my emotions to bubble to the surface? I had lost my wife and left my mother and my in-laws to deal with my only child—a child I was forsaking, even if only temporarily. What kind of man was I? How could I abandon my responsibilities and abscond to a place halfway around the world? The thoughts flooded my mind, and I suddenly felt nauseated. I scurried back to my cabin and sat on the bed, my head throbbing and my gut roiling and churning.

Was I seasick or simply enervated because of guilt? I lay back on the bed and fell into a fitful slumber with dreams of Mallie and Anna Marie and my mother flooding my subconsciousness. Sometimes those images would be pushed aside by the dead, tormenting faces of Nate Bledsoe and his mother, both of whom I had shot. When I finally awoke several hours lat...

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