Page 24

The forest wrapped around him like a shroud, dense and ancient. He sat in his small-bodied truck, parked on a narrow dirt road where undergrowth threatened to reclaim the edges. The late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of leaves, casting dappled shadows across the dashboard, and the open laptop balanced on his knees. A warm breeze carried the scent of pine and decaying leaves through his partially open window, a smell that always reminded him of those final camping trips with Kelly.

On the screen, three icons pulsed softly against the topographical map of the Shenandoah Valley. Each one represented months of work, countless hours of precise engineering, and a promise he'd made to Kelly…after she’d died. His fingers traced the edge of the laptop, remembering how she'd always teased him about his obsession with perfection, with getting every detail exactly right. The memory of her laugh, light and musical, echoed in his mind.

There had been four of those icons up until last night. But the police or FBI or some other government body had apparently moved the pod that had taken Sandra Mitchell’s life.

The sunlight revealed one of his fingerprints on the laptop screen. He smiled and wiped it away with his sleeve. Kelly had always chided him about his fingerprints on screens.

The first prototype had failed, of course. But failure had always been part of the engineering process – Kelly had taught him that, too. He remembered the night it had malfunctioned, the acrid smell of burnt wire insulation filling his basement workshop. That setback had cost him three weeks, but it had also taught him valuable lessons about power management and fail-safes. The other four, though... They were flawless recreations of the EndLight design. His design, really. The one the company had corrupted, rushed to market before it was ready. Before it was safe.

He knew they were functional and, though it pained him to admit it, quite efficient. But they could have been so much better. There were things about the current design that could have been improved. The pods could have been so much more perfect if he’d stayed on the project.

He minimized the tracking program and pulled up his calendar. The methodical movements of the past six months filled the screen: carefully plotted routes, strategic deployments, calculated risks. Each entry was color-coded – green for successful placements, yellow for reconnaissance days, red for near-misses when local police or forest rangers had gotten too close for comfort. He'd moved the pods like a chess master positioning pieces, using a small landscaping trailer hitched to this very truck. Just another contractor doing his job, invisible in plain sight.

A deer emerged from the tree line ahead, causing him to hold his breath. It stood motionless, ears twitching, before delicately picking its way across the dirt road. Nature continued its cycles, oblivious to the technology humming quietly in his carefully placed pods. Kelly would have loved seeing the deer – she'd always insisted on bringing her camera on their drives down these old, dusty lanes…just in case.

The memories brought a small smile to his face. How many times had he passed other vehicles on the paved roads that led to these back roads, exchanging casual waves with locals who never questioned the trailer behind him? The worn Ford F-150 and basic equipment trailer had been perfect camouflage. Just another working man making his way through the day. He'd even added magnetic signs to the truck doors advertising "Bradley's Lawn Care" – a touch of authenticity that had proved unnecessary but satisfied his attention to detail.

But the real achievement – the part that made his chest swell with pride – was the intricate web of manipulation he'd woven to bring his targets to the pods. That had been the true test of his intelligence, far more challenging than the engineering problems he'd solved in his basement workshop. Each victim required a different approach, a unique combination of pressure points and incentives. He'd spent weeks studying their routines, their weaknesses, their desperate needs for closure.

He closed his eyes, remembering the countless nights spent in his basement workshop, surrounded by tools and components. The space had become a sanctuary after Kelly's death, the empty rooms above him a constant reminder of what he'd lost. But in the basement, with his hands busy and his mind focused, he could almost feel her presence again. The walls still held the pegboard organizer she'd bought him for Christmas three years ago, each tool hanging in its designated spot, labeled with her neat handwriting.

The laptop chimed softly – a proximity alert. Someone had driven past one of his checkpoints on the forest road leading to Pod Three. Christopher opened the tracking program again, watching the icons—the real-time representation of each of the pods move slowly along the winding path. Another lost soul, perhaps, or maybe just a tourist who'd taken a wrong turn.

He reached for the thermos in his cup holder. The coffee inside had gone cold hours ago, but he drank it anyway, grimacing at the bitter taste. These long surveillance sessions required patience and alertness in equal measure.

"You always said I needed a hobby," he murmured, thinking of Kelly again. "Something to keep my mind occupied after work." A bitter laugh escaped him. "Well, I found one, didn't I?"

The sun had shifted, drawing long shadows across the forest floor. Soon it would be time to move again, to send another person to the pods. He had a specific person planned and it was a bit exciting to know that this person had no idea.

Two more pods. Two more lives. The symmetry pleased him – a mathematician's appreciation for balanced equations. Each death would bring him closer to completion, closer to honoring Kelly’s memory in the way she deserved. She would understand, he was certain. She had always understood him better than anyone else, even when he struggled to express himself.

In the growing darkness, his face was illuminated only by the blue glow of the laptop screen. The forest pressed closer, a conspiracy of shadows and silence. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out – a lonely sound that echoed through the trees before fading away to nothing. He checked his watch – three hours until full dark, when he would begin. It would be time.

"Soon," he promised the empty passenger seat beside him, where Kelly had once sat on their weekend drives through these same mountains. His fingers moved across the keyboard, checking systems, verifying locations, ensuring everything was perfect. It had to be perfect...for Kelly.

He knew that his obsession with perfecting machines for suicide had started her downward spiral—had been one of the strange milestones on the way to her own suicide. But he was trying to make that right, to close chapters to the lives of those who had not quite made the same sacrifice Kelly had made. It was the only thing he’d ever thought might bring him a true sense of closure—to finally allow himself to release the memory of Kelly while also paying his respects.

The pods were his tribute to her, his way of reaching out to her, wherever she might be.

The tracking program continued its silent vigil, monitoring the pods he'd placed with such care. He settled back in his seat, patient as a spider in its web. He could afford to wait. After all, he'd already waited six months, building the pods based on EndLight’s designs. A few more hours, a few more days – what did it matter? The pods would be there, ready, when the right moment came.

And somewhere, he was certain, Kelly was watching. Waiting with him. Proud of how far he'd come.