There was something wrong with Brian Cohee—but it didn’t show in photographs. His smile was clean, his voice even, his future seemingly mundane. But somewhere behind his eyes, something ancient and unfeeling had taken root. In March 2021, that quiet horror slipped its mask. Authorities found the remains of Shane DeWitt scattered—cut, hidden, arranged—not by chaos, but by intention. Cohee didn’t flee, didn’t deny. He confessed with the calm of someone recounting a dream, as if murder were a curiosity he’d finally indulged after years of silent rehearsal. He had studied killers the way priests study scripture. What he wanted wasn’t death—it was dominion. And when he finally crossed that line, there was no remorse. Only the realization that the monster had been awake for a long time. And now it had a name.