I could tell from the moment I saw him that he’d changed, somehow regressed into that state in which we’d found him wandering the forest two years before.  There was no sign of the rational FBI agent Kyle MacLennan, merely a shadowy, hollow shell, babbling in delusion. We’d received his phone call the previous night, in which he’d relayed fragments of a story.  Something about homicide, an antique dealer and…

When I first saw the shadow that he had become, I didn’t know whether to pity or fear Agent MacLennan.  We arrived on the scene to find him raving about immortals and homicide, and had to forcibly remove him.  He was unhelpful at first, speaking in fragmented sentences, refusing to fully answer any direct questions in a manner as which could help us piece together what had happened.  Only after…