past and
every little “bad” thing that I had ever done. They told me I’d spend two days
testifying about my past, and every bit of that testimony would be harmful to my
cause. Even so, I wanted to testify but was not allowed to. My attorneys would
not let me. I was instructed by them to sit there and show no emotion, not to
laugh, not to cry, not to smile or frown. I now know that I looked like a
mindless killer with no conscience, no feelings. I’m sure the jury members had
no doubt that I’d “hurt, maim, and even kill again” if they did not sentence me
to die.
Because of the prosecutor’s
Gestapo tactics, I was not able to call one witness in my defense. When the
crime took place I was an hours’ drive away. I could prove this through several
witnesses who were with me at that time. These witnesses, who were family and
friends, were first threatened and later arrested because they were on my side.
The prosecutor has an unregulated power in regards to having individuals
arrested. He simply files charges - no matter if they are frivolous - and the
county issues an arrest warrant. The prosecutor did this multiple times with my
friends, wife, and elderly parents. My elderly parents were arrested because
they loved me and had nothing bad to say about me, not once, but, twice. My wife
had been arrested three times because she refused to go along with the lies the
prosecutor wanted her to tell against me. This prosecutorial misconduct had a
terrible consequence.
Outside the presence of the jury my loved ones
informed the judge that if subpoenaed and forced to take the stand and testify,
they would say nothing. They told the judge they were doing this because they
had no choice. They were still subject to criminal prosecution. All parties were
there when this hearing took place, including the head prosecutor. The
prosecutor used this tactic every time someone who knew me refused to say bad
things about me. By arresting my family he had made his threats of arresting and
jailing potential defense witnesses very intimidating. I sat there and could not
call one witness to tell my side of the story, could not show that I had nothing
to do with the crime. My trial defense was in as many restraints as my physical
body, and there was nothing that I could do about it.
Three different prosecutors
spoke about me, after I had been found guilty, in the closing arguments of the
punishment phase of my trial. The first was a lady. She talked about how evil I
was, how ruthless I was, and how for me there was no hope. Beyond a doubt I
would be a continuing threat to society no matter where I was. Therefore I
needed to die. She called me “the face of evil”. The second prosecutor talked
about how unpredictable I was, how in the blink of an eye I could do harmful
things to others, that I was in fact a criminal chameleon, hiding in the masses
of good honest people, waiting to strike! Because I could not be trusted to be
harmless, I must he executed. They saved the worst
for last. The head prosecutor spoke about what a mean, terrible person I was,
that I was so horrible that no one had come forth to testify to what a nice guy
I was, to any nice things I might have done in my life. He then asked this
question, where are Charles’ parents? Where are his brothers? Where is his
sister? Where is his wife? Why are these people not here testifying to the good
things that he has done in his life?” He said, “I’ll tell you why they are not
here, they have nothing good to say about him!” They had no evidence to prove
these things so they used lies and twisted the situations involving my family
and friends, and in doing so made the jury believe them. Those were the nails in
my coffin. That was the final blow the prosecutor delivered. When he did this he
successfully sent me on a trip through a man-made hell full of torture and
abuse. Together, these prosecutors sent me to
My weak and inept trial attorneys
did not have anything to say to soften these deadly blows. They both stood up
and mumbled a few words. One of them even asked that my life be spared because
the following day was “Good Friday,” the beginning of Easter weekend. They
seemed to fumble through their lines and sounded so small and weak In comparison
to the super strong men and women the prosecutor’s office put forth to seal my
fate.
I knew what was coming when they
dismissed the jury and asked them to deliberate my fate. Would I live the rest
of my life in prison? Or would they come to the conclusion that I was not human,
that in fact I was a rabid dog who needed to be put down? These were some of the
thoughts that ran through my mind as I was taken back to the holding cell in the
basement. I remember sitting in the cell with all of my restraints on. The stun
belt, shackles, and the handcuffs were left in place. The guards refused to
remove them. They told me they were certain I would be sentenced to death, and
all death row prisoners must be handled with the highest security measures.
I was left alone once again with my
thoughts. The little boy inside of me screamed in terror, so afraid of what was
happening to him, so traumatized by this inhumane treatment. All he wanted was
for the terror to stop. He thought of just going to sleep and never waking up
again. This little boy cried out asking what he had done to deserve such
terrible treatment. He searched and he searched, but could not find a reason.
Yet, on the outside, I sat there with no emotion showing, not a smile, not a
frown.
I sat with no expression on my
face, nothing for the world to see. I refused to show anyone, anywhere, any sort
of weakness. I tried to fathom what death row would be like. What torture would
I endure there? All I could imagine was a prison full of Hannibal Lecter’s,
killers and madmen with no hope, and that I would have to fight for my life, for
my manhood daily. At that moment I decided that no matter what, I would never
ever give up. I did not know what it was that I’d fight, who would be my enemy,
but I would fight until there was no breath left in my body. Only after that
could the little boy inside of me lay down and sleep forever more.
After a few hours, the transport
guards came and told me it was time to go back up to the court room. I knew it
was a bad sign. I got to the court room and both my attorneys were waiting for
me. They stopped me and told me that indeed this was a very bad sign. They were
certain I was about to be sentenced to death. They told me to be strong and take
it like a man. I said nothing as I looked into their eyes. I had decided to do
that when I was in the basement alone with my thoughts. I nodded my head and
told them lets get it over with.
The jury was seated when I entered
the courtroom. They turned as one to look at me. I stared blankly at them,
focusing on nothing, and like my attorneys asked, I took it all like a man. The
judge asked the jury Foreman, did they have a verdict? The foreman answered that
they did. He stood and said, “We the jury Find that Charles Don Flores will be
a continuing threat to society, that there are no mitigating evidences or
circumstances that warrant us to sentence Mr. Flores to life imprisonment,
rather than a death sentence.” The judge then polled the jury. He asked each
member to stand and he asked them how they answered the “continuing threat to
society,” and the “mitigating circumstances” questions. They all to a man and
woman answered, yes, then no. Some of the jury members stared at me with hate in
their eyes. Some did not look at me at all. Two ladies wept as they answered
these questions. I felt so bad for them. They had been forced to sentence me to
die and I could see it was tearing them apart.
After every member had answered the two questions the judge then turned to me and said, “Mr. Flores, because the jury has answered yes and no to Special Issue number one and Special Issue number two, it is therefore the Order, Judgment, and Decree, of the Court that you be sentenced to death, and that you be transferred to the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. There you will await the mandatory appeal in capital cases when the death penalty is given. There you will await the outcome of this appeal, and then the setting of a date for your execution by lethal injection. This concludes these proceedings. Return him to the holding cell.” I stared at him with a blank look on my face, not feeling anymore. I felt like a part of me had died. I was then lead out of the court room surrounded by guards. I knew that part of my life was forever gone, and the beginning of the end had just begun.
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