April 20th, 2025, in Birmingham, Alabama. A twenty-seven-year-old man and his girlfriend were celebrating Easter and their daughter’s seventh birthday. A day that by all accounts had been nothing short of beautiful. But before the night was over, an argument between the two escalated into something nobody at that celebration anticipated.

McKis Bostic ended up trapped between a vehicle and the wall of a house after she intentionally drove into him. A deadly act of rage between a mother and father unfolded with their children possibly in the back seat.

Investigators found twenty-seven-year-old McKis James Bostic pinned between a vehicle and a house where a birthday party and Easter celebration had taken place.

“There’s a large commotion. Family members were visibly upset because their loved one was just hit, and officers could not get the scene under control with each precinct’s officers.”

Under Alabama law, this deadly incident could mean serious charges if intent is determined. “Because those kids were there, this can now be a capital murder case. Because anytime in Alabama when there’s a child that the couple shares in common that’s under the age of fourteen, you now could be looking at capital murder.”

When she walked into a courtroom days later, there was no remorse. Instead, she was smiling, laughing, and whispering words to people across the courtroom. The more you hear, the more unsettling it gets.

McKis James Bostic was twenty-seven years old and grew up in Birmingham, Alabama. He graduated from Wenonah High School and went straight to work for Jefferson County. By the time he was twenty-seven, he had been serving as an officer at the Jefferson County Family Court and Youth Detention Center for years. McKis had a special connection with those kids. He was young enough to still relate to them but mature enough to hold them accountable.

His family described him as energetic, honest, and loving. His co-workers said no one was exempted from being on the receiving end of his jokes and that he always found a way to make you laugh no matter what kind of day you were having.

The people closest to him knew him by his nickname, Keith. On his social media page, he described himself as a comedian. And from everything people said about him, that fit perfectly.

“You know, long time ago, they said there’s a few good men left. He was one of them. He was going to provide for his family and he’s going to do the things that he needed to do for his family. She would do him so cruelly and so wrong. It’s not fair. It’s not right. But he’s a good person. He’s truly going to be missed.”

Outside of work, McKis loved being around people—outings, parties, gatherings. He was the kind of man who did not just attend the function; he was the function. McKis also had a twin brother, Mike Bostic. The two of them had grown up together and navigated life together. They were as close as two people could be.

McKis had three biological children of his own, and he had fully stepped into the role of a father figure for two additional children who were not biologically his—children who belonged to his longtime girlfriend, Shatice Jackson.

Shatice Renee Jackson was thirty years old, three years older than McKis. Originally from Fairfax, Virginia, she had been living in Birmingham, Alabama, where the two of them had built a life together. She was a mother of five: two children from a prior relationship before McKis came into the picture, and three children they shared together.

Her social media account was largely filled with photos and videos of herself—solo content, her own image, her own world. But McKis’s page was full of her: photos of the two of them together, videos from trips, birthday tributes, anniversary posts, daily moments. He called her his wife—not in a legal sense, but in the way that mattered to him. That was the woman he was building with and doing everything for.

The feeling did not always appear to go both ways, at least not publicly. The rare times Shatice posted about McKis were occasions like anniversaries. Now, people express love differently. Some are private, others are not. But when you look at the full picture of what was documented between these two, there seemed to be an imbalance in how each of them carried the relationship publicly.

They had been together for a long time, long enough to build a blended family of five children and to accumulate years of shared history. On November 9th, 2018, McKis wrote about how lucky he felt to have someone like her in his life. This was not a one-time thing but a pattern that continued for years.

On Mother’s Day in May 2023, he took to Facebook again to celebrate her. He thanked her not just for being a mother, but for being dependable, reliable, strong, caring, and supportive. Whatever was or was not being expressed publicly, McKis kept showing up and kept providing.

In November 2024, he took Shatice to Jamaica for her thirtieth birthday. He posted about it, writing that she wanted to be in Jamaica for her big thirtieth, so he made it happen.

On Valentine’s Day in 2025, Shatice posted: “Best Valentine’s Day gift ever. This man moved us into a bigger and better house—five bedrooms, two full bathrooms, basically two living rooms, upstairs, downstairs, a huge backyard. I couldn’t ask for anything better. I don’t even want nothing else today. This was more than enough. Thank you, Daddy. We love you with everything in us. I have some making up to do.”

Now, on the surface, this looked like a couple doing life together. Trips, a new house, children, anniversary posts. But family members who were close to McKis described a more complicated picture.

There were moments on social media that hinted at something beneath the surface. In August 2023, Shatice had posted: “I enjoy being single. I can move how I want to.” But the thing is, she was not single. She was with McKis. So what was that about? Was it frustration in the moment? Was something going on between them at that time?

In November 2024, she reposted this: “I love a guy that still loves me after I acted a fool.”

In April 2025, her posts became more direct. On April 16th, Shatice reposted something that read: “The ugliest trait about a Scorpio is their anger. And it’s crazy because they’re so laid-back. Scorpios really are calm people. They don’t even be doing all that. Scorpios just hate feeling disrespected or played. It turns them into a whole different person. They react first and think later.”

The next day, April 17th, she reposted again: “Scorpios can’t unsee anything. Once you make a Scorpio look at you different, they’ll never look at you the same again. Scorpios will forgive you, but they’ll always feel like they got to watch or limit how they show you love. Because Scorpios put their trust in you and then you blew it. Now you got the dangerous side of a Scorpio, and that’s not a place you want to be with them.”

And then on April 18th, she reposted one more time: “The Scorpio in me will tweak out in a minute.” Then she added, “Man, I can’t help it.”

April 20th, 2025. Easter Sunday.

McKis had been planning this day for weeks. He had even reached out to his cousin days before the party, inviting them to come through to the house on April 20th. He mentioned the pool, the Easter egg hunt, telling them to slide through so they could make some new memories.

The celebration was held in the 700 block of Lisa Lane in the Roebuck Springs area of Birmingham. He had gone all out because he always did. It was not just Easter they were celebrating. April 21st was his youngest daughter’s seventh birthday. So this was a joint celebration—one day early, combining Easter and her birthday into one big day.

For most of the afternoon, things were exactly what they were supposed to be. Family around, children playing, food on the grill, music, and laughter.

But around the evening hours, an argument reportedly broke out between Shatice and McKis’s family members. According to reports, McKis initially held Shatice down in an attempt to calm her during that argument. Birmingham police were called to the residence. They responded, assessed the situation, determined that nothing criminal had taken place, and made no arrests.

Minutes after police cleared the scene, Shatice Jackson returned to the house on Lisa Lane, and this time she came back with a firearm.

Another argument broke out outside the residence. The entire confrontation—from the moment she returned to the moment it ended—happened outside and remained outside. As she moved toward her SUV to leave, McKis’s family followed her. That’s when she fired a shot into the air, reportedly in response to them following her.

Then she got into her SUV with four of her children inside the vehicle.

Prosecutors stated that she tried to hit McKis Bostic—not once, but twice. When she missed the first attempt, she turned the wheel again and drove into him.

McKis Bostic ended up pinned between the SUV and his neighbor’s house.

Birmingham Fire and Rescue responded. Officers from all four precincts went to Lisa Lane after a “max officer” emergency was called over the radio because the scene was so chaotic that the east precinct officers alone could not bring it under control. More than twenty-five units responded.

When officers arrived, McKis’s family had Shatice pinned on the ground, yelling that she had run him over. Detectives determined that there was no evidence of the brakes being applied.

McKis James Bostic was pronounced gone.

The same day everything happened, Shatice Jackson posted: “I don’t feel bad at all.”

Shatice Jackson was placed on a forty-eight-hour felony hold and booked into the Birmingham City Jail. On April 21st, 2025, Birmingham Police Department homicide detectives presented the case to the Jefferson County Magistrate’s Office, and a capital charge warrant was issued for Shatice Jackson, given that the kids were in the car when the incident occurred. She was transferred to the Jefferson County Jail with no bond.

The Birmingham Police Department confirmed the arrest publicly on April 23rd, 2025, posting that BPD detectives had obtained a warrant in the McKis Bostic homicide investigation. They confirmed that McKis lost his life on Sunday, April 20th, 2025, in the 700 block of Lisa Lane, and that witnesses reported that Shatice got into her vehicle and ran over McKis, causing the vehicle to collide with him and his neighbor’s house.

This became Birmingham’s twenty-fifth homicide investigation of 2025.

Still in April 2025, Shatice Jackson made her first court appearance. She was initially brought before Judge William Bell, but the case was moved to Judge Hudson for the bond hearing. Judge Hudson informed her of her charges. A follow-up date was set for April 30th for her attorney to file a notice of appearance.

But here’s what is unsettling. She was not remorseful. She was smiling and at certain points even laughing. She was whispering across the courtroom like she hadn’t felt the weight of what happened.

“In a Birmingham homicide case, Shatice Jackson, a thirty-year-old mother, is facing a capital murder charge after police say she ran over twenty-seven-year-old McKis Bostic, the father of her children, during a gathering on Easter Sunday. And today she made her first court appearance.”

“Shatice Jackson appeared in court this morning for the first time since her arrest. She was initially brought before Judge William Bell, but the case was moved to Judge Hudson for a bond hearing. In that hearing, Judge Hudson told Jackson she’s charged with capital murder and will be held on no bond. Jackson mentioned that her family plans to hire an attorney but has not named the attorney just yet. The charge comes after a violent scene Sunday night on Lisa Lane. Birmingham police say Jackson and Bostic, who share children, got into an argument during a birthday party that was also an Easter gathering. Allegedly, she left, came back, may have fired a shot, and then hit Bostic with her vehicle, trapping him against a house. He died on the scene. And at least one child may have been present during this incident. Jackson is being held in the Jefferson County Jail on no bond.”

Her hair was visibly out of place on one side. Her attorney claimed at a subsequent hearing that McKis and his family had pulled out her hair during the confrontation. Was this a woman who truly felt nothing, or was this a calculated move, knowing exactly how it would look?

Now, there are two videos that circulated online in the aftermath of this case. One appeared to show a male and female having a physical altercation at an airport. Speculation spread that it was McKis and Shatice in that video, but the faces were not entirely clear. If that was them, what happened at that airport? What led to a physical altercation in a public space like that?

A person posted stating that she would have done the same thing if she was in Shatice’s shoes. Then someone close to McKis posted asking why anyone would even say they would have done the same thing. She questioned how someone could run over the person who did everything for them on Easter Sunday of all days.

McKis’s cousin addressed the speculations with a post on April 21st, writing:

“Imagine as a good family-oriented man, you meet a woman with two kids who really didn’t have much, and you take and love her two kids like your own. Imagine treating a woman like a queen. He really loved you. Imagine getting all types of gifts—not even talking about birthdays and holidays. Imagine taking a woman out of the country to see things she has never seen before. Imagine buying a woman a five-bedroom nice family home to live comfortably. He did whatever to keep you and yours happy. And her thanks and appreciation was to take his life in front of his kids, his mom, his twin, and his sisters. Keith should have left this woman where he found her. This really hurts. There is no other backstory to this. My cousin never hit her, never ever put his hands on her. She is the aggressor. She is the one who used to get mad and wake him up out of his sleep. This is all on her.”

People who knew the both of them also shared posts after this incident, wondering where things had gone wrong. Someone wrote: “Why couldn’t y’all just fight and make up like y’all used to? Y’all loved each other so much, the dynamic duo. When you saw Shatice, you saw Keith. And when you saw Keith, he was definitely lit up with Shatice. This got out of hand.”

Another person posted stating that she wished Shatice had been able to walk away before things escalated to this point. Even from her own circle, the sentiment was the same. This should not have happened.

His twin brother, Mike, posted about McKis’s passing, writing: “My twin brother is gone. You were a good-hearted person. Everybody loved you. I always said that about you. I’m going to miss everything about you, McKis Bostic. I just can’t type right now, but I’m hurt. I lost my other half.”

McKis’s mother also made a post stating that Shatice always had a bad, evil soul, but that her son McKis had a heart of gold, even when it came down to it, even toward her family.

In the days following his passing, a candlelight vigil was held at the Jefferson County Youth Detention Center. Staff and co-workers gathered there to remember a man they described as not just a co-worker or a friend but family. The director of the facility spoke about who McKis was to the young people in that building. Young enough to relate to them, old enough to hold them accountable, and present enough for that to matter.

“McKis Bostic—or Big B—used to work here at the Jefferson County Youth Detention Center. But staff here say he wasn’t just a co-worker or a friend. He was family.”

“When they mentioned that no one was exempt from being cracked on, I was included in that. And so he would find a way to make you laugh.”

Loved ones released balloons in front of the building where Bostic changed lives. He was a juvenile detention officer here. The director says he had a special connection with the kids that wound up in this facility.

“He was twenty-seven years old. He could relate to them. He was young enough to still have relatability to them, but old enough to still be able to hold them accountable, and they had a lot of respect for him.”

Jefferson County Commissioner Sheila Tyson also spoke at that vigil. “Domestic violence is real, and it doesn’t only happen to women. Men go through domestic violence, too, and they need treatment.”

Authorities believe some of Bostic’s children witnessed the crime. The detention center gifted his kids Build-A-Bears Friday night. A commitment they’ll show up for them.

The detention center made a commitment at that vigil—not just to show up for the memorial, but to continue showing up for McKis’s children. “That’s not the end of it. You know, we have already been planning for the Christmas holidays, what we’re going to do for the children, for summer lunch program. We’re going to try to make sure they get over here for the summer lunch program, just to give them something to do, just to give them a chance to spend time with their dad’s co-workers.”

Going forward, employees say they will continue to grieve Bostic’s loss, but they say they will carry his memory with them every day and on every shift.

On the other side of this, Shatice’s mother, Fatisha Jackson, posted on May 2nd. Her post reflected the position of a mother who loved both her daughter and McKis.

“Thanks for all the calls and text messages. I’m also grieving. I lost a man that I called my son-in-law. I loved him as well. This seems like all a dream. I don’t care what social media says. Everyone is going to have their opinions, but they don’t know the facts. But no, it’s hard for my daughter. She is also grieving and hurting. My baby is not a bad person. It’s something that happened in the heat of the moment. They loved each other. They had good times and bad times. There’s no perfect relationship. These situations are real. I am so sorry that this happened. I love both of y’all. I am praying for the Bostic family. I wish I could take it back. God has the last say. I’m so sorry. I’m definitely going to miss McKis Bostic. He always told me he loved me. That was my son, too. I’m hurting for everybody, especially my grandkids. I miss them so much. This shouldn’t have happened. I also consider Mike Bostic my son-in-law. I can’t imagine the pain you are feeling, especially with Keith being your twin. I know we had our ups and downs, but pain is the last thing I want you all to feel right now. We all were family—dysfunctional and all. I’m praying for strength and for God to heal everyone’s hearts that are hurting. There’s just a lot on my mind. I’m just torn between the two. I wish this never happened. I will always love you, McKis.”

No matter which side of this tragedy anyone was on, that is the one thing everyone agreed on: this should have never happened.

McKis was laid to rest on May 3rd, 2025.

The preliminary hearing was held on June 11th, 2025. The defense argued the case was overcharged—that Shatice had been attacked, outnumbered, and trying to escape, and that at worst she should face manslaughter charges. But prosecutors pushed back, stating that she tried to hit him not once but twice.

On March 13th, 2026, a Jefferson County grand jury formally indicted Shatice Renee Jackson on capital homicide. The indictment was made public on March 23rd, 2026. She had been in the Jefferson County Jail without bond since her arrest in April 2025. The indictment confirmed what the charge had always been: capital charges.

When the indictment news circulated publicly, Jennifer Bostic, McKis’s mother, posted on March 23rd, 2026, writing:

“My son, McKis Bostic, was one of a kind, a good-hearted young man. He tried to give her the world, did everything for her, even her two oldest children. He loved them and took care of them as little children. Nothing was never good enough for her. My family and I love and miss him so much. Only God knows why she would run my son over with that SUV. The pain is so bad and hard. Almost a year later, it feels like it happened yesterday. But I’m still leaning on God. To all his friends and co-workers, I love each and every one of you. Thanks for still calling, texting, and coming to check on me.”

The case remains ongoing. Shatice Renee Jackson remains in custody at the Jefferson County Jail without bond, awaiting trial.

Years before any of this happened, back on July 4th, 2018, McKis posted about the enemy attacking his family during the holidays. And it was on Easter Sunday—one of the most significant holidays of the year—that he lost his life.

In September 2023, McKis had also reposted this: “Lord, if I don’t ask you for nothing else, and I mean nothing, please keep me here for my kids. Y’all keep taking these mothers and fathers away from their babies.”

He felt those words and decided to share them. Less than two years later, his children faced the loss of their father.

Rest in peace, McKis.

The celebration that Sunday afternoon was supposed to be about new life—Easter, resurrection, hope. A little girl’s seventh birthday. Balloons, cake, children running through the yard hunting for eggs. McKis had posted about it days before, excited, inviting family to come make new memories.

No one woke up that morning thinking they would attend a funeral.

His mother would later say that she noticed something was off when she arrived at the party. The tension was there, invisible to the children but heavy among the adults. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to ruin the day.

Hours later, she was standing in the street watching her son’s body being pulled from between an SUV and a house.

His twin brother, Mike, would never celebrate another birthday without feeling the absence. They had shared a womb, shared a childhood, shared everything. Now Mike had to figure out how to be alone in a world that had always contained his other half.

The five children are scattered now. The two oldest, whom McKis raised as his own, are with their biological father’s family. The three youngest are with Shatice’s relatives. They will grow up hearing different versions of what happened. They will have to piece together the truth from news articles, court documents, and the whispered conversations of adults who can’t agree on whose fault it was.

They will have to carry the weight of knowing that they were in the car. That they saw or heard or felt something that night that no child should ever experience.

The Jefferson County Youth Detention Center, where McKis worked, made a promise to those children. They would show up for Christmas. They would make sure the kids had presents. They would remember their father, not just as a victim, but as the man who made them laugh, who held them accountable, who believed that every kid deserved a chance.

But a summer lunch program cannot replace a father. Build-A-Bears cannot undo trauma. And no number of balloon releases will bring McKis back.

Shatice’s mother said she was torn between the two. She loved McKis like a son. She couldn’t understand what happened. She wished she could take it back.

But the law doesn’t operate on wishes. The grand jury looked at the evidence—the two attempts, the children in the car, the absence of brake marks—and decided that this was not an accident. This was not self-defense. This was something else entirely.

Shatice will have her day in court. Her lawyers will argue that she was afraid, that she was outnumbered, that she fired a warning shot because she felt threatened. The prosecution will point to the surveillance footage, the witness statements, the fact that she drove into him twice.

The jury will have to decide. But no verdict will answer the question that everyone keeps asking: how did it come to this?

Two people who loved each other. Five children who need them. A house that was supposed to be a home. A vacation to Jamaica that was supposed to be a celebration.

And an Easter Sunday that turned into a murder scene.

McKis’s cousin said it best: “He should have left her where he found her.”

But he didn’t. He saw a woman with two kids, struggling, and he stepped up. He provided. He loved. He built. And in the end, that love was used against him in the most devastating way possible.

His mother is still leaning on God. His twin brother is still trying to type through tears. His co-workers are still telling stories about the jokes he used to tell.

And Shatice Jackson sits in a jail cell, awaiting trial for capital murder, with no bond and no way to undo what she did.

The posts she made in the days before—about Scorpios, about anger, about reacting first and thinking later—now read like warnings that no one recognized in time.

“I don’t feel bad at all,” she wrote on the day he died.

Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she was in shock. Maybe she was protecting herself from the enormity of what she had done. Or maybe—and this is the part that keeps people up at night—maybe she really didn’t feel bad.

The case continues. The children grow up without their father. The family waits for justice. And the rest of us are left with a question that has no easy answer: what do we do when the people we love become dangerous, and the people we trust become the ones we need protection from?

McKis didn’t see it coming. Or maybe he did, and he stayed anyway, because that’s what he did. He stayed. He provided. He showed up.

And on Easter Sunday, 2025, he showed up for the last time.

Rest in peace, McKis James Bostic. A good man. A good father. A good friend. Gone because someone who said she loved him decided that her anger was more important than his life.