—When he was twenty-one, he was arrested during a bar fight, although the charges were later dropped.
In a little town like Bloom, being a quarter black meant being not-white meant being one hundred percent black meant being an Other. A threat to white supremacy. A blight, a usurper. It was what they’d all feared. And Christine wasn’t just any white woman; she was a Bloom. That was all the evidence that particular jury needed.
Rye was found guilty of two counts of first-degree murder. On the day of sentencing he stood in that small-town courthouse, in front of the seven white women and five white men who had convicted him, maintaining his innocence.
I loved my family deeply. More deeply than anything else I’ve ever felt. More deeply than the emptiness of the grief I feel now. And I would never harm them. I grieve for Christine’s family, for my family. I am so sorry I wasn’t there for my family in their final moments. That will haunt me forever. All this will haunt me forever.
He was sent to a maximum-security prison a hundred miles away.
*
There he wrote letters to his parents, and they visited him. So did Hunter and Savannah before they moved to Montana. After that, he and Hunter wrote each other letters, too. Rye read the art history books in the prison library obsessively, disappearing into them, memorizing everything, a deep love ripening. He went to some of the smaller therapy groups and the church meetings and formed a close relationship with one of the preachers, talked to him about Jesus.
His life had turned into some sort of nightmared misunderstanding. Daring to hope was the only thing that’d kept him alive in there. He tried to stay out of trouble when he was locked up. Kept to himself the best he could, was friendly with the guys he could be friendly with. Was nasty to the ones he knew wouldn’t respect him otherwise.
*
（The prison guard is wearing different shoes today. No longer scuffed. He said fucking piece of shit today instead of piece of shit. Modified it. Cell mate is sick. Stomach flu. Today he told me he believed me, that I didn’t do this. He told me he was guilty; he killed a man. The sun was out, the air was cold. One hour went quickly. A fight in the cafeteria. Again. The alarm. Again. Meat loaf, potatoes, rolls. Made the potatoes. Good potatoes.）
Rye’s obsessive mental cataloging helped him organize a world that no longer made sense. He talked to himself about what he saw and heard and smelled and thought, as if he were a playwright like Christine, forever setting the scene. It was how he kept himself from going mad.
（Never getting out. Making a life here. The walls are pale green. The toilet is stainless steel like a fork. Like a spoon. Like a knife. The clear water in it is low. People shit in front of other people here. Making a life here. There is too much life here. Trapped. There is no life here. The sunlight makes it onto the cold floor in the big room. Slit-up light. I am recording these observations to keep from going insane. I am recording these observations to protect my mental health. I am noticing everything I can to busy my mind, to help myself cope. I am recording these observations to keep from going insane. I am recording these observations to protect my mental health. I am noticing everything I can to busy my mind, to help myself cope. I am recording these observations to keep from going insane. I am recording these observations to protect my mental health. I am noticing everything I can to busy my mind, to help myself cope.）
*
His attorney had mentioned appealing immediately after his trial, but that was what attorneys always said. Rye’s parents were righteously heartbroken and infuriated, claiming not only that his counsel had blown the case but that the police had botched it, too. He should’ve never been arrested on so little evidence. His parents sold the restaurant to cover Rye’s sky-high legal fees and spoke with the media often. They worked tirelessly with the Release program. Never gave up.
*
Yolanda Monroe, along with Rye’s additional new attorney, argued that his trial was unfair since the jury was biased in Bloom because of the pull and power of the Bloom family. There was no hard evidence Rye had done it, and there had been recently discovered video evidence that supported his alibi—grainy footage from two different security cameras of him walking and wearing what he’d said he’d been wearing. It was proof he’d been out walking for at least two hours before Christine and Brenna died and that he was still walking during their estimated times of death, miles and miles away from their home. Prior to his trial, Rye had begged his old attorney to hunt down video, but he’d been told they didn’t need it.