A mother protects her child.

At the top of the hill, Nancy stopped short. Her hands flew up to her face, as though in shock. Myron hurried his step. He veered to the right. Sheriff Yiannikos stayed with him. When they reached the clearing, they could see the same thing Nancy was seeing.

Patrick had the gun pointed at his own head. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t hysterical.

He was smiling.

Nancy took a tentative step toward him. “Patrick?”

Patrick’s voice was loud and clear in the stillness of the woods. “Don’t come closer.”

“I’m here now,” Nancy said. “I’m here to take you home.”

“I am home,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

“Did you really think I stayed in the car?”

“What, honey? I don’t know—”

“You drove me up. You told me to stay in the car and close my eyes.” Patrick smiled again, the gun right up against his temple. “Did you think I listened?”

“I saw it . . . I was there . . . they just . . . just dumped his body into this ravine. Like it was nothing. Like Rhys was nothing . . .”

“I killed him,” Patrick said, and now a single tear slipped down his cheek. “And you dumped him here. You made me live with that.”

“It’s okay,” Nancy said, her voice cracking. “It’s all going to be okay . . .”

“I see it every day. You think it ever left me? You think I ever forgave myself? Or you?”

“Please, Patrick.”

“You killed me too, Mom. You threw me down the ravine too. And now we need to pay the price.”

“We will, honey.” Nancy glanced around desperately, looking for any sort of life preserver. “Look, Patrick, the police are here. They know everything. It’s going to be okay. Please, honey, put the gun down. I’m here to take you home.”

Patrick shook his head. His voice, when he spoke again, was pure ice.

“That’s not why you’re here, Mother.”

Nancy dropped to her knees. “Please, Patrick, just put the gun down. Let’s go home. Please.”

“My God,” Sheriff Yiannikos said under his breath, “he’s going to do it.”

Myron could see that too. He debated making a move, sprinting toward the boy, but there was no way he could get there in time.

“Home for me is here,” Patrick said. “This is where I belong.”

He cocked back the hammer on the gun.

Nancy shouted, “No!”

“I didn’t call you here to save me,” Patrick said. His finger started to shake as it started to pull on the trigger. “I called you here to watch me end—”

And then another voice—a female voice—yelled, “Stop!”

For a second everything froze. Myron looked to his left. Brooke Baldwin stood on the other side of the clearing with Win.

Brooke started toward the boy. “It’s over, Patrick.”

Patrick kept the gun against his head. “Mrs. Baldwin . . .”

“I said, it’s over.”

“Stay back,” Patrick said.

Brooke shook her head. “You were only six years old, Patrick. A little boy. It was an accident. I don’t blame you. Do you hear me, Patrick?” She took another step toward him. “It’s over.”