It was a dark night. Too dark for any old lady to be out, especially at a cemetery, but Kweem was different. Her grandson had been buried only hours earlier. She reached into her bag, pulled out two mason jars etched with Psalm 58, and began filling them with dirt from his grave. “Baby, I will get to the bottom of this.” She would find out what happened to King and why her great grandson now carried a permanent scar across his face.