Nate talked for almost three hours.
Brad barely moved the entire time, probably, Nate suspected, as penance for all the wild (by Brad’s standards) emoting he’d been doing previously. So Brad sat listening with Iceman-worthy stoicism to Nate’s recount of a story which, even to Nate’s own ears, sounded not just ludicrous but outright insane. The only signs of any reaction on Brad’s part were an occasional slight widening of his eyes, a few minute shifts in his chair, and once (during one of the Ray parts of the story) a small, amused snort.
Nate told him everything, everything he could remember. Everything he’d been cursed to be unable to forget.
Not just about the night they “met” and what had happened there, but how Ray and his girlfriend Sarah (to whom Ray had spilled the beans immedia
