Chapter 7 #2
We drove toward the burial site where Rioh and Jaqwon were already laid to rest, and knowing Echo was about to be placed right beside them made it hard to even keep moving forward.
When we reached the cemetery, I stood there as they lowered her into the ground, my eyes fixed on the casket as it disappeared slowly, inch by inch, until it was no longer at eye level. Something about this moment made everything real in a way that standing over her inside the church had not.
This was it, and it was so final that it didn’t leave room for anything else.
I felt Jamie break down beside me completely then, her body folding into mine as she cried into my chest while I wrapped my arms around her and held her as tight as I could.
My eyes then locked ahead on the ground where my children now rested.
It was three graves side by side with dirt still fresh over them, and the only thing that sat in my mind was the fact that one man was still out here breathing.
By the time my daughter was buried, I had nothing left in me to give anybody, and even though people came up speaking, offering condolences, saying things they probably meant from a good place, I couldn’t receive any of it because it all sounded the same and none of it changed what I had just watched.
None of it brought my children back, and none of it eased what was sitting on my broken heart.
They hugged me and told me they were praying for my family. I nodded when I needed to and spoke when it was expected, but none of it reached me in a way that mattered.
All I could see was those graves, and all I could feel was everything I had lost. And even with me still having A’Mii, it didn’t feel like it was enough to balance what I’d already lost.
Jamie stayed close to me the entire time, her hand never leaving mine. Even though we were surrounded by people, I had never felt more isolated in my life.
When it was finally over, we stepped away from the crowd. As we walked to the car in silence, I kept my eyes forward, feeling something that had nothing to do with grief anymore.
This was no longer about mourning, and I had just accepted that truth in a way that settled deep in me and refused to move. Grief had already done what it came to do, and it left behind something cold, dark, and nasty.
It was revenge…
I had spent my life operating within the boundaries of the law, shaping outcomes with words, with procedure and with control, but standing where I stood now, after burying my children and watching my family unravel piece by piece, I could feel that structure loosening its hold on me.
The rules that once guided me no longer carried the same weight, and the restraint that defined my position began to feel less like discipline and more like limitation, like something that had kept me from doing what should have been done the moment my sons hit the ground.
Kay’Lo Mensah had to die outside of prison.
It was time to take this shit into my own hands…
Days later…
It was Sunday, and I had just come to visit Thomas at his lake house. The quiet sitting over the water felt out of place against everything that had been happening inside the courtroom for weeks.
The trial had been dragging in a way that felt intentional, like every day was being stretched just enough to give the defense more room to breathe. I had spent enough time inside courtrooms to know the difference between a careful pace and a manipulated one.
Echo had been buried only days ago, and that image had not left me.
It sat with me while I drove, while I spoke, and while I tried to function like a man who still believed any of this was being handled the way it should be.
By the time I stepped onto Thomas’s deck and took the drink he handed me, I already knew this conversation was not going to be comfortable.
We sat facing the water, and for a few minutes, neither of us said anything. I let the silence sit just long enough to make it clear I wasn’t here for small talk, then I set my glass down and leaned forward.
“This trial is being mishandled. I need more movement,” I said.
Thomas didn’t look surprised. He took a sip of his drink and set it down carefully before responding. “You already have movement. I pushed the reassignment through. That judge is off your case.”
“And the one who replaced her is doing the same thing with a different tone,” I replied.
“She smiles more, she sounds more reasonable, but she’s still giving them time.
She’s still allowing the defense to drag witnesses, to reframe testimony, and to chip away at momentum that should have already buried that motherfucker. ”
“That is called due process,” he replied.
“That is called letting a murderer get comfortable,” I answered, holding his gaze. “We are weeks into this trial, Thomas, and he is sitting there like he expects to walk out of it.”
Thomas leaned back slightly, watching me closer now. “You are too close to this.”
“I buried three of my damn children! I am exactly as close as I need to be!” I exclaimed, feeling myself get angrier.
He exhaled slowly, but he didn’t argue that.
“What do you want?” he asked finally.
I didn’t even bother to soften it.
“I want that bench controlled. I want a motherfucker that don’t mind standing in the paint. I want somebody sitting there who understands what this case is supposed to end in, and I want the rest of this trial to move like that outcome is already set.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Be specific.”
“I want a judge who isn’t going to entertain the defense,” I continued.
“No more room, no more patience, no more sympathy. I want objections sustained when they need to be. I want witnesses handled without theatrics, and I want this shit wrapped up before they successfully twist it into something it isn’t. ”
“You are asking me to interfere in an active trial,” he said.
“I am asking you to fix what is already being interfered with,” I replied. “Don’t pretend like you don’t see it. Don’t pretend like you don’t know how we operate.”
“That isn’t something I can just reach in and change in the middle of proceedings. That would look suspicious,” he said, his tone tightening.
“You can,” I replied. “You just don’t want to.”
He looked at me for a long second before speaking again. “You are asking me to replace a sitting judge mid-trial with someone who will push this in your favor. Do you understand what that looks like if anyone starts asking questions?”
“It looks like the right outcome being reached,” I said.
“It looks like corruption,” he corrected.
I didn’t blink. “Then call it that. I am past the point of giving a fuck what it looks like.”
Thomas shook his head slowly, and now I could see the line he had drawn for himself. It wasn’t because he was clean, but because he was trying to stay hidden.
“This is different,” he expressed.
“What I need is for Kay’Lo Mensah to never walk out of that courtroom again,” I said, my voice low but firm.
“I need him convicted, I need him sentenced, and I need him sitting in a cell waiting on the island to end his life. That is what I came here for. If I can’t get that, I’m going to handle it the way I already intended. ”
The moment shifted after that.
Thomas looked away for a moment, then back at me. “You think forcing it is the answer?”
“I think I’m done letting motherfuckers play in my fucking face.”
Thomas leaned forward slightly, his voice lower now. “If I do what you’re asking, and anyone even hints at it, this doesn’t just touch the case. It touches me. It touches you. It opens everything.”
“I’m already open! Everything I had is already gone. So do you honestly think I give a fuck about getting touched?”
The anger was bubbling up inside of me so bad, I could barely sit still.
To add insult to injury, Thomas acted as if he didn’t care.
He acted as if he didn’t know what it was like to lose a child.
This motherfucker had clearly forgotten that I was there for him during his time of need, so to see him sitting here so smug about my grief was very offensive to me.
He stared at me, and I could see the calculation happening behind his eyes. I could see the risk, and the understanding of exactly how far this would go if he stepped into it again.
Finally, he shook his head and said, “No.”
I didn’t respond right away. I just sat there, letting that answer settle completely, because I needed to be sure I heard it the way he meant it.
“No?” I repeated.
“No,” he said again, firmer now. “I moved the case. I gave you what I could give you. I am not stepping into the middle of an active trial and forcing an outcome. That is where this stops.”
I leaned back slowly, studying him in a way I hadn’t before because now I understood exactly what he was choosing.
“You stood in my house when I buried my sons,” I said. “You sat beside me when I buried my daughter, and now you are telling me this is where you draw the line?”
“I am telling you this is where I keep both of us from being buried next,” he replied.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose and nodded once.
“So, that’s what this is? You’re protecting yourself.”
“I am protecting what matters.”
“What matters to me is already gone, motherfucker!” I answered.
“Roderick, enough of this shit! I will not bring in a new judge. Let it go.”
“Alright,” I said, feeling rage build in me.
He watched me closely. “Roderick—”
I didn’t let him finish. I reached behind me and pulled the gun from my waistband, bringing it forward before he could adjust to what was happening.
His expression changed instantly when he saw the gun. “Don’t do this.”
I looked at him, and there was nothing left in me that needed convincing.
“You already made your decision,” I replied.
And then I pulled the trigger…
The sound cut across the water, sharp and final, and his body dropped forward before going still, the weight of him collapsing in a way that made everything that followed feel inevitable.
I sat there for a second, watching blood pool from the center of his forehead.
What struck me wasn’t what I felt, but what I didn’t.
There was no panic or regret, and no second thoughts waiting to surface.
It was just a clear understanding that whatever we had been to each other ended the moment he chose to stand against me.
With my adrenaline still surging through me, I grabbed him and dragged his body across the deck, his weight heavy and uncooperative as blood smeared beneath us and soaked into my hands.
It ran from his face and streaked down the side of my neck, hot and thick, and I didn’t bother wiping it away as I pulled him closer to the edge.
By the time I reached the lake, my arms burned and my grip had tightened without me realizing it, but I kept going until there was nothing left between him and the water. Then, I pushed him over, watching as his body disappeared beneath the surface and the lake swallowed him without hesitation.
I had just killed a man I had known for many years. This was a man I once trusted, but standing here with everything that had been taken from me, none of that held any weight.
I turned, walked back through the house, and made my way out without looking back, because there was nothing left here that mattered.
By the time I reached my car, one thing was clear in a way it had not been before…
I had crossed a line that wasn’t meant to be stepped over, and there was no version of this where I could ever go back.