The Charleston bus wheezed to a stop on the edge of Alcolu just past noon the next day. It hissed like a tired old snake, its windows fogged with the breath of folks who'd ridden all morning through wet pine woods and dusty crossroads.
When the doors swung open, the passengers spilled out — farmhands, mill workers, mothers with restless babies. And among them stepped a man in a neat brown suit, his shoes too clean for the muddied lane, a leather satchel clutched tight under one arm.
His name was Elijah Carter, a young lawyer barely thirty, sent down by Thurgood Marshall himself. He'd never been to Alcolu, but he'd heard about towns like it since the day he'd learned to read headlines that spelled trouble for boys who looked like him.
He took off his hat, wiped the sweat from his brow, and squinted at the cluster of small houses that leaned against the woods like they knew they weren't welcome in town for long. He spotted a woman standing alone by the post — thin shoulders wrapped in an old shawl, eyes that held too much worry for one lifetime.
"Mrs. Raya?" Elijah asked, stepping forward with his hat pressed to his chest.
Anna Raya nodded, her voice catching. "Yes. You come from New York?"
Elijah smiled, gentle but firm. "I come for your boy, ma'am."
---
They sat together in the Raya kitchen, the table between them piled with letters, Ikrist's drawings, old family photos Anna had gathered as if they might prove he was still just a child, still hers.
Amie peeked in from the doorway, too shy to come closer. Caleb sat silent, arms crossed, jaw tight as he studied the stranger who might be their only chance.
Elijah flipped through the papers, reading every word, scribbling notes on a pad pulled from his satchel. He listened without interrupting while Anna told the story again — how Ikrist left the yard, how he came home, how they took him the next day.
When she finished, Elijah set his pen down and looked at them both with eyes that were tired but clear.
"I'll be straight with you," he said. "They'll fight me every step. The judge, the sheriff — they'll want this over fast. They'll call me an outsider. They'll say I'm stirring trouble where there ain't none."
Caleb leaned forward, voice low but steady. "You think you can help him?"
Elijah didn't flinch. "If we can get the truth in front of the right ears — yes, sir, I do. But I need to see him first. And I need to see whatever 'confession' they claim they have."
Anna gripped his hand so tight he felt her nails press into his skin. "Bring my boy home, Mr. Carter. Please."
Elijah squeezed back, not promising what he couldn't — but letting her see the fight in him all the same. "We'll fight this, Mrs. Raya. We'll fight every lie they try to tie around his neck."
---
At the jailhouse, Sheriff Hammond sat at his desk when the young lawyer knocked once, then pushed the door open. Hammond didn't stand up. He just leaned back in his chair, boots crossed on the scarred wood, hat tipped low like he'd been expecting a show.
"You the lawyer?" Hammond asked, voice dry as old tobacco.
Elijah set his satchel on the desk. "Elijah Carter. I represent Ikrist Raya."
Hammond's grin curled at the edges. "Well, Mr. Carter from up north — you wasted your bus fare. Boy confessed. Open and shut."
"I'd like to see the signed confession," Elijah said, voice calm but edged with steel.
Hammond's smile flickered, but he didn't drop it. "Boy says he done it. Don't need no paper when the whole town knows what he is."
Elijah's fingers drummed on the satchel. "What he is," he echoed. "And what's that, Sheriff?"
Hammond's grin widened, all teeth now. "A killer."
Behind him, Deputy Croft flinched — just enough for Elijah to notice. He locked eyes with Croft, reading the flicker of unease there like a page half-torn.
"I want to see my client. Now," Elijah said, voice low and final.
Hammond studied him a moment longer — then spat on the floor beside his boot and waved Croft forward. "Suit yourself. He's all yours."
---
Ikrist sat small on the edge of his cot when the door creaked open. He looked up, startled by the shape of a stranger in a clean brown suit instead of a deputy's uniform or the sheriff's broad shadow.
Elijah knelt so their eyes met. He held out his hand like they were meeting in a church pew instead of a cold stone cell.
"Hey there, Ikrist. My name's Mr. Carter. Your mama sent me."
Ikrist's eyes filled. He took the man's hand, his own thin fingers lost in the lawyer's warm grip.
"Mama's okay?" Ikrist asked, voice barely more than a breath.
"She's okay," Elijah said softly. "She wants you to know you ain't alone anymore. I'm gonna help you tell the truth. The real truth."
Ikrist nodded. His shoulders trembled — but for the first time, the fear that had clung to him for days felt a little lighter.
"You believe me?" Ikrist whispered.
Elijah didn't hesitate. "Yes, I do." He squeezed the boy's hand tighter. "And I'm gonna make them hear you too."