Page 33 of Her Last Confession

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 hadno 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.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

The gravel crunched beneath their tires as Rachel guided the car up the winding driveway. Ancient oaks and towering pines lined both sides of the path, their branches creating a natural archway that filtered the late afternoon sunlight into dappled patterns on the hood of their vehicle. The Shenandoah foothills rolled away in every direction beyond the trees, waves of deep green disappearing into the misty distance.

According to the address Officer Matthews had pulled from the local database, this was the address listed for Christopher Bradley.

"This is... unexpected," Novak said, breaking the contemplative silence that had fallen between them. He gestured toward the house as it came into view around the final bend. "For someone who spent most of his career in tech."

Rachel had to agree. The house was a masterpiece of rustic architecture – a sprawling two-story structure that seemed to have grown organically from the surrounding wilderness. Natural stone and weathered cedar siding blended seamlessly with the landscape. A wraparound porch hugged the entire first floor, its posts made from whole tree trunks that still retained their bark. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the dying sunlight like sheets of burnished copper. The driveway was uninterrupted by any vehicles; they were the only ones here.

"Could be a secondary property," Rachel suggested, scanning the empty driveway as they pulled to a stop. "Summer home, maybe. Or..." She let the thought trail off as she took in the profound isolation of the place. No other houses are visible. No other cars. Just wilderness and silence.

"Or the perfect place to retreat to after your wife takes her own life," Novak finished, his voice grim.

Rachel nodded, thinking back to the information Detective Wheeler had sent during their drive over. The local paper's account had been clinical in its brevity: Kelly Bradley, found in an upstairs bathroom eight months ago, wrists slit in the bathtub. A note and red water left behind. Case closed.

They approached the front door, their footsteps hollow on the wooden planks of the porch. Rachel rapped her knuckles against the heavy oak door. The sound echoed inside, met only with silence…which is exactly what she expected, given that there were no other cars in the driveway.

"Nobody home," she said, then added with a hint of gallows humor: "Are you going to get all up in arms again if I suggest breaking in?"

Novak's lips twitched. "No. In fact, I'll go get the pick set." He returned to the car, retrieved the tools, and made quickly returned. He didn’t bother handing the set over. He approached the door and went to work on the lock himself. He had it opened in less than ten seconds. Rachel nodded in acknowledgment, slightly impressed.

He opened the door and gestured for her to head inside. “Ladies first.”

The interior was a study in contrasts. Traditional cabin aesthetics – exposed beams, stone fireplace, hardwood everything – mixed with sleek modern furnishings and state-of-the-art technology. A massive flat-screen TV dominated one wall. The kitchen gleamed with professional-grade stainless steel appliances.

They started their search in the kitchen, moving with practiced efficiency. Rachel began opening cabinets while Novak checked the pantry. The cabinets were well-stocked with high-end cookware, but it was the trash that caught Rachel's attention first – fresh garbage, including an empty pasta box, coffeegrounds, and an empty milk carton. The date on the carton was just three days old.

A few dishes sat unwashed in the sink, a film of soap still clinging to their surfaces. Rachel touched one of the plates gently – the soap hadn't fully dried yet. Someone had been here very recently.

The dining room is connected to the kitchen through an open archway. A solid oak table dominated the space, its surface dusty except for a single clear spot where someone had recently eaten.

Moving into the living room, Rachel noted more signs of recent habitation. A single pair of black socks lay discarded by the leather sectional, as if their owner had been sitting there recently, comfortable enough to kick his feet up. An iPad on the coffee table still had 42% battery life. The leather of the couch still held a slight depression from someone sitting in the same spot regularly over a lengthy period of time.

"He's been here as recently as today," Novak said quietly. "Maybe even within the last few hours."

A home office off the living room yielded more clues. The desk chair was slightly askew from a desk that harbored nothing more than a laptop. A coffee mug held the remnants of what was once hot coffee, now room temperature; the creamer had changed into a small, white swirl along the surface. The computer was password protected, but Rachel made a note to have a tech team come back for it if necessary. A stack of mail on the corner of the desk showed regular deliveries to this address. If this had once been a retreat, it now seemed to be Bradley's primary residence.

---