The Brothers

After Ericha’s death, there were few leads as to who was responsible. Time passed, the depression of injustice grew. One day, almost two years after Ericha’s passing, we received a call from the police detective working Ericha’s case. A routine traffic stop had led to a young man giving the names of Matt and Ben Bryant as the killers in the case. The man agreed to give this information in return for the dismissal of his speeding ticket. I was so thankful for this lucky breakthrough. At the same time, it pained me greatly to find that dozens of people in our town had heard rumors of Matt and Ben being guilty of Ericha’s murder – yet no one came forward. Going through the process of attending all of the hearings related to both Ben and Matt’s cases was exhausting.

At one point, after the younger brother Matt was arrested, there was the possibility of a relatively low bail being set for him (this was not a possibility for Ben, as he was already in jail on an un-related charge). As I am a kinesthetic person, I focused on the campaign of petitions that resulted from this possibility. Like clockwork each day after school I came home to pick up my clipboard full of petitions asking the judge to raise Matt’s bail. I loaded up my clipboard and pen and went each eve into a different neighborhood. I went door to door to ask strangers to sign this petition. I look back on how young I was when I insisted on doing this alone each night and am astounded. I believe I would have done anything in those hours after school each day to keep myself busy. Those few hours after school each day had been my time with Ericha. Now, I couldn’t bear to come home to the empty, dark house once again. I couldn’t bear to sit on the couch and absorb the vacant silence of the desolate house.

I was often the adult in my household. This led to me being able to insist on doing things that I should not have necessarily done. At the age of eleven, I had read the entire police report outlining Ericha’s murder – how it happened in brutal and unforgiving detail. I also insisted on going to each hearing for each brother. I remember the first time I saw Ben. Ben was the older brother, thought to have been the greater mastermind behind the robbery and murder. I stood behind a glass wall, watching as he entered the chamber in which he would plead guilty.

His face was that of the devil’s. I never thought I would live to see the devil on earth. But here he was, right in front of me, separated by a wall of glass.

The clinking and swooshing of his cuffed ankles and wrists filled my ears. That’s him - the person who killed Ericha. Person was a relative word to use. This was the devil. This devil tied Ericha to a chair and held a screwdriver to her back, telling her that it was a gun. This devil wrapped a telephone cord around her neck and pulled so hard he shattered her trachea. I looked at the devil. There was nothing. No feeling in his stony eyes. No embarrassment, guilt or sadness. Nothing. How is he allowed to roam the earth? My own eyes began to burn and tear. He took Ericha from us and he cannot even look sorry for it.

I began to sob uncontrollably. I shook and wept and hyperventilated. I was escorted out of the chamber into the hallway, where television cameras pounced on the chance to film a broken little girl. I was so embarrassed by my lack of control at the first hearing that I promised myself I would be stronger at each hearing from that point on.