The Almighty God of Law

They died

The rain started falling. Slow at first. Then harder. Ezekiel stood at the gate. His clothes soaked through. His body ached from the fall. His heart felt worse.

He walked away. He didn't look back.

The little money they had given him at release was small. Not enough for a second cab ride. Not enough for anything. He walked. One foot in front of the other. The rain poured down. It mixed with the tears he refused to shed.

His parents' house was far. But he walked anyway. He had nowhere else to go. His wife had thrown him out. His son was not his son. His cousin had taken everything. There was nothing left for him.

The streets blurred past him. He didn't notice the people. He didn't notice the cars. He only noticed the pain. The betrayal. The lies. Five years. He had given them five years of his life. And this was his reward.

His parents. Theodora and William. They had visited him once in prison. Only once. Their faces pale. Their eyes were filled with shame. A son in prison was a stain they couldn't wipe clean.

But they were still his parents. They would take him in. They would help him. They had to.

He reached the house. The familiar gate. The familiar garden. But something was different. The flowers were different. The paint was different. A new car sat in the driveway. New curtains in the windows. Strangers living in his parents' home.

Ezekiel pressed the bell. His hand trembled. He waited. A woman opened the door. She was young. Maybe thirty. She looked at him with confusion.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Ezekiel. Ezekiel Palmer. I'm looking for my parents. Theodora and William. They live here."

At this point he was still known as Palmer for his last name. During Law school he had to switch to his mother's last name to avoid being associated with the Palmer family.

The woman's face changed. Her eyes softened with pity. She looked at his tattered clothes. His hollow cheeks. His bruised body. The rain dripping from his hair.

"Oh," she said. "The couple who lived here."

Ezekiel's heart dropped.

"The man went out one morning," she continued. "He was killed in a car accident. His wife... she followed after. They said it was cancer. They are both dead."

He couldn't breathe. His chest tightened. His vision blurred.

"When? When did this happen?"

"About two years ago. I'm sorry. I didn't know they had a son. They never mentioned anyone."

Ezekiel's legs gave out. He grabbed the gate to steady himself. His parents. Dead. Both of them. Gone. He had never said goodbye. He had never made things right. He had been in prison. Locked away. While they died alone.

The woman looked at him. Her eyes were kind. She hesitated.

"Some man named Joseph Palmer sold us this house. I think he was the brother. He handled everything. He seemed in a hurry to sell."

Joseph Palmer. His father's brother. The second son from another wife. The man who had stolen his father's birthright. The man who had poisoned the old man's heart against Ezekiel's father. The man who had taken everything.

Now the evil ones were rejoicing.

Ezekiel's hands clenched into fists. His nails dug into his palms. The rage burned in his chest. But it was useless. His parents were gone. Joseph had won.

The woman remembered something. She disappeared inside. She came back with a box. Old. Dusty. She handed it to him.

"I found this in the attic. It belonged to your parents. I didn't have the heart to throw it out. It felt wrong."

Ezekiel took the box. His hands trembled. He opened it. Photographs. Old letters. His father's watch. His mother's jewelry. A lifetime of memories. His mother's handwriting on a letter. His father's face in a photograph.

He clutched the box to his chest. His throat tightened. He couldn't speak.

"Thank you," he finally whispered. His voice cracked.

The woman nodded. She closed the door. The lock clicked.

Ezekiel stood in the rain. His parents were gone. His wife was gone. His son was gone. His home was gone. He had nothing. He was nothing.

He walked. He didn't know where he was going. He just walked. The rain stopped. The night came. The streets grew darker. His feet carried him through unfamiliar neighborhoods. Past shops that were closed. Past people who didn't look at him.

He found himself at a casino. Bright lights. Loud music. The smell of alcohol and desperation. The doors were open. People were laughing. People were losing. People were winning.

A man grabbed his arm. Familiar face. Old friend.

"Ezekiel? Is that you? What happened to you? You look terrible."

Leo. His old friend from college. They had lost touch after the wedding. Leo had always been a gambler. A hustler. But he had a good heart. He had been at the wedding. He had danced with Grace's sister. He had drunk too much.

"I heard you got out," Leo said. "I heard the news. Come inside. Let's get you a drink. Let's get you some money. You look like you need it."

Ezekiel didn't argue. He followed Leo inside.

The casino was loud. Smoke filled the air. Men in suits. Women in dresses. Money changing hands. Desperate faces. Hopeful faces. The slot machines chimed. The roulette wheel spun. The cards shuffled.

Leo led him to a table. Cards. Easy game. Leo borrowed some money. Just enough to play. He handed it to Ezekiel.

"Play. Win. You need this."

Ezekiel sat down. The dealer was a large man. Bald. Tattooed. His eyes were cold. His hands moved fast. The cards flew.

But the game was rigged. Ezekiel saw it immediately. The dealer's hands. The signals. The cheat. He had seen it before. In prison. Men who ran gambling rings. Men who cheated for a living.

He called it out.

"That's a cheat. You're rigging the game. I saw the signals."

The dealer's face changed. The men at the table stood up. Big men. Mean men. They grabbed Ezekiel.

"You don't accuse us of cheating," one of them said. His breath smelled like whiskey. His grip was tight.

They hit him. Hard. First the face. Then the stomach. Then the ribs. Ezekiel fell to the ground. He didn't fight back. He didn't defend himself. He let them hit him. He let the pain wash over him.

He deserved it. He should have been a better son. He should have protected his parents. He should have never married Grace. He should have stayed home. He should have fought for his birthright. But he didn't. He had abandoned everything. He had chosen love over family. And now he had nothing.

His father was dead. His mother was dead. His wife had betrayed him. His son was not his. His cousin had taken everything.

The men kept hitting him. He didn't move. He didn't scream. He just lay there. His eyes swollen shut. His body was broken. Blood dripped from his lip. His ribs cracked.

Then the door burst open.

Police sirens. Flashing lights. People screamed. They ran. They scattered. The men who were beating him fled into the crowd.

Ezekiel lay on the floor. He couldn't see. His eyes were too swollen. He could only hear.

Footsteps. Boots. Someone was walking toward him. Slow and deliberate.

A voice. Unfamiliar "That's him. Ezekiel Lawson."