Page 25 of Silent Ritual

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In a sparsely populated parking lot of the university, Sheila and Finn sat in an unmarked car. The campus was quiet save for the occasional student hurrying past their car to get out of the chill. The clock on the dashboard read 9:37 PM. In the distance, the bulky silhouette of the study hall was dimly lit by sparse outdoor lights.

They had looked up Jenkins' plates and discovered she had a silver sedan registered in her name. That sedan wasn't here at the moment, but it wasn't at home, either. Sheila's guess was that Jenkins was on her way here.

“Alright,” Sheila said. “Give me your best stakeout story.”

Finn chuckled. "Best stakeout story, huh? Well, I've got one from a buddy of mine that should make you laugh."

Sheila leaned back in her seat, smiling despite herself. She looked forward to hearing his story—it would distract her from worrying about Star.

"When I was flying F-16s," he began, "I had a friend who transitioned to piloting observation drones. He told me about this one mission in the Middle East. They got a tip that their target was going to be at a particular location. It was supposed to be a high-value meeting, so they set up a drone to observe the area for a couple of days."

Sheila nodded, interested. "Sounds intense."

"Oh, it was," Finn said. "My buddy was on watch during the second day. He said it was dead quiet, just watching the feed for hours. Suddenly, he saw movement at the site."

Sheila found herself leaning forward in anticipation. "And then what happened?" she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"A big, shaggy goat comes trotting out into the site," Finn continued, grinning. "Starts nibbling at some of the trash they'd left behind. He said he had to stifle his laughter. But here's where it gets interesting."

Raising an eyebrow, Sheila asked, "The goat was the high-value target?"

"I wish," Finn said, laughter playing on his lips. "But no. The movement of the goat must have alerted the guard on duty because next thing he sees, this guy comes running out of one of the buildings with a rifle in his hands. He's yelling, waving his arms and chasing the goat."

"Did they engage?" Sheila asked, already guessing the answer.

"No," Finn shook his head. "They were under strict orders not to engage unless they spotted their actual target. But my buddy said watching that guy chase after that goat for the better part of an hour was the best entertainment he'd had in weeks."

Sheila laughed, her weariness momentarily forgotten. Her delight was short-lived, however, as she spotted movement in the darkened study hall building across the street.

"Movement," she said, sitting up straighter and pointing to the lit windows of the study hall.

Finn followed her gaze and saw it too. The light in the window of an upper floor flickered on, silhouetting a figure as it moved around in the room. They watched as more lights came on and more figures began to flit about behind the windows. A silver sedan pulled into the parking lot, its headlights briefly illuminating the study hall's brick façade before sliding into an empty spot.

“Sheila.” Finn pointed toward the entrance. “Isn’t that Cassandra Jenkins?”

Sheila squinted at the figure that had just stepped out of the car, clutching what looked like a large bag. “Yes," she said, her voice low. "It's her."

She felt a cold chill wash over her as Cassandra Jenkins moved toward the study hall entrance. The woman glanced around furtively before disappearing inside the building.

“What are you doing, Jenkins?” Sheila murmured.

“All this time,” Finn said, “we’ve been talking about ‘the killer,’ singular. But what if it’s a group—maybe even this group?”

Sheila opened her door. “Only one way to find out. Let’s take a closer look.”

Easing the door shut behind her, Sheila crept across the parking lot, shadowed by Finn. They moved with the quiet precision of hunters, making their way toward the hulking study hall building.

As they approached the entrance, Sheila motioned for Finn to stay back while she peered through a narrow window at the side of the door. The coast was clear.

“Come on,” she whispered, easing the door open.

The meeting was taking place on the third floor, so the first order of business was to find a staircase that wouldn't echo their footsteps loudly through the building. Sheila led the way, her brain whirling with anxiety and questions. They crept up a set of back stairs, the worn carpet muffling their steps. Finn followed behind her, his sharp eyes scanning the hallways for any sign of movement.

Upon reaching the third floor, they paused. The muffled hum of voices was coming from a closed door down the hallway.

Sheila gestured to Finn, pointing at the door and then at her ear to signal that she wanted to listen in. He nodded his understanding, his gaze not leaving the door. Slowly, they crept toward it, keeping low and close to the wall.

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