“It’s just a formal thing. All unexpected deaths need to be reported so the cause of death can be determined.”

Windsor took his wife over to a couch and sat her down. He turned and looked at the Commissioner. “I appreciate what you have done . . . coming here, delivering the message in person. We knew it would come one day, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Timothy was in a dark place and we just couldn’t pull him out. If only that stupid woman didn’t walk in front of his car.”

The Commissioner nodded.

Windsor stared at the Commissioner, his hat tucked under his arm. “I’ll come with you now.”

His wife chose not to go.

Windsor saw this heartbreak as further confirmation to his plans. It just made him more determined to wake these lawbreaking people up. Such stupid people. Now he had lost his son thanks to one of those thoughtless people. Yes, he was now much more determined to make things succeed and he would.

<°)))><

Windsor’s wife took the death of her only son hard. She often asked him why God took her Timothy. She asked if he was in heaven. She turned Timothy’s room into a shrine.

Windsor, on the other hand, wanted revenge on those that contributed to his son’s death, those that were a law unto themselves, those that make up their own laws. It was inside him, he felt it, rage, a burning rage. The new technology had taken on a much greater purpose now. But that’s how God works—it all becomes clearer as things unfold.

And something else started to unfold.

Another plan came to Windsor regarding his son. Windsor believed it was another godsend. He’d seen it in the paper a few days back. He went out to the recycling bin and found the article he was looking for, found a name and researched it some more on the internet. A cryonics facility had commenced operations outside the city. He spoke to them and acted upon it—desperate action from a desperate man. He also used his influence to prevent an autopsy being performed on his son, using religious objection as the reason—the cryonics people told him that an autopsy could impede the preservation process. They did some things before the funeral and moved the body after the funeral, before the casket was buried—not many stay behind to watch a casket be buried. They use tractors, not shovels, and people need to be out of the way. The funeral director was sworn to secrecy.

<°)))><

Windsor needed to tell somebody, so he told Starkey.

His son was now stored at a facility in a device the company referred to as a cryostat—they likened the storage device to a big thermos bottle, with the body floating in liquid nitrogen. Windsor told Starkey how they used antifreeze mixtures and procedures to eliminate freezing. The bodies harden like glass rather than crystallizing.

Starkey supported what Windsor had done. He reminded Windsor of the advances they had made with their transportation system, and that the idea behind cryonics was the expectation of future medical technology that may be able to restore life to those that have been put in cryonic suspension. Technology was continuing to advance.

Windsor was glad it all made sense to Starkey, as he’d made the initial decision out of desperation, although he’d now researched it more.

They had discussed cryonics and the brain.

“It is really quite simple, Windsor,”

Windsor knew Starkey liked to pass on his knowledge, oblivious to what others might already know.

“The brain stores the memory and personality. It is like a computer hard drive. You turn it off, but the data is still there. You turn it on, revive the data, and presto: business as usual.”

“Wouldn’t something have to kick in to access the data? I wonder where the soul sits in relation to this.”

“You have a point there, Windsor. Maybe the soul is the operating system that communicates with the brain structure accessing memory and personality.” Starkey pondered that idea.

But where did the operating system come from? It got too hard for them. They would discuss it further another time.

<°)))><

Lucas looked out over the paddock at the fog, slowly disappearing. There must be a creek over there or something. It all looked peaceful. The fog would probably be gone by lunchtime. Where did it go? Deep questions, Lucas. His mind was getting clearer. That’s what he wanted to believe. He’d been off the green stuff for a few weeks now.

He gripped the steering wheel harder. Although it had been many weeks, that event with that army guy had shaken him up a bit. He rubbed his cheek; he could still feel the coldness of the gun’s barrel. The speedometer showed he was just over the speed limit. He needed to be careful, as the last thing he wanted was to have this government vehicle booked for speeding. Lucas had to drive today. Tag was off, supposedly sick. Lucas reckoned it was the trip distance, about an hour or so out of the city in the middle of nowhere. He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the minister reading something on his latest toy. The minister looked up and his eyes locked with Lucas’s.

The minister smiled and held up a tablet device. “It’s taken me a long time Lucas but I’m well into these tablet devices now. In fact, I prefer them to the newspapers.” The minister tapped on the tablet. “Looks like a few of our soldiers got injured in a bomb blast. It says an IED, an improvised explosive device, detonated near them during a mission. A dangerous job, hey Lucas?”

“Yep, sounds like it.” The minister sometimes treated Lucas as if he was a dope. He laughed to himself—maybe he was a dope for smoking dope. Remembering what an IED was indicated that his brain was still working okay. He’d had his doubts recently—he didn’t quite understand what was going on in his head. At least he wasn’t hearing the voices as often.

Hills started rolling by.

“Welcome to Beaudesert, Lucas. Just drive through. There is a turnoff just outside the town.”

Lucas turned the car into a small business centre and parked. The minister had the door open before Lucas could turn the ignition off. The minister got out of the car and told Lucas he wouldn’t be long. Lucas watched as the minister walked up to what looked like some kind of storage facility. He scanned something, and the door opened.

Lucas sat staring at the door the minister went through. What is this place? Why don’t you go and find out? The voice was back—not for long, he hoped. Lucas shook his head. These voices were starting to worry him. His mother had warned him of this.

He was starting to believe that people could read his mind and that God was talking to him. At times, all this head stuff frightened him. He preferred the minister not to know about his personal life, so he had a chat with the Professor about it.

The Professor told him that he believed drugs, including alcohol, were an opening to the spiritual world. He mentioned to Lucas how that sometimes people refer to alcohol as ‘the demon drink’. The Professor wasn’t sure about the demon possession thing but he believed that demons could influence people’s lives, particularly if they let their guard down. Drugs let the guard down. Lift up the boom gates and these pesky little things come running in. The Professor stayed right away from drugs but believed in good spirits. They were the ones he preferred to be in contact with, not the pesky ones.

Lucas thought about his mum. She told him there was a problem with alcohol in the family—actually, it was pretty obvious. Mum told him he might have faulty wiring, a predisposition to addiction, and that he needed to be careful. Well, he was. He didn’t drink alcohol but smoked dope instead. Mum didn’t know much about dope initially, and neither did Lucas. They had been oblivious to the idea that dope smoking could also aggravate the faulty wiring and trigger an existing psychotic condition.

After that conversation with the Professor, Lucas decided that he needed to get on some medication. The voices in his head were getting too active, too frightening, trying to dominate. Maybe it wasn’t God. Yep, he needed to see the doctor. He hadn’t had time to make an appointment, but he would.

He saw the minister heading towards him. He jumped in the car.

“Let’s go, Lucas. My visiting hours are up.”

Lucas raised his eye brows, not sure what the minister meant by ‘visiting hours’. He started the car and drove off.

The traffic was light. Trees were replaced by houses. Driving back, the minister asked Lucas if he could put the radio on. He felt like hearing what was happening in the world instead of reading about it.

Background crackle made Lucas look up to the sky, but there was no hint of a storm, no dark clouds. Lucas gave a silent shake of his head as he listened to the musical introduction to the news. That jingle must be as old as the radio station itself. Lucas hated the news. He had dark memories of having to sit through the news while his parents fought. But he could grin and bear it, let his mind float elsewhere while the minister found out more about the happenings of the world. Just before his mind floated off, he heard the news reporting on the IED incident.

“Hear that, Lucas? Aaron Fitzpatrick. His father was the one who died. It looks like he’s going to be okay, and he’s on his way home.”

Lucas’s mind came storming back. So that was his name. And what? He was on his way home? He’d been away? Voices spoke to him: It’s all a lie. That man’s not injured. He’s faking it so he could get back to Mackenzie. Can’t let that happen, Lucas, better do something soon.

<°)))><

Lucas had driven the minister to church a few times but hadn’t seen Mackenzie. The minister rarely went on Friday nights, so Lucas reckoned this was the service Mackenzie must attend. Anyway, his preference was to stay away from church. He felt he stood out in that environment. He tracked Mackenzie down elsewhere.

He found she lived on the other side of the city to her mum. In his opinion, it was a bad choice, because the traffic was worse and life seemed much more cluttered. Trains ran to Mackenzie’s suburb, but not to her mum’s. It was only a short train trip from Mackenzie’s apartment to the city, and things being more cluttered, more busy, helped Lucas.

Lucas had followed Mackenzie a few times. He didn’t enjoy trains—he felt trapped when the doors closed. He positioned himself in the last carriage so he could see which station she got off at. Once he had the station, he put the jigsaw pieces together. He ‘borrowed’ some letters from her mum’s letter box, found out her surname, did some Google work, and he had her address. He just needed to establish her routine. That took a few weeks.

She was such a law-abiding citizen. She would stand at pedestrian crossings and wait for the ‘walk’ signal. Most people would just cross, but she just stood there, waiting. Her mate was just as bad. Lucas hadn’t worked out who she lived with, but knew it wasn’t the man that hung around with her. The man stayed late sometimes but never stayed the night. Strange. There was no way Lucas would leave that girl.

This mate of Mackenzie’s didn’t bother Lucas, not like the army bloke did. There was some kind of connection between Mackenzie and the army fellow. Lucas couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the voices in his head were threatened by soldier boy.

He hadn’t followed Mackenzie today, but the notes in his lap told him she would be walking past soon. He had parked on a tree-lined street that looked down on Mackenzie’s street, so she wouldn’t be walking directly past him. Yep, here she was, right on time. She looked up towards Lucas’s car, but only a fleeting glance. She’d be back in twenty minutes, on her way to the gym. He was going to do it then.