Coming home was without question the happiest—and the saddest—day in Patrick’s life. Little Bradley was brought to San Diego-Lindbergh International Airport by Patrick’s mother and sisters; they hugged Patrick warmly, but they wore stony, stem expressions on their faces—they were silently accusing him of killing both Paul and Wendy and nearly orphaning his son. Patrick ignored their anger. He hugged his son long and hard right at the Jetway door, ignoring the aggravated comments of the others who had to maneuver around them. One look at Hal Briggs, Chris Wohl, and David Luger, however, and the complainers fell silent and went about their business.

But no sooner did they turn away from the Jetway than five-year-old Bradley asked, “Dad, where’s Mom?”

Patrick was dreading this moment. He took his son aside to an isolated set of seats near a big picture window, motioned the others to go on ahead, and sat his son beside him. Despite his request, his mother and sisters stayed, respectfully apart from them but close enough to watch and listen.

“Brad,” Patrick said, “Mommy’s not coming home with us.”

Bradley’s blue eyes instantly filled with tears. “Why?”

“Mommy was hurt,” Patrick replied. “She was helping me, and Uncle Paul, and Uncle Hal, and Uncle Dave, and Uncle Chris, and a bunch of our other friends, and she got hurt real bad.”

“Is she dead?”

Patrick took immense comfort and drew a lot of strength from little Bradley’s maturity. He wasn’t sure if Bradley completely understood what death was, but the very fact that he asked if she was dead made Patrick think that he understood a little of what death meant. Bradley watched a lot of movies that should probably not be watched by young children, and then he liked to act out the fight scenes with his father and baby-sitters. But in the movies, the dead guys all came back to life when he replayed the movie; in their playacting, Daddy always got up moments after Bradley delivered the coup de grace with his plastic laser-sword. Was that his only concept of death?

“She’s missing,” Patrick told him. When Bradley furrowed his eyebrows, Patrick went on, “The bad guys got her, and they took her to a place where a lot of people were killed. We haven’t found her yet.”

“Mommy was killed?”

“I don’t know, buddy....”

“Mommy’s dead?” Bradley asked, louder this time. Patrick’s mother rushed over and grabbed Bradley in her arms. The suddenness of her movements startled him, and he started to cry. Patrick’s sisters looked at their brother with a strange, painful mixture of pity and contempt as they followed their mother out to the parking garage.