Several of the kids who rode bus No. 11 to and from Fairview Middle School in Fairview, W.Va., remember Jason for his droopy Tommy Hilfiger pants and Korn T-shirt, and how he bragged to the other boys on the bus of sneaking into the girls' bathroom at school. Not long ago, Jason went before a local juvenile judge for dropping his pants long enough to "moon" a schoolbus.

Jason was trouble. That alone is not too surprising: An examination of local court records shows an extensive history of trouble with the law by Jason's immediate and extended family. And that history may very well have played a part in the development of Jason's latest identity: as a key character involved in the alleged murder by white teenagers of a young, gay black man that has drawn intense national media attention.

The bloodied, broken body of 26-year-old Arthur Carl "J.R." Warren Jr. was found around dawn on July 4. In death, Warren has become a cause for gay rights activists and black leaders, who are incensed that the Marion County sheriff said no evidence pointed toward the murder as a "hate crime." To civil rights groups like the NAACP and the Human Rights Campaign, the tragedy that befell Warren should make him a national icon: Imagine a brutal cross between James Byrd, the black victim of the truck-dragging murder in Jasper, Texas, and Wyoming gay-bashing victim Matthew Shepard.

But here in Grant Town (population: 400), the focus is on the three white boys involved in the events leading up to the murder, including Jason, who was there when Warren was killed. Their every past move is being remembered and deconstructed by townsfolk wondering why they behaved as they did.

There was the time Jason drew a stick figure on the palm of his left hand and another stick figure on the palm of his right hand. Clenching his left hand, the children remember, he declared, "This person is good."

Then he waved his right palm and said: "This person is bad." He smacked his left fist into his right palm and said: "Now, you're dead."

This parable of good fighting evil has taken on more than symbolic meaning to those who know Jason well. Instead of a tale of a mixed-up kid who predictably turned to violence, Jason's story is how a mixed-up kid ultimately stayed out of the worst kind of trouble by telling police what he says actually happened to Warren.

Now, detained at his parents' small house, wearing a police ankle bracelet over bare feet, Jason watches wild rabbits run on the lawn nearby with a freedom he doesn't enjoy. Perhaps, because of what he told the police, Jason will bring some understanding -- for the activists, for the media, maybe even the Warren family -- about what could have led to such a brutal tragedy. His story offers a vivid look inside a culture of violence and crime.

Is that any consolation? In a slow drawl, Jason says, "A little bit."

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