Two more palm trees came crashing down on the beach as the computer finished final preparations for automatic shutdown. The automated weather station had triggered a shutdown when the rains and winds had hit certain marks.
The solar panels and a small wind turbine, that generated power that ran the inverters and batteries that ran the station, began to shake on their foundations as the winds and rains picked up.
Meanwhile, deep inside the stone and concrete building, an automated computer had been monitoring communications on the tiny island of Leetown, a private island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The waves began to crash against the outside of the building. Within minutes the tiny island was covered in twenty feet of water which crashed over and through everything. While most of the smaller less well-built buildings lay flat in a matter of minutes, the old stone-and-block building didn’t completely submit to the water. It remained standing.
However, the ancient mortar-and-cement casing did partially give way to the intense weight and pressure of the water as it swept across the small island. Water found its way into every little nook and cranny that had an opening at all, forcing blocks and stones to shift and let in more water. When it was done, three feet of water made itself home throughout the tiny building. Computers and electronics were waterlogged and fried.
Several weeks later, Cole Webber made his way back to the tiny island.
In the weeks following the storm, he had made a financial killing off the data siphoned off the internet and private networks he had been tapping into for several months. The cost to set up the substation had been high. But the need for secrecy was higher. This particular island had been chosen because of its location to the main backbone of the internet running under the ocean and to the nearest land-based server center—thus allowing him direct access to the main trunk traffic of the internet and the ability to piggyback on others who were spying on the internet. Also because it was so far out in the middle of nowhere, it would never occur to them that anyone would set up a hardware system to tap into the servers.
The usefulness of the substation was now past. He had what he needed from it, and with the storm destroying everything, he thought it was time to come in and rip everything out.
As he expected, the island was a total washout. By now most of the water had subsided and found its way back to the ocean. However, there were still pockets where several feet of water sat and the bugs were making themselves at home.
The solar panels and inverters and all of the external hardware that had run the small computer station were in ruins outside the building.
Pushing the door open, he was greeted with water up to his knees. The water came gushing out of the door around his legs. Using his flashlight he looked around inside the small building.
There on the far wall, mounted high, was a single monitor, its cords dangling against the wall. To his surprise, a single light was flashing. The screen had a small blinking oblong dot in the upper left corner. Cole recognized it instantly as a DOS prompt.
Stepping into the room, now covered with slime and mud, he saw computer components lying all over the tables and floor. He approached the one screen still working.
And the built-in speaker spoke to him.
“Hello, Cole, we’ve been waiting for you.”

​The fire had long ago burned out. There was nothing left but ashes. 
I turned toward the door, forgetting about the lone chair in the room, and tripped, sprawling across the floor. I got up slowly, right knee stinging, but kicked the chair out of my way. The grating sound it made as it scraped across the wooden floor was satisfying. Damned chair. 
I grimaced as I gave the chair a wide berth and walked to the door. I turned the old worn knob, its luster long gone. Hell, the door and knob, even the chair was older than me. In another time I had sat in the chair reading by candlelight and the glow from the fireplace. Music from a long-ago era had filled the room. Now the room was only the remains of a life I had known decades ago. 
Returning to my grandfather’s dilapidated homestead had been a mistake. As I walked into the entry hall, memories crept into my mind. Grandma baking cookies. Grandpa playing cards. The hours I spent with him learning to hunt and fish. His old shotgun still sat leaning in the corner next to the entry door. I picked it up, cracking open the double barrel and the breach. Sure enough, it was loaded. The brass ends of the shells were now corroded from years of sitting in the gun untouched and uncleaned. He would have been appalled. Grandpa never let anything get dirty, least of all his guns. I put it back. 
I pushed open the front door and exited the house. The porch once held a hanging swing where I’d spent many an hour listening to him tell tall tales while we drank lemonade. It was now barely recognizable, lying on the rotted deck in a broken heap. The once beautiful lawn he’d kept was now a sea of overgrown weeds and hay, dotted with the occasional flower that managed to eke out an existence in the tall grass and weeds. 
Plowing my way through the weeds I found his old truck. After a bit of a struggle, I pried the door open. The interior was covered in dust and junk. The tools he’d used last were still sitting on the passenger side of the bench seat. He’d died in this truck—heart attack hit him, and he was gone. Grandma died a month later from a broken heart. I shuddered, the memories were becoming overwhelming. Slamming the door shut again, I spun so fast I was dizzy, but I had to get back to my car and away from this place. 
“Robert!! Wake up!! You were dreaming again.” 
I blinked from the glare of the sun streaming through the window and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
She sat on the edge of the bed. “You dreamed about the farm again?” 
I nodded. “Yes. this time I made it to the truck.” 
“But you didn’t see the box?” 
“No, I didn’t see the box. I don’t know where grandpa hid the money.” I threw the covers back and got out of bed. “All I have are these nightmares from the damn drugs. They aren’t helping me remember what happened all those years ago.”
“You told me there was a box of money. You saw him hide it.”
“I was sixteen years old when he died. I thought I knew where he hid it but when we searched the place it wasn’t there. I just can’t remember where it was. Damn it, Charlene, it’s been nearly twenty years.”
“But baby, no one’s been there since your grandparents died but us. We’ve gone over and over the place. The only way we’re gonna find out where he hid the box is for you to remember.”
“All the damned drugs you’re shoving down my throat are giving me a headache and flashbacks to things I don’t want to remember.”
“But baby, it’s a lot of money.” 
Those baby blue eyes of hers were misty as she gazed at me.
“Okay, I’ll keep taking the drugs until we find the money.”

​                     It was hot and dry. But that didn't stop the humidity from hanging in the air like a damp towel thrown over a curtain rod.
Every living thing oozed moisture. What wasn't living had a thin layer of sweat sitting on it or running off it.
It hadn't rained in several weeks
But it scarcely needed too. The humidity hung in the air was like a raincloud.
The oppressive heat and humidity had made his life miserable
  Actually, it hadn’t: It only greatly contributed to it. 
 Cramer Forrester had been contemplating several things. None of them good.
Today he made up his mind on the least offensive thing. Killing his wife.
Actually killing her would be the easy part.
The day came. It was time to do what was to be done. Cramer Forrester administered the drug as planned. It was to be a quiet peaceful death. More than she deserved. But it also solved a lot of questions. As he didn’t have to be there at the time. He’d had switched her medication several weeks ago. Being careful not to leave any prints on the bottle or any pills he doctored to double their medications. He had held the bottle of doctored pills back for several weeks. Finally, the time was right. He went in and said good morning to her and did the usual things one did with a bedbound person. But this would be the last time. He was going away later that day for a business trip and would be out of the country for several weeks. When she was indisposed, to took the chance and poured the good medication down the drain. And filled the current bottle with the doctored pills. Hiding the old bottle he had brought in the doctored pills in he calmly left the current bottle by the bed, along with the rest of her medications.
Cramer Forrester kissed his wife goodbye and left. Knowing full well, by the time he got back from his trip abroad, she would be dead. And there was no way to connect him to the pills. He had been careful. Only taking a couple of pills at a time, Just enough not to be missed. When he had collected enough pills. He doctored about a dozen pills. Along with the regular pills. They all looked the same and would be impossible to tell a doctored pill form a regular one. Of this, he had been most careful. He had been careful not to touch any of the pills with his bare hands, for fear of leaving trace DNA, or worst yet a partial print on the bottle or pills. He knew his prints would be all over the house and her room. He was there every day, and he'd touched many things. But he had always been careful not to touch her medications. Always making a point that if he didn’t touch it, he couldn’t screw it up. Thus letting the nurse and other caregivers handle the medications. The part of about not wanting to touch the medications was true. He had always said that long before he decided that she must die.
Stepping outside was like stepping into a steam room. Cramer Forrester felt the heat and humidity the second he left his wife’s house. The hour he’d spent there had been the longest hour he’d lived through in a long time. But now it was done.
He got into his car, immediately turning on the air conditioner, as soon as he started it. But even the air conditioner of the expense foreign car was working hard on conditioning the air in the cabin. Soon it was at least tolerable.
He arrived at the airport. Collecting his suitcase, and carry on the bag, which was ridiculously small, he entered the main concourse of the airport. Checking his tickets he found the gate number he needed and made his way to the gate. Soon he was in the line to check his bag and process his ticket.
“Cramer, Cramer Forester.” a quiet calm voice called his name from behind him. Cramer stopped in his tracks and turned around. Several men greeted him.
“I’m Detective Lewis Sinclair. I’m arresting you for the attempted murder of your wife, Gloria Forrester.” He explained calmly. Cramer stood still in shock. How could anyone know about his plans, and what he'd did that morning?
One of the other detectives slid over from where he was standing. There behind them was his wife. She was standing on her own two feet. Completely dressed and looking better then he’d seen her in a very long time.
He was at a loss for words. The detectives came over and collected his bags and handcuffed him. The ride in the police car a was a blur. It didn’t seem real. Here he was locked up in the back of a police car. Once that the station the dream continued. Questioning, booking, fingerprinting searching and finally a holding cell.
Later that day he found himself in a small interview room. The kind of the one-way glass mirror. And a camera or two propped up in the corners of the room. Recording everything said and done.
Cramer Forrester never imagined that he could or would get caught.
But yet here he was. Detective Lewis Sinclair came into the room along with one of the other arresting detectives. He never got his name.
“Mr. Forrester, we are charging you with the attempted murder of your wife Gloria Forrester, and the murder of your mother in law, Dorothy Evans,” he said flatly and with no hint of emotion. The detective plopped a large file in front of him. Loudly. The thud of the file hitting the table was deafening in the small room.
Sitting down he continued.
“Mr. Forrester. You Need money don’t you?” he asked.
“Who doesn't?” came the replied.
“But you need a lot and you need it in a hurry. If your wife died you’d inherit her fortune, which would pay off your gambling debts, and other outstanding bills”
“We’ve been watching you for a long time. We suspected that the death of Dorothy Evans was suspicious but we couldn’t prove it. We thought it probably happened like you planned for your wife. So we waited and watched. The accident your wife was in was staged to put you in a position to have to do something. Which you finally did.”
It all came to him. The accident, and the sudden drain on his cash flow from her. It was calculated to make do something. And he fell for it hook line and sinker.
Well, there was one good thing from it all he resigned himself to his fate.
At least he was rid of his wife. 

           The time had come.  Time to face facts. He was in deep trouble, There she sat across the room looking at him. If looks could kill, he'd been dead long ago.  The gun in her hand could definitely kill. The the chances of her actually using it increased every minute.

     Of theses facts he was painfully aware.  The question then became how to get out of this mess, preferably without her shooting him. His mind raced though various endings, that could ensue, if he didn't have the right answers to her questions. None of them were good.

     His hands bound behind him begun to ache, and his arms had long since started throbbing from lack of movement and being twisted around the wrong way for a extended period of time,  All of this and more added to his discomfort. But then again they were designed to make him as unhappy as possible. In that respect they were working.  Although , truth be told; her holding the gun was enough to make him very unhappy.  That fact that it was his gun made it even worst.  All of this aside. The problem is how to deal with the situation.  Without getting shot with his own gun.

     Several hours ago he had made contact with her to find a programmer r for a number of high end computer chips that had been recently liberated from their manufacturing plant, before they could be installed in the latest consumer electronics.  On the black market to the right people they were worth probably twice their wholesale value. as theses chips could be easily programmed to contain male-ware that would be undetectable and easily started simply by the end consumer logging on to a network. and there was no way to detect it as it was built into the firmware and running along side the programs that are supposed to be there. 

     He had been posing as the thief of the chips. Trying to make a deal with  her, to have her program the chips so he could get them back where they belong before they were missed. so his operation could use the embedded program to steal information and eventually millions of dollars.  The deal was she would get a cut of the proceeds when they were activated over the next few months, he had half a million dollars for her as up front earnest money, for her as a good faith deposit to help seal the deal.

     All was going well. Until one of her associates recognized him. From there the night just went downhill very quickly. The fact he had a gun, wasn't as much of a problem as fortunately he'd left his badge and gun permit at home. Carrying a gun in his line of "work" was to be expected.  Being fingered as a cop, was not. He decided the safest way was to admit to being a cop. A cop who had more then enough with criminals getting a way with murder and making millions on the side. He wanted a piece of the action,

     So he told her a tale of of how he'd been assigned to guard a shipment of  computer chips, In doing his research on the project, he found out about their ability to be programmed at their basic level.  He found a couple of other guys to help steal them in transit and get them back before they were missed, once they were programmed.  Only he he needed her skills to do the programming, for a cut. and the profits would be be shared among involved with the stealing of the chips.  

     At first she didn't believe him. However, after seeing the wreak he was driving, and hearing how he'd seen a large number of slippery criminals go free, and not finding his badge or a wire on him, she softened up a bit.

     "Ok, cut him lose." She finally barked.

A big guy came back to him, pulled out a thin bladed knife and cut the ropes that held  him free. . He thanked her, as he started trying to move his arms and get his hands to work again.

    "Lets get this straight; You even think about trying to cross me, and I'll feed you those chip to choke on, while I cut you from end to end. Slowly" She said as they lead him out to the truck. She kept his gun, They backed the truck into a warehouse.  Inside there was a closed in room. It had double doors, and  walls were sealed. Her men  started unloading the boxes of chips. Each box was carried inside the room, The boxes were carefully opened and the chip removed by more people wearing white  uniforms, . It was a clean room in the middle of a dirty warehouse.  For the next several hours the boxes of chips were removed, put in special machines programmed with the male-ware and carefully replaced back in their original packaging, and resealed with original factory seals, Eventually all the chips had been through the whole process, and were returned to the truck. repacked exactly as they were when they arrived. It had been quite a impressive operation, She watched the entire operation from a office in the clean room, with him. all the time his gun while not directly pointed at him, was with her. 

     Eventually he became  Optimistic that he might actually get out of this alive, and may even pull off the scheme.

    Once  the truck was reloaded and ready to go, she had another surprise for him, 

     "I think I'll go with you to make sure they get delivered safely and there are no problems"

     "Fine, hop aboard" he said, As they got into his car to follow the truck.   

     A couple of hours later they arrived at the warehouse where they were supposed to be delivered,   

While the truck pulled around to unload the chips, several  men came out of the shadows. 

 They surrounded the car,

    "Ma'm your under arrest. " One of the men handed him his badge, and he pulled out a second gun, he'd hidden in the car.
​