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…”