Their feet run to evil,
And they hurry to shed innocent blood;
Their thoughts are thoughts of wrongdoing,
Devastation and destruction are in their paths.
They do not know the way of peace,
And there is no justice in their tracks;
They have made their paths crooked,
Whoever walks on them does not know peace.
Isaiah 59:7–8 (NASB)
Highland Heights Park
Cheerwell, Texas
Friday, September 25, 2015
“A deranged kid with a gun is what I don’t need today.” Looking through his shades at his partner, Rio Rosales, in the driver’s seat, Justice let the police dispatcher, Melanie Curry, know they were fifteen minutes away from Highland Heights Park and in pursuit of the seventeen-year-old runaway, Devin Scott.
“This is the fourth time we’ve dealt with this kid,” Rio said. “He charged his dad, Alburt, with glass a few months ago. Before that, he assaulted his brother, Cain, and threatened his mother, Regina, with a butcher knife. He’s as crazy as his granddad, D’Santos Fears.”
“Didn’t the boy get sent to a mental hospital?”
“Apparently, he’s out.”
Justice removed the shades from his eyes and put them in the console between him and Rio, his partner. Neither one of them was inclined to chase some mentally disturbed teenager, but they couldn’t allow him to endanger himself or others. After all, their mission was to protect and to serve.
“The kid’s a threat,” Rio said. “He shouldn’t be roaming the streets, especially with a gun.”
“His parents are in denial,” Justice said. “Why else would they keep bailing him out and depriving him of the psychiatric help he needs, and why would they leave a loaded weapon in the house within his reach?”
Generally, Justice loved kids, and he had always counted on having a houseful of kids growing up since he came from a close, tight-knit family, and his greatest desire was still to have kids, even if he had to go through a nontraditional route, like surrogacy.
After five years, Julianna was miraculously cancer-free, but she and Justice were still childless. According to the doctors, the cancer had taken a toll on Julianna, and barring another miracle, she wouldn’t be conceiving or carrying a child naturally any time soon.
Initially, Julianna had suggested she and Justice go to a fertility clinic so she could have some of her eggs harvested and frozen, and Justice could deposit his sperm as insurance for the future so they would be able to conceive a child through surrogacy or insemination, if necessary. But Justice had vetoed that suggestion until he eventually saw how much his wife was willing to go through just to have a child with him and expand their family beyond him and her.
More spiritual and devout than him, Julianna believed it was part of God’s grand design for them to have children together, and she had even found a Christian clinic called The Tree of Life Fertility Clinic in Evergrace, Texas, in association with The Tree of Life Community Worship Center. Julianna had even explained the significance of their donor profile numbers to Justice, saying her donor profile identification number was PROF-ROM1513, similar to Romans chapter 15, verse 13, while Justice’s donor profile identification number was PROF-JHN31617, similar to John chapter 3, verses 16 and 17, in the Bible.
This morning, Julianna had finally told Justice she was going to walk in faith and buy a pregnancy test, then visit the doctor’s office afterward because her aunt Flow hadn’t visited her in more than twelve weeks, which was her polite way of telling him that she hadn’t had her menstrual cycle in about three months. That was at four o’clock this morning, so Justice was anxious to get a report from his wife.
“The Scotts are either scared for Devin or scared of him,” Rio said. “Otherwise, he would be on lockdown, instead running around with a firearm. If nobody stops him, he’s liable to do some major damage—to himself or somebody else.”
“His parents are careless, especially the father. Scott kept a loaded weapon in the house and allowed Devin easy access to it.” Justice rubbed the gold wedding band on his finger. “He’s the authority in the home, and his negligence could cost someone his or her life.”
Fathers like Alburt Scott irritated Justice. They made his job worse with their crazy brand of hands-off or let’s-be-friends parenting. They often cared more for public appearances and social approval than for their kids’ welfare.
Justice had witnessed repeatedly how fathers like Alburt Scott and D’Santos Fears could raise and enable murderous monsters—degenerates equally heartless and self-centered who had nothing better to do than shatter other people’s lives.
Rio spared Justice a glance, his brown eyes compassionate, sympathetic. “You’re frustrated, aren’t you? Thinking about Julianna too?”
“This time, she might be pregnant.”
“Let’s pray she is.”
“That’s all I’ve been doing since four o’clock this morning.”
Finally, they reached Highland Heights Park, and Justice pushed thoughts of Julianna and the possible pregnancy behind. “We’re here!” He barely gave Rio time to park the car before he opened the passenger door and climbed out. “Let’s find this kid before he hurts somebody.”
“Justice, be careful. All right?” Rio stood beside the driver’s side, one hand atop the car.
As Justice faced his partner, Rio’s brown eyes looked beyond him, getting wider, and he went for his firearm. “Devin!”
Devin? Before Justice could turn or grab his own firearm, he heard a shot fired, then felt a searing heat rip through his left shoulder, driving him down onto the asphalt. Two more shots rang through the air; then, silence ensued.
I’ve been shot! Justice fought to remain calm, to keep his wits about him. If Devin had really wanted him dead, the boy wouldn’t have left until he’d finished the job.
“Justice! You okay?” Rio bellowed, concern in his voice.
“Julianna,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Justice! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Justice opened his eyes back to reality. “Where’s the kid?”
“Running west to the basketball courts. That’s his only escape.”
“Let’s get him!”
“You’re wounded.”
“It’s nothing—a flesh wound.” Justice grimaced, clutching his left arm, and then he tried to staunch the blood oozing from his shoulder. Devin Scott is a ticking bomb. He’s already fired shots, shooting him. If we don’t neutralize him, he can possibly threaten the lives of others or, worse, shoot bystanders—civilians.
Rio radioed for assistance, then sped around the car, running in pursuit of Devin Scott. Like Justice Rio knew that if Devin reached the basketball courts, it would be easier for him to escape capture, cutting through the wooded area until he made it to Dearing Road.
I’ve got to fight, to live, to act. Rio was his partner, and he needed backup; Justice couldn’t desert him or endanger him, leaving him at the mercy of a mentally ill teenager with a gun.
Although Rio was an athlete and in good physical condition, Justice knew his thirty-eight-year-old partner was no distance runner, nor was he any match for the seventeen-year-old. Rio needed his partner, so Justice wouldn’t fail him.
The fighter in Justice spurred him to action.
Ignoring the fire burning within his left shoulder, Justice grunted and then stumbled toward the driver’s seat. He climbed inside, shut the door, and drove with his right hand, steering the patrol car to the opposite side of the park, closer to the basketball courts.
Screeching the car to a halt upon the gravel, Justice leaped from the seat and removed his firearm from its holster; then, he hopped over the guardrail onto the grass and ran full speed toward the basketball courts, hoping to cut Devin off before he reached the tree line. With the waning light, it would become easier for Devin to disappear if he made it onto Dearing Road.
Approaching Highland Heights Court Three beneath a bright light, Justice noticed a lone boy, no more than sixteen, with dark braided hair, wearing a yellow T-shirt and faded blue jeans, with a basketball spiraling from his hands toward the basket and earphones plugged in his ears.
An older, disheveled teen wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans sped across Highland Heights Court Two, distracting Justice from the younger boy.
Lord, no! Devin Scott.
“Kid, leave! Now!” Justice yelled, trying to warn the boy as he saw Devin barreling toward them, the weapon still in his hand.
Devin was about twenty feet from the boy when the boy, as though sensing some threat, glanced up and, startled, removed his earphones. The boy glanced back toward Devin, then forward again, his frightened eyes riveted on Justice.
“Stay calm, kid. Don’t make any sudden moves.” Justice’s eyes darted to the unbalanced teenager charging the boy like a bull to a red cape. “Stop, Devin! Surrender!”
“I’m not an animal!” Devin screamed, then raised the gun as he advanced. “You’re not taking me in!”
Gain his trust. Calm him down. Save the boy.
“Put down the gun, Devin! No one needs to get hurt.” Justice quickly assessed the scene. Devin was mentally unhinged, ready to pounce; the boy stood frozen, immobile, his eyes fearfully wide. On foot, there was no way Justice could reach the boy before Devin. If the teen didn’t drop his weapon, Justice only had one more option—distract him—just enough to wound him and disarm him.
“I’m not crazy!” Devin said.
“No one said you were.”
“Nobody’s doping me or strapping me to some bed again. Nobody’s caging me! I’d rather die first.”
“Lay down the gun, and we’ll talk, Devin.” Justice walked slowly, moving at an angle. He didn’t want the boy standing directly between Devin and himself; he wanted to protect him, to get him out of the line of fire.
Devin shook his head. “You cops are liars! Granddaddy taught me that much. I’m not talking to you, and you’re not catching me either, at least not alive!”
Devin was in control, and he knew it. He wasn’t intimidated either. He was unpredictable, a threat. “Listen to me.”
“No!” He roared, then shut Justice out. “I’ve got the power! Nobody’s knocking me out; nobody’s handcuffing me nor locking me up!”
“You’re not well, Devin. You need your meds—some professional help.”
“I need everybody to leave me alone.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave alone—not with that gun.”
“Shoot me, then. I don’t care anymore.” He leveled his gun at the boy. “Better yet, watch me do my worst.”
“The boy’s innocent. Let him go.”
“He’s in my way!”
“He’s just a kid!”
“No more than I am,” Devin said, his eyes soulless.
God, no!
“Drop and roll, kid!” Justice commanded as Devin stopped behind the frozen boy, his face like a mask of fury, his weapon aimed for target, his intent clear.
Justice fired just as Devin discharged his weapon, and both Devin and the boy fell to the court.
Quickly, Justice lowered his firearm, his right hand shaking.
Rio ran toward Justice, his weapon drawn. “Justice, you okay?”
“Don’t worry about me. Check Devin.” Justice rushed toward the boy who lay on his stomach, bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound in his back.
The boy’s head was turned to one side, and his eyes were shut, but Justice could see that he was still breathing. Even as Justice radioed for medical assistance, he heard sirens blaring in the distance.
Justice wanted to hold the boy’s hand, offering comfort and reassurance, but he was afraid of moving him, of aggravating his injury. Instead, Justice talked to the boy, praying that his words penetrated the boy’s consciousness. “Live, kid!” he said. “Hold on, don’t give up; fight for your life.”
“How’s the boy?” Rio asked.
“He was shot in the back, and there’s a lot of blood. How’s Devin?”
“I’m sorry, Justice. He’s dead.”
“I killed him?” Justice sank to his knees, his eyes darting toward the lifeless body of Devin Scott. The kid was only seventeen; now he was dead. I killed him. He’s dead because of me.
“This isn’t your fault. The kid made a choice when he fired. You were defending yourself and trying to protect this boy.”
“He was seventeen—just a kid.”
“Devin was an active shooter today, and he would have killed you and this boy, given the chance.”
“I shot him.”
Rio put his hand on Justice’s right shoulder. “Forgive yourself. Okay?”
Justice nodded.
Rio sighed. “I don’t know if this is the right time to tell you this, but I thought you should know before anyone else in the public finds out and makes the connection.”
Justice raised his eyes to Rio’s. “What?”
“Devin has a red and black serpent tattoo from his right arm all the way down to his wrist.”
“Like I saw and described for the police on the arms of the two men who killed Jessica?”
Rio nodded.
Justice’s heart thumped his chest. “Are you telling me D’Santos Fears and possibly Davelle Spight had a part in my sister’s death?”
“It seems that way.”
“No!” Justice got dizzy and swayed, and his thudding heart drowned out the sound of Rio’s voice. Just as the paramedics finally arrived, he collapsed on the court beside the injured boy, and darkness enveloped him.
Rio screamed. “Justice!”
Even as Justice slipped into a dark slumber, ready to surrender to death, he heard a still, small voice within his spirit urging him, encouraging him, and guiding him: Seek the Kingdom, Justice. Ask. Seek. Knock. Come. Live.