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"I don’t remember any of that," I said.

"Of course not. I told you what to remember. About this time, I bought the lake house. It was a safe place to let Andy write. He was good, too. Wrote about the things I did. You know, it's funny. He thought he was making it up. A lot of what’s in his stories really happened.

"When his books started getting published and making money, I realized it’d be smart to let him keep writing. So I did. And the money he made allowed me to travel."

"Travel as in hunt?" Goldston asked.

"Yeah. I just had to be careful and let Andy have a small piece of his life, too. He'd made a few friends in the publishing business, so part of the time, I’d sit back and let him go. Let him keep up his connections. It took a lot of patience, but it paid off. The only time Andy was actually conscious was when he was writing and doing his book tours. I did a few readings, but they were boring. I'd have faked more of his life, but I’m a different person. People would’ve known something was wrong. Besides, I hated trying to act like someone else.

"When he wasn’t writing or touring, I’d travel and send Andy away. If you asked his friends, they’d say he traveled quite frequently. Always going to the islands. Always alone."

"Orson," Goldston said, "I want to show you something." Goldston pulled several pieces of paper out of the folder and laid them across the table. They were the letters Orson had sent to me. "I could never understand why Andy wrote these to himself," Goldston said. "Especially since he never used them to prove his innocence." He looked up at Orson. "You wrote these."

"Yes."

"Why go to the trouble of kidnapping your brother and bringing him cross-country to the desert when you had mind control over him? From what you’re saying, you could've just suggested he go to the cabin, and he would."

"But not of his own free will. I did, I do have control over Andy, but that gets old. I wanted Andy to act on his own."

"To kill on his own?" Goldston asked.

"To kill on his own. I wanted him to kill for the pleasure of it. Not because I suggested it. I guess I wanted us to be more like brothers. Real brothers."

"Did he?"

"I didn’t!" I yelled. "Not one fucking time did I kill for the pleasure of it. Even when I thought I was killing Orson."

"You tried to kill Orson?" Goldston asked.

"When Andy was at the cabin with me," Orson said, "he learned about David Parker from this cowboy who I’d purchased the land from. I'd used Dave's name from time to time as my own. Andy thought David Parker was the name I assumed when I was away from him. So I let Andy chase him down. What did I care? This guy had gotten me fired from teaching. I also wanted to see if Andy could do it. If he'd kill me, given the chance. If he'd do it in cold blood."

"And did he?"

"Oh yeah," Orson said. "Just to give you an idea of how much control I have over Andy’s mind, I’ll tell you this. David Parker looks nothing like me. I told Andy he was me. I convinced him I was a professor named David Parker at Middlebury College, and he tracked David Parker down and murdered him and his wife. Andy did it of his own free will, too, and he did a damn good job of it. I still don’t think they’ve found their bodies, and I know they never suspected Andy. I was really proud of him for that. I knew he had it in him."

Goldston scribbled furiously on his notes.

"Orson, let me…"

"No, Andy. I’ve heard enough from you. I’ve heard forty years of shit from you. You’ve had the past seven to yourself. It’s my turn now."

Goldston removed a thick stack of black and white photographs from the folder. I saw pictures of the desert, Washington D.C., the excavated backyard at the lake house, and a woman lying heartless on her back in the sand.

"I’d like to discuss some photographs with you. Why you chose certain victims, when and why you started removing the hearts. Was Washington your ultimate goal?"

"This is what you've waited for isn’t it?" I said. "The glory and the fame."

"This is what I’ve waited for," Orson said. "This