Edmund watched the members of the jury as they filed back into the courtroom and seated themselves. Even though he tried to suppress it, he felt vaguely uneasy about the fact that six of the twelve were black.
Surely that doesn’t matter, he thought. They’re reasonable people. And no one can actually take Clump’s nonsense seriously.
But another part of him whispered back, Then why did it take so long? This should’ve been over in a few hours.
He reached over and squeezed Jennifer’s hand. This couldn’t possibly fix things, but it would give them some closure. They’d both been sleeping badly the past few months and had even gotten into a couple of shouting matches the like of which they hadn’t had since their first year of marriage.
He tried to read the jury’s faces as they sat in the jury box, but couldn’t really see anything, good or bad.
After a few moments of paper-shuffling and random coughing from the courtroom, Judge Leibowitz banged her gavel to call the court to order.
“Jury, do you have a verdict for us?” she asked.
The jury foreman…foreperson…stood. She was a middle-aged black woman with slightly graying hair, a little plump, but not yet seriously fat.
“Yes, your honor, we have.” She handed a packet of papers to the bailiff who brought it to the judge’s desk.
“And what is the jury’s verdict?”
Edmund had always found odd the extensive formalities of the court process. He supposed it was natural for an institution that had been around so long.
“On the charge of murder in the second degree, we, the jury, find the defendant, Darryl Simmons—“
Edmund let out a sigh. Here came the words that were going to give him just a bit of peace, let him think about something else, let him sleep.
“—not guilty.”
Edmund blinked. That wasn’t it.
At the defendant’s table, Simmons stood and, with a broad grin, shook hands with Clump. From the gallery on that side, a middle-aged black woman, Darryl’s mother?, shouted out, “Praise Jesus!”
From her bench, Judge Leibowitz smiled at the jury and said, “Thank you for your service, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. It has been a pleasure working with you these past weeks, and I’m glad to see a group who understands the true value of justice in twenty-first century America.”
Jennifer looked just as dumbfounded as he felt.
This couldn’t be real. This was some kind of nightmare.
Without meaning to, without even knowing he was doing it, Edmund stood up.
“You can’t do this!” he shouted. “That bas—that fu…” Edmund paused here, futilely mouthing silent words in his rage. “That nigger killed my son!”
The Mayor of Christ Mountain 
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