Page 37 of Silent Prey

“Sheila? Still there?”

"Yeah, Finn," she said, opening her eyes. "I'm here.”

“Just…if you’re really so restless, come back to the island. You can join the search party looking for Beverly—that’s what I’m about to do. I still think you should get some rest, but if you absolutely can’t sleep…”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Sheila said, coming to a decision. “Just let me call an Uber.”

“Just make sure you stay with the group, no matter what.” There was an edge to Finn’s voice.

“I’ll be careful.”

“That’s not good enough, Sheila. This guy is isolating and stalking women on the island, and as far as we know he’s not very picky. But I’ll be damned before he adds my partner to his list.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was three am when Sheila collapsed into bed after an hours-long but ultimately futile search of the island during which she had failed to find any sign of Beverly King.

She had succeeded in one thing, though: wearing herself out enough that the desire to sleep was finally stronger than the desire to drink.

The hotel, situated at the southern end of Antelope Island, was eerily quiet in the early hours of the morning. A stillness hung heavily in the air, broken only by the occasional whispering drafts that slipped through gaps in old windows and doors.

The room was small, with a queen-sized bed and an old-fashioned lamp by the side. The curtains were drawn tightly, preventing the moonlight from leaking into the room. Sheila kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

She thought about the man in the security footage and the tattoo of the snarling dog on his wrist. Her mind spun around a single question, drawn like a moth to a flame: Could he be responsible for the murders?

She thought about Beverly King, too. About her family waiting anxiously for any news, about the research she was conducting on the island's ecology. She thought about Diana Morales, the nurse who frequently hiked in the park to decompress after her nursing shifts, and the other victims before her: Bethany Cole, Amanda Hayes, Kaylee Jensen.

It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

Her mind turned to Finn: his stern voice on the phone earlier, his concern for her safety more obvious than he probably realized. She considered his words, how he had insisted she take care of herself, too. He was just across the hall from her now. She hoped he was having an easier time relaxing than she was.

She glanced at the digital clock by her bedside, which read 3:05 am. She closed her eyes, the weight of exhaustion finally sinking into her bones, and slipped into a restless dream.

She was wading across the Great Salt Lake, the icy water biting at her ankles, the cold night air whipping across her face. She could see a figure on the shore opposite to her: a woman in white with long dark hair flowing down her shoulders.

"Beverly!" Sheila called out, but her voice was carried away by the wind. She tried to walk faster, but the lake bed was slippery and treacherous underfoot. The water itself was changing, too: first clear, then darkening as an inky cloud turned it black.

No, not black. Red. Like blood.

"Beverly!" Sheila cried again. Her voice fell flat, swallowed by the macabre silence that hung heavily over the bloody lake.

As the water rose, climbing up her calves and then to her knees, a current formed and began tugging at her. She fought against it, desperately trying to reach Beverly. She pushed harder, gritting her teeth against the chilling onslaught of the water. But the harder she fought against the current, the quicker Beverly seemed to be pulled away.

Just then, a figure emerged from behind Beverly, overshadowing her. Sheila tried to scream a warning, but no words came. With all her strength, she threw herself forward, swimming through the bloody waves, closer and closer to Beverly. She had to save her.

Finally her feet began to find solid footing, and she rose from the water step by step. "Quick, Beverly!” she shouted, extending her hand. “Come with me! We need to—”

But it was not Beverly any longer. It was Natalie, her eyes staring emptily up at her.

"No," Sheila whispered, tears streaming down her face. "No, not again."

She was no longer on the shore of a blood-filled lake but kneeling on the cold hardwood floor of Natalie's cabin. She reached out a trembling hand, as if she could somehow reverse the course of events, bring Natalie back to life.

“No!” she screamed. “No, no, no—”

“Sheila!” Finn was shaking her awake, his face etched with worry in the dim light. His hand was warm on her shoulder, grounding her to reality. Sheila sat up, gasping for air, the phantom taste of blood still in her mouth.

His eyes were filled with concern as he looked at her. "Are you okay?" he asked. “You were screaming in your sleep.”

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