When I arrived at Uncle Tyrone’s house, his numerous children sitting on his front porch told me that Merrill and Tyrone were already at his shop. Uncle Tyrone owned a shoe shop just over the tracks in Pottersville. This meant that although he lived on the wrong side of the tracks, Tyrone owned his own business on the right side of the tracks. His was one of only four black-owned businesses in Pottersville and the only one that was located in the white part of Pottersville.

He wasn’t very far across the tracks, but it was far enough to suit him and close enough to the tracks to suit the white establishment. I had heard some of that white establishment refer to him as a “white negra.” No one had ever said anything like that to me, because they knew what I was—what I had been labeled since the eighth grade when I had fallen in love with Merrill’s little sister, Kyria—a nigger lover.

“Cousin John,” Tyrone said as I walked in, giving me his usual greeting. “How ya be, boy? Not lookin’ too good there.”

“I’m okay, Uncle Tyrone. How are you?”

“I’m hangin’ tough. Hangin’ tough. So let me see your tape. Is it standard eight millimeter or high eight?”

I reached into my pocket and retrieved the tape. “Standard,” I said as I handed him the tape.

“Ah, yeah, I can handle this. Right back here.”

He walked through the faded curtain behind the counter. Merrill and I followed.

In the back of Tyrone’s store was an office roughly the size of my trailer. It was filled with shelves, which were filled with shoe boxes. On a table that stood against the right wall, there were all sorts of electronic equipment—VCRs, TVs, and stereo components. The eight-millimeter VCR sat on top of a small, square monitor in the center of the table.

“You the only white man who come in here,” he said, smiling broadly. “Any other think I stole all this shit for sure.” We all laughed, though it was more true than funny.

He popped the tape in.

“I have no idea what’s on the tape. Would you mind if Merrill and I previewed it alone?”

“Just push Play when you’re ready,” he said, and left the room.

I did.

The first scene to fill the screen was of a floor whose carpet looked familiar to me. It was the chapel at PCI. There was very little light, the picture on the screen dark and grainy. When the camera tilted up and panned left, it showed Molly Thomas walking hesitantly into the dark chapel. She was shivering.

Within seconds, Anthony had pounced on her and began to rape her. She didn’t scream very loudly, but you could tell that she was in pain. In between the screams, she tried to reason with Anthony.