Page 5 of Silent Ritual

"I'm sure she'll do great," Finn said. "She has an excellent teacher, after all."

“What about you? How was your weekend?”

"I spent Saturday with my old man on the phone, catching up on Philly news. Sunday was all paperwork. This job, right?" He chuckled, but it sounded odd, uncomfortable.

"Right," Sheila echoed, the word hollow against the hum of the engine. Their conversation limped along, each sentence punctured by the pause that follows when two people are still learning how to fill the spaces between them. She had known Finn for close to a year now, but whatever ease and familiarity she’d built up with him over that time, their blooming romance had complicated it. Relaxing around him was easy when they were off the clock, but when they were working…

Well, compartmentalizing was a lot more challenging when her work partner was also her romantic partner.

Red and blue lights flickered in the distance, painting the night in urgent hues and pulling Sheila from her thoughts. Brake lights ahead formed a glaring red ribbon that stretched into the dark, and Sheila eased her foot onto the brake, feeling the car slow to a crawl. She glanced over at Finn, the man who had somehow tiptoed past her defenses, his sharp jawline softened by the dashboard's glow.

"Looks like we're stuck," she said, wincing at the inadequacy of words when silence would have been just as communicative.

Finn nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His fingers drummed on the phone in his lap. "Well, since we're idle, why don't I run through the case details again?"

"Please," Sheila replied, grateful for any distraction from the awkwardness that had settled between them like an uninvited passenger.

He unlocked the phone, the screen illuminating his face, and began scrolling. "Vanessa Hart," he said, his voice taking on the professional timber she was familiar with, "last seen alive leading a protest outside ChemiTech Industries' gates earlier tonight. The environmental group she was with claimed the company's been dumping toxic waste into the Jemison River."

Sheila frowned, her gaze fixed on the stagnant traffic. "ChemiTech, the pharmaceutical giant? That's a serious allegation. Do we think there's a link between her activism and her death?"

"Could be," Finn mused, tapping the screen. "Vanessa was vocal, made a lot of noise about corporate responsibility. Might've stepped on the wrong toes."

The idling cars around them seemed like steel cages trapping them in place. Sheila, thinking about the dead woman and all the people who would be looking for answers—family, friends, coworkers—felt her restlessness building until she couldn't take it anymore. Without a word, she flipped on the siren. Immediately, a piercing wail sliced through the night.

"What are you—" Finn began, but cut himself off as Sheila steered sharply into the breakdown lane. She gunned the engine, then cut through a narrow gap in traffic, weaving her way through the congestion.

"Nice driving," Finn said.

"Thanks," she replied, keeping her focus on the path ahead. The adrenaline from taking control stirred something within her, a reminder of the instincts that had served her well both in the ring and in the field.

They shot forward, the chaos of the jam receding behind them like a bad memory. Ahead, the open road beckoned, a promise of progress—and, perhaps, answers. The landscape transformed with every mile. The city lights had long since dwindled in their rearview mirror, and now even the sparse roadside lamps were scarce. They were delving into a world devoid of human touch, where nature reclaimed its dominion under the cover of darkness.

"Turn left ahead," Finn said, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine. His finger traced a glowing line on the GPS screen, a beacon guiding them through the obscurity. Sheila obliged, guiding the vehicle onto a narrower path. The terrain here was changing, the earth growing hard and flat, scrub brush giving way to vast stretches of open land.

"Almost feels like we're driving on another planet," she remarked, squinting into the night.

"Welcome to the edge of nowhere," Finn replied, a half-smile playing on his lips.

As they approached the Mirage Salt Flats, the ground shimmered faintly under the moonlight, a vast expanse of white that stretched toward infinity. It was a desolate beauty, one that made Sheila feel both insignificant and invigorated. And yet, there was an eerie sense of foreboding hanging in the air—a silent testament that something unnatural had occurred in this alien landscape.

Spotting a collection of police vehicles, Sheila parked the cruiser at the edge of the flats, the engine ticking as it cooled. They got out, and the crisp, dry air hit her lungs, carrying the faint scent of salt and earth. Ahead, a constellation of artificial lights disrupted the natural order of the stars, marking the location of the crime scene.

“The body’s still out there?” Sheila asked, involuntarily tensing.

“Should be. Last I knew.”

They walked toward the lights, their boots crunching on the crystalline surface. As they drew closer, a figure detached herself from a group of officers and headed in their direction. She was tall, with broad shoulders that set her silhouette apart from the others. Her uniform marked her as local police, and her stride was confident, purposeful.

"Evening," she said, extending a hand as she reached them. "I'm Officer Deborah Rainy. You must be officers Sheila and Finn from County."

“That’s right," Sheila said, shaking her hand. Rainy's grip was strong, the handshake brief but assertive.

"Let's get you up to speed on what we've found so far,” Rainy said. She turned, leading them toward the heart of the illuminated area, her torchlight cutting through the night like a beacon. Sheila and Finn followed close behind, flashlights in hand, scanning the desolate expanse that stretched out like a blank canvas around them.

“Got a call from some stargazers a couple of hours ago,” Rainy said. “Said they’d found a body on the flats, but this…” She cleared her throat.

“You can never really be ready for it,” Sheila murmured.

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