The rest of the drunks at Sniddles rose and applauded.

I took a wobbly bow, then fell sideways into my friend's brawny arms. "Was I clear this time, True? Are you getting the whole picture?"

"Aye, lad, but dinnae ye worry, I willnae tell a soul."

* * *

Afraid to sleep, I found myself greeting the dawn at the summit of Drumnadrochit's highest peak, sobriety returning fast as I contemplated my existence.

What had happened to me? In six short months, I had gone from goal-oriented bastion of science to a sulking shell of a man, afraid of his own shadow, afraid of his own life.

A former teetotaler, I was well on the road to becoming an alcoholic. A former thinker, I was now afraid to reason, making pathetic excuses for my new-found phobia… and a long-lost fear that seemed to be reappearing in my dreams.

I was burnt out and exhausted. I hated myself, I hated my life, and there was no way to escape from my own head.

Except one.

Removing the vial of prescription drugs from my pocket, I stared at the pills, debating a fatal overdose.

How many times had I considered suicide since my ninth birthday? Six times? A dozen? With the help of my teachers and coaches, I had reinvented myself, but deep inside, I knew I was still Angus's runt.

What was keeping me alive? What did I have to live for? What did I have to lose?

I had spent the last six months poisoning myself slowly with alcohol. Why not just get it over with now?

Do it, Zachary! Swallow the pills! End the pain and fear and humiliation, once and for all.

I cupped the pills in my hand, but there was still one thing preventing me from offing myself on that beautiful mountainside. This time it wasn't fear—it was anger.

I was angry at Angus for forcing me to return, for forcing me to take a harsh look at myself. And having looked, I now realized that as disgusting as my father was, he was just a convenient excuse for my pain.

In truth, I was angry at myself, because Angus was right. I had been living a lie.

With each passing night terror, fragments of long-buried memories were moving into the light. As frightening as they were, I finally realized the dreams were serving a purpose—to shake loose my false foundation of reality.

As much as I tried to fight it, I now knew that something monstrous had grabbed me in the Loch seventeen years earlier. Unable to cope with the truth, my child's mind had buried it. Somehow, my second drowning in the Sargasso Sea had released these long-dormant memories, and now I had a choice; take the coward's way out and kill myself, or track down the very being that was responsible for my pain.