Page 8 of Silent Ritual

"This is Detective Stone with the Coldwater County Sheriff's Department. With whom am I speaking?”

The line went silent for several long moments, and Sheila began to suspect the man had ended the call.

“I’m Vanessa’s brother, Vincent,” he said in a low, troubled voice. What happened to my sister?”

***

Vincent's face crumpled like a discarded piece of paper as he absorbed the news, the corners of his eyes glistening with the onset of tears that refused to fall. He was a mirror image of his sister: short blonde hair and a physique that echoed the same athletic lineage. His eyes searched Sheila's for answers she could not provide.

Poor man, Sheila thought. He had no idea. She had the book on astrology in her hand, carefully hidden beneath her folded coat. She didn’t want to reveal it to Vincent until she was confident the time was right.

"Dead?" Vincent asked again, the word catching in his throat like a fishbone. The apartment around them seemed to absorb the shock, the walls closing in with the heaviness of grief. It was a modest setting—family photos clustered on shelves, children's drawings taped to the fridge, and a few plants that looked in need of water. The decor was sporadic but homely, with a threadbare couch that looked inviting despite its age, and toys scattered across the carpeted floor—a testament to the young lives that played here, oblivious to the night's sorrow.

"We're so sorry," Sheila said, her voice a soft echo in the dimly lit living room. Finn stood by her side, his face a mask of professional empathy.

"Who would do this to her? She never hurt anyone," Vincent murmured, sinking into the couch as if his bones had suddenly given way.

"Did Vanessa ever mention feeling threatened or afraid?" Finn asked, his question gentle but probing.

Vincent shook his head, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "No, nothing like that. She was passionate, sure, always fighting for what she believed in. But scared? No."

"Can you tell us about her work, her activism?" Sheila asked, watching the emotions play across Vincent's face.

He drew a deep breath, steadying himself. "Vanessa, she.. she loved the earth, you know? Wanted to protect it from harm. She organized rallies, wrote articles, anything to get the message out there." Vincent paused, his gaze drifting to a framed picture of Vanessa holding a 'Save Our Planet' sign. "She believed we could make a difference. That she could make a difference."

“I couldn’t help noticing the number of calls you made to her phone,” Sheila said.

“She was supposed to come over tonight and watch the kids,” Vincent said. “It’s Jen’s and my anniversary, so Vanessa volunteered to babysit for us. We had reservations at a fancy restaurant downtown—excellent steaks, from what I hear.”

“Where’s your wife now?” Finn asked.

"At the restaurant. She's grabbing takeout…though I'm not sure I'll be able to stomach much anymore." He swallowed hard.

Sheila pursed her lips. “Was your sister religious?”

“Not really. Why?”

“Wasn’t into any rituals or…unusual practices?”

Vincent shot a puzzled glance at Finn. “Why are you asking that?”

“Just trying to piece everything together,” Finn said.

Sheila pulled out the book on astrology and set it on the table. Vincent stared at it for several seconds, then made a disgusted face. “Not that again,” he said.

“You recognize it?” Sheila asked.

“The guy who wrote it, a local author named Brett Hawthorne, has been one of Vanessa’s more vocal critics.”

“Why would an author interested in astrology take issue with Vanessa’s environmental work?”

“Because she often debunked the pseudoscientific claims he makes in his books. She said they distracted from the real, tangible harm being done to the environment. They argued on public forums and at town hall meetings. Got pretty heated sometimes."

Finn and Sheila exchanged a significant look.

“And he seemed to take her criticism personally?” Finn asked.

“Big time,” Vincent said, nodding. “Vanessa was always blunt about her opinions—saying astrology isn't a real science, that kind of thing. Hawthorne didn't take kindly to it. He saw it as a direct affront to his work."

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