The night finally ended. I had to peel my fingers off the handle of the knife, after hours of gripping it. It felt like I was holding the last rung of sanity. I waited until midmorning before I left the motel, just to be safe.

My thoughts are all over the place, scattered. It’s even harder to focus.

I drove out to Uncle Jake’s last address. The road took me past rundown houses, trees crowded around them like motionless stalkers. Everywhere I looked I saw paint chipping off siding and roofs sagging. A huge Doberman barked wildly at me as I sped by, straining at the heavy chain that lashed it to the metal railing of a dry-rotted front porch. Other than the dog, the whole neighborhood seemed abandoned.

There was a lake with water so still it seemed like a mirage. My eyes...

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