Page 6 of Silent Ritual

“Especially when it’s—well, I’ll just let you see it for yourselves.”

The beams of their lights soon revealed a shape lying motionless on the ground, dark against the white salt. The victim—Vanessa Hart—was on her back, limbs arranged in an unnaturally precise manner, reminiscent of a macabre snow angel. As they drew closer, the details became clearer: symbols, looping and ornate like Arabic calligraphy, encircled her body, drawn into the salt in a meticulous clockwise pattern.

Sheila froze, rooted to the spot. She felt as if she were back in Natalie’s cabin. It all came rushing back—Natalie’s reticence, her unavailability, her cryptic text saying she was sorry…

And, worst of all, the moment Sheila had opened the cabin door and found her older sister dead on the floor.

The sudden memory hit her like a punch, leaving her breathless. She clutched her chest, the shockwaves of pain all too real, all too present. Beside her, Finn reached out instinctively, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low and concerned.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice echoing strangely in the desolate landscape. "I'm good." But the lie was a bitter taste in her mouth.

Officer Rainy was looking at them with wary concern etched on her tough features.

“And none of this has been disturbed?” Sheila asked, trying to get the spotlight off herself.

“Right,” Rainy said. “The people who found her—well, it wasn’t difficult to realize Ms. Hart was dead. They didn’t have to get close.”

Sheila knelt beside Vanessa, her professional gaze sweeping over the scene with practiced efficiency. The back of Vanessa’s head appeared sticky with blood, suggesting blunt force trauma may have been the cause of death. But there was more: Peculiar herbs were scattered across the corpse, their pungent scent rising in the night air, mingling with the tang of salt and death. The leaves were dark, shriveled, and unfamiliar to Sheila, yet they seemed to have been placed with intention, each one resting at strategic points upon Vanessa's body.

"Any idea what these are?" Sheila asked, nodding toward the herbs without taking her eyes off the body.

"Local flora, maybe? I'm no botanist," Rainy admitted, shining her light over the plants for a better look. "But what was she doing out here in the first place?”

It was a valid question—one that Sheila filed away as part of the growing list of unknowns in this case. Why would she have come straight here after wrapping up her protest earlier in the evening? The salt flats were a popular destination for hikers, but to show up at night like this, with no backpack or other signs of camping gear…

“Has her car been searched?” she asked, glancing at Rainy.

Rainy shook her head. “Haven’t found one.”

Sheila nodded. After taking a few pictures, she began fishing through the victim’s pockets, careful not to disturb the herbs. She found a set of keys in the victim’s front left pocket.

“Let’s go find that car,” she said to Finn.

Finn, however, was still staring at the body. "Could be some kind of ceremonial herbs," he murmured.

"Maybe." Sheila's mind raced. She considered Vanessa's passionate activism, her recent protest against ChemiTech Industries. Could this be some sort of twisted retribution? But no, this felt older, deeper—like a message steeped in another era, another belief system entirely.

"Human sacrifice," she muttered, half to herself. The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

"Sorry, what was that?" Finn asked, tilting his head to catch her eyes.

"Human sacrifice," Sheila repeated louder, locking eyes with him. "This feels like someone trying to appease...something. Or send a message."

Sheila took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving the scene. The killer had used Vanessa's body to create this tableau, positioning her arms and legs, choosing this desolate place for its stark, unyielding canvas—a stage meant for an audience of more than just the stargazers who stumbled upon it. It was all too deliberate, too carefully orchestrated to be the result of a sudden, impassioned act.

"Whoever did this wanted us to find her like this," Sheila said, her tone firm despite the tremor of revulsion that ran through her. "They're making a statement, alright. But what the hell are they trying to say?"

CHAPTER THREE

Sheila leaned forward over the steering wheel, searching the edge of the road for Vanessa Hart’s vehicle. The terrain stretched endlessly around them, a vast canvas of crystalline salt reflecting the moonlight like a blanket of frost.

"Any theories?" Finn asked from the passenger seat, breaking the silence that had settled between them since they got into the car.

“Religious,” Sheila said immediately. “Those symbols—whatever this is, it’s not just about a beef over environmentalism. We have to assume the killer’s belief system plays a significant role.”

They were both silent for several long moments.

“You were thinking of Natalie, weren’t you?” Finn asked without preamble, the words startling Sheila. “Back there, when we saw Vanessa’s body…”

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