When Elijah stepped out of the Raya house that evening, the air was heavy with thunder that hadn't yet broken. The road back toward town was slick with red mud from the morning's rain, but Elijah didn't mind. Every step between that little clapboard house and the courthouse felt like carving a line no man in Alcolu could ignore.
Deputy Croft waited for him by the corner store, hat in his hands, shifting from foot to foot like a boy caught sneaking candy.
"You Carter?" Croft asked, his voice pitched low.
Elijah gave him a nod. "You got something to say, Deputy?"
Croft licked his lips. He kept his eyes on the ground. "Sheriff don't like you sniffin' around. Says you best get back on that bus 'fore you make this worse."
Elijah didn't flinch. "You think I'm here to make it worse?"
Croft's eyes flicked up, weary and raw. "Boy's got no chance, Mr. Carter. Whole town wants this done fast. Wants it clean."
"Clean?" Elijah's laugh was sharp. "Is that what you call railroading a child?"
Croft winced, but he didn't argue. He slipped a folded scrap of paper from his pocket, pressing it into Elijah's hand like he was passing a forbidden note behind a teacher's back.
"That's the statement," Croft muttered. "Ain't signed by the boy. Just the sheriff's scribble and my mark."
Elijah opened it right there in the muddy street — a single page, lines of clumsy words scribbled in pencil. Ikrist Raya confesses to the killing of… The rest was half-finished, the dates wrong, the words sloppy.
"He didn't write this," Elijah said flatly.
Croft shook his head. "Sheriff asked the questions. Boy cried. Said he didn't do nothin'. Next day, paper shows up. He don't know what's on it."
Elijah looked Croft dead in the eye. "Why tell me this now?"
Croft's throat bobbed. "Boy's just a boy. Ain't no killer in him. You know that soon as you look at him. But Sheriff's got half the men in this county standin' behind him with rope if he says tie the knot."
Elijah folded the paper and slipped it inside his coat. "You did right bringing this to me, Deputy."
Croft stepped back, glancing around like ghosts might be listening. "Don't say it came from me."
"I won't," Elijah promised.
---
At the jailhouse, Sheriff Hammond leaned on the porch rail, a fat cigar clamped in his teeth. He watched Elijah approach like a wolf watches a lone sheep step too close.
"You find what you need, Counselor?" Hammond called, grin wide and mean.
Elijah didn't stop moving. "I'm getting there."
Hammond barked a laugh. "You keep pokin', you're gonna wish you stayed in your fancy city. Boys like that one — they do bad things. World's better off when we make it quick."
Elijah stepped right up the wooden steps until they were nose to nose. The smoke curled between them, but Elijah's stare never wavered.
"You put your name on a piece of paper and called it justice," Elijah said, his voice low and sure. "You think I can't tear that apart in front of a jury?"
Hammond's eyes narrowed, the grin falling away. "Ain't no jury here gonna take your word over mine, boy."
"Then we'll bring the truth so loud they won't have a choice."
For a moment, the sheriff's jaw twitched like he might swing. But instead, he spat his cigar stub into the dirt and shouldered past Elijah, muttering curses under his breath.
---
Inside the cell, Ikrist lay awake, tracing his finger over the wall drawings. His breath misted the brick when he whispered the words his mama told him to hold tight: Tell the truth. Hold the truth. Don't let 'em steal it.
Outside, Elijah tucked the crooked "confession" deeper into his coat pocket and walked back toward the Raya house under a sky heavy with thunder that might finally break.