I watch with intense nervousness as the curious people begin to fill the hall. I suddenly feel very weak in the knees in the face of this crowd; I've never been good with public speaking. Calvin, on the other hand, seems unnaturally calm.
"Nervous?" he asks in a teasing tone. I roll my eyes at him, because I know exactly what he's thinking; I pushed for this community meeting, and now, I probably won't even be able to go up there without making a complete fool of myself.
"Shut up," I mutter to him, only to have him roll his eyes at me. He can roll them into his brain, for all I care. I won't let him say "I told you so"; I'm getting in front of that mic, even if I have a heart attack after my second word. With my heart beating out of my chest, I make a step forward, only to be pulled back.
"Not without me," he says sternly.
"You're being ridiculous," I whisper. "No one will try anything publicly. The last thing they want is a police investigation."
"At the very least, let me stand beside you to calm you down. You're hyperventilating."
Realising the truth in his words, I swallow deeply, and nod my head.
"Please just... don't talk. You're already in enough trouble as it is."
"You have my word," he says with passion, but for some reason, I don't believe him. With a heavy sigh, I walk out in front of the audience with Calvin close behind.
"Goodnight, everyone," I address the audience, my voice cracking tremendously. "You're all probably wondering why we're here, as we've... never had a community meeting before."
Silence follows my statement. I let out a shaky breath.
"Well, I'm here to inform you that a series of possible hate crimes have been taking place, and the police have been covering it up."
"That's idiotic."
"I knew that we shouldn't trust those crooks in uniform."
"My father's a policeman. Are you saying that he's a bad person?"
These are some of the statements that explode from the crowd as soon as the words leave my mouth. Suddenly, everything starts spinning. I begin hyperventilating; I feel faint.
"Enough!" a loud, authoritative voice demands from beside me. Calvin doesn't usually get like this, but when he does, he can easily demand the attention of an entire room.
"I am a police officer. And no, we're not all crooks, but some of us are. Some of us lie. Some of us... are cowards," he tells them, the resentment plain in his voice. "Now, being a coward doesn't make you a bad person, but it does make you unfit to serve in the police force.
"As for this woman?" he starts, gesturing to me. "Everything that she has said to you is true. We've been working on the case of a possible murder that was closed after just a week. Ruled a suicide. It's happened with one other case in Columbus, and it's about to happen here, again.
"Now, I didn't come all this way, risk my job, to find out that you're all cowards, too. So will you have an open mind? Or will you shut us down, just like the police did?"
The audience stared at Calvin in silence, probably too stunned to speak. They probably think that this is a prank. I, on the other hand, feel as if I'm about to collapse; I was not expecting him to speak, and I'm now terrified of what will happen to him.
"I'll listen," one man in the center of the crowd shouts out.
"Me, too."
"I wanna hear about this."
"I'm going home."
A few people do leave the hall, but a fair amount stays behind.
"Little over two weeks ago, a young African American man by the name of Antoine McKenzie was found hanging from a tree by this woman," he tells them, gesturing to me, "Reina King. After only one week of investigating what would have appeared to any normal person to be a public lynching, the police closed the investigation. Reina and I started our own investigation. A few days into our investigation, a young black woman by the name of Reese Bridges was found at the bottom of a lake in Columbus, with rocks tied to her ankles. Somehow, with barely any investigation, the police there claim that that was a suicide, too."
The crowd starts to grumble, but then settles down once more so that Calvin can finish the story.
"A few days ago, an African American woman by the name of Naomi Harris was found hanging from a tree. She had blood under her fingernails, and there was evidence that she was dragged to the tree, but they're going to do the same thing with this one."
"But there's evidence!" someone in the crowd shouts.
"It doesn't matter. They don't want to be next, and the last thing that they would have wanted was for you to have found out, because they fear a social uprising."
"So, what do you want us to do?" a middle-aged woman in the front asks.
"Protest. Pressure the police into re-opening the closed investigations, and investigating Naomi's case properly."
"What if this person comes for us?" a young man asks. I knew that this would come up, and honestly, there is no good answer for it.
"You just have to be brave," Calvin says honestly. "Sometimes you take a risk standing up for what you believe in."
"I like my life," the man replies.
"Same," another one says.
This isn't going well. There has to be a better way for them to get under the police's skin. Then, an idea pops into my head.
"Spam them," I suggest.
"What?" a few people ask.
"Send them mail. A lot of mail. If you're brave enough to protest, then do that. If you aren't, send them letters. Go on their website to find their Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Then, spam them. Send them direct messages. Tweet and post at them. Make sure that they feel pressured."
"I'm still not sure about this," a gentleman says, looking rather nervous.
"Look, I can't force any of you to do anything, but I'm just asking for help. Please."
I look at them with nervousness and hope. I see some looking at me with compassion, others pity, and a few faces wear fear. I'm sure of one thing, though: everyone standing before me believes us, and that is a good start.449Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXcsgPLGlEj
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