Police were unable to locate the missing children until 3 PM the next day.

They didn't even know the exact location where they'd set up camp the night before.

It was the smell of rot and the hot air that ultimately led them to the tent, which the boys had pitched next to the creek.

Seth leaned forward in his seat. He had his finger in front of him, reading the article out loud while he followed line by line with his finger.

The blue light from his triple monitor set up glowed in his glaring eyes.

All three youths were found with the crumpled and tattered remains of their tent collapsed on top of them.

Their bodies had been beaten over and over with a blunt weapon, which authorities are yet

to locate.

It's speculated the three 14-year-old boys were already dead before the unknown assailant, still at large,

started stabbing at their bodies repeatedly through the fabric.

I turned away from him before he could glance over and make eye contact.

I sat on the edge of his bed and then lay all the way down.

I wondered when he'd last washed the sheets, over a month at least. It was only to be expected.

No one around to impress when you've deliberately turned yourself into a social recluse.

Of course it had become my responsibility to address the issue.

I suppose his mother had exhausted all the nagging techniques she could muster over the past couple of weeks

before she decided to try giving me a call. In fairness, I'd known Seth since

middle school. It always been one to experience his temporary bouts of timeness and

introversion, but this was taking it to the next level.

When you go nearly four weeks, only traveling to and from work, and stay locked in your room on

the weekend, ignoring all texts and calls, bailing on plans you've already

made. There's a problem there. Something is lingering beneath the surface.

...