“He was paid to become a monster,” I said, more to myself than to Joe.

“So it would seem.”

“Then maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he wasn’t always a psychopath. Maybe he could have been a normal human being.”

Joe met my gaze sternly. “I’m sure you’d like to believe that, man, and I wish it were true for you. But think about it. If someone offered you several million dollars to be tortured and raped so you could then inflict that horror on others, would you do it?”

“Of course not!”

“I think you have your answer, then. They were already messed up. Big-time.”

An image seared itself into my mind.

Justin’s limp body washed up on the edge of the river where we fished. We’d been looking for him all morning after we’d awoken to find him missing from the tent.

My father had held his fingers to Justin’s neck, said he was dead, and had taken him to the nearest police station. Joe and I stayed at camp.

Alone.

At nine years old.

Not a big deal. We knew where we were and what to do. We knew how to start a fire, how to find our own food, how to take care of ourselves. Besides, we were in an isolated area, and while mountain lions occasionally appeared, there were no grizzly bears in Colorado. We both knew how to shoot a rifle.

At nine years old.

My father had taught us.

My father had also warned us, when he returned that day, never to speak of what we’d seen. “It would be too painful for everyone,” he’d said. “If I hear either of you ever utter a word, I’ll tan your hides. This never happened.”

This never happened.

After a while, I’d believed it. I’d forgotten, and apparently so had Joe.

How? We were young, but still we had brains that worked. I remembered other things from when I was nine. How had my father made sure we forgot every detail?

“I’m sorry, Bryce,” Joe said.

I hurtled back into reality. “About what?”

“That your dad wasn’t a better man.”

I nodded. Joe had been there when my father had shot himself. In fact, my father had been ready to kill my best friend.

“I’m sorry too, for what he put you through.”

“Water under the bridge, man.”

I nodded again, though how Joe could be so readily forgiving, I had no idea. Probably had to do with Melanie and his son on the way. Love and a new life had a way of putting things into perspective.

“But we do have to talk about what happened thirty years ago.”

Once more, I nodded. “Justin,” I said softly.

“Somehow Ted Morse knows. Or he knows something else, but I don’t know what it could be. I’ve racked my mind for the last day and a half, trying to find something else we might have forgotten.”

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