By Kathryn Casey
Bright, beautiful, and either from stable households, collage of Texas collage scholar Colton Pitonyak and colourful redhead Jennifer Cave had the realm at their beckoning. Cave, an ex-cheerleader, had simply landed an exhilarating new task, whereas a big-money scholarship to UT's prestigious enterprise institution lured Pitonyak to Austin. but the previous altar boy had a gloomy, unpredictable streak, one who ensnared him within the perilous underworld of substances and weapons. whilst Jennifer did not appear for paintings on August 18, 2005, her mom grew to become worried. Sharon Cave's seek resulted in Colton's West Campus condo, the place Jennifer's kinfolk stumbled on a scene necessary of the grisliest horror motion picture. in the meantime, Colton Pitonyak used to be nowhere to be found.
A Descent Into Hell is the gripping real tale of 1 of the main brutal slayings in UT history—and the wild "Bonnie and Clyde-like" flight from justice of a cold-blooded younger killer and his would-be female friend, who claimed that her unquestioning allegiance to Pitonyak used to be "just the way in which I roll."
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Additional resources for A Descent Into Hell: The True Story of an Altar Boy, a Cheerleader, and a Twisted Texas Murder
I thought about Rachel’s vacant unit and one of the few clues she had left behind: the cat litter box. I got out the phone book and called every vet in Quincy. Of the ones that answered, none had Rachel’s cat as a patient. For the others, I left a message saying I was Rachel and that I needed to check on a prescription for my cat. Would someone call me back, please, at this number? Then I flipped over to Brookline and did the same thing. She’d been in Quincy for months. She’d been in Brookline for years, a realization that gave me the best idea of all.
I won’t tell her anything. I just need—” “No, she’s working, and she doesn’t know any more than I do. But there’s—” She crossed her arms, rolled her head back, and went all teenager cagey. ” She went inside, reached up next to the door, and came out with a set of keys on a ring. She held up the one marked with a blue rubber rim. “These are the new keys. ” I reached for the ring and nearly had my arm severed by the force of the slamming door. It was, indeed, the blue key that unlocked the front door.
As cold a presence as he was, I was still happy to see him. It meant I was finally about to find out what was going on. Ling turned his laptop in my direction. ” On the screen was what looked like an enlarged photo page from a passport. Pictured was a fifty-nine-year-old man—his birth date was right there—trying to look thirty-five. The face he should have had, the one carved with the chisel of experience and the hammer of time, had been so relentlessly smoothed and polished you could look at it for a long time and never see the man he was supposed to have been.