Page 42 of Silent Ritual

With little option, they followed the path. As they rounded the corner, they came upon a small wooden door tucked away in the building's shadow. Sheila approached with caution, gun ready as she gently twisted the knob. To her surprise, it gave way, and she found herself looking into a dim space filled with an intricate array of telescopes and monitors.

“Who are you?” a suspicious voice asked. They both turned to see an elderly man with a thick accent watching them, a mop in his hand. He wasn’t Stark—they’d seen his photograph online—but Sheila recognized him from one of the articles as the janitor who had worked at the observatory for more than a decade.

"I'm Deputy Sheriff Sheila Stone, and this is Deputy Finn Mercer," she said, showing her badge. "We need to speak with Leonard Stark."

The man’s eyes widened as he studied their badges before relaxing, setting his mop aside. “Mr. Stark is…” He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder toward a staircase leading to a higher platform. “He’s in the middle of something at the moment. I think it would be better if you came back later.”

“That won’t be possible,” Finn interjected, his tone firm. "We need to speak with him now."

The janitor looked uncertain, biting his lower lip. After a moment of silence, he finally nodded, gesturing toward the staircase. "Upstairs, in the main observation room," he said quietly.

Sheila and Finn exchanged glances before making their way up the narrow staircase. The wooden steps creaked under their weight, echoing in the vast, dark space of the observatory. The walls were adorned with murals of constellations and distant galaxies, giving them an impression of staring into the depths of space itself.

As they reached the top, they found themselves in a circular room, dominated by a giant telescope that stretched up toward the glass dome of the observatory. Standing by a control panel, his back to them, was Leonard Stark.

Finn cleared his throat slightly, announcing their presence. Stark turned around, his face pale and surprised under his receding hairline. "Excuse me, what are you doing here?" he demanded, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses nervously.

"We’re with the Coldwater County Sheriff’s Department,” Sheila said. “We have some questions for you.”

"About the recent deaths in the Mirage Salt Flats," Finn added.

Stark's expression paled. “And what does this have to do with me?”

“We understand you recently made some threats online,” Sheila said. “You’re also part of Cassandra Jenkins’ group at the university, aren’t you?”

"I haven't done anything wrong,” he said automatically.

“We haven’t accused you of anything,” Sheila said. “We're investigating a series of murders that appear to be connected to astrology and occult rituals. Your name came up in our inquiries, and we need to ask you a few questions."

Stark's eyes darted toward the door, his posture tense. "I'm just an astronomer."

"An astronomer who makes violent threats online?" Finn interjected, his eyes narrowing. "We need to know more about your activities and your whereabouts during the times of the murders."

Stark's breathing quickened, his eyes shifting nervously. "I told you, I don't know anything about any murders. You have no right to accuse me—"

“Is something wrong?” a voice called up the stairs. It was the janitor.

Sheila turned toward the stairs. “We’re just asking Mr. Stark a few questions—”

That was as far as she got before Stark bolted past her, leaping over the railing and stumbling down the staircase.

“Shit!” Finn exclaimed as he and Sheila took off after Stark. They tore down the staircase, the darkened observatory whirling past in a blur. Stumbling at the base of the steps, Stark ducked under the janitor's outstretched arm and sprinted toward the building's exit.

"Finn!" Sheila shouted, indicating with a jerk of her head that she was going to cut him off. She sprinted through a side door and out into the morning light. Her breath puffed out in front of her as she dodged around an array of satellite dishes and antennas, her boots kicking up clods of earth.

Finn barreled through the main exit just as Stark burst from the side of the building. Sheila was already closing in from one side, forcing Stark to veer left into a patch of tall grass. Both deputies sprinted full tilt toward their panicked suspect, narrowing the gap with every stride.

As Stark neared the edge of the grassy field, he glanced over his shoulder and stumbled, narrowly avoiding a headlong tumble. Finn saw his opportunity. He lunged forward, barely missing Stark’s jacket as the man darted away.

“Stop!” Sheila shouted, her voice echoing off the observatory's walls. “We just want to talk!”

Desperation creased Stark's face as he looked back at her, then toward the road ahead. An oncoming semi-truck blared its horn as it barreled down the highway. Without thinking, Stark veered grotesquely onto the road, arms flailing as he tried to flag down the driver.

The truck screeched to a halt, belching black smoke into the air. Stark took the opportunity and darted around to the passenger's side. He climbed up, and a moment later, the confused truck driver stumbled out, evicted from his own truck.

"Damn it," Sheila muttered, watching as Stark yanked open the door and leaped into the cab.

Finn was already on his radio, barking out details to dispatch. “We have a suspect fleeing in a semi-truck headed north on Highway 15. Male, mid-forties, balding, wire-rimmed glasses. Name's Stark, Leonard Stark."

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