Hinton demonstrates hope weighed against his increasing sense of resignation. He will, after all, have to make a home on death row, if only to keep his sanity: “I had to make a home of Holman to survive […] I couldn’t live in the real world—only in the world of my imagination and the world that existed in my cell” (174).

Hinton recounts his exchanges with Stevenson, including both mail or phone correspondence and personal visits. In addition to discussing the case, they share friendly moments discussing things such as sports, the weather, and food. Hinton writes, “We were just Ray and Bryan, more alike than different” (176). Hinton also comments about his appreciation for the salutations in letters from Stevenson: “He always told me [at the end of each letter] to ‘hang in there,’ and those words weren’t throwaway words” (178). Hinton adds during his stay so far, 11 inmates had committed suicide.

Hinton learns Stevenson is actually making progress in his case. He has found unbiased, professional ballistics experts who can attest to the fact that the state was mistaken in its assessment of the murder weapon. Despite the probability that the process of clearing him will take time, Hinton—at this point having been on death row for 16 years—asserts, “I was innocent.