18 new york | january 3–16, 2022
Van Stry by talking to her about MS and the supplements she
should be taking. After a few months, he moved in.
It worked for a while. There were trips to bowling alleys and
Niagara Falls. But things changed when the woman Velasco had
previously lived with, the mother of his 2-year-old son, took the
boy and moved away. Velasco started to drink more; he became
convinced Van Stry would leave him for someone more success-
ful. Their arguments could turn scary and physical. “I can’t count
how many times I had him arrested and took him back,” she says.
Everyone in their lives agreed that the relationship was toxic. But
the couple couldn’t seem to end it. “He showed so much good and
so much love,” Van Stry says. In 2017, he sent her a valentine from
Rikers with a rose sculpted from toilet paper.
In June 2018, during a fight, Van Stry fled into a restaurant,
and Velasco punched the owner. He spent nine months at an
alternative incarceration facility, a “shock” program with exer-
cise, substance-abuse treatment, and life-skills classes. Velasco
said it was grueling—officers taunted him with lewd stories about
what his girlfriend was doing with other men—but when he got
out in December 2019, he stuck to the routines he had learned,
like exercising, journaling, and meditating. He started a home-
renovation business, and on March 3, 2020, Velasco and Van
Stry married at City Hall. They each brought one friend. Their
relationship had long ago worn out everyone else in their lives.
When covid arrived,
Velasco homeschooled the
kids and took care of Van
Stry, carrying her to the
bathroom when her symp-
toms flared. But his work
dried up, and he started
bringing home six-packs.
Velasco accused Van Stry
of cheating on him, even
though she never left the
house, and threatened to
kill her if he caught her.
After he was arrested for
breaking into her home
during a separation, Van
Stry filed for divorce in September 2020. “The system didn’t
want to let me go but also didn’t want to get me help,” Velasco
later wrote to a niece. “They think just sending me to jail for
months or years helps. Clearly it doesn’t.”
Velasco was arrested again for leaving threatening messages
on Van Stry’s phone. On March 5, he called her from Central
Booking to say he was going to kill himself. He repeated the
threat twice over the next ten days. Van Stry, who knew Velasco
had made an attempt once before, called his parole officer and
the assistant district attorney. He’s manipulating you, they told
her. She called the assistant DA’s boss. He asked, “Do you want
me to have your number blocked?”
On March 16, Velasco tried to hang himself in a Rikers bath-
room, but a CO cut him down. He was put on suicide watch until,
after 24 hours, someone signed off on ending it. It’s unclear why.
Perhaps there simply weren’t enough staff. On March 19, Van
Stry drove to the Bronx for a court hearing only to find it was
called off. As she arrived back at her apartment, her phone rang.
“Amanda?” the assistant DA said. “I’m so sorry.”
In one of her last conversations with Velasco, Van Stry had
pleaded with him to let the court send him someplace to get help.
“There’s no help,” he’d said. “There’s just jail.”At Niagara Falls in 2017.