A D E P T B O O K S . c o m
TERILYNN: AMERICA'S YOUNGEST SERIAL KILLER ISBN: 0-9632422-1-0 Hardcover: 6x9" 200 pages Price: $22.00 In the book Final Truth, author Wilton Earle collaborated with Donald ‘Pee Wee’ Gaskins to lead readers through the horrific labyrinth of a Serial Killer’s mind. In this, his newest work, Earle introduces readers to Terilynn Wager who murdered nine people before her fourteenth birthday. But unlike Gaskins, a functionally illiterate product of the American South's tobacco roads, Terilynn is the beautiful, intelligent product of an affluent and privileged Southern family. Under applicable juvenile offender laws, the records of Terilynn's capital crimes were sealed by the courts – and subsequently expunged when she was released from prison on her eighteenth birthday Now Terilynn Wager has changed her name and is living (quite well) in the western U.S. She is free to tell her story and she has chosen to tell it in this book which is creating debate over the U.S. Justice system's handling of young killers. PREFACE I first met Terilynn Wager in the Maximum Security Wing of the State Juvenile Detention Center where she was incarcerated while the court considered whether to try her as an adult. She was a petite fourteen-year-old with dark eyes that flashed rage even when she smiled. She was polite, articulate, obviously intelligent and (outwardly at least) unconcerned about the prospect of life-in-prison-without-parole – or the death penalty. I arranged my initial interview through a friend who was her attorney. I told him that I wanted to discuss with Terilynn the idea of our collaborating on a book, as I had done with serial killer Donald Gaskins. As her attorney, he asked me not to discuss with Terilynn any aspect of her case while it was still before the court. As my friend, he advised me to proceed slowly – for reasons that he said would later become apparent. During that first visit, Terilynn and I talked about high school and movies and music – and carefully avoided the subject of murder. When we parted, I was not at all confident that she would ever allow me the emotional and mental access needed to write a book. Nonetheless, I persisted. Over the ensuing three years, we corresponded regularly. I visited her twice a year. And occasionally I telephoned her. Fortunately, I was not in a hurry. From Latin America and Europe, where I was working on film projects, I sent her autographed pictures of actors. Like most teenagers, she was fascinated by movie-making and movie-stars, and her neatly penned letters of thanks awaited me whenever I returned to my home in South Carolina. In time there evolved between us an embryonic friendship that I hoped might yet lead to collaboration. Then, unexpectedly, Terilynn was released from prison. Not paroled. Simply freed. And she disappeared Despite my best efforts, I could not locate her. Four years passed, and I gave up the idea of ever seeing her again, much less our collaborating. Then, while I was working on a requi in South America, I received a telephone call from her (How she knew where I was, I still don't know.) Quite casually, as if talking to an old friend whom she often called, she asked me to come visit her (and her friend, Lilly) as soon as possible. She said she was almost-ready to tell her story. All I had to do, she said, was telephone the number she gave me, and leave a message, letting her know the earliest date I could come to Denver. She and Lilly would meet me at the airport, and drive me (for two days, it turned out) to their home. Six weeks later, I arrived in Colorado, and stayed with Terilynn and Lilly for more than a month. If we had been faced with relatively simple decisions such as establishing ground-rules for our interviews, and a style and voice for the book, I am sure we would have found solutions quickly. But we were confronted with a mountain of problems, both personal and legal: There had been initial news reports of the multiple murders Terilynn committed – including the names of her victims. But Terilynn was barely fourteen when she was arrested, and statutes governing Juvenile Proceedings mandated that all investigative records, all appellate deliberations and all psychiatric evaluations, be sealed. From the outset, law enforcement and judicial personnel were prohibited by court order from discussing her case. A black-out was placed on use of her name in the media Because there was no trial, there were no transcripts. Even Terilynn’s sentencing hearing was forever-sealed. And Terilynn's criminal record was expunged when she was released from prison. True, no one could stop Terilynn from telling her story, if she so chose. But once she was out of prison, other pressures made it mandatory (in her mind) that she protect herself and Lilly, and their privacy. Only after long days and nights of discussion did we manage to agree on the terms and guidelines under which we might collaborate – including changing names, locales, and details. On more than one occasion, I reminded Terilynn that, no matter how circumspect the book, there were certain to be readers who would recall newspaper, radio and television coverage of the murders. That did not seem to bother her. What Terilynn wanted from me was a solemn, written, legally binding promise that I would never reveal to anyone her true identity. Or her new name. Nor where she and Lilly live. Not in this book. Not in interviews. Not in any publicity – no matter how difficult the task. That was acceptable to me. I had, after all, signed similar contracts of confidentiality with serial killers, revolutionaries, oil tycoons, actors, and directors – who had entrusted me with their confessions. My purpose was to write their stories, their way. And my objective was to write Terilynn’s story – her way. So I gave her and Lilly my pledge of confidentiality in exchange for their candor. And they assigned to me exclusive copyright ownership of our tape-recorded interviews. Once all the preliminaries were out of the way, we began our initial weeks of interviews. At first Terilynn grudgingly tolerated my probing questions. Then she gradually relaxed her defenses, and opened doorways into her mind – and her emotions – and shared with me intimate and graphic memories – as well as incriminating details of murders she (and Lilly) had committed, but not been charged with. So completely is this book Terilynn's that I have written it without quotation marks – as a reminder to the reader that this is not a verifiable journalistic recounting, but rather solely Terilynn's version of her life and crimes. I have tried to create a modicum of objectivity by writing in the third person, and though I have used devices of fiction to preserve the privacy of the innocent (as well as the anonymity demanded by the guilty) the essence of Terilynn’s story is presented here intact. And unembellished. During my time with Terilynn Wager, I navigated a labyrinth of pain, outrage and brutality, guided by the soul of a disturbed and disturbing child-woman. I have returned with emotions that broker madness. WILTON EARLE Aguascalientes, Perú |
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