Florida Execute Gay Killer Who Drugged and Dismembered His Victims | Steven Lorenzo’s Final Hours

Well, happening today, convicted murderer Steven Lorenzo will learn whether he will be sentenced to death. He is asking for the death penalty. And that’s what his victim’s families want to see as well. Eight on your side, Xavier Harris joins us live this morning. And Xavier, today could bring some sense of closure for these families.

>> I believe the faster I am euthanized, the faster I can come back in another form and get myself a new body. That’s why I want to be executed fast. I don’t want to sit on death row for 10 to 15 years waiting to be put down. Those were the words Steven Lorenzo spoke. Calm, steady, almost relieved as he described why he wants the state of Florida to kill him immediately.

 And then without emotion, he explained how he and his co-conspirator drugged, tortured, and murdered two young men in consecutive nights of horror. No remorse, no hesitation. Just a man trying to speed up his own death. Inside the courtroom, you could feel the tension tighten. A death row inmate begging the court to end his life.

 His lawyers fighting to keep him alive. And a judge warning him that the system cannot simply hand him an execution date. Because first, he must prove he is sane enough to choose death. But Steven Lorenzo doesn’t want time. He doesn’t want appeals. He doesn’t want mercy. He wants the needle. now.

 And behind his request lies a case that took nearly two decades to bring to justice. A case filled with a chamber of horrors. A pattern of drugging and torture that spanned years. Bodies dismembered and scattered across Tampa. A handwritten 147page confession that reads like a nightmare. And the shocking reason he’s still trying to end his life as quickly as possible.

 26-year-old Jason Gailhouse and 26-year-old Michael Wholtz vanished from the same Tampa nightclub on consecutive nights in December 2003. Their families waited two decades for answers. And when those answers finally came, they were more horrifying than anyone imagined. Drop a comment if you’re watching closely. This is True Crime Matters.

 To understand how a killer ended up fighting for his own execution, we need to go back to where it all began. December 2003, Tampa, Florida. The holiday season should have been a time of celebration, but for two families, it became the beginning of an unimaginable nightmare. Jason Gailhouse was 26 years old. He had his whole life ahead of him.

On a Friday night in early December, he went out to a local nightclub in Tampa’s vibrant gay district, a place where he felt comfortable, where he could be himself. He was looking for connection, maybe a drink, maybe some conversation. It was supposed to be an ordinary night out. Jason never came home.

 His mother, Pam Williams, waited by the phone. She called his friends. She called the hospitals. She filed a missing person’s report. Days passed with no word, no sighting, no clue. Jason had simply vanished into the Tampa night. Then less than 24 hours after Jason disappeared, it happened again. Michael Wholtz, also 26, went to the exact same nightclub the following night, Saturday, December 6th, 2003.

Like Jason, Michael was young, outgoing, and looking for a good time. Like Jason, he met someone that night. Someone who seemed friendly, charming, even someone who offered him a drink, maybe an invitation back to his place. Michael Wholtz never came home either. Two men, same age, same nightclub, consecutive nights. Both vanished without a trace.

The Tampa Police Department immediately recognized the pattern. This wasn’t coincidence. Someone was hunting in Tampa’s gay community, and they were doing it systematically. Detectives canvased the nightclub, interviewed bartenders and patrons, pulled security footage. They found witnesses who remembered seeing both men talking to strangers, but the descriptions were vague.

 The faces blurred in dim lighting and crowded spaces. For Michael’s mother, Ruth Waltz, the waiting was torture. Every day without answers felt like a lifetime. Where was her son? Was he hurt? Was he being held somewhere? The questions consumed her? Weeks crawled by. Then in late December, a discovery shattered any remaining hope. Michael Wakholtz’s body was found in his own jeep, abandoned near his apartment complex. He had been dead for weeks.

 The autopsy revealed a horrifying story. Drugs in his system, signs of restraint, evidence of torture. Michael hadn’t died quickly. He had suffered. But Jason Gailhouse, nothing. No body, no evidence, no answers. It was as if he had been erased from existence. What police didn’t know, what they couldn’t have known, was that Jason Gailhouse had been dismembered in a Seol Heights garage, his body parts stuffed into construction bags and scattered across Tampa in random dumpsters, picked up by unsuspecting sanitation workers,

and buried in landfills. All that remained of Jason was blood on a cobblestone garage floor. The investigation stalled. Detectives had theories, but no suspects. They knew someone was responsible for both disappearances, but the trail had gone cold. The families were left in agony, holding candlelight vigils, posting missing person flyers, begging anyone with information to come forward.

 20 years. That’s how long Pam Williams and Ruth Woltz would wait for real answers. 20 years of sleepless nights, unanswered questions, and a justice system that seemed to move at a glacial pace. But what they didn’t know was that the man responsible for their son’s deaths was already in the system.

 He just hadn’t been charged with murder yet. Steven Lorenzo didn’t start with murder. He perfected his technique over years. Between 2000 and 2004, Lorenzo and his roommate Scott Schwikert developed a system. They would cruise Tampa’s gay night life, bars, clubs, social gatherings, looking for men who fit a specific profile, young, attractive, alone, and vulnerable.

 Lorenzo was charismatic when he wanted to be. He knew how to strike up a conversation, how to make someone feel seen, how to gain trust. The invitation was always casual. Want to come back to my place? We can have a few drinks, hang out, see where things go. For men looking for connection in a community that often felt isolated, the offer seemed harmless enough.

 But Steven Lorenzo’s home in Seol Heights was anything but harmless. Lorenzo called himself a bondage master. He claimed to have expertise in BDSM, in consensual power exchange, in creating experiences that pushed boundaries. But what happened inside his home had nothing to do with consent. The pattern was consistent and calculated.

 Once a man arrived at Lorenzo’s house, drinks would be served, always mixed by Lorenzo or Schviker. Those drinks contained GHB, gamma hydroxybutyrate, commonly known as the date rape drug. Within minutes, the victim would begin to feel disoriented, weak, unable to resist. Some lost consciousness entirely.

 Others remained semi-aware, trapped in their own bodies, able to feel everything, but unable to fight back or escape. That’s when the torture began. Lorenzo and Schvikert had equipped the home with restraints, bondage devices, tools designed to inflict pain. They would bind their victims, strip them, and subject them to hours of sexual torture.

 Some victims were assaulted. Others were simply tormented for Lorenzo’s amusement. He recorded some of these sessions on video, keeping trophies of his crimes. But here’s what makes this case even more chilling. Most of Lorenzo’s victims survived. Between 2000 and 2004, at least nine men were drugged and tortured in that house.

 Seven of them would later come forward to testify. They described waking up in strange surroundings, their bodies aching, their memories fragmented. Some found bruises and injuries they couldn’t explain. Others remembered flashes of horror, being restrained, being violated, being helpless. One survivor testified that he woke up in Lorenzo’s home with no memory of how he got there.

 His drink had been drugged at a bar. Another said he agreed to go home with Lorenzo for what he thought would be a consensual encounter, but once inside, he was forcibly drugged and assaulted. These men were lucky. They escaped with their lives. Jason Gailhouse and Michael Wholtz were not so fortunate.

 According to testimony that would emerge years later, Lorenzo and Schvikert had grown bored with their usual routine. They wanted to escalate. They wanted to see if they could go further. Scott Schweikert later told prosecutors that he and Lorenzo had discussed turning their victims into sex slaves, keeping them captive long-term or even selling them once they grew tired of them.

 But to do that, they needed to test whether they could actually commit murder. Jason Gailhouse and Michael Wholtz became their experiments. A federal judge would later describe Lorenzo Seol Heights home as a chamber of horrors. It was a place where humanity was stripped away, where young men were reduced to objects, where sadism was practiced with clinical precision.

 But despite the mounting evidence, despite the testimonies, despite the pattern of violence that spanned years, Lorenzo remained free. He was careful. He chose victims from marginalized communities, gay men who might not be believed, who might be too ashamed to come forward, who might fear being outed to their families or employers.

 It wasn’t until 2005, 2 years after Jason and Michael disappeared, that law enforcement finally caught up with Steven Lorenzo. But even then, it wasn’t for murder. In November 2005, a federal grand jury handed down indictments against Steven Lorenzo and Scott Schwikert. The charges: Distribution of GHB administering drugs to facilitate sexual assault and conspiracy, not murder, not kidnapping, drug charges.

 The trial that followed laid bare the horrors of what had happened inside Lorenzo’s home. Seven survivors took the stand, recounting their ordeals in painful detail. They described meeting Lorenzo at bars, accepting drinks, and waking up hours later with no memory of what had happened. They described injuries, trauma, and the devastating realization that they had been drugged and violated.

The jury heard how Lorenzo and Schvikert had worked together, how they had perfected their system of luring, drugging, and torturing victims. They heard about the GHB operation, the video recordings, the bondage equipment. The verdict came swiftly, guilty on all counts. Steven Lorenzo was sentenced to 200 years in federal prison.

 Scott Schwikert received 40 years. The federal judge who handed down Lorenzo’s sentence didn’t mince words. He called Lorenzo’s home a chamber of horrors and said the sentence reflected the sheer scale of his crimes. But for the families of Jason Gailhouse and Michael Waltz, the verdict was hollow.

 Their sons were still missing. Michael’s body had been found, but there were no murder charges. Jason’s body had never been recovered at all. The federal case had addressed the drug crimes and the assaults, but it had left the two murders untouched. Pam Williams and Ruth Whaltz waited. They pushed investigators.

 They demanded answers. And slowly, painstakingly, detectives began building a murder case. The key was Scott Schwikert. Facing decades in federal prison, Schwikert was willing to talk in exchange for a life sentence instead of the death penalty, he agreed to testify against Lorenzo. And what he told prosecutors was damning.

 Schwhiker described how he and Lorenzo had specifically targeted Jason Gailhouse and Michael Walks. He explained the plan. Lure them, drug them, torture them, and then kill them. He admitted his role in both murders. He described how they had suffocated Jason after he began screaming and threatening to call police.

 He described how they had dismembered Jason’s body in the garage and disposed of the remains in dumpsters scattered across Tampa. He described how Michael Walks had been drugged so heavily that he lost consciousness during the torture and never woke up. He described placing Michael’s body in his own jeep and abandoning it near his apartment.

 Schwikert’s testimony gave prosecutors what they needed. In 2012, 7 years after the federal convictions, 9 years after the murders, Steven Lorenzo and Scott Schwikert were finally charged with two counts of first-degree murder. The families felt a surge of hope. Finally, justice was within reach. But Steven Lorenzo had other plans.

 From his federal prison cell, Lorenzo began a campaign of legal obstruction that would stretch on for another decade. He fired his public defenders, claiming they were incompetent. He filed motions arguing that he was a sovereign citizen and that the court had no jurisdiction over him. He demanded to represent himself, insisting that only he understood the complexities of his case.

 The court initially denied his request, but Lorenzo persisted. He filed motion after motion, appeal after appeal. He tied up the legal system with paperwork, objections, and procedural challenges. He seemed determined to delay his trial indefinitely. In 2019, 7 years after being charged with murder, Lorenzo finally got his wish.

 The court allowed him to represent himself. It was a disastrous decision. Lorenzo used his new position to mock the proceedings. He filed bizarre legal documents filled with conspiracy theories. He claimed his case had been sabotaged by prosecutors. He argued that he had always intended to plead guilty, but needed time to review the evidence himself, a claim that rang hollow given his years of delay tactics.

The families watched in frustration as their chance for justice slipped further and further away. Pam Williams told reporters she felt like the system was failing her son all over again. Ruth Walt said she couldn’t understand why Lorenzo was being allowed to manipulate the courts.

 By 2022, nearly 20 years had passed since the murders. Steven Lorenzo was 64 years old, still sitting in federal prison, still facing murder charges that had never gone to trial. And then in November 2022, everything changed. Steven Lorenzo wrote a letter, a very long letter. Just before Thanksgiving 2022, the Hillsboro County Circuit Court received a package from Steven Lorenzo.

 Inside was a handwritten document, 147 pages of tightly packed script. It was a confession. After nearly two decades of denial, obstruction, and legal games, Steven Lorenzo was finally admitting to the murders of Jason Gailhouse and Michael Waltz. But this wasn’t a simple confession. It was part manifesto, part legal argument, part justification for his crimes.

 The document opened with Lorenzo explaining why he was suddenly changing course. For years, he reminded the court he had called Florida’s death penalty childish and ridiculous. He had mocked the idea of capital punishment, claiming it was beneath him to even consider it. But now, he wrote he had changed his mind.

He told the judge he had no interest in going to trial. He said that whether he plead guilty or was convicted at trial, the result would be the same. He would die in prison. So why waste everyone’s time with a trial? Why not just plead guilty and move straight to sentencing? But there was a condition.

 Lorenzo wanted the death penalty, and he wanted it fast. He asked the judge to wave his right to appeal. He promised he wouldn’t challenge the sentence. He just wanted the process to move quickly. He framed his decision as pragmatic, almost business-like. After all, he wrote, he was 64 years old. Even if he were sentenced to death, he could spend 10 to 15 years on death row waiting for execution.

 Why prolong the inevitable? And then on page 20 of the document, Lorenzo began describing the murders. He started with Jason Gailhouse. Lorenzo admitted that he and Schwikard had lured Jason back to his home under the pretense of a consensual encounter. He acknowledged that Jason had been drugged. But then Lorenzo’s narrative took a sharp turn.

 He claimed that everything had been going according to plan until Schvikert lost control. According to Lorenzo, Schvikert became too rough during the bondage session. Jason began screaming and panicking. Lorenzo wrote that they tried to calm him down, but Jason was hysterical. He was threatening to go to the police. He was going to identify them.

 That’s when Lorenzo wrote they had a pow-wow. He described the decision-making process in chilling matter-of-act terms. They couldn’t let Jason leave. He would report them. They would all go to prison. So, they decided quickly and without much discussion that Jason had to die. Lorenzo claimed they chose suffocation because it was the most humane method.

 He described holding Jason down, cutting off his air, waiting for him to stop struggling. He wrote about it the way someone might describe fixing a leaky faucet, a problem that needed solving, a solution that was implemented. Once Jason was dead, Lorenzo wrote, they faced a new problem, disposing of the body. He described the dismemberment in clinical detail.

 They moved Jason’s body to the garage. They used tools, he didn’t specify which, to cut the body into pieces small enough to fit into construction bags. They worked methodically, cleaning as they went, making sure no large pieces were left behind. Then came the disposal. Lorenzo wrote that they loaded the bags into a vehicle and drove around Tampa, stopping at random dumpsters in different neighborhoods.

 They scattered the remains across the city, ensuring that no single location would contain enough evidence to identify the victim. The bags were picked up by sanitation workers and taken to landfills. Jason Gailhouse’s body was never recovered. All that remained was his blood soaked into the cobblestone floor of Lorenzo’s garage.

 Then Lorenzo moved on to Michael Walks. He wrote that Michael’s death happened the very next night, December 6th, 2003. Lorenzo lured Michael from the same nightclub where he had found Jason. The pattern was identical. Drinks, drugs, an invitation back to his home. Lorenzo admitted that he and Schwiker drugged Michael with GHB and crystal meth.

 He described giving Michael an inhalent without his consent while he was bound and helpless. He detailed the bondage session, the torture devices, the pain Michael endured. But then Lorenzo wrote, “Something unexpected happened.” Michael stopped moving. Lorenzo claimed that Michael had overdosed. He wrote that he was shocked and stunned that there was a second dead body in front of them within two consecutive nights.

 He framed Michael’s death as an accident, an unintended consequence of the drugs. It was a lie, of course. The medical examiner’s report would later show that Michael had died from a combination of drug overdose and physical trauma, the result of prolonged torture while incapacitated. Lorenzo described the disposal of Michael’s body with the same cold efficiency.

 They cleaned him up, placed him back in his own jeep, and drove the vehicle to an area near his apartment complex. They left the Jeep there, keys inside, hoping it would look like Michael had simply overdosed alone in his car. It took weeks for authorities to find him. Throughout the 147 pages, Lorenzo attempted to control the narrative.

 He portrayed himself as a bondage master engaged in consensual activities that went wrong. He blamed Schwikert for escalating the violence. He framed the murders as desperate decisions made under pressure, not premeditated acts of sadism. But he also couldn’t help himself. He described the crimes in enough detail to make it clear that he remembered everything, the tools, the techniques, the disposal methods.

 He wrote about the other victims, the men who had survived his torture. He referenced his federal convictions, his years of legal battles, his frustrations with the justice system, and then at the end of the document, he made his final request. Guilty plea, death sentence, no appeals. The letter was released to the public in January 2023 ahead of Lorenzo’s sentencing hearing.

 Victims advocates warned that the content was deeply disturbing. Fox 13. Tampa Bay published the full document online with a content warning. Readers were horrified. But the families of Jason Gailhouse and Michael Walks felt something else. Validation. After 20 years, Steven Lorenzo had finally admitted what he had done. He had given them the answers they had been searching for.

 In December 2022, Steven Lorenzo appeared in court and formally changed his plea to guilty. He waved his right to a jury trial. He asked the judge to sentence him to death. The court scheduled a sentencing hearing for February 2023. February 24th, 2023. Hillsboro County Courthouse. The courtroom was packed with victims, families, survivors, prosecutors, and media.

 After two decades, Steven Lorenzo was finally about to be sentenced for the murders of Jason Gailhouse and Michael Wholtz. Judge Christopher Sabella presided over the hearing. Before pronouncing sentence, he allowed the victim’s families to speak. “Pam William, Jason’s mother, stood at the podium. Her voice shook with grief and rage.

” “You are the scumbag of the earth,” she said, staring directly at Lorenzo. “I don’t have a grave. I don’t have a tombstone. All I’ve got is ground up hamburger meat in the ground because of you. Her words hung in the air. Lorenzo sat expressionless, staring straight ahead. Ruth Wahultz, Michael’s mother, spoke next. She was more composed, but her pain was just as raw.

What he did to my son before murdering him should be done to him, she said. Eye for an eye. The families had waited 20 years for this moment. 20 years of not knowing, of searching for answers, of fighting for justice, and now finally they were about to see even Lorenzo sentenced to death. But then Lorenzo asked to speak.

 What he said next shocked everyone in the courtroom. I believe the faster I am euthanized, the faster I can come back in another form, Lorenzo said calmly. That’s why I want to be executed fast. I don’t want to sit on death row for 10 to 15 years waiting to be put down. He wasn’t begging for mercy. He wasn’t expressing remorse.

 He was explaining his belief in reincarnation and his desire to move on to his next life as quickly as possible. Lorenzo continued laying out his reasoning with disturbing clarity. He explained that death row in Florida offered certain comforts that federal prison did not. On death row, inmates had private cells.

 They had access to televisions and computers. They had more freedom of movement within the facility. In federal prison, where Lorenzo had spent the previous 18 years, he was in general population. He was surrounded by other inmates. He had less privacy, fewer amenities, and a harsher daily existence. I’m 64 years old, Lorenzo said.

 I could be on death row for 10, 15 years before I’m executed. But the conditions on death row are more comfortable than in the federal system. He was gaming the system one last time by pleading guilty and accepting the death penalty. He was essentially upgrading his prison accommodations while waiting for an execution that might take decades or might never happen at all.

 Florida’s death row had nearly 300 inmates. Appeals processes stretched on for years. Some inmates died of old age before their executions were carried out. Lorenzo knew all of this, and he was betting that he could live out the rest of his life in relative comfort with the added benefit of controlling his own narrative.

 By confessing and accepting responsibility, he was positioning himself as someone who had chosen accountability, someone who wasn’t afraid to face the consequences of his actions. It was a final act of manipulation. Judge Sabella listened to Lorenzo’s statement without interruption. Then he delivered his ruling.

 Steven Lorenzo, you have plead guilty to two counts of first-degree murder. The court accepts your plea. You have waved your right to appeal. The court sentences you to death by lethal injection for the murder of Jason Gailhouse and death by lethal injection for the murder of Michael Walks. These sentences are to run consecutively.

The courtroom erupted in muted applause. The families embraced. After 20 years, Steven Lorenzo had been sentenced to death. But the story didn’t end there. In 2024, Lorenzo’s legal team, despite his insistence that he didn’t want appeals, filed automatic appeals as required by Florida law. The Florida Supreme Court reviewed the case, examining whether Lorenzo had been mentally competent when he plead guilty, whether his confession had been coerced, and whether the death sentence was appropriate. In their ruling, the

justices noted that Lorenzo had knowingly and voluntarily waved his rights. They found that he understood the consequences of his guilty plea. They upheld both the conviction and the death sentence. Steven Lorenzo was officially on Florida’s death row. And then in September 2025, he wrote to the court again.

 In the filing, Lorenzo stated his intention to cease all appeals of his death penalty sentence. He wanted the state to stop the automatic appeals process. He wanted to wave every remaining legal challenge. He wanted his execution scheduled immediately. I have no interest in prolonging this process, Lorenzo wrote. I am ready to accept my sentence and move forward. But there was a problem.

Under Florida law, an inmate cannot simply volunteer for execution. The state has a responsibility to ensure that anyone who waves their appeals is mentally competent to make that decision. The law requires a competency hearing, a formal evaluation, to determine whether the inmate understands what they’re doing and is making the choice freely without coercion or delusion.

The court scheduled Lorenzo’s competency hearing for December 11th, 2025. The hearing will determine whether Steven Lorenzo is legally sane enough to choose death. Psychiatrists will evaluate him. They’ll assess whether he understands the finality of execution, whether he’s suffering from mental illness that impairs his judgment, whether his belief in reincarnation constitutes a delusion that prevents him from making a rational choice.

 If the court finds him competent, his appeals will end. His execution will be scheduled. He will get exactly what he asked for. If the court finds him incompetent, his appeals will continue automatically, and he’ll remain on death row indefinitely. The very outcome he’s desperately trying to avoid. The legal and ethical questions are complex.

 Some victims advocates argue that granting Lorenzo’s wish is the right thing to do. He confessed. He accepted responsibility. He’s not claiming innocence. Why should taxpayers fund decades of appeals for someone who wants to die? But others argue that allowing an inmate to dictate the terms of his own execution sets a dangerous precedent.

 The death penalty, they say, should never be about convenience or comfort. It should be about justice, not about giving a killer one final act of control. The families of Jason Gailhouse and Michael Wakholtz are divided. Pam Williams has said publicly that she doesn’t care what happens to Lorenzo as long as he’s never released.

 Whether he dies by execution or old age, it doesn’t matter to her. She just wants him gone. Ruth Woltz has expressed a different view. She wants Lorenzo to suffer the way her son suffered. She wants him to wait, to feel the dread of knowing his execution is coming, to experience the powerlessness that Michael felt in his final moments.

The prosecutors who worked the case for two decades are also conflicted. They fought for justice. They brought Lorenzo to trial. They secured the death penalty. But now, watching him try to manipulate the system one last time, they wonder if he’s winning even in defeat. And what about the seven survivors? the men who were drugged and tortured but lived to tell their stories.

 For them, Lorenzo’s confession was validation. It proved they weren’t making it up, that the horrors they described were real. But it also reopened old wounds. Some have said they wish Lorenzo would just disappear, that they don’t want to hear his name ever again. On December 11th, 2025, a judge will make a decision. Mental health experts will present their findings.

Lorenzo will likely be asked to explain his reasoning once more, and the court will decide whether the state of Florida will grant Steven Lorenzo his final wish. If the hearing goes his way, his execution could be scheduled within months. Florida has carried out executions relatively quickly in recent years when inmates have waved their appeals.

 Lorenzo could be dead by mid 2026. If the hearing goes against him, he’ll remain on death row, surrounded by the comforts he claimed to desire, waiting for appeals he doesn’t want, living out his final years in a cell paid for by the taxpayers of a state he terrorized. There’s a bitter irony in all of this. Steven Lorenzo spent years drugging men, stripping them of their autonomy, torturing them while they were powerless to resist.

 He controlled every aspect of their suffering. He decided when it started and when it ended. Now in his final chapter, he’s trying to exert that same control over his own fate. He wants to decide when he dies. He wants to dictate the terms. He wants to leave this world on his schedule, in his way.

 But the families of his victims aren’t willing to let him have that power. Neither is the legal system. After two decades of manipulation, delay, and obstruction, Steven Lorenzo is no longer in control. The state will decide when and if he dies. Jason Gailhouse was 26 years old when Steven Lorenzo killed him. His body was never recovered.

 His mother has no grave to visit, no place to lay flowers, no physical reminder that her son existed. All she has are memories and a decades old missing person’s case that turned into a murder file. Michael Woltz was also 26. His body was found, but only after weeks of decomposition. His mother had to identify him through photographs, unable to hold him one last time.

 She buried her son with the knowledge that his final hours were filled with unimaginable pain. Two young men, two families destroyed, two decades of waiting for justice. And now, as Steven Lorenzo sits on death row, writing letters to judges and calculating his odds of a quick execution, those families are still waiting.

Waiting for closure, waiting for peace, waiting for the day when his name stops appearing in the news. The December 11th hearing will determine whether Steven Lorenzo gets to control his own ending. But no matter what happens in that courtroom, one truth remains. Jason Gailhouse and Michael Walks never got a choice.

 The competency hearing is scheduled for December 11th, 2025. The court will decide whether Steven Lorenzo is mentally fit to volunteer for execution or whether he’ll spend the rest of his life on death row waiting. What do you think? Should the state grant his wish or should he be forced to wait decades like he made those families wait? Drop your thoughts in the comments.

 And if cases like this matter to you, if you believe in uncovering the truth and holding monsters accountable, subscribe and hit that notification bell. This is True Crime Matters. Thanks for watching.