“Three Youngsters Disappeared at Camp in 2003—12 Years Later, Hunter Finds Bodies in Abandoned Well”

Jake Martinez’s metal detector screamed as he swept it across the Oregon forest floor. He had hunted in these woods for 30 years, but nothing had prepared him for what lay 15 meters down in that abandoned well. Three distinct shapes reflected back in the beam of his flashlight.

Shapes that would finally answer the question that had haunted Millbrook for over a decade. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered into his phone. “I think I found them. I think I found the Collins boys and Sara.” The dispatcher’s voice crackled back. “Sir, can you repeat that?” What Jake discovered would expose the horrifying secret of a respected teacher and reveal how three innocent teenagers died protecting each other in their final moments.

The metal detector screamed as Jake Martinez swept it across the forest floor near the old well. He had hunted for 30 years, but nothing had prepared him for what lay 15 meters down in that abandoned well. As he lowered his flashlight into the darkness, three distinct shapes reflected back at him.

Shapes that would finally answer a question that had haunted the small town of Millbrook, Oregon, for over a decade. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his hands trembling as he dialed 911. “I think I found them. I think I found the Collins boys and Sara.” The dispatcher’s voice crackled. “Sir, can you repeat that? You said you found them.”

The morning mist clung to the Douglas firs like ghostly fingers as Jake Martinez adjusted his hunting pack and checked his rifle one more time. At 58, he had hunted these Oregon woods for three decades, but today felt different. The deer seemed nervous, the birds were silent, and even his usually reliable hunting spot near Blackwater Creek had yielded nothing. Jake wiped sweat from his forehead, despite the cool October air.

His wife Linda had packed a thermos of coffee and his homemade sandwiches, warning him not to stay out too late. “You’re not getting any younger, Jake,” she had said with that worried look he had gotten used to during their 35 years of marriage.

As he moved deeper into the woods, following an old logging trail that hadn’t been used in years, Jake noticed something unusual. His metal detector, which he always carried hoping to find old coins or relics, began to emit a faint signal. The beep grew stronger as he approached a small clearing dominated by an old stone well.

Jake had never seen this well before, despite hunting in this area for years. It was clearly abandoned. Its wooden cover partially collapsed and rotted. Ivy and blackberry vines had grown over most of it, making it almost invisible from a distance. The metal detector’s signal was coming from directly below.

“What the hell?” Jake murmured, kneeling beside the well. He pulled away some of the vegetation and peered into the darkness. The smell hit him immediately—musty, organic, wrong. He pulled out his flashlight and aimed it downward. The beam revealed a drop of about 15 meters.

At the bottom, partially covered by fallen leaves and debris, Jake could make out three distinct objects. As his eyes adjusted, his blood ran cold. Those weren’t rocks or old metal pipes; they were human skulls. Jake’s hands shook as he reached for his cell phone. 30 years of hunting had shown him plenty of animal remains, but this was different.

These were human bones, and from what he could see, they belonged to more than one person. “911. What is your emergency?” “This is Jake Martinez,” he said, his voice barely steady. “I’m about 12 miles northeast of Millbrook, off the old Cascade logging road. I think I found human remains, multiple people.”

“Sir, can you confirm your location? Are you sure they are human remains?” Jake looked back at the well, his flashlight revealing more details he wished he couldn’t see. Fragments of clothing, what looked like a backpack. And yes, definitely human skulls. Three of them. “I’m sure,” he said. “There are three skulls down here. And wait.” He strained his eyes in the darkness. “There’s something else.”

“It looks like camping gear. Jesus Christ. I think these might be those kids.” “What kids, sir?” “The Collins boys and that girl, they went missing 12 years ago on a camping trip. Everyone thought they had run away or…” Jake’s voice trailed off as the implications hit him. “You guys need to send someone out here now.” The last day of school had finally arrived.

And for 18-year-olds Michael and David Collins, along with their best friend Sarah Chen, it meant one thing: freedom. The twins had planned this camping trip for months, ever since their parents had agreed to let them celebrate graduation with a weekend in the Cascade Mountains. “Mom, we’ll be fine,” Michael assured Janet Collins as she packed what looked like enough food for a week instead of just three days. “We’ve camped dozens of times.”

Janet Collins looked at her twin sons with a mixture of pride and concern. At 18, they were practically men. Michael a virile six feet tall and David just two inches shorter. Both had inherited their father’s dark hair and athletic build from years playing football at Millbrook High.

But to her, they were still the little boys who used to build forts in the backyard. “I know you’ve camped, honey,” she said, wrapping sandwiches in foil. “But this is different. You’re going further into the mountains than you’ve ever gone before.” David rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Mom, we’re Eagle Scouts.”

“We know what we’re doing.” The plan was simple. Three days and two nights camping near Blackwater Creek, an area they had researched extensively. They had maps, a compass, a GPS device, plenty of food, and all the camping gear they had accumulated over years of scouting.

Sarah, who had been dating David for two years, was an experienced hiker and had convinced her initially reluctant parents to let her join the boys. “Promise me you’ll call,” Janet said, hugging both boys. “Your father and I want to hear from you every day.” “We promise,” Michael said, slinging his heavy pack over his shoulder.

“We’ll call from the ranger station on Friday night, and if we get a signal in the mountains, we’ll try to call on Saturday too.” Robert Collins emerged from his office where he was reviewing some cases for his law firm. As one of Millbrook’s most respected attorneys, he was used to dealing with details and potential problems.

“Do you have the emergency contact numbers?” “Yes, Dad,” David said, tapping his pocket. “Forest Service, Sheriff’s Department, and your office and cell numbers.” “And do you have the permit for that camping area?” “Here it is,” Sarah said, holding up the paperwork. At 17, she was a year younger than the twins but had always been the most organized of the three.

Her Asian heritage was evident in her careful planning and attention to detail, traits her parents, both professors at the University of Oregon, had instilled in her. The Chen family had moved to Millbrook when Sarah was in middle school. Her father taught physics while her mother was in the English department.

Sarah quickly became friends with the Collins twins, bonding over their shared love of the outdoors and similar academic achievements. “Alright,” Robert said, checking his watch. “It’s 9 AM. You guys should get going if you want to set up camp while there’s still plenty of daylight.”

The three friends loaded their gear into David’s 1998 Honda CRV, a graduation gift from his grandparents. Michael took the passenger seat while Sarah settled in the back, surrounded by sleeping bags, tents, and coolers. “This is going to be the best trip ever,” Sarah said as they pulled out of the Collins’ driveway.

“Three days with no parents, no teachers, no responsibilities.” “Don’t forget no cell signal once we get into the mountains,” David added. “Complete digital detox.” Michael grinned. “Perfect. Just us, nature, and whatever adventures we can find.”

As they drove through downtown Millbrook, a town of just 8,001 people nestled in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, several people waved. The Collins family was well known. Robert’s law firm, Janet’s volunteer work with the library, and the twins’ success in athletics and academics had made them local celebrities.

They stopped at Morrison’s General Store to pick up last-minute supplies—extra batteries, trail mix, and David’s favorite energy bars. Old Mr. Morrison, who had run the store for 40 years, insisted on checking their packing list. “You boys be careful up there,” he said in his gravelly voice. “The weather has been unpredictable this year.”

“We’ve had some strange storms in the last week.” “We’ll keep an eye on the sky,” Michael assured him. The drive to the trailhead took an hour and a half, winding through increasingly dense forest as they climbed into the mountains.

They passed the ranger station and checked in with the officer on duty, a middle-aged woman named Ranger Patricia Vance. “You folks heading to the Blackwater Creek area?” she asked, reviewing their permit. “Beautiful spot, but pretty remote. Make sure you stay on marked trails and camp only in designated areas.” “Yes, ma’am,” David said. “We’ve studied the maps extensively.”

“Good. The forecast shows possible storms Sunday afternoon, so plan to pack up early if you’re heading home that day.” “We’ll be heading out Sunday morning,” Sarah said. “We should be out of the mountains well before any bad weather hits.” Ranger Vance stamped their permit and handed it back. “Have a great trip, and remember, if anything goes wrong, there is an emergency shelter about 2 miles north of Blackwater Creek. It’s marked on your maps.”

The final stretch to the trailhead was a gravel road that tested the Honda’s suspension. They parked in a small clearing marked by a weathered wooden sign: Blackwater Creek Trail. 3.2 miles to designated camping area. “This is it,” David said, turning off the engine.

The sudden silence was profound, broken only by the sound of wind through the trees and distant bird calls. They spent 30 minutes organizing their gear and distributing weight evenly among their three packs. Michael, the strongest of the three, carried the tent and most of the cooking equipment.

David took the food and water purification supplies. Sarah, despite being the smallest, insisted on carrying her fair share, including the first aid kit and emergency supplies. “Last chance for civilization,” Michael joked, snapping a picture of the three of them with his digital camera at the trailhead sign.

“Speak for yourself,” Sarah laughed. “I’m ready to embrace nature.” The hike to the campsite was spectacular. The trail wound through ancient forest, crossing streams and offering occasional glimpses of snow-capped peaks in the distance.

They took their time, stopping frequently to take photos and simply enjoy being away from the pressures of their daily lives. After three hours of hiking, they reached the designated camping area near Blackwater Creek. It was everything they had hoped for—a small clearing beside a crystal-clear stream, surrounded by towering Douglas firs and western hemlocks. The sound of running water provided a natural soundtrack, and the late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy in golden rays.

“Perfect,” Sarah said, dropping her pack and spinning around with arms outstretched. “Absolutely perfect.” They set up camp efficiently, a well-practiced routine from years of scout trips. The tent went up quickly, sleeping bags were arranged, and David began organizing their food supplies while Michael gathered firewood and Sarah set up her camp kitchen.

“I vote we take a quick dip before dinner,” David suggested, looking at the inviting stream. “Are you crazy?” Sarah laughed. “That water is probably 4 degrees.” “Come on,” Michael joined in. “When will we get another chance to swim in pure mountain water?” In the end, all three ended up dunking in the stream, screaming at the cold but laughing so hard they could barely stand.

It was one of those perfect moments that would be etched in their memories forever—or at least it should have been. As night fell, they built a campfire and cooked dinner: burgers on their portable camp stove and corn on the cob roasted over the fire. They talked about their plans for college.

Michael was going to Oregon State for engineering, David to the University of Oregon for journalism, and Sarah had been accepted to Stanford for pre-med. Their hopes for the future and their friendship. “Promise me we’ll keep in touch,” Sarah said as they sat around the dying fire, looking up at a sky brilliant with stars.

“Promise me that even when we’re scattered across the country, we’ll still be friends.” “Always,” the twins said in unison, a habit they had since childhood. None of them could have imagined that this would be their last conversation, that in less than 24 hours all three would be dead, and their families would begin a 12-year nightmare of not knowing what had happened to them.

Janet Collins checked the kitchen clock for the hundredth time that morning. 10:30 AM. The boys should have called from the ranger station the night before when they hiked out of the mountains, but the phone had remained silent. “Maybe they decided to stay an extra day,” Robert suggested, though his voice carried the same worry that had kept both parents awake most of the night.

“You know how much they love camping.” “Would they have called?” Janet insisted. “They promised they would call, and they always keep their promises.” She dialed David’s cell number again, knowing it was futile but needing to try. It went straight to voicemail, just like the 10 previous times she had called. By noon, Robert had called the Forest Service.

Ranger Patricia Vance confirmed that the three young people had checked in Friday morning with proper permits for the Blackwater Creek area, but they hadn’t checked out as planned. “I’ll send a team to their campsite,” Ranger Vance assured him. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Kids sometimes lose track of time in the wilderness. But we’ll take a look.” The Chens arrived at the Collins’ house an hour later. Dr. James Chen and Dr. Lisa Chen looked just as worried as Janet felt. Sarah was their only daughter, and despite their academic careers requiring them to think rationally, both were imagining the worst. “What did the rangers say?” Dr. Chen asked immediately.

“They are sending a search team to the campsite,” Robert replied. “We should have news in a few hours.” Those few hours stretched like years. The phone rang constantly, friends who had heard about the situation offering help and support.

The Millbrook community was tight-knit, and word traveled fast when something was wrong. At 4:30 PM, Ranger Vance called back. “Mr. Collins, we found their campsite. The tent is still there, along with most of their gear, but there is no sign of the kids.” Janet felt her knees give way.

Robert held her arm as she sank into a kitchen chair. “What do you mean?” Robert asked, his lawyer training kicking in despite his personal panic. “Their gear is there, but they aren’t?” “Their tent is set up properly, no signs of struggle or bear activity. Most of their food and camping equipment is still there, but their day packs are missing along with some water bottles and what look like their hiking boots.” “So they went on a day hike, that’s what it looks like. But, Mr. Collins,” Ranger Vance paused. “They were supposed to check out yesterday. Even if they went on a day hike on Saturday, they should have been back to pack up and drive home.” Robert felt a chill go down his spine.

“What is the next step?” “We are organizing a full search and rescue operation. I’ve contacted the county sheriff, and we’ll have teams in the field at dawn tomorrow. We will find them, Mr. Collins. In my 20 years with the Forest Service, most of these situations end with the missing people walking out on their own, usually embarrassed and apologizing.”

But Ranger Vance’s reassuring words couldn’t dispel the growing dread in Robert’s chest. His boys were responsible, experienced outdoorsmen. They wouldn’t just leave without telling anyone where they were going. The search began in earnest on Monday morning.

Dozens of volunteers joined the professional search and rescue teams, fanning out from the campsite in ever-widening circles. Dogs were brought in to track scent. Helicopters flew overhead, their crews scanning the dense forest canopy for any sign of the missing teenagers.

Sheriff Tom Bradley, a family friend of the Collins, coordinated the effort personally. He had known Michael and David since they were in Little League and Sarah since the Chen family moved to town. “We will find them,” he promised both families. “Whatever happened, we’ll get to the bottom of it.” The campsite itself told a story, but not a complete one.

Everything suggested the three friends had settled in for Friday night as planned. Their dinner plates had been washed and put away. The fire had been properly extinguished. Their food had been hung properly to avoid attracting bears. But Saturday morning, they had apparently decided to go for a day hike.

Their day packs were gone along with their hiking boots, water bottles, and what looked like some snacks. The puzzle was why they hadn’t returned. “The terrain around here can be tricky,” explained Mark Stevens, the lead search and rescue coordinator. “Lots of ravines, dense forest, and some unstable rock formations.”

“It’s possible they got lost or someone got hurt.” Search teams explored every trail within a 10-mile radius of the campsite. They checked known hazards—steep drop-offs, unstable rock slides, areas where someone could fall and lie hidden from view.

They searched creek beds where someone might have slipped and been carried downstream. Nothing. As the days turned into weeks, the search expanded, media attention grew, and the story of three bright, talented teenagers who had simply vanished into the Oregon wilderness captured national attention.

Photos of Michael, David, and Sarah appeared on morning shows and missing persons websites. Tips poured in from across the country. Someone in California thought they saw the trio at a gas station. A trucker in Nevada claimed to have given them a ride. A store clerk in Idaho was sure she had sold them supplies.

Every lead was investigated, every tip followed; all led nowhere. The Collins and Chen families established a reward fund that eventually reached $50,000. They hired private investigators. They consulted psychics and volunteers who claimed special abilities in finding missing people.

Nothing worked. As summer turned to autumn, then winter, the active search was scaled back. The case remained open, but the reality was stark. Three teenagers had walked into the Oregon wilderness and simply disappeared. Some people whispered about cults recruiting young people. Others speculated about accidents so complete that no trace remained.

Some suggested the trio had staged their own disappearance, running away to start new lives elsewhere. But those who knew Michael, David, and Sarah completely rejected that theory. These were kids with everything to live for. Bright futures ahead of them, loving families behind them.

They never would have put their parents through such agony. The official investigation eventually went cold, but the families never gave up hope. Every year, on the anniversary of the disappearance, they returned to the mountains to search. Every year they held vigils and press conferences, keeping the story alive in the media.

Robert Collins spent thousands of hours hiking the woods, calling his sons’ names until his voice went hoarse. Janet Chen organized search parties and coordinated with missing persons organizations across the country. “They are out there, somewhere,” Janet would say whenever someone suggested it might be time to give up.

“Alive or dead, they are out there, and we will find them.” 12 years passed. 12 years of uncelebrated birthdays, missed graduations, Christmases with empty chairs at the table. 12 years of hope slowly eroding but never completely dying. And then Jake Martinez found the well.

Sheriff Bradley was now in his final year before retirement, but when he got the call from dispatch about Jake Martinez’s discovery, he felt the same surge of adrenaline he had experienced as a young deputy. The Collins-Chen case had haunted him for 12 years. A failure that had consumed him through every promotion and commendation.

“Secure the scene,” he ordered Deputy Rodriguez over the radio as his cruiser sped down the forest roads toward Jake’s location. “Don’t let anyone near that well until the crime scene team arrives.” Bradley had been sheriff for 8 years now, but he remembered every detail of the original investigation.

Three bright kids, no enemies, no reason to disappear. Their campsite had been pristine, suggesting they had left voluntarily on a day hike, but day hikers didn’t vanish into thin air. When he arrived at the well, Jake Martinez was sitting on a fallen log about 50 meters away, looking pale and shaken.

Deputy Rodriguez had already strung crime scene tape around the area and was establishing a perimeter. “Jake,” Bradley said, approaching the older man carefully. “You did the right thing calling us. Can you tell me exactly what you saw?” Jake nodded, his hands still trembling slightly. “I was following a deer trail, maybe a quarter-mile from where I parked.”

“My metal detector started going off, and when I looked around, I spotted this old well. The thing is covered in vines. I probably would have walked right past it if not for the signal.” “What did you see when you looked inside?” “Three skulls,” Jake said without hesitation.

“Human skulls, no doubt, and other bones looked like complete skeletons. Plus, there was camping gear down there—a backpack, what looked like hiking boots, some kind of water bottles.” Bradley felt his pulse quicken. After 12 years, they had finally found the Collins kids and Sarah Chen.

“Jake, I need you to think carefully. Did you touch anything? Did you disturb the scene in any way?” “Hell no,” Jake said quickly. “As soon as I saw what was down there, I backed off and called 911. The only thing I did was take a few pictures with my phone, just in case you guys needed them.”

The Oregon State Police crime scene team arrived an hour later, led by Detective Amanda Pierce, a forensic expert who had worked dozens of missing persons cases. She was followed by the county coroner and a team of technicians with specialized equipment to recover remains from difficult locations.

“Sheriff Bradley,” Detective Pierce said, shaking his hand. “I heard this might be related to the Collins-Chen disappearance. I worked that case when I was with Missing Persons 12 years ago.” “That’s what we’re hoping to find out,” Bradley replied. “Jake Martinez here found the well. Says there are three skulls down there plus camping gear.”

Pierce approached the well carefully, putting on latex gloves and setting up powerful LED lights to illuminate the interior. She took dozens of photographs before speaking. “Definitely human remains,” she confirmed. “Multiple individuals consistent with three people. And yes, there is camping gear. I can see a backpack, water bottles, what look like hiking boots.”

The recovery operation took most of the day. Using specialized equipment, the team carefully extracted every bone, every piece of gear, cataloging everything meticulously. The remains were clearly old, not recent deaths, but consistent with the 12-year timeframe of the Collins-Chen disappearance.

As the evidence was carefully bagged and prepared for transport to the state crime lab, Detective Pierce made an initial assessment. “Based on what we’ve recovered, this appears to be three individuals. Likely late teens or young adults based on bone development.”

“Two males, one female, consistent with your missing persons.” Sheriff Bradley felt a mixture of relief and sorrow. After 12 years, the families would finally have answers. But those answers would confirm their worst fears. “How long before we can make a positive identification?” “Dental records, if we have them, could give us confirmation in a few days.”

“DNA analysis will take longer, but we should have preliminary results in two weeks.” The most disturbing evidence, however, was still being analyzed. Mixed in with the bones and camping gear, the team had found something else: Rope. Nylon climbing rope of the type used by hikers and serious mountaineers.

It had been tied in knots and, more disturbingly, part of it showed signs of having been cut. “This wasn’t an accident,” Detective Pierce said quietly to Sheriff Bradley as they watched the evidence being loaded into the state police van. “Those kids didn’t fall into this well. Someone put them there.” Sheriff Bradley sat in his office at 6 AM, staring at the phone.

He had made hundreds of difficult calls throughout his career, but this one felt impossible. How do you tell parents that their children’s remains have been found after 12 years? How do you explain that what they desperately hoped was a missing person case was now officially a homicide investigation? He decided to start with Robert Collins.

Despite everything, the man had maintained his law practice and might be better equipped to handle the news rationally before emotions took over. The phone rang three times before Robert’s tired voice answered. “Robert, this is Tom Bradley. I need you and Janet to come to the station this morning. We have news about the boys.”

The silence on the other end stretched for nearly 30 seconds. “Did you find them?” Robert said finally. It wasn’t a question. “Yes, we found them. And Robert? I’m sorry. You need to call the Chens too. All three families need to be here.” “They’re dead.” “Yes.” Another long silence. “We’ll be there in an hour.” The conference room at the station had never felt smaller.

Robert and Janet Collins sat side by side, Janet gripping her husband’s hand so tight her knuckles were white. Across from them, Dr. James Chen had his arm around his wife Lisa, who had been crying since they got the call.

Sheriff Bradley sat at the head of the table with Detective Pierce and the county prosecutor, Maria Santos. Despite 12 years of preparing for this moment, he still struggled to find the right words. “Yesterday afternoon, a local hunter discovered human remains in an abandoned well about 12 miles northeast of town.”

“Based on the preliminary exam, we believe we found Michael, David, and Sarah.” Janet Collins let out a sound that was part sob, part wail. 12 years of hope finally extinguished in a single sentence. “We will need dental records for positive identification,” Detective Pierce added gently. “But the physical evidence strongly suggests they are your children.”

“How?” Dr. Chen asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “How did they die?” Detective Pierce exchanged a glance with Sheriff Bradley. “We are treating this as a homicide investigation,” she said carefully. “The evidence suggests they didn’t fall into the well accidentally. Someone put them there.”

The word murder hung in the air unspoken, but everyone in the room understood. “Who?” Robert Collins asked, his lawyer’s mind immediately jumping to the next logical question. “Who would do this to them?” “We don’t know yet,” Sheriff Bradley admitted. “But I promise you, we are going to find out. This is now our top priority.”

Over the next two hours, the families were briefed on what investigators had found and what would happen next. The remains would be examined by the state medical examiner. The camping gear would be analyzed for fingerprints, DNA evidence, anything that might point to their killer. “What about the original investigation?” Janet asked. “12 years ago, you searched everywhere.”

“How did you miss this well?” Sheriff Bradley had dreaded this question, but prepared for it. “The well was extremely well hidden,” he explained. “Covered by vegetation off any marked trail. Our search teams came within half a mile of it, but in dense forest like that, you could walk right past something like that and never see it.”

What he didn’t say, what he was just beginning to understand, was that the well might have been deliberately concealed. Someone who knew the area well, someone who wanted to hide three bodies where they would never be found. “The other thing,” Detective Pierce said carefully. “During the original investigation, did any of you mention this camping trip to people outside your immediate families? Did anyone else know exactly where the kids were going and when?” The question hit like a physical blow. Someone they had trusted, someone who had known the details of the camping trip, could have used that information to murder three innocent teenagers. “We need to reconstruct everything about the days before they left,” Detective Pierce continued. “Every conversation, every person who knew their plans. Someone out there has been living with this secret for 12 years.”

As the families left the station, they faced a new kind of nightmare. For 12 years, they had hoped against hope that somehow, somewhere, their children were alive. Now they knew the truth, but with it came a more terrible uncertainty. Someone in their small community was a killer who had walked free among them for over a decade.

Detective Pierce had requested the full file from the original Collins-Chen investigation, and now she sat surrounded by 12-year-old reports, photographs, and evidence logs. What she was looking for was something the original investigators might have missed.

A detail that would point to someone with knowledge of the camping trip and familiarity with the remote area where the bodies were found. The file was thick. Sheriff Bradley’s team had been thorough, interviewing dozens of people, following every lead, documenting everything meticulously.

But reading through it now, with the knowledge that this had been a murder from the start, Pierce began to see patterns that might have been overlooked. The camping trip had been planned for weeks. The teenagers had obtained proper permits, researched the area extensively, and told multiple people about their plans.

The question was: who knew enough detail to intercept them? Pierce made a list of everyone who had been interviewed during the original investigation. Family members: Robert and Janet Collins (parents), Dr. James and Lisa Chen (parents), various uncles, aunts, grandparents. School contacts: Principal Harrison at Millbrook High. Teachers: Mr. Thompson (Michael’s chemistry teacher), Mrs. Rodriguez (David’s journalism teacher).

Mrs. Kim (Sarah’s AP Biology teacher). Counselor Mrs. Peterson. Football Coach Mike Stevens. Community contacts: Ranger Patricia Vance, who issued the permits. Mr. Morrison, General Store owner. Various friends and classmates. Service providers: Gas station attendants, equipment rental shop owner.

They had rented some camping gear. As Pierce went through the interview summaries, one name appeared more frequently than others: Mike Stevens, the high school football coach. Both Collins twins had played on his team for 4 years. He had been one of their references for Eagle Scout advancement.

He knew them well, knew their outdoor skills, and had been one of the last people to see them before they left for their camping trip. Pierce pulled Stevens’ interview transcript from June 2003. “Detective Morrison: When did you last see Michael and David Collins? Stevens: Thursday afternoon, the day before they left for their camping trip. They stopped by the gym to return some equipment they had borrowed for a school project.” “Detective Morrison: Did they mention their specific camping plans?”

“Stevens: Sure, they were excited about it. Said they were heading to the Blackwater Creek area, planning to do some serious hiking. They had talked about this trip for weeks.” “Detective Morrison: Did they seem nervous or worried about anything?” “Stevens: Not at all. They were pumped. Said it was going to be their last big adventure before college.”

Pierce made a note. Stevens knew their exact destination and timeline. As a coach and outdoorsman, he would be familiar with the area. But there was more.

She found another reference to Stevens in a witness statement from Sarah Chen’s best friend, Amy Lopez. “Sarah was so excited about the camping trip. She said Coach Stevens had given them some advice about hiking in that area, recommended some trails and warned them about some places to avoid.” Stevens hadn’t mentioned giving specific advice in his interview.

That was curious. Pierce called Sheriff Bradley. “Tom, I need you to look at something in the original investigation. How thoroughly did you check Mike Stevens’ background?” “Stevens? He was clean as a whistle. Has been coaching at the high school for 15 years, no criminal record, well respected in the community.”

“Why?” “He knew more about their plans than almost anyone else. And according to a witness, he gave specific advice about hiking in the Blackwater Creek area, but he didn’t mention that in his interview.” There was a pause.

“Do you think Mike Stevens murdered those kids?” “Amanda, I’ve known Mike for 20 years. He’s coached half the kids in this town.” “I’m not saying he did it,” Pierce replied. “But I think we need to talk to him again. A lot of things look different when you know you are investigating a murder instead of a missing person case.”

That afternoon, Pierce and Sheriff Bradley drove to Millbrook High School. It was a small school, serving less than 800 students from Millbrook and surrounding rural areas. Mike Stevens was now 55 and the athletic director as well as head football coach.

His office was full of trophies, team photos, and memorabilia from two decades of coaching. “Sheriff Bradley,” Stevens said, standing up from behind his desk. “Good to see you, though I guess if you’re here, it’s probably not social.” “Mike, this is Detective Pierce from the State Police. We need to talk to you about the Collins boys and Sarah Chen.” Stevens’ expression went serious.

“Did you find them?” It wasn’t a question, and Pierce noted the certainty in his voice. “Yes, we found them. Mike, we are reopening this investigation. This is now a homicide case.” Stevens sat down heavily. “Homicide means someone killed them?” “That’s what the evidence indicates. We need to go over everything from 12 years ago. You knew those kids well.”

“I coached Michael and David for 4 years. Great kids, both smart, athletic, responsible. Sarah I didn’t know as well, but she seemed like a nice girl.” Pierce pulled out her notepad. “Mike, in your original interview, you said they stopped by Thursday afternoon to return equipment. What kind of equipment?” “Climbing gear—ropes, carabiners, that sort of thing.”

“They had borrowed it for a physics project Sarah was working on. Something about pulleys and mechanical advantage.” “You didn’t mention that in your original statement.” Stevens frowned. “Didn’t I? Well, it didn’t seem important at the time. They returned the stuff. We talked for a few minutes. They left.”

“What did you talk about?” “Their camping trip. They were excited about it. I gave them some advice about the area.” “What kind of advice?” Stevens went quiet for a moment, and Pierce noticed his hands toying with a pen. “Just general stuff. Stay on marked trails, be careful around the creek because the rocks can be slippery.”

“I had hiked in that area before.” “Anything else?” “I… well, I told him about some of the hazards in the area. There are some old mining claims up there, abandoned wells, that sort of thing. Warned them to be careful.” Pierce felt her pulse quicken. “You warned them specifically about wells?” “Yes, there are several old settlements and mining operations in that area from the 1920s and 30s.”

“Some of them have shafts that are pretty dangerous, deep, sometimes partially covered. Told them to watch their step.” Sheriff Bradley leaned forward. “Mike, you never mentioned warning them about wells in your original statement.” Stevens shifted uncomfortably. “Like I said, it was just general safety advice.”

“I warn all the kids who go camping in that area.” “How many kids have you given that specific advice to over the years?” “I don’t know, several, I suppose.” Pierce made a note. Stevens’ story was inconsistent, and his knowledge of the area’s hazards was extensive, but being familiar with the terrain where the bodies were found didn’t make him a killer.

“Mike, we need to ask you to come down to the station to give a formal statement. We are re-interviewing everyone who was involved in the original investigation.” “Sure,” Stevens said, but Pierce noticed a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cool October weather. “Anything I can do to help.”

Mike Stevens arrived at the station the next morning with his wife Carol and a lawyer. Daniel Morrison from the county seat, not one of the local Millbrook attorneys. Pierce found that interesting. Why hire outside representation for what was supposed to be a routine follow-up interview? The interrogation room was small and sterile, with a metal table bolted to the floor and chairs that had seen better days.

Stevens sat across from Pierce and Sheriff Bradley, his lawyer beside him taking notes. “Mike,” Pierce began. “We appreciate you coming in voluntarily. As we mentioned yesterday, we are re-examining everything about the Collins-Chen case now that we know it was a homicide.” “I want to help,” Stevens said. “They were good kids.” “Let’s start with the equipment they returned to you. You said it was climbing gear—ropes, carabiners.”

“Can you be more specific?” Stevens looked at his lawyer before answering. “Dynamic climbing rope, about 200 feet, half a dozen carabiners, some pulleys, basic climbing hardware.” “That is expensive equipment for a high school to have.” “I bought it myself for the outdoor education program. I’ve been teaching climbing and rappelling as part of PE for years.” Pierce nodded.

“Was all the equipment returned in good condition?” “Yes, everything was fine, including the rope.” A pause. “Yes, Mike. When we found the victims, there was rope with the bodies. Climbing rope that had been cut. Can you think of any reason why they might have had rope with them on their camping trip?” Stevens’ lawyer leaned in and whispered something in his ear. “I don’t know,” Stevens said finally.

“They returned all my gear, but they could have bought their own rope?” “I suppose so.” Pierce pulled out a photograph of the crime scene, the cut rope found with the bodies. She slid it across the table. “Do you recognize this rope, Mike?” Stevens stared at the photo for a long moment.

Pierce watched his face carefully, noting the slight tremor in his hands. “It looks like standard climbing rope. Could be any brand.” “Actually, it is a very specific type. Mammut Phoenix. 10.2mm dynamic rope. Not something you would find at an average sporting goods store. This is specialized climbing gear.”

“Okay.” “The same brand and type that you use for your outdoor education program.” Stevens’ lawyer spoke up. “Detective, unless you are accusing my client of something specific, I think we are done here.” Pierce wasn’t ready to back down. “Mike, I need to ask you directly: Did you have any contact with Michael Collins, David Collins, or Sarah Chen after they left for their camping trip on June 14, 2003?” “No.” “Did you go camping or hiking in the Cascade Mountains that weekend?”

Another pause. “I don’t remember. That was 12 years ago.” “It was Father’s Day weekend. You don’t remember what you did Father’s Day weekend?” Stevens looked at his lawyer again. “I… Carol and I might have gone camping. We used to do that a lot back then.” “Where?” “I don’t recall specifically.”

Sheriff Bradley spoke up. “Mike, this is important. Three kids are dead. If you were in the area that weekend, we need to know.” “My client has answered your questions.” The lawyer intervened. “Unless you have evidence linking him to these deaths, we are leaving.”

As Stevens and his lawyer prepared to leave, Pierce played her last card. “Mike, the other thing. We found fingerprints on some of the camping gear recovered with the bodies. We will be running them through the system, comparing them to elimination prints from everyone who knew the victims.” Stevens stopped at the door. “Fingerprints.”

“Standard procedure. Everyone who had contact with the victims in the days before their death will need to provide elimination prints. Can you come in tomorrow morning for that?” “I… Yes, sure.” After Stevens left, Pierce and Sheriff Bradley sat in the interrogation room reviewing their notes. “He is hiding something,” Pierce said.

“His story keeps changing, and he is way too nervous for someone who is just trying to help.” “But nervous doesn’t make him a killer,” Bradley replied. “Mike Stevens coached half the kids in this town. Parents trust him with their children.” “Tom, that is exactly what would make him the perfect predator. Access to kids, community trust, knowledge of their activities.”

Pierce was already planning her next moves. She would check Stevens’ financial records from 2003, looking for any purchases of climbing gear. She would verify his alibi for that Father’s Day weekend, and she would start quietly interviewing other students he had coached, looking for any pattern of inappropriate behavior. But first she had a call to make.

“Oregon State Crime Lab. This is Dr. Jennifer Walsh.” “Dr. Walsh. This is Detective Pierce. I need an urgent analysis of the rope found with the Collins-Chen victims. Specifically, I need to know if it matches a sample I am going to send over.”

“What kind of match are you looking for?” “Same manufacturer, same production batch if possible, and I need it fast.” “I can have preliminary results in 48 hours.” Pierce hung up and turned to Sheriff Bradley. “I’m getting a warrant to search Stevens’ house and school office.”

“If he still has that climbing rope, I want to compare it to what we found at the crime scene.” “Amanda, you are moving pretty fast here. Stevens has been a pillar of this community for 20 years, and Ted Bundy was a charming law student who worked at a crisis hotline. Predators don’t look like monsters, Tom. They look like people we trust.”

Judge Patricia Williams read the search warrant application carefully. Pierce had spent most of the night preparing it, establishing the evidence connecting Mike Stevens to the victims and the crime scene. “Detective Pierce,” Judge Williams said, “your evidence is largely circumstantial. Mr. Stevens knew the victims.”

“He was familiar with the area where they were found, and he had access to similar rope, but nothing here connects him directly to their deaths.” “Your Honor, the rope is a very specific type. If we can match the rope found with the victims to rope in Stevens’ possession, that is physical evidence linking him to the crime scene.” “And if you can’t match it?” Pierce knew that was a risk. If the rope didn’t match, her case against Stevens would crumble.

“Then we move on to other suspects. But Stevens has been inconsistent in his statements, and his knowledge of the area where the bodies were found is extensive. We need to eliminate him as a suspect or develop evidence against him.” Judge Williams signed the warrant. “You have 72 hours, Detective. Make it count.”

The search team arrived at Stevens’ house at 6 AM. It was a modest two-story home on the outskirts of town, with a large garage and workshop behind it. Stevens answered the door in his bathrobe, his wife Carol behind him looking confused and frightened. “Mike Stevens, we have a warrant to search your property,” Pierce announced, handing him the document.

“Jesus Christ,” Stevens muttered, reading through the warrant. “You guys really think I killed those kids?” “We are investigating all possibilities,” Pierce replied. “Please step aside.” The search was methodical. Teams went through every room, every closet, every storage area.

They were looking for climbing gear, specifically rope that might match what was found with the victims. They were also looking for anything else that might connect Stevens to the crime. Photographs, souvenirs, evidence of stalking or obsessive behavior. In the garage workshop, they found Stevens’ climbing gear.

Ropes, carabiners, helmets, harnesses, everything needed for serious mountaineering. Pierce bagged samples of three different ropes for comparison with the crime scene evidence. But it was in Stevens’ home office that they made the most disturbing discovery. Detective Pierce called Officer Johnson from upstairs. “You need to see this.”

Pierce went up the stairs to Stevens’ office, a small room lined with bookshelves and filing cabinets. Johnson was standing beside a desk, pointing to an open file drawer. “Look at this,” Johnson said. The drawer was full of files, each labeled with a student’s name. But these weren’t ordinary academic files.

Each contained photographs of students, some taken at school events, others that appeared to have been taken without the subjects’ knowledge. Some photos showed students in their normal clothes, but others had been taken during PE classes or sports activities when the students were wearing minimal clothing.

“There must be 50 files here,” Johnson said, “going back at least 15 years.” Pierce pulled a file labeled Collins, Michael and opened it. Inside were dozens of photographs of the teenager, some obviously taken at school, others that appeared to be surveillance photos taken when Michael was off campus.

The final photo in the file showed Michael, David, and Sarah loading camping gear into David’s Honda CRV, clearly taken the morning they left for their fatal camping trip. “Son of a bitch,” Pierce whispered. “He was watching them.” She pulled more files. Collins, David and Chen, Sarah contained similar collections of photographs. The pattern was clear.

Stevens had systematically stalked and photographed students for years. “Get the camera team in here,” Pierce ordered. “I want every file documented before we move anything.” Downstairs, Stevens sat in his living room with his wife, both handcuffed as the search continued. When Pierce came down with the files, Stevens’ face went white.

“Mike Stevens, you are under arrest for stalking, invasion of privacy, and possession of images taken without consent. We will be adding more charges as the investigation continues.” “This is a mistake,” Stevens said, but his voice lacked conviction. “Those photos… I can explain.” “Save it for your lawyer,” Pierce replied. “You’re going to need one.”

As Stevens was led away in handcuffs, neighbors gathered on the street, watching in shock as their trusted coach and educator was revealed to be a predator who had secretly photographed their children for years. Carol Stevens collapsed on the front steps, sobbing. “I didn’t know,” she kept repeating. “I swear to God, I didn’t know.”

Pierce believed her. Predators were often skilled at compartmentalizing their lives, hiding their true nature even from spouses and family members. But Mike Stevens’ secret was finally exposed, and Pierce was certain they were on the verge of solving a 12-year-old murder case.

Mike Stevens sat in the interrogation room for 6 hours before asking to speak to Detective Pierce. His lawyer, Daniel Morrison, had advised him to remain silent, but Stevens seemed to be cracking under the weight of his secrets finally being exposed.

“I want to make a deal,” Stevens said when Pierce entered the room. “What kind of deal?” “I’ll tell you what happened to those kids, but I want immunity from the death penalty.” Pierce felt her heart racing but kept her expression neutral. “Mike, I can’t make that deal. That is up to the District Attorney.”

“But if you cooperate fully and tell us the truth, I will let the DA know you helped.” Stevens looked at his lawyer, who shook his head emphatically. “Mike, don’t say another word. They don’t have enough evidence to convict you of murder.” But Stevens seemed beyond caring about legal strategy.

The weight of 12 years of guilt combined with the exposure of his secret photography had broken something inside him. “I never wanted them to die,” he said quietly. Pierce activated the recording device. “Mike Stevens, you have been read your rights. Are you waiving your right to remain silent?” “Yes.” “Tell me what happened.” Stevens took a deep breath, and for the next hour, he told a story that was even more disturbing than Pierce had imagined.

“I had been watching those kids for months.” He began. “Taking photos, sometimes following them. I was obsessed, I guess, especially with Sarah. She was so beautiful, so smart, and the Collins boys, they were like perfect specimens, athletic, confident.” Pierce forced herself to remain professional despite her revulsion.

“What happened the weekend they went camping?” “I knew where they were going. Was planning to follow them, maybe get some photos of them camping, swimming in the creek. Told my wife I was going on a solo camping trip. Left Friday night after them.” “Did you follow them to Blackwater Creek?” “No, not exactly.”

“I knew a back way into that area, an old logging road that comes up from the south. Hiked in Saturday morning, planning to watch them from a distance.” “What went wrong?” Stevens’ voice got even lower. “I got too close. Was trying to get photos of Sarah. She was sunbathing in a bikini by the creek. But I stepped on a branch, made noise.”

“David heard me and came to investigate.” Pierce could picture the scene. Three innocent teenagers enjoying a camping trip, suddenly confronted by their trusted coach hiding in the bushes with a camera. “They saw me,” Stevens continued.

“Saw the camera? Saw all the photos I had taken of them? They were horrified, furious. Said they were going to tell their parents, tell the police.” “So you killed them to keep them quiet.” “No,” Stevens said sharply. “It wasn’t like that. I tried to explain. Tried to convince them not to say anything. Said I would destroy the photos, that it would never happen again.” “But they didn’t believe you.” “David said I was sick, that I belonged in jail.”

“Michael said they were hiking back to camp to pack up and leave immediately. Sarah was crying, saying she felt violated.” Pierce waited for Stevens to continue. “I panicked. Had climbing rope in my pack. Was planning to do some rappelling while camping.”

“I told them I couldn’t let them go. Couldn’t let them ruin my life.” “You tied them up.” “Marched them to this old well I knew about, about two miles from their camp. Thought maybe I could keep them there for a few hours, convince them to stay quiet, but they kept threatening to expose me, saying I was a pervert, that I deserved to go to prison.”

Stevens paused, wiping tears from his eyes. “The well had this old wooden cover that was partially rotted. Made them climb down into it. Was about 15 meters deep with stone walls. Thought I could keep them there overnight, maybe talk sense into them in the morning, but something went wrong.”

“Tied the rope around a tree and lowered them one by one, but when I tried to pull the rope back up, Sarah grabbed onto it. She was trying to climb out.” Pierce felt sick imagining the terrified 17-year-old girl desperately trying to escape. “I panicked and cut the rope. She fell back down, hit her head on the stone wall, started bleeding bad.”

“And Michael and David, they were screaming at me, calling me a murderer. David tried to climb the walls, but they were too slippery. Michael was trying to help Sarah, but…” Stevens’ voice cracked. “She was unconscious, bleeding from the head.” “So you left them there to die.” “I didn’t know what else to do. Was terrified, not thinking straight.”

“Threw some water bottles down to them. Said I would come back with help. But when I got back to my truck, I just couldn’t face it. Drove home.” Pierce wanted to reach across the table and strangle this pathetic excuse for a man.

He had left three teenagers to die slowly in a well rather than face the consequences of his own criminal behavior. “When did you go back?” “Tuesday. Hiked back in thinking maybe they had found a way out or someone had rescued them. But when I looked down the well…” Stevens couldn’t finish.

“They were dead, all three of them. Sarah had died from her head injury. Michael and David had… they tried to climb out so hard, their hands were bloody from clawing at the stone. Think they died of dehydration and exposure.” The room was silent for several minutes. Pierce tried to process the horror of what she had just heard.

Three bright, innocent teenagers had died slowly and painfully because a trusted adult couldn’t control his sick impulses. “What did you do then?” “Cut some branches and vegetation. Covered the well opening so no one would find them. Figured eventually they would just be skeletons and no one would be able to prove what happened. And their camping gear?”

“Hiked to their campsite and removed anything that would indicate they had planned a day hike. Made it look like they just vanished from their tent.” Pierce realized Stevens had effectively derailed the original investigation by making it look like the three friends had simply disappeared mysteriously rather than revealing they had gone on a day hike and never returned.

“Mike,” Pierce said. “You understand you murdered three people?” “I never wanted them to die,” Stevens repeated. “Just wanted them to stay quiet.” “You left them in a well to die of thirst and exposure. That is murder.” Stevens finally seemed to understand the full weight of what he had done. He put his head in his hands and began to sob.

Pierce turned off the recording device and left the room. She needed fresh air. She needed to call the victims’ families. She needed to process the fact that three beautiful young people had died because their coach was a perverted stalker who couldn’t face the consequences of his actions.

Outside the station, she called Sheriff Bradley. “Tom,” she said. “He confessed. Mike Stevens killed those kids.” “Jesus, how?” “He was stalking them, taking photographs. They caught him, threatened to expose him. He trapped them in the well and left them to die rather than face prosecution for stalking.” There was a long silence on the other end.

“Those poor kids,” Bradley said finally. “12 years of wondering. And it was Mike Stevens all along.” “Tom, we need to call the families. They deserve to know the truth.” The courtroom in the county seat was packed when Mike Stevens appeared before Judge Patricia Williams for sentencing.

He had pleaded guilty to three counts of second-degree murder, avoiding a trial that would have dragged the families through months of painful testimony. Robert and Janet Collins sat in the front row with Dr. James and Lisa Chen. For 12 years, they had imagined this moment, the day they would finally have answers about what happened to their children.

But the reality was more horrifying than anything they had imagined. Prosecutor Maria Santos addressed the Court first. “Your Honor, Michael Collins, David Collins, and Sarah Chen were bright, talented young people with their whole lives ahead of them.”

“They were killed not by a stranger, not by a random act of violence, but by a man they trusted. Their coach, their teacher, someone their parents relied on for their safety.” Santos detailed Stevens’ pattern of stalking and photographing students, his obsession with the three victims, and the cowardly way he had left them to die rather than face the consequences of his criminal behavior. “The defendant has shown no real remorse, Your Honor.”

“Even his confession was motivated by self-preservation rather than genuine guilt. He took three lives to protect his secret and then lived freely in this community for 12 years while families suffered, not knowing what had happened to their children.” Stevens’ lawyer offered a brief defense, arguing that his client had never intended to kill anyone and was himself a victim of mental illness that had gone undiagnosed for years. Judge Williams was unmoved.

“Mr. Stevens,” she said, “you were in a position of trust and authority over these young people. They looked up to you, respected you, and you violated that trust in the most fundamental way possible.” She paused, looking directly at Stevens.

“Your actions that day in June 2003 were not the result of mental illness or a momentary lapse of judgment. You made a series of deliberate choices. Stalking these children, following them into the wilderness, photographing them without consent, and when caught, prioritizing your own reputation over their lives.” Stevens stood silent, his head bowed. “You left three teenagers to die slowly and painfully in a well.”

“Then you covered up their deaths and allowed their families to suffer for 12 years without knowing. There is no punishment adequate for such cruelty.” Judge Williams sentenced Stevens to three consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole.

As Stevens was led away in chains, the families finally had the closure they had sought for over a decade. But it was a bitter closure, knowing their children had died not in some tragic accident, but because of one man’s selfishness and cowardice. The Memorial Garden at Millbrook High School was dedicated on the anniversary of the day Michael Collins, David Collins, and Sarah Chen had left for their fatal camping trip. Three oak trees had been planted with a bench between them bearing a bronze plaque.

In Memory of Michael Collins, David Collins, and Sarah Chen, Class of 2003. Their light continues to shine in the lives they touched and the lessons they teach us about courage, friendship, and love. Jake Martinez, the hunter who had discovered their remains, attended the dedication ceremony.

At 59, he was thinking about retiring from hunting, but he knew he would never forget the moment his metal detector had led him to that abandoned well. “Just wish I had found them sooner,” he said to Janet Collins as they stood by the memorial. “Maybe spared your families some of those years of not knowing.” “You found them,” Janet replied, touching the bronze plaque.

“That is what matters. You brought our boys home.” The investigation had revealed the full scope of Mike Stevens’ crimes. Files in his home contained photographs of over 200 students taken without their knowledge over a period of 20 years.

Several other victims came forward with stories of inappropriate behavior, but none had ever reported it because Stevens had been so respected and trusted. The case had changed Millbrook forever. Background checks for school employees became more rigorous. Parents became more vigilant about monitoring their children’s interactions with authority figures.

And the community learned a painful lesson about how predators could hide behind facades of respectability and trust. Detective Pierce had been promoted to lead the State Police Cold Case Unit, partially based on her work solving the Collins-Chen murders.

She kept photos of the three victims on her desk as a reminder that every cold case represented real people, real families, real lives that had been cut short. Sheriff Bradley retired the following year, finally able to close the case that had haunted him for over a decade. His final act as Sheriff was to present the families with the case files, minus the crime scene photos, so they could have a complete record of the investigation that finally brought them justice. The abandoned well where the three friends had died was filled in and marked with a small memorial stone.

It had become a place where their families could visit, remember, and find some measure of peace. But perhaps the most fitting memorial was the Mike Stevens Prevention Act, passed by the Oregon Legislature in 2017. The law required comprehensive background checks for all school employees and mandatory reporting of any suspected inappropriate contact between adults and students. It was named not for the perpetrator, but for his intent to prevent other children from suffering the same fate as Michael, David, and Sarah.

As the sun set over the Memorial Garden that June evening, the families gathered one last time to remember three young people whose lives had been cut short by evil, but whose memory would live on in the hearts of everyone who loved them.

In the end, Mike Stevens had failed in his ultimate goal. He had tried to silence three teenagers to protect his secret, but their voices only became stronger in death. Their story had exposed him for what he truly was. It brought justice for their murders and would help protect other children from predators who hide behind positions of trust and authority.

Michael Collins, David Collins, and Sarah Chen were finally at peace, but their legacy would live on. A reminder that courage, truth, and justice can prevail even against the darkest secrets. M.