Page 21 of Her Last Confession

Rachel's eyes traced the pod's smooth contours, noting how its design masked its lethal purpose behind sleek modernism. The whole thing looked more like a piece of high-end furniture than a death machine. If this was indeed inspired by the EndLight models, the creator had done an amazing job…and they’d obviously studied the inspiration for it on a nearly molecular level.

She was pulled away from her observations by the voice of Detective Wheeler. "Agents?" he said, hurrying over to them from a small group of police officers he'd been speaking to. "I've got one of the officers who spoke with Walsh's wife on the line."

Rachel moved away from the pod, grateful for the distraction from her dark thoughts. She and Novak joined Wheeler as he placed the call on speaker mode. The rustling of dead leaves under her feet seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet forest. A cool breeze stirred the branches above them, creating moving shadows that danced across the crime scene.

“Officer Koontz?” Wheeler said. “I’m here with Agents Gift and Novak.”

“Hey there, agents.”

“Officer,” Rachel said, “are you still at the hospital with Mrs. Walsh?”

“I’m at the hospital, but no longer with Mrs. Walsh. She is currently on her way home now. One of her coworkers is driving her, and her sister and mother are meeting her there."

Rachel nodded, though Koontz couldn't see it. She'd seen enough grieving families to know Molly Walsh shouldn't be alone tonight. The first night was always the worst – when the shock began to wear off and reality started seeping in through the cracks. She remembered her own first night after losing Peter, how the darkness had seemed to press in from all sides until she thought she might suffocate from it.

"What did you learn?" Novak asked.

There was a pause on the line, the sound of papers shuffling. "Well, we found something interesting. Like Sandra Mitchell, Timothy Walsh had a history with suicide attempts."

Rachel's eyes snapped to the pod, her mind already racing ahead. Next to her, she felt Novak tense. The wind picked up, rattling through the trees and carrying with it the musty scent of decaying leaves and damp earth.

"Go on," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady.

"Two attempts, both in his early twenties. Overdoses, painkillers both times." Koontz cleared his throat. "But that's not the most interesting part." Another pause, more shuffling. "We did some digging into his employment history. Mr. Walsh had a direct connection to EndLight."

"What kind of connection?" Rachel asked, feeling the pieces started to click together.

"He did consulting work for them, about six months during their early development phase. He was involved in programming their prototype interface." Koontz's voice took on an edge of excitement. "Molly Walsh confirmed this. She says there’s contracts and paperwork at home somewhere but, to be frank, I wasn’t about to ask her for access to all of that while she’d just been told her husband was dead."

Rachel looked at Novak, who was already staring at her, his expression grim. The implications hung heavy in the air between them.

"Thank you, Officer Koontz," Rachel said. "This is extremely helpful.”

She nodded to Wheeler and he took the call off of speaker mode, hanging up. Once the call was ended, silence fell between them. The forest seemed to press in closer, the darkness between the trees deeper than before. The portable floodlights hummed, creating pools of harsh white light that made the shadows beyond them seem impenetrable. In those shadows, Rachel could almost imagine someone watching, waiting, planning their next move.

She walked back to the pod, her footsteps deliberate. The machine's sleek design belied its lethal purpose. She studied the control panel, noting the rather simple interface that Timothy Walsh himself might have helped design. The thought sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the night air.

"Let's lay it out," Novak said. “Both victims had attempted suicide in the past."

"Both were professionals," Rachel added, her eyes still on the pod. "Sandra Mitchell was an accountant who'd uncovered financial fraud. Timothy Walsh was a software developer who'd worked directly with EndLight's technology."

"Both were found in identical pods, in remote locations," Novak added. "Both showed signs of struggle. Both had connections, however tenuous, to EndLight."

Rachel leaned closer to the pod's entrance, examining the interior more carefully. The padding on the seat showed signs of disturbance, consistent with someone fighting against restraints. There were scratch marks on the inner panel, barely visible but unmistakable to her trained eye. She could almost see Timothy Walsh's final moments – the desperate struggle, the realization that this wasn't his choice anymore.

"He fought hard," she murmured. "Just like Sandra Mitchell." She traced a finger along one of the scratch marks. "These aren't deep enough to be from a weapon. He used his fingernails."

The wind picked up, whistling through the trees. In the distance, an owl called, the sound echoing eerily through the forest. Rachel straightened up, her mind piecing together the pattern she saw emerging.

"These weren't random victims," she said, turning to face Novak. "The killer knew about their past suicide attempts. Knew about their connections to EndLight, whether direct or indirect." She gestured at the pod. "This isn't just about murder. Not completely, I don’t think. It's about perverting something these people survived. Taking their darkest moments and turning them into weapons."

Novak nodded slowly, his face cast in shadows. "The question is, what's the endgame? Why these specific people? What did they know?"

Rachel looked back at Timothy Walsh's body. His hand was slightly raised, as if reaching for something – or someone. The blue light from the pod's interior made his skin look waxy, artificial. She thought about Sandra Mitchell, found in an identical position, in an identical pod, her final moments just as violent and terrifying.

"We need to go to EndLight," she said finally. "Tomorrow morning. Their corporate headquarters in Charlottesville."

"That's a two-and-a-half hour drive," Novak said, checking his watch. The fluorescent display read 3:42 AM.

---