Page 144 of Confessions of the Dead

Maro:

This is bullshit. People visit Hollows Bend. They come and go all the time. Every weekend, we probably have—

Analysis Note: Shaking her head, Sordello loaded another video on her phone and held it against the glass.

Sordello:

We’ve sent drones through. A handful have managed to transmit video back to us before going down.

Analysis Note: I’d seen the video. I knew what was on it. Much like the girl, cars and people vanished as they drove away from town. Just as crazy were the ones that appeared heading toward Hollows Bend—they blinked into existence on their way into town, filled with unsuspecting strangers. Facial recognition software had managed to identify only a few, but it was clear who they were—they were also guilty of terrible crimes and had died in our world. They were now trapped in their own hell. Every last one of them. Like this man—Virgil Matthew Maro—like all the others.

Sordello:

We’ve tried texting. Some messages get through, others don’t. We think Stuart Peterson planted the bugs in the sheriff’s house. We don’t know why or when, but we’ve been able to listen to them. What takes place there … changes. It’s evolving every time you experience it.

Maro:

I don’t understand.

Sordello:

This isn’t the first time you and I have spoken today. It’s the third. I know you don’t remember, but somehow the events you’ve experienced in Hollows Bend, what you feel are memories, are repeating. It’s like the hell you’ve been sentenced to is caught in some kind of perpetual loop that changes with each cycle. When that tree fell, something else broke, too, and all of it is getting worse. Last time, you stopped Cody Hill before he could detonate the bombs. This time, you didn’t. When you fade from here, we believe you’ll go back. You’ll be forced to experience it all over again, and whatever happens will be worse than the previous cycle. I need you to do something for me—right now—there’s a listening device in the drawer—take it—it’s like the others, the ones in the sheriff’s house—plant it in Ellie’s office. We can use it to monitor your—

Analysis Note: The files slipped from the subject’s hands, not because he dropped them, but because his hold on our reality had faded to the point where he could no longer hold them. I watched them pass directly through his fingertips before spilling on the floor. He tried to speak, but the wound in his neck had become more pronounced. Blood gurgled from his lips.

I realized the man picking Sordello’s lock had succeeded a moment before she did, and I won’t lie—not even here—if I had the ability to warn her, I would have. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hear or see me, and by the time she realized the man had her door open, soldiers were already streaming in.

I don’t believe she meant to kill the first soldier. When she raised her gun and fired, it was more instinctual; she wasn’t even looking. The first bullet caught the man in the temple. The second shot, her second kill, was deliberate. She needed to buy time, and although this only got her a few extra seconds, it was enough for her to say—

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