Wednesday, May 5

Stephen Jones, Esq.

Innocence X Headquarters

1111 Justice Road

Birmingham, Alabama 35005

Re: Death Penalty—Intake Department

Dear Mr. Jones,

My brother, Jamal Beaumont, is on the run. The Galveston County police think he killed a girl at my school. He didn’t. He couldn’t. They’re blaming him because of who his dad is. The cycle won’t stop. I need your help more than ever. We have to help Jamal, take every last drop of money we have—which is almost nothing, so maybe our house—to help defend Jamal. That means nothing left to help with my dad’s appeal.

I can’t have my father and my brother be in prison in a death penalty state. You are the only one who can help us. There’s no hope if you don’t take his case. Help us, so we can help my brother.

Please review James Beaumont’s application (#1756).

Thank you for your time.

Tracy Beaumont

GUILTY…UNTIL

PROVEN INNOCENT

Wednesday morning Jamal’s still missing. That’s how Mama sees it, but I know the truth. He’s running. Each call to his friends was a dead end, all denying they know anything about where Jamal is. He was home. I locked eyes with him, and now he’s out of touch. Suspected of killing Angela—the girl he’s been secretly seeing. His boss’s daughter.

Mama moves gingerly down the hall, stopping at my door to wake me, but I’ve been up for hours, waiting to hear from Jamal and writing a letter to Innocence X to let them know about Jamal’s situation. As much as I want Jamal home, I’m also hoping he ain’t stupid enough to come back, at least not until we know it’s safe for him. Deep down I know it won’t be easy. We’ve never had it easy.

“You up?” Mama asks.

“Yeah. You heard from him?”

“Grab that legal-help handout from your workshops for me. Gonna make a few calls before we head to the police station.” Mama’s hair is haggard, sticking up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without her hair wrap on in the morning.

I go through my drawer and hand the paper to her, then help Mama by checking on Corinne, who will be going to school. She’s in her bed, folded into a small ball with her arms wrapped around her legs, fully dressed, knowing we’d need to be ready in the morning. It’s a routine of urgency we’ve all mastered. Usually, we can brush away the fear. Today feels different. Today, we don’t know the rules we’re supposed to follow.

“Morning.” I rub my hand on Corinne’s back, then kiss her hair that’s sticking in all directions.

“Jamal back?” Corinne asks.

I shake my head.

“Maybe he’s at work,” Corinne says, getting up.