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The silence pounded down the coffin lid, closing itself around my heart.

Friends and neighbors arrived to offer condolences. Many brought homemade cakes and baskets of fruit. Ken's acquaintances brought beer and gin and before long, they were gathered in the living room, raising their voices to overcome each other with prophetic pronouncements about the day of reckoning that was coming for the rich power structure. Justice for the poor and the downtrodden was just around the next corner. Soon, the reason for their arrival here in the first place disappeared and their conversations twisted and turned back to their usual topics. They all drank too much, made too much noise and eventually drove away the people who really could have comforted Mama.

Roy couldn't stand being there. He left as soon as people arrived, especially Ken's friends. I was afraid he was prowling the streets, looking for Jerad. We expected the police were searching for him and for Carlton, but neither had been found. I could only describe some of the other gang members and the girls there. I didn't know any other names, except the nickname for the fat boy Jerad called Chumpy.

Late in the afternoon of the second day of mourning, Alicia Hanes arrived and quickly approached me. Ken and his friends had taken over the kitchen and Mama's friends sat with her and me in the living room. Most of the time, I sat there like an amnesiac, gazing at faces and listening to

conversations without any understanding or recognition. People shook their heads at me, pitying me, but those who knew something about the story inevitably made comments like, "How could you go to a place like that at night? What were you thinking?"

Behind their masks of pity, their faces wore condemnation. Blame like fog rolled into our home and settled around me. I could see it in their eyes, in the way they stole glances at me and then whispered, and in the way they shook their heads and pressed their lips together. The steel ball of guilt bounced inside me and eventually settled on my heart, making it harder and harder to breathe. The room was stifling.

"I've got to talk to you," Alicia whispered, gazing fearfully toward Mama. "Alone."

I lifted my drooping eyelids with a modicum of interest.

"Why?"

"I have to give you something and tell you something," she continued.

Usually, I sat on the sofa almost all day, barely rising to go to the bathroom. Mama's friends did all the serving and cleaning and feeding of the mourners. It was as if no one wanted me to touch their food or their silverware and plates anyway.

I got up and led Alicia to my room. She closed the door and I turned to her.

"What do you want?" I asked. None of Beni's other so-called friends had stopped by, not even the girls who lived in the building.

She unbuttoned her blouse, reached in and brought out the envelope of those horrible negatives. Recognizing it sent a bolt of lightning down my spine and then left me feeling numb and cold. I felt like my blood had frozen in my veins. I tried to swallow and speak, but I could only gaze at the envelope in her hands.

"I was told to give this to you," she continued. I reached down to find the strength to talk.

"How did you get it?" I whispered.

"A boy. Someone I never saw before," she added quickly, "came up to me in the street out front and handed it to me. He said I should bring it right up to you and tell you there is a note for you inside and you better read it right now." Her eyes went wide for emphasis.

Slowly, as if I was putting my hand into fire, I reached for the envelope. I gazed at Alicia to see if she had looked inside, but I didn't think she had. I could tell by her grimace of fear and terror that she was glad to be rid of it.

I opened the envelope and took out the note. Alicia stared at me as I read what was written.

It simply said, Open your mouth to the cops anymore about who was there and what you think happened, and your brother's next.

My legs wobbled. I pulled up a row of negatives to confirm that they were the photos of Beni.

"Who gave you this?" I demanded.

"I told you, a boy I never saw before." "What did he look like?"

"I don't know," she said backing toward the door. "It happened too fast. He just shoved it at me and told me to bring it up to you. I gotta go," she said grasping the doorknob.

"You have to tell the police what he looked like. You have to, Alicia."

She shook her head.

"Not me. I didn't even want to bring that to you," she said, "but he told me if I didn't, I'd be sorry. Don't ask me any more questions. If you tell the police I brought that to you, I'll deny it. I ain't getting killed."

She turned and rushed out.

"Alicia!" I screamed.

She was out the front door before I could call out to her again. Ken looked up from the table where he was holding court with two of his drinking friends. They were all staring at me.