Kevin Price had everything he wanted: beautiful wife of eight years, two darling children, cozy suburban home, lead church vocalist, respectable position in the Utah state government and a shot for Senator in the future. Any adversity he faced was comfortable, controllable and loved, like a nippy pet dog. His life was interesting, but not too interesting. The most exciting part of Kevin Price's life had been Uganda, but he had buried those memories deep within. If anyone asked him about it he would smile, like always, say "yes, it was very challenging, but I made it through!" or "I made only one baptism, but it sure counted to that goat farmer!" No mention of the Kitguli fiasco. No mention of the murders. No mention of what happened to his District Leader. No mention of his various companions. Perhaps they were still there, those memories, but ten years later they did not willingly flow into his consciousness.

Kevin Price had more present things to consider. For now, he had just finished work and had to go pick up Hannah so they could go to the tri-annual elementary school parent teacher conference. Long legs propelled him across the pavement, a stride of dignity and self assurance. From a window, an intern looked on jealously. He hummed happily to himself as he unlocked the car, sliding into the smooth leather, pulling the door closed with a satisfying click and placing his briefcase on the passenger seat.

Something poked his temple. Cool and metallic.

He spun around to find the barrel of a gun, now shoved against his forehead. Its owner sat in the backseat, pudgy, wearing a nondescript grey t-shirt. Brown eyes gazed at him from behind thick black glasses and a mop of long, unkempt, curly black hair.

"Elder Price," the man said.

"My name is Kevin Price. Who are you? What do you want?" He could feel his heart beating in his ears. Fear, but also . How could he overpower his attacker? Physically he was superior. Escape or get rid of the gun then you're on top. His hand crept slowly towards the car door.

"Don't try that. I could kill you before you got one toe out. Turn around, Elder Price, we're going on an adventure!"

He did as he was told.

"Why do you keep calling me Elder? I haven't been on mission in years. No one calls me that."

The man barked a laugh and Kevin's brain jolted in recognition. He had heard that laugh so many times before, at a joke, in nervousness, in happiness, but now it was tinged with bitterness.

"That's a funny thing to say to your best friend. Now drive to the airport. I've already bought our tickets. We're going to your favorite place, Elder! And we're going to have the best time there, just like good pals like us should!"

Three days later the Orlando police found two bodies in a hotel room. There were signs of a struggle, trash everywhere, broken furniture. The taller lay sprawled awkwardly across the bed, the dried blood of three bullet wounds staining the duvet. The other however, was lying straight and serene next to the mutilated body. One hand lay on his companion's hair, as if mid stroke, the other held the gun that had blown a single fatal hole in his own neck. The corpse smiled.

On the bedside table lay a note: Elders Price and Cunningham, together forever.