Baltimore is a city that grinds you down, indifferent to its own problems and to the people stuck living with them. Following the rules won't protect you here. Sometimes it just leaves you keeping score.

A goodie two shoes. A family man. A pillar of the community? Our narrator would tell you he's all three. Or maybe all those years of doing the right thing left him with a lot of contempt, and he's finally found a use for it.

Come sit with him and hear a story he's told many times before. Tonight might be the last time he tells it.

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It’s not just a color out of space; it’s the shape of things to come.

Dr. Ezra Nelson knows better than most the fickle nature of our memories. The sequence of events that make up a life.

The timeline of our lives is our own.

Usually.

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It’s not just a color out of space; it’s the shape of things to come.

Nestled near the edge of the George Washington National Forest in Brandywine, West Virginia, there's a clearing surrounded by a tall chain link fence. At first glance it looks empty, except for what appears to be white field paint, the kind schools use to mark a football field, running off in a long lazy arc.

Then you follow it, and the arc closes.

It's a circle. A geometrically perfect circle, a hundred yards across, and it's older than the fence around it and older than the trees outside it.

Nobody knows who put it there. Everybody in that county knows the rule about it.

Content warning: this episode deals with entrapment, prolonged isolation, grief, and a death by choice. Nothing is depicted graphically.

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It’s not just a color out of space; it’s the shape of things to come.