Charlie started shooting, but the officer took a shot and got him below the left shoulder.  He dropped the gun.  I got angry and picked it up, and started firing back at the officer.  My brother told me to stop.

I held him in my arms, crying, trying to wipe the blood away. It wouldn’t stop gushing out.  I remember telling him to hold on, that I love him, our parents love him, that he can’t die.

Then he said this to me:

“At least I’ll be with Ma…”