Mom Was Taken Hostage and Got Spree Killer to Surrender. 20 Years Later, She Says It Changed Her Life for the Better (Exclusive)

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Ashley Smith-Robinson was taken hostage for seven hours in March 2005 by Brian Nichols, who had just escaped from an Atlanta courthouse during his rape trial and killed four people
Ashley credits her deep Christian faith with giving her the strength to talk Nichols into releasing her and turning himself in
'If this never happened,' says Ashley, who insists that the incident for transformed her life, 'I'd be dead from an overdose"Sitting in her car on a recent muggy morning outside a child care center in North Augusta, S.C., Ashley Smith-Robinson can't help but marvel at the 'pretty normal' path her life has taken over the past two decades.
'I'm grateful for where I am now,' the 49-year-old says while waiting to pick up her 11-month-old grandson, Cash. 'It's been better than I could have ever imagined or deserve.'
It was March 2005 when the world was first introduced to Ashley after she was taken hostage in her apartment by an accused rapist who escaped from law enforcement and gunned down four people.
Over the course of seven hours, Ashley — who'd lost custody of her daughter Paige while struggling to kick drugs and get her life back on track — used her deep Christian faith and the determination to see her little girl to pull off what was widely seen as a miracle: She talked 33-year-old Brian Nichols into releasing her and turning himself in, potentially saving countless other lives.
The nightmare proved pivotal for Ashley. Not only did she author the 2005 memoir Unlikely Angel and became the focus of the 2015 film Captive — but, most importantly, she never again used drugs, got her daughter back and has built the kind of 'quiet life' that once seemed impossible. In a way, she's grateful for it all.
'If this had never happened,' confesses Ashley, a happily married mother of three and new grandma, 'there's no doubt in my mind I'd be dead from an overdose or from getting involved with the wrong people.'Ashley was still reeling from the 2001 murder of her husband Mack right in front of her, and had been using meth to numb the pain when Nichols showed up at her Atlanta-area apartment with a gun at 2 a.m. on March 12, 2005.
'I was in a bad place,' says Ashley, who had relapsed after 10 months of sobriety.
For much of the previous day, the city had been on edge after Nichols overpowered a sheriff's deputy at the Fulton County courthouse and went on a rampage — killing judge Rowland Barnes, 64; court reporter Julie Brandau, 46; deputy Hoyt Teasley, 43; and 40-year-old off-duty ICE agent David Wilhelm.
At her waitressing job earlier that afternoon, Ashley had watched the drama play out on TV. 'Don't worry about him,' she recalls a group of police officers at the restaurant tell her when she asked if Nichols had been apprehended yet. 'He's probably in Alabama by now.'
Hours after getting off her shift, she was back at her new apartment unpacking boxes and had decided to drive to a nearby gas station for a pack of cigarettes.
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Something about the truck parked in front of her complex with someone sitting inside of it felt 'weird,' she remembers thinking. Minutes later when she returned, it was still there.
Ashley was walking to her front door when she heard footsteps behind her. By the time she turned around, she saw a man standing behind her, pointing a gun at her. 'I won't hurt you,' the man — who Ashley instantly recognized as Nichols when he removed his hat — told her, 'if you do everything I say.'
Summoning every ounce of composure she could muster, she told Nichols, a former college football player, about her own life, including how she was scheduled for visitation with her then-5-year-old daughter the next morning.
Out of instinct, she began asking him questions about himself, trying to get to know him.
'He sounded crazy and felt extremely judged — which was how I was feeling at that point in my life,' says Ashley. 'So I tried to talk to him about all the things I would want people to ask me to make him feel a little more human.'
Before long, Nichols asked her if she had any marijuana. She told him no, but she had some meth and soon found herself laying out lines of the drug on a table and thinking about 'the mess I'd made of my life."
Nichols asked her if she wanted any. 'I told him that I never want to use drugs ever again,' she recalls.
After watching him snort the meth, which she noticed had a strangely calming effect on Nichols, she shifted the tone of their discussion. 'I just started praying and having a spiritual conversation with him,' says Ashley, who — after making Nichols pancakes — began reading to him from The Purpose Driven Life, which she had recently turned to for strength.
As he listened to Ashley read from chapter 33 of the book, Nichols asked her, 'What do you think I should do?'
Without skipping a beat, she replied: 'You have to turn yourself in. We all have to pay for the things we've done, and I'm paying for my mistakes right now because I don't have my daughter. It's one of the most painful things I've ever been through.'
Hours later, as the sky brightened into morning, her words of tough love had clearly worked their magic. Nichols asked her what time she needed to leave in order to see her daughter. She glanced at her watch, then told him, 'Now would be the best time.'
Nichols nodded, fished her cellphone out of his pocket and handed it back to her. Moments later, Ashley walked out her front door.
'My knees were shaking,' she recalls, 'and I immediately said, 'Thank you Lord.' '
She jumped in her car and sped off, immediately calling police. Nichols stayed behind in her apartment to calmly await the officers, even hanging a mirror before SWAT teams descended on the complex and took him away in handcuffs.
The years that followed were a whirlwind for Ashley. She was hailed a hero for helping re-capture Nichols — now serving multiple life sentences at the Georgia Diagnostic and Classification State Prison — and was soon sharing how her unwavering faith saved her life with Oprah Winfrey and before audiences that often numbered in the thousands.
She got sober again, returned to school to become an X-ray and CT technician and, in 2007, and married former boyfriend Daniel Robinson.
Since then, she's largely retreated from the spotlight but continues to appear as a local inspirational speaker.
She's never had any contact with Nichols since that morning 20 years ago. But every few years, she says that 'God will press it on my heart to write him a letter and then I'll get four sentences into it and I'm like, 'Not now. It doesn't feel right.' '
Someone Ashley has maintained regular contact with from the 2005 tragedy is Candy Wilhelm, the widow of ICE agent David whom Nichols killed hours after fleeing from the Atlanta courthouse.
'She and I have a relationship because she knows that I know what it feels like to have your husband taken away from you,' she says. 'That's our bonding point.'
Although Ashley admits her brush with terror 'seems like a lifetime ago,' she can't help but get uneasy when home alone. And the impact of her excruciating night of captivity remains profound — but also painfully bittersweet.
'Four people lost their lives. Families lost husbands, wives and fathers,' Ashley says. 'But it gave my children a mother, it gave my husband a wife, and it gave me an opportunity to share God's love with millions of people.'
If you or someone you know is struggling with substance abuse, contact the SAMHSA helpline at 1-800-662-HELP.
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