Twenty-four years later, I felt Manny’s hand touch my shoulder, and I didn’t brush it away.
“That’s enough,” he said. “Don’t keep watching.”
But I had to. The man in the video flickering on the wall of the bone-strewn, bone-white cave was Roto. My brother.
And he was a changed man.
We had watched it happen, Manny and I. We had followed the trail of poor, dead Frogface’s body parts to the cave, where we had found the video diary. We had switched on the blood-smeared projector and watched the whole horrible story of my brother’s transformation, as urgent and immediate as if it were not recorded but happening live right there in front of us.
In the early entries, Roto had been bitter but hopeful. Prison had scarred but not broken him. He had come to the Cambio to live among the re
