“What movie?” I asked.

She went into our bathroom and threw up. I came in and held her hair back, then poured her a glass of water and sat on the side of the tub.

“Sis, what happened?”

“He has a movie of Eric dying,” she said, and her voice had no emotion in it at all. “And he has films of you naked and talking about all kinds of things.”

I could see she was terribly upset, but I knew Graham did not have movies of me naked and I knew there was no way he would take a video of his best friend dying. As far as I knew, Eric was still alive and Graham and I would go visit him on a road trip probably this coming summer. What I did see though was my sister losing her mind and I wanted to help her.

“What did the films look like?”

“OH!” she said. “And he has films of me, wearing your clothes. And I never wore your clothes or went sailing with our parents.”

“He probably thought it was funny to make movies like that—just Photoshopped it.”

“They weren’t funny, they were creepy. They were all creepy.”

“Come here,” I said, and I put my arms around her. “Graham makes some weird movies and you might be upset about some of them, but I am sure they are either faked, like the ones of you, or just weird collage art. Think about it. You know Graham, you know how he is. Would he really do those things? I don’t think so. You need to relax.” She started crying. “Syd. Remember when you said we need to come together and be unified? We need to come together now. You need to relax. You need to take some of my optimism and see what has really happened instead of being stressed and hysterical about seeing some weird art.”

“I have the movie here,” she said, pulling it out of the pocket of her hoodie.

“Let me see it,” I said.

“No, Ally. It will ruin your life. I’m taking it to the cops right now.”

She looked determined and like that determination was the only thing that was keeping her going. But still. She might have something that could get Graham in trouble if it was taken out of context. “Give it to me, Syd!” I tried to grab it from her. “It’s not ours. You’ve stolen it from his room. You shouldn’t have been in his room.”

She burst into tears, and pulled the disk close to her body, kicked at me with her feet. I hadn’t ever seen her so upset—even when our parents would go away for whole days when we were little. I’d never seen her crying like that. “Get it through your head, Ally! He’s bad. He’s bad!” Her face was tear-streaked and swollen from crying. She looked desperate. There was nothing I could do. I had faith that she was wrong. I knew Graham wouldn’t do anything to hurt me or hurt his friends. She was hysterical and there was no way I could protect her anymore. If she went to the police I was sure they would come to the same conclusion and send her home. In the end I had to let her go.

“Okay,” I said. “Do what you have to do, sis. The police will decide if it’s a problem or not. I can see how upset you are. Do it and then come home and I’ll make you some hot cocoa. I’ll bake you some muffins.”

There was, of course, nothing we could do about the video he had. It was evidence from another crime, and he was apparently not using it for anything, just keeping it. The other videos she said he had we could never find, and sadly I think it was just something she made up so that there would be another reason to go after him.

We tried everything we could, called it a snuff film because that’s essentially what it was, and that was all we could do. But you would be amazed at how wealth can tie up a court or how psychiatric experts can be used to turn things you know are wrong into things that are considered therapeutic. That family circled the wagons like nothing I’d ever seen in my life. Privilege doesn’t begin to describe it. It was like we were nothing to them. They were some kind of royalty. The family’s lawyer reminded the DA here repeatedly about double jeopardy. I don’t know which was worse—them telling us that we’d victimized their son, or knowing that the kid’s dad could just buy his freedom no matter what. And this came after everything that had happened to Brian.

We would sit around shaking our heads, wondering if this kid, Graham, was a sociopath, or if he was just the stupidest kid we’d ever come across. And then he would come in and be such a nice kid. I mean, polite, easygoing, incredibly relaxed, confident, focused. His parents clearly loved him and paid attention to him. He didn’t look like he was capable of any of these things. And it really did remind you of why there’s such a thing as juvenile detention—because kids don’t think the same way as adults—some kids may never develop adult morals or understanding, some kids get more selfish as they get older, but most don’t. Most people in Graham’s situation would look back on his life and shudder. Know that they had made a mistake and wonder how they could even have been that person. That’s the best you can hope for in a situation like that.

In the end the worst of it was how that girl got traumatized by seeing the video. I felt bad for her, I did. I can’t imagine watching it and sitting right there in his room and knowing he was your friend. And of course it’s bad having any kid learn the hard way that sometimes the justice system doesn’t work like you want it to. Let alone a kid like Phil Tate’s daughter. That girl did not listen to anyone and did not take no for an answer. She was a force. And after seeing that video, she was an unstoppable force.

I felt like I was losing my mind. I went out and skated and skated and tried to get the images out of my head. I was so angry I thought I would burst. How could it be that I was the only one who saw how bad things were? I didn’t tell anyone but the police about Graham’s film. Of course I didn’t tell my parents who probably didn’t even notice I was upset at all. And when the police did nothing, I felt like my life was a puddle that was drying up. Everything seemed to get smaller and more terrifying.

How could what he had done be legal in any way? How could he hide who he was so easily? Why couldn’t they just go into his house and grab the computer and arrest him and take him away? How could they tell me that I had been breaking and entering, committing a crime, when he was the one who was sick and dangerous?

I began having nightmares. Almost every night. We were living right next door to this guy and still Ally slept soundly. She still didn’t believe me but she was nicer to me than ever. We spent more time together. We would come home right after school and just sit in our room and talk. She knew something had happened, there’s no way she didn’t, but she still thought I was making up most of it or the police would have done something.

At some point, I felt so defeated I started believing her version of everything. It was easier just to believe her honestly, to deny everything I’d seen, to take comfort in her view of him. I let her take care of me, bake things. I just hung around the house with her. She still went out with Graham but I stayed home. I didn’t feel like hanging out with my friends because I didn’t want to burden them.

But one night everything shifted. Ally would tell me what Graham and she talked about sometimes, and he slipped up. She thought Eric was still alive and he told her he wanted her to come to Virginia with him and visit his grave.

Of course, she chalked it up to him “grieving,” but I knew it was weirder than that. He told her he wanted her to come visit his grave and then the two of them would take a drive together on the roads that Eric and he used to drive in the Austin.