Marie James walks slowly toward her home. ''My neighbor,'' she says, pointing down the street to the house she just left, ''has cancer and she has trouble moving around. So when I cook I like to fix her a plate of food.''
There was a time when Marie, 78, had many neighbors. Now her home, across from Poinciana Elementary in Liberty City, is surrounded by vacant lots.
As she enters her small front yard, her husband, Nathaniel, 85, comes out to greet her. In an otherwise desolate neighborhood devoid of color, the James' yard is crammed with red, white and orange flowers.
''My wife's the gardener,'' offers Nathaniel, who spent 33 years working for Miami-Dade Transit.
''Don't listen to him; he does most of the work,'' argues Marie, a retired home-care nurse.
Childhood sweethearts, Marie and Nathaniel moved to Miami from St. Croix, in the Virgin Islands, in 1945, and bought this house in 1954. ''When we first moved here, this neighborhood was beautiful,'' Marie recalls. ''Every yard had flowers and their bushes lining the sidewalk. But so much has changed.''
Her words trail off and she turns away. The afternoon sun beating down, Marie leans against a fence post. ''What Sedrick did, it hurts,'' she says without prompting, her voice filling with emotion. ''It hurts me to think he did those things. God knows my heart goes out to those poor families.''
Sedrick Williams is her grandson, accused of being the North Dade Rapist.
On Friday police charged Williams, 30, with six counts of rape and one count of attempted rape. They also believe he is responsible for eight other assaults. Williams, who is in prison on unrelated cocaine charges, was tied to the rapes through DNA.
For more than a year, the rapist terrorized the people of this very neighborhood, by sneaking into his victims' homes through open windows, covering his face with a mask, and assaulting them at the point of a gun or knife. His victims ranged in ages from 7 to 37.
The 7-year-old girl was raped in front of her 8-year-old sister.
Marie James has a hard time recognizing the boy she once helped raise in the animal he is accused of being. ''Sedrick lived with us for about three years, when he was 12,'' Marie says. ''He wasn't getting along with his stepfather and so his mother sent him to live with us.
''When he was living here, he was always very respectful,'' Marie says. 'It was always, 'Yes, ma'am,' and, 'No, ma'am,' when he talked to me. Then he went back to live with his mom and after that I just don't know what happened.''
Married 59 years, the Jameses raised 10 children and have 35 grandchildren and at least that many great-grandchildren. Marie and Nathaniel say only one other grandchild has run afoul of the law and is in prison. The rest are doing well, they say.
''One of my granddaughters is a helicopter pilot in the military,'' Marie says proudly. She says she hasn't seen Sedrick in years.
Nathaniel saw his daughter, Sedrick's mother, Friday. ''I asked her if she knew Sedrick was in jail and she said yes, and that was it. She didn't want to talk about it,'' Nathaniel recalls.
Sedrick looks just like his grandfather.
Marie tried reaching Sedrick's mother Saturday, but her daughter's phone service was disconnected.
''Oh, this hurts,'' Marie says, repeating herself. ''I can't tell you how much this hurts. Those families. Those poor little girls. I don't know how. . . .''
The sentence doesn't need finishing.
Both Marie and Nathaniel know they're unlikely to see Sedrick again. If he is convicted, he will be in prison for more years than either of them can expect to be alive. Still, they hope he can salvage what is left of his own life.
''While he is in prison, I hope he finds peace for his soul. I hope he turns to God for forgiveness,'' Marie says. ''If not, he surely is going to go down.''
