He alternated between hating this place and loving it. Today he hated it. Yet, each time he came back to Indigo Valley to see his parents, he came here. Hell, this place and the events that took place here twenty years ago were the reason he was a cop today.

He looked around. If he closed his eyes, he could see Amy, Andy, and Jeff whooping and hollering. It was all so long ago, and yet it seemed like yesterday. The police dog inched closer, sensing his master’s distress. Mac reached down to scratch the animal behind his ears before he trudged through the mud over to the Judas tree. He clenched his teeth when he remembered how badly he’d wanted to carve his initials into the tree next to the others. Jeff had sensed it and yanked him away, calling him a retard for wanting to associate with ten-year-olds. Jesus, how he had hated Jeff King.

Mac sucked in his breath when he saw how Cady Jordan’s initials had been gouged out of the bark. Jeff must have gone back alone to do that. The others probably thought he had something to do with it. Hell, why wouldn’t they? Back then he’d been Jeff’s shadow.

He looked up at the Judas tree’s delicate buds being pelted with the rain. He thought it the prettiest tree he’d ever seen.

He smiled when he thought about that last year. The four of them had been a gutsy bunch of little kids. He’d envied them their simple fun and the tree house, and had hungered to be part of it but didn’t know how. Maybe it had something to do with Jeff and how big he’d been back then. How many times he’d gone to the grove without Jeff to lie in the brush and watch them play Robin Hood or cops and robbers. They’d picnic by the pond, climb into the tree house, and laugh and laugh. They played checkers and Old Maid. He knew this because after they left, he’d climb up to their clubhouse and play by himself. Once Jeff King had almost caught him.

Jeff King. He was a spoiled brat and a bully. He didn’t have a single friend back then. He knew it, too. He’d hated him. Jeff knew that, too, and had just laughed. So, he’d been tarred with the same brush as Jeff.

It all happened the year he and Jeff turned eleven. Until that winter he’d had a wonderful childhood. New hockey skates had been under the Christmas tree that year, and he couldn’t wait to try them out. Every day he prayed for freezing temperatures, so the pond would freeze. His mother warned him that the ice wasn’t solid enough to skate on because while it was cold, it wasn’t cold enough to freeze the ice. Of course he hadn’t listened. He’d gone ice-skating on the pond at the Judas Grove with his new skates. Jeff had been on the pond that day, too. He’d whirled and twirled around twice before the ice cracked and his right leg went through. He’d panicked, but it was Jeff who calmed him down, told him not to move and that he’d get him out. The other kids had run home, scared out of their wits. Jeff had seemed so knowledgeable, so matter-of-fact, he lost his fear and did what he said.