Derrick Ryan Dearman execution + Last Meal + Last Words | Alabama Death Row Inmate
accused of killing five adults and an unborn baby in South Alabama is being held in the Mobile County jail tonight without bond. Today, a judge refused bond for Derek Dear. Investigators say he used an axe and at least one gun to kill two women and three men while they slept inside a Citronel home over the weekend. One of the women was pregnant.
Dear told reporters that he was high on meth at the time of those killings. August 20th, 2016. Citronel, a peaceful rural town in Mobile County, Alabama. Just before dawn, a man stepped out of the shadows carrying an axe and a loaded gun. His name was Derek Ryan Dear. Fueled by meth and rage, he crossed the threshold of a modest home where five young people were sleeping inside along with a pregnant woman and her unborn child.
What happened next would leave first responders visibly shaken. It wasn’t just a murder, it was a massacre. In less than 5 minutes, Dear hacked and shot his way through the house, leaving a trail of blood, broken bones, and silence. When it was over, he took his ex-girlfriend and a baby hostage, fleeing to Mississippi. Hours later, he turned himself in, but the horror he left behind in Citronel would echo across Alabama for years.
One wrong relationship with the wrong man ended up making her to lose five people in one night and an unborn child. This wasn’t random. This was personal and it exposed a terrifying truth. Sometimes the people we fear the most are the ones we once loved. Tonight, we revisit a crime that shattered families, changed a town, and ultimately led Alabama to carry out a rare execution in October 2024.
If you care about justice, true crime, and the stories the news barely scratched, subscribe to True Crime Matters. Let’s dive in. Long before Derek Ryan Dearerman became a name whispered in fear across Alabama, he was just a boy growing up in Leaksville, Mississippi. Born on September 14th, 1988, Dererick’s early life was far from ordinary and not in any good way.
Family members later described a childhood scarred by mental illness, drug abuse, and a constant internal battle. He never truly escaped. By the age of four, Derek told his mother he wished he were dead. That was the first red flag. At 12, he was placed on anti-depressants. By 14, he was already experimenting with hard drugs like crack cocaine.
Just 2 years later, he turned to methamphetamine, a drug that would dominate nearly every decision he made from then on. By his late teens, he’d already been institutionalized multiple times for suicidal thoughts and erratic behavior. He survived a car crash in what many believed was a suicide attempt at age 19 and soon after was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder, and later psychotic features and neurocognitive impairment.
His brain was no longer just chemically imbalanced. It was a bomb waiting to detonate. Derek lived in a cloud of delusion. He believed people were watching him. He heard voices. He had memory lapses so severe that doctors warned he could be easily manipulated and still no long-term help ever came. In 2016, his world began spiraling even faster.
He’d been in an off-and-on relationship with Lanita Lester, a woman who would later play a critical role in both the crime and the motive behind it. Their relationship was toxic, full of jealousy, paranoia, and violence. Lenita finally left him and fled across state lines to her brother’s home in Citronel, Alabama, hoping the distance would protect her.
But Dererick wasn’t the kind of man who let go easily. He grew obsessed. He stalked her. He called constantly. He made threats. And when meth took over, those threats started to sound like commands from inside his own head. In his own words, “It’s like I was in the backseat of my own mind and someone else had the wheel.
” What Derek Dearman needed was help. What he reached for was revenge. And what came next would shake the small town of Citrorel to its core. It was early morning in Citronel, Alabama, August 20th, 2016. The sky was still dark and everything was quiet. But inside a small house on Jim Plat Road, five people were asleep, unaware that danger was already at their doorstep.
That house belonged to Joseph Turner, and staying with him were four friends. his wife Shannon Randall, a young couple named Chelsea and Justin Reed, and their friend Robert Lee Brown. Chelsea was 5 months pregnant. Also in the house was Joseph’s sister, Lenita Lester, who had come there to get away from her abusive ex-boyfriend. That ex-boyfriend was Derek Ryan Dear.
Just a few hours earlier, someone in the house had called 911. They had seen Derek outside. Police came, looked around, and left when they didn’t find anything. It would turn out to be a tragic mistake. Sometime around 4:00 a.m., Derek came back. This time, he was carrying a shotgun, a handgun, and an axe. He forced his way into the house and attacked while everyone was asleep.
Within minutes, five people were dead. The baby Chelsea was carrying also didn’t survive. After the killings, Derek didn’t run far. He forced Lanita and a baby boy into a car and drove across the state line to Leaksville, Mississippi, where his father lived. There, he held them for a short time. Eventually, he let them go, but only after the baby’s father gave in to his demands.
Back in Citronel, police and emergency crews arrived at the scene. What they found was shocking. The house looked like something out of a horror movie. There was no sign of forced entry, which suggested someone had either let him in or he’d broken in quietly. Both guns and the ax were found at the scene. Every victim had been attacked in their sleep. Some were shot.
Some were hit with the axe. None of them stood a chance. The names of the victims were Joseph Turner, 26, her brother. Shannon Randall, 35, the wife of her brother. Justin Reed, 23, brother’s friend. Chelsea Reed, 22, pregnant. Robert Brown, 26. Six lives taken. Five adults and one unborn baby. All of them murdered inside a house that was supposed to be a place of peace.
In the days that followed, something eerie happened. The house where it all took place caught fire and burned down. Nobody ever gave a clear reason why, but to some, it felt like the house didn’t want to stand anymore. This wasn’t a case of the wrong place at the wrong time. It was personal. It was fueled by jealousy, meth, and obsession.
One man’s anger destroyed six futures in one night and left a small Alabama town forever changed. After the nightmare unfolded, meanwhile, roughly 30 m away in Leaksville, Mississippi, Derek Ryan Dearman was already formulating his next move. Only a few hours after the massacre, he surprised everyone. He and his father showed up at the Green County Sheriff’s Office where he calmly turned himself in.
The shock in the rural police station was palpable. Shortly after, authorities in Citronell received news. Their main suspect was in custody. Within hours, Dear was flown back to Alabama and officially booked on six counts of capital murder. Five for the adult victims and one representing the unborn child. Then came the confession.
Shackled and in handcuffs, Dearman answered questions. He admitted he had been on methamphetamine, saying the drug made him hallucinate and lose touch with reality. He described hearing voices and claimed it felt like someone else was controlling him. Next, he confessed fully drugs were making me think things that’s not really there,” he told reporters.
But at the same time, he claimed to still love Lanita, that he kidnapped her and the baby out of twisted affection. He told them he finally came down and realized what was really going on, then released them before surrendering. Moreover, law enforcement revealed that before the mass killing began, there had been a 911 call around 1:00 a.m.
reporting a man, later confirmed to be Dear lurking near the home. Citronell police went to the scene, but when they didn’t find anyone, they left. Tragically, that was the last chance to prevent the carnage. Furthermore, sheriff’s captains described the crime scene as unprecedented in their rural area. Charred by excessive violence, multiple weapons, and a silence that screamed tragedy.
Dear had shot and bludgeoned each victim in their sleep. Nothing suggested a struggle or defense. It was all over within minutes. Finally, Dear was formally charged and held without bond, awaiting extradition. He pleads not guilty at first, setting the stage for a legal battle that would loop through Alabama’s courts. But all that lay ahead pald in comparison to the confusion, shock, and grief left in Citronel’s wake.
By the time Derek Ryan Dearman stood before a judge in Mobile County, Alabama, the public had already made up its mind. The evidence was overwhelming. Five lives had been taken. One unborn child had never gotten the chance to live. and the man who caused it all had confessed without hesitation. His legal journey began in early 2017.
A grand jury indicted him on six capital murder charges, five for the adult victims, and one for the unborn child. He also faced kidnapping and burglary charges. From the start, his defense team raised concerns about his mental health. Doctors had diagnosed him with bipolar disorder, PTSD, and signs of psychosis.
But despite all that, no formal hearing was held to determine if he was mentally fit to stand trial. In August 2018, the case took a strange turn. Derek fired his lawyers and told the court he wanted to plead guilty. The judge allowed it, ruling that he understood the consequences. That decision shocked everyone. He wasn’t just admitting guilt.
He was walking himself toward death row. After his guilty plea, a jury was still required to decide whether he should live or die. They heard every detail, the method, the motive, the way each victim was attacked in their sleep. The prosecution didn’t need to exaggerate. What happened in that house spoke for itself.
When it came time to sentence him, the jury didn’t take long. All 12 members agreed Derek Ryan Dearman should be executed. On October 12th, 2018, the judge made it official. death by lethal injection. The courtroom fell silent as the sentence was read. No reaction came from Derek. It was as if he had already made peace with what was coming.
Over the next few years, his legal team filed appeals, mostly arguing that the court ignored signs of mental illness. But in 2022, the Alabama Court of Criminal Appeals upheld the conviction. They noted a few issues with how the charges were grouped, but said the outcome wouldn’t change. Then in April 2024, Dererick made one final move.
He wrote to the state asking them to speed things up. He said it wasn’t fair to drag this out, that the victim’s families deserve peace. He asked the governor to set a date. That date became October 17th, 2024. It had been 8 years since Derek Ryan Dearman’s name went down in history. years measured by silent cell doors, distant voices echoing down corridors, and each slow dawn on Alabama’s death row.
But nothing matched the weight of his final day. His execution was set for October 17th, 2024 at Holman Correctional Facility in Atour. The culmination of a request he himself made when he dropped all appeals in April 2024, stating victims families needed closure. He didn’t resist the decision. In fact, he wanted it. On the morning of the day, Dererick awoke in silence that felt louder than any voice.
He moved through the sterile hallway to a small holding cell near the execution chamber. He was alone with no distractions, just the hum of the building. Witnesses would later say he appeared strangely calm, as if each quiet minute was a step toward the end he had demanded. By mid-afternoon, prison staff allowed visitors.
His father, sister, two young sons, and his spiritual adviser, Reverend Jeff Hood. They filled the room, cutting through the stillness with hushed words and soft embraces. Guard said there were no outbursts, only heavy love and resignation. When asked to choose his last meal, he chose fried catfish, three fried shrimp, three boiled shrimp, three fried oysters, onion rings, a deileled crab, and two sides.
all from a local seafood joint. That plate carried more meaning than the sum of its parts. It was comfort, hunger, ritual, and a final grasp at normaly. As evening neared, the prison staff prepared the chamber. At 5:58 p.m., Derek, in a brown jumpsuit, was led down the hallway. Witnesses on either side, the families of victims and his own, watched as he lay on the gurnie.
He did not flinch as four lines were placed in his arms. Then his voice came clear, steady, measured. To the victim’s family, forgive me. This is not for me. This is for you. I’ve taken so much. He turned his head slightly. To my family, you’ll already know I love you. In that final moment, his father whispered against the glass.
Some say he cried out, “Derek, don’t go.” But it was too late. The execution began. His left arm twitched during a routine consciousness check, but prison officials confirmed it was not a sign of awareness. At 6:14 p.m., the warden declared Derek Dearman dead by lethal injection. Outside the chamber, the silence returned, but it had changed.
Victim’s family spoke afterward, pain etched in every word. “It won’t bring no closure,” said Bryant Henry Randall, whose daughter and unborn grandchild were killed. Our family will suffer for the rest of our lives, said Robert Brown, father of another victim. 8 years had passed, 8 years of waiting, appeals, and trauma.
His final hours were the calm before a cataclysm defined by one last meal, one final apology, and the heavy turning of a key. Derek Dearman asked for death, and he got it. But did the world heal? No, because murder cannot be undone and forgiveness doesn’t undo grief.
