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LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 3.16 111 jeffersoncountyclerk.org Until Proven Innocent Continued from page 65 Everything — everything reminding him of prison. Te Sunday meal he cooks for his girlfriend — Salisbury steak, pota- toes, gravy, broccoli, the fxins' — tainted by thoughts of spoiled meat and bologna you could see through. Even cutting the grass, his main line of work these days, reminds him of the crazy triangle forma- tions inmates would make mowing the yard. Some people think Porter has already received a retribution payment. All those funerals, people staring. "Tey look at my shoes frst, then my pants," he says. If only they'd realize it's plastic jewelry, the chain looping his neck but a couple bucks. If he had the money, he says he'd pay back all those people he stole from in the past. "In the 15 years in prison, I thought of all the horribleness I caused," Porter says. Tere's the fear of being alive. Te death threats. He was encouraged by Butler, the cold-case worker, to leave town the day Sanders was released on parole. Porter hid out far from home in some expensive hotel. Now he's in his apartment decorated by his girlfriend in rich browns. Basically hiding out. "Blinds always pulled, door always shut," he says. Security alarm with its red eye. Trash stacked against the back door so it will fall and alert Porter if somebody breaks through. Fishing line a tripwire, rigging doors to stair rail and to a clangy decorative tin on the landing. Tupperware of stuf blocking the top of the stairs. Te spare bedroom is a makeshift law library with papers scattered all over the bed. "You could put them in a blender and I'd be able to arrange to original form," he says. Newspaper clippings jam up the fling cabinet. All these papers that he could stack into a paper throne if he found a crown. Tis space is some sort of refuge for when Porter can't sleep at night. Because he can't sleep at night. He'll get naps in during the day, sleep on the foor. "But at night, it's guard duty," he says. At night, the demons come, and they're worse every night. "Every night, back in the penitentiary," he says. Mad at himself if he dozes of because when he wakes it's a vision of Sanders, his full lips whispering, slowly, surely, "I promise, I'm gonna make it quick...."