Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
It didn’t.
It just reminded me of marching with him. Training with him. Running with him until our lungs burned.
This march ended at a grave. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
Inside the chapel, I took my seat near the front. The pew felt too narrow, the air too warm. I could feel eyes on me—guys who knew the story, who knew I’d been there, who knew I’d started CPR on one woman while my best friend fought for our lives behind me.
Some of those eyes held sympathy. Some held questions.
Most held the same quiet truth, it could’ve been any of us.
The chaplain spoke.
Lamonte’s high school sweetheart sat in the front row like she’d turned to glass. I didn’t know what to tell her. They had long ago given up on making shit work, but they maintained a friendship. She mattered and he would want her here. She clutched the white paper program as if it somehow gave her some piece of Lamonte to hold onto.
The room blurred. My eyes didn’t water.
They burned.
I kept them open anyway. A lieutenant from the department spoke about service and sacrifice. About bravery. About a hero who ran toward danger without hesitation.
It sounded right.
It also sounded like words meant to keep everyone from admitting the darker truth. That sometimes you did everything right and still got shot in the neck by a piece of human trash.
Outside, at the gravesite, the wind cut through my uniform like it was made of paper. When it was time for the police honors, the room shifted. Even the civilians seemed to sense the ritual coming—the part that belonged to us. The honor guard moved with precise, practiced motions. The flag folded into a tight triangle. The rifle salute cracked the air. All of it part Marine, part cop just like the man.
Each shot sounded like the gunfire in Char’s apartment, and my shoulders tensed reflexively, my body remembering before my mind could.
Then came the last call. And it hit me that I spent his last call with him, even though it wasn’t a call on the radio. Char mattered and he would have gone for Nita with or without me. But if I had been on my game, paying attention to him more than Char, we might not be here today.
A squad car sat nearby, radio turned up. A dispatcher’s voice echoed, formal and steady.
“Attention All Units,” the crackling came through loud with the dispatch voice almost echoing. “Please stand by for final call.”
There was a pause. This announcement necessary as there were active patrol units still on duty and the call would broadcast over their radios. We didn’t need anyone to chime in for the next sixty seconds or so giving full honor to our fallen comrade.
“Dispatch to unit zero, four, niner.” The numbers to his badge hit me like a punch to my balls.
Silence.
“Dispatch calling Officer Lamonte Davis.”
Silence
“Dispatch calling Officer Lamonte Davis, Metro Police Officer zero, four, nine. This is the last and final call for Officer Davis. He service the Metro Police Department with honor. Fallen in the line of duty, but not forgotten. His selfless service will be forever remembered.”
A pause.
“Officer Lamonte Davis, you are now clear of duty. We thank you for your service, dedication, and your ultimate sacrifice. Rest in peace, your brothers in blue will take it from here.”
My throat tightened. The world held its breath. Out of service. I felt something in my chest crack. Not a tear. A fracture in the cold.
Then the voice continued, barely holding together.
“End of watch.”
The sound that came out of the crowd was collective—like a thousand lungs losing air at once. Crying broke through the ranks. The hard men let it happen. Nobody judged. Nobody made jokes. We all knew that last call was a knife and it cut every time.
I stood there rigid, staring at the flag as it was presented to his former girlfriend, watching her hands shake as she took it, like it weighed a thousand pounds. I didn’t want to take it. I didn’t want to hold the weight of that responsibility. She mattered to him. Let his legacy reside with her from now on.
I wanted to step forward. To help. To say something. But I didn’t trust my voice. Because if I opened my mouth, I might say something I couldn’t take back. And there was already too much in my life that couldn’t be taken back.
After the service, people drifted in clusters, hugging, whispering, talking about Lamonte like he was still nearby. Stories flowed, laughter breaking through grief the way it always did when you were remembering someone who had been vibrant.
I stood alone for a moment, staring at the fresh earth. The grave looked out of place Too small for everything he’d been. My hands were behind my back, the posture of a man trying to keep himself contained. A soft weight hit me from the side.