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Page 121
mean you actually saw what happened?"
Kelto nodded somberly. "I not only saw it, Mr. Wages. I lived through it."
The funny part about it was that I halfway believed him. I pushed myself forward. "Tell me, what did you see?
"If you mean you want me to describe what I saw, I'm afraid I cannot."
"Why not?" I insisted.
"I was seven years old at the time, Mr. Wages. I had pleaded with my mother to let me go on that retreat. At first she was reluctant, but my sister, Jenna, was attending and good old Reverend Bell was there in the capacity of both a chaperone and a spiritual advisorso she relented. It was only a two-hour journey from the church to the retreat site, and there were games and singing. I remember only that I felt very grown-up. It was to be a whole new adventure for me."
Kelto's story began to unfold, and as he told it, his voice developed into something quite different from the grainy, almost tortured rasp of our first meeting. Now it seemed as though it was detached, almost apart from him, speaking through images coming back through the shadows of his mind.
"I remember that I was sitting next to Reverend Bell, who was driving the bus. He had wisely kept the smaller children to the front because there were three boys in the

 
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