Sept. 25--For the first time in years, Mario Casciaro woke up Thursday morning in a home filled with family.
Since fall 2013, he'd been sleeping on a prison bunk bed in a small concrete cell he shared with another inmate.
His living situation abruptly changed when an appeals court overturned his murder conviction last week in the notorious disappearance of 17-year-old Brian Carrick -- a case that has attracted national attention and splintered the small McHenry County town of Johnsburg, where Casciaro and Carrick worked together at a grocery store.
On Wednesday evening, after he walked free from downstate Menard Correctional Center and made the six-hour trek to his sister's Addison residence for a welcome-home party, Casciaro said he was happiest for the relatives who supported him through his ordeal.
"This took a load off their shoulders too," Casciaro said in a sit-down interview with the Tribune hours after his release, using words like "blessed," "amazed" and "thankful" to describe his feelings about the stunning turnaround.
Casciaro's father, Jerry, said having his son home "is the most beautiful feeling."
Carrick, whose remains were never found, had been missing for almost eight years when Casciaro was charged in 2010 with murder by intimidation. After two trials, he was convicted and sentenced to 26 years in prison.
Carrick was believed to have been last seen alive at the grocery store across the street from his house where he worked as a stock boy and which Casciaro's family co-owned at the time. Authorities said Carrick's blood was found in and around the store and alleged that Casciaro had ordered another co-worker, Shane Lamb, to confront Carrick over a pot-dealing debt.
But the appeals court ruled that prosecutors failed to make their case and that Lamb -- who got immunity but is now in prison on an unrelated conviction -- was not a credible witness.
Prosecutors have said they'll appeal but declined further comment.
Now that he's been freed on bail awaiting the possible appeal, Casciaro says he'll take post-prison life "one day at a time." A teenager when Carrick disappeared, Casciaro, now 32, said he views the years since his arrest as "kind of a blessing" because they "made me really appreciate everything. ... Time is a precious commodity."
Casciaro also contended that the prosecutors' version of what happened to Carrick -- that Lamb delivered a fatal punch to Carrick and then Casciaro told Lamb he would take care of the body -- was "fiction."
He called prosecutors "overzealous" and said they "wanted notoriety" after unsuccessfully taking him to trial on a perjury charge in 2007, claiming he lied to a grand jury about Carrick's disappearance.
"It breaks my heart for (the Carrick) family, because they got used," Casciaro said.
Two relatives of Carrick's declined to comment Thursday. Carrick had 13 siblings; both of his parents have died since his disappearance.
Casciaro and his family members have repeatedly said they hope the Carricks learn the truth about what happened to Brian. Mario Casciaro described the Carricks as "really good people" and said he wishes he could talk to them.
"I wish that they believed in me and that they would judge me based on our relationship we had before Brian disappeared," he said.
"I love them. I hate that they lost their brother."
Authorities who questioned Casciaro over the years have described him as arrogant. Casciaro said he was always cooperative.
"I understood and I respected what they were trying to do," he said.
Now, by contrast, he said he has "completely lost trust in local law enforcement" and vowed not to move back to McHenry County.
Lamb later recanted his testimony against Casciaro and has asserted that prosecutors told him what to say in exchange for his immunity -- a claim that prosecutors have vehemently denied.
In the years after Carrick's disappearance, Casciaro earned a college degree and helped to run his family grocery store, now located in Fox Lake. He said he'd like to pursue a law degree and possibly a career in state politics, aiming to fix what he called a "broken" judicial system.
Authorities say Carrick's disappearance is still an open missing person's case.
Whatever happens, Casciaro said he's confident of a smooth transition from prison to freedom.
"I never allowed my mind to be imprisoned," he said.
Amanda Marrazzo is a freelance reporter. Tribune reporter Robert McCoppin contributed.
