The End of Man - Prologue

"Oh, so you think you're some kind of hero now!" Kathrine shrieked at him in that panicked, shrill pitch her voice took on when her escalation reached its peak. "You're going to go out and start rescuing people now?" she followed up, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"No," he replied coolly and flatly. "Just certain people." These outbursts and lashing out weren't anything new to Charles, just that after the pandemic, the topics had changed. He had learned after a decade of these tirades that it wasn't worth trying to defend his thoughts, actions, or feelings. It would just make things worse in the long run. With those words, she somehow managed to pick up more steam and pointed accusingly at him. She had picked up that new habit in the last year.

"Like who!? David? He's safe at my parents', you know that." David was their only son, grown up and until recently attending college out where Kathrine's parents lived. "And what are you going to do!? You're just an out-of-shape wannabe with a soldier complex and toys. I should never have let you get all that stuff in the first place." She steamrolled on as he walked out to his truck with his third load of gear, letting the door close between them, offering him a small respite. After setting the duffle and tote in the bed of the truck, he contemplated leaving the last thing behind just so he wouldn't need to return inside. But he let out the breath he was holding and walked back inside with purpose in his step.

"It's her, isn't it...?" she asked quietly, her demeanor changing for a moment. Charles didn't reply; he just looked her in the eyes and let the weight of her statement settle in.

"I knew it!" she screamed, her resolve reinvigorated by the silence. "I should have left then! You've been cheating on me, haven't you!?" she continued. What followed was lost to Charles as he was in thought. The truth was he hadn't spoken to Anne in over a decade, but it didn't seem important to him at the moment to argue the point anymore, so he kept moving on to the garage. Kathrine continued to follow close behind him. Entering the garage from the kitchen, he found what he was looking for resting on a shelf to his left. He had used it several times camping and knew it would come in handy in the near future. Approximately the size of a cooler or a 24-pack of soda, he always forgot how heavy it was, especially when it was fueled up. The whole time, even as he returned to the front door in the living area, Kathrine trailed him, throwing insults and accusations the entire way. Charles stopped before opening the door. He set down what he was carrying and with her behind him, he drew his handgun from its holster at his belt. The silence that followed and filled the room was tense. Turning around to face her, the firearm at his side and still pointing at the floor, he could see the terror in her eyes and the dawning realization that the cops wouldn't be coming. She backed up slowly, struggling to form words until the backs of her legs collided with their couch and she sat down roughly.

He looked down at her, straight into her eyes with determination and said, "You've said it yourself for the last decade. You've never loved me. You wish we were never married. And being with me has been misery for you." He stated all this calmly but with a hint of finality. "Also, I've known about your boyfriend for a long time now." He took another step closer to her and she shrank away even more, as if willing the couch to swallow her. "By that time, I had just realized that it didn't actually change anything." He turned the pistol around, holding it by the barrel with the grip toward her.

"Take it. You should be safe here, but I've never been nor am I the reason you've stayed all this time. If you're still here when I get back that's okay. But if you're gone, I'll understand as well." Charles didn't give her time to respond as he promptly turned and left. On his way out, he caught a glimpse of himself in the large hanging mirror they had in the living room. Short and broad, sort of like a bulldog turned human. He wasn't necessarily fat but certainly out of shape. He wore his Molle plate carrier over a red plaid long-sleeve with the sleeves rolled up and blue jeans. His dark hair graying a bit with a slightly unruly goatee and mustache in the same dark salted color as his hair. Seeing himself, he deflated a bit but wasn't going to let that stop him as he exited the home. As he loaded the last item into the truck bed, Charles paused for a moment, his hand resting on the door handle. The echo of Katherine’s accusations still rang in his ears, but he pushed them aside. This wasn’t about proving her right or wrong; it was about doing what he knew in his heart was necessary.

He turned back to glance at the house one last time, the silhouette of Katherine framed by the window. She stared back, eyes full of a mixture of fear and anger. Charles took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past lifting off his shoulders, replaced by a sense of grim determination.

With a final nod to himself, he climbed into the truck and started the engine. The roar of the motor drowned out the lingering echoes of their argument as he pulled out of the driveway. He had a long road ahead of him, but for the first time in years, he felt a flicker of purpose ignite within him. The journey across the country wasn’t just about saving an old love—it was about redeeming himself.