Keith Morrison

Four years after his big sister Michelle was murdered, with a year to go in high school, Jason was an ace pitcher, six feet four inches tall, with serious college and pro prospects.

And he looked the part, but with his strong chin and that cropped hair with the slicked-back cowlick.

Still, the passing of years hadn't done much to keep the grief at bay.

But really, there was no getting over it.

He'd idolized her, his big sister, his protector.

And she'd been so happy, zipping around in her Christmas present Mustang.

That Michelle was shot to death in that bright blue car so close to home.

Well, who in his place could get over a thing like that?

Made worse by the outrage that there had been no arrest.

So he immersed himself in baseball and it helped.

As did a powerful sense of belief he carried around with him.

Like a shield.

He'd been given a Bible verse two years after the murder.

It became his favorite.

Jason inscribed the verse inside his baseball cap, began to share it with others.

That's how you get through it.

And, you know, take it day by day, you know.

So, yes, this story is about surviving or trying to.

But it's also about the very tricky business of learning to read conflicting signs by turns obvious and opaque in the shifting light of the high desert.

Yes, and it was ambiguous and confusing and absolutely demanding.