He didn’t know what he would do with all these stories.

Couldn’t fathom that anyone would ever want to read them.

His working title was The Secret Lives of Wayward Pines, and he imagined the cover as a collection of all the faces of all the people who lived down in that valley. He’d have to finish the book first, and therein lay the other problem. There was no end to the book in sight. The lives carried on. New things happened. People died. New people were introduced into town. How would one publish a living book, whose stories never ended?

The answer had come, tragically, last night as Ted sat in Pilcher’s office, watching on his monitors as a swarm of abbies swept through town.

The end would come all at once as the “god” of the town brought a swift and sudden conclusion.

The knock came early to Ted’s door.

He was lying in bed, where he’d been all night, paralyzed with fear. With indecision.

He said, “Come in.”

His oldest friend, David Pilcher, walked inside.

Ted hadn’t slept, and by the looks of it, neither had Pilcher.

The old man looked tired. Ted could see the immense hangover he carried in the squint of his eyes, and he still stunk of good scotch. A five o’clock shadow was fading in on Pilcher’s face, as well as sprouting up across his shaven head in fine speckles of gray.

Pilcher pulled the chair away from Ted’s writing desk, dragged it in front of the bed, and took a seat.

He looked at Ted.

He said, “What do you have for me?”

“What do I have?”

“Your team. You told me you would handle it. You would find out which of them helped Sheriff Burke orchestrate this rebellion.”

Ted sighed. He sat up, grabbed his thick glasses off the bedside table, and put them on. He was still wearing his stained, short-sleeved button-down and clip-on tie. Same pants. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his shoes.

Last night, in Pilcher’s office, Ted had been afraid.

Now, he just felt tired and angry.

So very angry.

He said, “When you said the sheriff had information he couldn’t have had otherwise, did you want to tell me what you meant by that?”

Pilcher leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs.

“No, not really. I just want you, as head of the surveillance unit, to do your job.”

Ted nodded.

“I didn’t think you would answer me,” Ted said, “but that’s okay. I know what that information is. I should’ve told you last night, but I was too scared.” Pilcher cocked his head. “I found the footage of what you and Pam did to your daughter.”

For a moment, it was painfully quiet in Ted’s quarters.

“Because Sheriff Burke asked you to help him?” Pilcher said.