By Kathryn Casey
Vibrant, appealing, and either from stable households, college of Texas university pupil Colton Pitonyak and colourful redhead Jennifer Cave had the realm at their beckoning. Cave, an ex-cheerleader, had simply landed a thrilling new task, whereas a big-money scholarship to UT's prestigious enterprise institution lured Pitonyak to Austin. but the previous altar boy had a dismal, unpredictable streak, one who ensnared him within the perilous underworld of substances and weapons. while Jennifer didn't appear for paintings on August 18, 2005, her mom turned worried. Sharon Cave's seek resulted in Colton's West Campus house, the place Jennifer's relatives came upon a scene precious of the grisliest horror motion picture. in the meantime, Colton Pitonyak was once nowhere to be found.
A Descent Into Hell is the gripping precise 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
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He told me very apologetically, and just said it would be wiser not to let Grant know too much. " I asked. "He denied the whole thing very indignantly. But of course he would. " I asked. "Yes I did, as a matter of fact," he said. "I didn't want to believe it, you see. But it was open and shut. " It seemed conclusive enough, but I had an elusive feeling that I had missed something, somewhere. I changed the subject. " "I don't really know," James said reflectively. "I heard Corin say once or twice that Art didn't ride to orders.
They say the fall you had three weeks ago was what frightened you the day you got knocked out and your horse rolled on you. But you were all right going home, weren't you? " "I didn't give that fall another thought," I said. " But I shook my head. I didn't know why. He stood up and opened a cupboard which contained bottles and glasses, poured out two whiskies, and handed one to me. "I can't convince myself yet that you've lost your nerve," he said. "Remembering the way you rode Template on Boxing Day, only a month ago, it seems impossible.