Each yell that echoed off the walls of Bobby’s panic room downstairs seemed to cut me like a knife. Hearing my brother in that much pain, knowing that I couldn’t stop it, knowing that I’d put him in there aware of what would happen to him, was almost unbearable. It was Bobby that was keeping me sane, and, admittedly, from going right up to that iron door and letting him out again. Bobby’s logicality and calm seemed to pass on a fraction of the same emotion to me, although inside, I felt anything but calm and collected.
Bobby stopped and looked at me from across the room, then looked...
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