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 immortality.  He said he was worried, and that he was no longer sure of the case.  Naturally we arranged to travel to the site, and assured him that we would be there soon, and not to leave the hotel.  Unfortunately he had not followed the advice, and only with the help of local law enforcement were we directed to the home and business of Mr. Leslie, where we found Agent M in a state of near hysterics.  We had to forcibly remove him from the house, and after ensuring that the daughter, Christie Leslie, was unharmed, we received nothing more of a comment from her than “Watch him closely.  He’s not himself.”

It took hours to calm him into a semi-rational state, but when we finally did, we were able to get his story from him.

 

I’m sure you know the details of this case, but I’d like to start as much from the beginning as I can, in hopes that it’ll help me make some kind of sense out of this, and perhaps you as well.