I dare say that few, if any, have walked muddy roads to get to their homes in times gone by. In times when truth was coveted, sought after, and held in high regard. I remember a time and a place where children clung to daddy's hands hoping not to slip and fall, hoping not to dirty their clothes in the swollen ditches that lined the muddy roads leading to our mountain home. It was an adventure seldom shared, but reserved for those facing the challenge of another rainy day up the 'hollar" from a forgotten town. Seasonal rains, gully-washers, as we called them, devoured the roads, eating them away making it almost impossible to drive the last mile into the wilderness.

There, a make-shift house lacking paint stood alone in a clearing near forest edge. A warm and welcoming house, nothing fancy, nothing elegant, awaited those venturing the last mile. Smoke spiraled from the chimney, pots boiled on the wood stove, and those who would join her, the cook, were in for a gathering, a union, unknown by those of a more modern time. There were many, as I remember. Yet, as I reflect on the rainy day, the muddy road, and the wood cook stove, it would be remiss of me not to give thanks for those memories of the rainy days that shaped my life o'er these many years.

It's what's down the road that haunts us, the not knowing, the anticipation. But as with each road taken, there must be the element of mystery. With each shadow, there must be a corresponding feather of light. To eye beyond the bend in the road would be abnormal. No one sees through the veil of time, the curtain of uncertainty. That's what makes us equal. That's what makes us human. So, stand and wonder, we all do, as to what is there in the shadows, the fog, the uncertain tomorrow. But in doing so, garner your faith to meet the unexpected, to overcome the daunting, and to live your life to its fullest.

Within the next two hours, the Post will distribute the morning edition. The front page story's headline reads: "Replacement Bodies for the Rich: But At What Cost?" It's sure to create a phenomenon across the world because it names names of those directly responsible for what happened to Jackson Stafford. Don, the NSA supervisor, along with Nancy his assistant, have completed the "storyboard" that depicts the complete "happening" associated with the Pandora Project's mission and the abuse of Jackson Stafford as its Candidate.

Meanwhile, in a Dream World induced by La Tulipan within the mind of the rogue spirit, Jackson Stafford is visited by the five (personalities) downloaded souls controlled by Ben. They've come in their natural spiritual form and not how the physical world sees them when they stand on the square and are projected out into the world. They come to deliver the truth to the Host about who they are and what Ben doesn't know about them.

The end is within sight. All the characters are finishing their parts of the story.

Senator Bailey's assistant, Bradley Chamberlain, is on a collision course with his final destination. Having left the office for the last time, he's driving home to met his fate. Senator Bailey, concluding that the betrayal had been too much and put him at risk with the investors, reported it, and now Bradley is the target for termination by the Watchers. A shadowy sniper is waiting to remove the newest threat to the Pandora Project.

On the other side of town, Marcus Moore, secret service agent, is being visited by the night's mystical message carriers who reveal the faces of those chosen to be the "hosts" for the Investors. The faces of the hosts are displayed on the window panes through out his house right after midnight. The mystical winds bring a solution for the agent. It'll be up to him if he decides to listen.

In Dr. Jennings' office, Willard Thompson is being presented with proof that he's violated the prime directive regarding visitors to the Pandora Project. His integrity and career are about to come to an end, unless some resolution appears.