The Fear Collector by Gregg Olsen

other side of the bunkhouse to hear. He motioned for Tavio to follow him to the small porch by the door.
    “Something bad happened, Tavio. It was an accident.”
    “Was it my car?” he asked referring to the old Chevy that he’d been driving for the past year.
    Michael shook his head, violently so. “No. No. Your car is fine.”
    “What then?”
    “Mi Catalina.”
    Tavio lowered his eyes and touched his mouth, signaling to his brother to be very, very quiet. “What about Catalina?” he asked in a whisper.
    “She . . .” Michael stood in the dank light of a soggy early morning and started to cry. It was not a soft cry, but a guttural sound that Tavio thought would wake up everyone in Yakima.
    “Stop!” he said, his voice growing louder than he’d wanted. “Do not cry! It cannot be so bad.”
    Michael started shaking. He no longer looked up at his brother. It seemed he didn’t want to face him at all. The words, like the rain, like muddy footprints, would never be forgotten.
    “You have to help me, Tavio. Catalina is dead. I killed her. I didn’t mean to. I am sorry. I thought she wanted me to make love to her.”
    Tavio’s eyes widened to such a degree that it seemed it was very possible that they would pop out and fall to the floor. “What are you saying, Michael?”
    “I’m saying the truth. I’m sorry. Do you want me to show you?”
    Tavio was stunned. “This has to be a mistake!”
    “No mistake. They will kill me. They will hang me. Cut off my head. Do something terrible. I did not mean to kill her. I loved her. You know that, right?”
    Tavio nodded. He would have thought so, but killing someone was too hard to forgive.
    “They will cut off my head,” Michael repeated.
    Tavio shook his head. “No. No they will not.”
    “There is no forgiveness in this country,” Michael said as he pulled on a dry pair of pants and a clean T-shirt.
    “Bring those clothes,” Tavio said, not even sure why. “Let’s go. Show me.”
    They drove mostly in silence. Tavio tried to get his brother to tell him exactly what had happened, but Michael was inconsolable by then. He managed to sputter out a few words as he directed Tavio to the turnoff by the river where he’d last seen Catalina. The ground was muddy and the sun had started to light the weeds with the morning light that would forever seem hideous instead of lovely.
    Catalina Sanchez was sprawled out next to the riverbank. Her beautiful dark hair swirled in the mud and her brown eyes gazed upward into nothingness.
    Tavio dropped to his knees and frantically began shaking her. It was a futile effort and he knew it. Her eyes confirmed what his brother had told him. She was dead.
    “Who saw you tonight?” Tavio asked.
    “Here?”
    “Anywhere. Yes, here. Yes, the restaurant.”
    Michael shook his head. “No one. We were alone.”
    “The restaurant! Who saw you there?”
    “We did not go to the restaurant. She brought tamales. She made. I think, I thought she liked me and wanted to be with me here.”
    “Tell me, are you sure no one saw you?”
    “No one. I know of no one.”
    “Good.” Tavio got up from the body and looked around. “We have to hide her.”
    “I don’t know. I don’t know if we should.”
    “Do you want your head cut off?”
    He shook his head. “No. But shouldn’t I just tell the police what happened?”
    Tavio looked down at the body. Catalina’s blouse was torn and her pretty blue and white skirt was pushed up in front. It was obvious what happened. The scratches on his brother’s face had made it so very clear. And yet, he had to ask one more time.
    “No. Tell me. Tell me what happened.”
    Michael slumped on the hood of the car.
    “She let me kiss her. She did. She let me put my hand on her. She liked it. She did. She told me to keep going, to make love to her.”
    He stopped for a moment as a car, out of view, passed by on the main road.
    “What happened?”
    Michael looked away. “I don’t know. She didn’t