Pierre leaned against the wall near the hallway, arms crossed, eyes red but dry. He'd cried already. I knew it. He just wasn't gon do it in front of nobody else. Juste sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, head bowed, rubbin his forehead like if he pressed hard enough he could erase this shit.
Jules wasn't there. Hadn't been there since they took Juliana to the morgue. The nigga hadn't left. Nia wasn't there. She couldn't be. She was barely holdin herself together, floatin through the world like a shell with eyes. Kids scattered between houses, Mama's, Juste's, Pierres, anywhere but home. That house was cursed now. Everybody felt it. My familywas shattered. The fucked-up part was, I didn't feel shocked anymore. Apart of me felt calm.
Mama finally pulled the phone away from her ear, thumb tappin the screen as she ended the call. She exhaled hard, shoulders droopin just a little, like the weight of the world had shifted from one side to the other. "They releasin her body to the funeral home today," she said quietly. "Y'all need to go get your brother." Her voice didn't break but it trembled.
Juste lifted his head slow. "Autopsy report should be back if they doin all that. What they say, Ma?" Mama stopped pacing and turned around. Her face twisted, not in anger, but in disgust. Like it sat deep in her stomach. "They said her injuries consistent with a fall," she said. "Her neck was broke." Mama reached into her robe pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and walked out the room without another word. Screen door slammed behind her a second later.
We sat there.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
Silence pressed down on us so heavy it made my ears ring. I thought about Ayida. The way she'd been wakin up in the middle of the night lately, whisperin prayers under her breath like she was scared to say them out loud. The way she flinched every time my phone rang. The way she held my hand like she was anchoring me to the earth, like if she let go, I'd float off into somethin I couldn't come back from. I clenched my jaw. She didn't deserve this darkness. But it was already brushin against her anyway.
Mama came back in a few minutes later, smell of smoke clingin to her clothes. She wiped her face like she was mad at it for even thinkin about cryin. "Y'all better make them mutha fuckas pay for what they did to my grandbaeebbyy," she said, voice thick. "I ain't raise none of y'all to let this shit slide." Her eyes landed on me for half a second longer than everybody else.
Juste stood up, keys jinglin in his hand. "Let's go." As I stood, as I followed my brothers toward the door, I felt it That familiar tightness in my chest.
Because part of me wanted to burn the world down right then. And the other part, the part Ayida still touched, was tellin me to wait. To breathe. To be smart. I hated that part of me. But I loved her more.
—
The morgue smelled like bleach and metal and something else I couldn't name something cold that sat on the back of your tongue. Death got a smell. I'd learned that already. But this was different. This wasn't some nigga I barely knew. This wasn't business. This wasn't the streets. This was blood. This was family. This was my niece.
The hallway felt too narrow. Like the walls were inching in on us the deeper we walked. Lights overhead buzzed low, fluorescent and unforgiving. Every step echoed louder than it should've. Shoes squeakin against tile. My heart thumpin in my ears. I kept my hands shoved deep in my pockets just to give them somewhere to go. because if I didn't, I knew exactly what they'd be doin. Clenched and Shakin and ready to break some shit.
Ju was sittin outside one of the doors halfway down the hall. Not slouched. Not leaned back. Straight up. Back rigid. Elbows on his knees. Hands laced together so tight his knuckles were white. He looked like he'd been carved out of stone and left there.
Soon as he saw us, he stood. Like he thought we might try to stop him from somethin. "I'm not leavin until she do," he said flat. Not loud. Not emotional. Just final. Like a line drawn in concrete. Pierre lifted both hands slow. "We know that. We ain't here to rush you, brudda. Just here to get you, whenever you ready." Juste stepped forward and dapped him up, pullin him in just enough for a quick hug before lettin go. Jules didn't hug back. His arms stayed stiff at his sides. Eyes unfocused.
"Shit where the kids?" Jules asked suddenly, rubbin his head like the question surprised even him. Like it just popped into his mind outta nowhere. "They good," Juste said quick. "We got them. Everybody got them. They straight. We just need to handle this right now." Jules nodded slow, like he was tryin to make the words stick. They didn't. I could see it on his face. He turned toward Juste, eyes glassy but sharp at the same time. "You know this nigga let my baeebbyy fall and break her neck, right?" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, but he kept goin. "Talkin all that shit 'bout he her daddy and couldn't even keep my baeebbyy safe." That shit landed heavy. Like somebody dropped a weight in the middle of my chest. I felt my jaw tighten so hard my teeth ached. Juste swallowed. "That shit fucked up, Ju. I'm sorry, brudda." Sorry didn't mean shit right now. None of it did. But we still said it because we didn't have nothin else.
A door opened behind us. A man in a white coat stepped out, clipboard tucked under his arm. Calm. Professional.Detached. Like this was just another Tuesday for him. "Mr. St. Jean," he said gently. "The funeral home is here and She's ready to go. We just need you to sign off releasing her." He held the clipboard out like he was offerin paperwork for a car note.
Jules stared at it. I watched his throat work as he swallowed. His hand shook when he reached for the pen. He looked down at the paper like he was readin a foreign language. His daughter's name printed in black ink that was permanent. He hesitated. Long enough for the silence to get uncomfortable. Long enough for me to feel that claustrophobic pressure creep up my spine. Long enough for my thoughts to start gettin loud. Jules finally signed.
He handed the clipboard back. "I'm sorry for your loss again," the doctor said quietly before disappearin back through the door like a ghost. The door clicked shut. My brothers spirit went with it. For the first time in my life, my brother's face went blank. Not numb. Not angry. Blank. Like whatever was holdin him upright finally let go. His knees buckled. Me and Juste moved at the same time on Instinct. I slid under his arm just as his weight dropped, catchin him before he hit the floor. Juste grabbed his other side.
"Shit," Jules muttered, fingers diggin into both of us like he was drownin. His grip tightened. Desperate. He tried to straighten up. But he Failed. Then the sound came out of him. A sound I'll never forget. I don't know if it was a cry or a scream. Didn't sound human. Didn't sound like my brother. It echoed down the hallway, bounced off the tile, crawled up the walls. I felt it in my bones. His body shook. Tears streamed down his face, heavy and fast. His mouth opened again and another sound tore out of him raw, cracked, full of pain that had nowhere togo. "I ain't never gonna see her again," he choked. "I ain't never gonna hear my baeebbyy laugh again."
Juste wrapped his arms around him then. Tight. No hesitation. Pulled him in like a shield. His own tears spilled over, slid down his cheeks unchecked. "I got you," Juste whispered over and over. "I got you, brudda. I got you." Pierre stepped in close, hand pressin against Jules' back, steady. Silent. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. His eyes were wet too.
I stood there holdin my brother up while he broke in my arms. I felt helpless. That was the worst part. I'd been shot. I'd been locked in rooms where I didn't know if I was comin out alive. I'd watched men beg. Watched bodies drop. I knew violence. I knew chaos. But this, There wasn't shit I could do.
I couldn't fight this.
I couldn't shoot this.
I couldn't make it stop.
All I could do was hold him. Like if I let go, he might fall apart completely. My chest burned. My eyes stung. I blinked hard, jaw locked, fightin that lump crawlin up my throat. I didn't cry easy. Never had. Fear always came outta me as anger. Always had. But this wasn't fear.This was grief. And grief didn't give a fuck how hard you was. Tears slipped anyway. in that moment, all four of us was just brothers holdin each other up in a hallway full of death.
No titles.
No money.
No power.
