Page 11 of Silent Ritual

As she circled the car, she noticed something strange. “Finn!” she shouted, crouching down to inspect the front right tire. It was flat, punctured by what looked like several nails.

“Guess that explains why she pulled over here,” Finn said as he joined her.

“Coincidence?” Sheila asked. “Was our killer just driving along, saw a stranded driver, and decided to kidnap her? Or was this all planned out?” She moved her flashlight over to the tire again, this time spotting a thin metal strip with spikes fixed to it. “No, wait a minute. It’s a spike strip. This was no chance encounter.”

Finn's face hardened as he followed her gaze to the nasty contraption. "Someone planned this."

Sheila rose, brushing off the knees of her jeans. “Maybe he knows she’s on her way, sets the spike strip out. He follows her, and when she pulls over here…” She trailed off.

“Vanessa appears to have been bludgeoned from behind,” Finn said. “If Emily suffered a similar fate, I don’t see any blood around here.”

Sheila turned her flashlight toward a narrow path that led down through the weeds, directly into the salt flats. “There’s a simple explanation: She ran.”

Finn took a deep breath and let it out slowly as if preparing himself for what was to come. "I'm going to call the boss," he said. "We need to round up the locals, organize search parties."

“You make your call,” Sheila said. “I’m going to get started looking.”

Finn looked puzzled. “She went missing three days ago. There’s no way she’s been leading her would-be murderer on a wild goose chase all that time.”

"I'm not saying she's still running, Finn," she replied, her gaze fixed on the mysterious path. "But maybe there's a chance she's hiding.”

"Sheila, it’s not safe—"

"I know." Her voice was steady. “But we can’t afford to wait any longer. If...if Emily is still out there, she doesn’t have much time left.”

With that, she plunged into the darkness, her flashlight creating a narrow corridor of visibility as she made her way down the path.

CHAPTER SIX

The path wound its way through gnarly undergrowth before it opened up onto the salt flats. Sheila scanned the area with her flashlight. Boot prints crisscrossed in the soft ground, and her heart thudded painfully against her ribcage. A fine mist rolled in, coating the flats with an eerie sheen under the pale glow of the moon.

"Emily!" Sheila called out, her voice echoing across the desolate landscape.

There was no answer, only the howl of the lonely wind. Her apprehension heightened as she delved deeper into the salt flats. The boot prints began to wane, disappearing here and there where the ground was too hard or wind-swept for an impression.

A sudden movement to her left made her heart leap. She spun around, her flashlight skimming over a huddled shape on the ground. Moving quickly toward it, she found herself holding her breath, her heart pounding against her ribcage. The shape was a hoodie left crumpled on the ground. She crouched down and picked it up. It was thin and light, suited for the warm weather, but offered little protection against the night chill.

“Emily!” Sheila called again, hoping against hope.

The howling wind was her only response. Still, she found herself straining to hear over it, desperate for any sign of movement or life. She pressed onward, ignoring the silent warnings in the back of her mind that told her to wait for backup.

With every step, she cataloged what she saw—the angle of the moon as it hung heavy in the sky, the twinkle of distant stars, the cracked patterns of the salt flats beneath her boots. The flashlight swung from side to side, illuminating a landscape as alien and barren as any she'd ever seen.

"Emily!" Sheila tried again, but her voice seemed to be swallowed by the wind. She could barely hear herself over its incessant whispering.

And then she saw it. A flash of something colorful against the monochrome palette of the surrounding landscape. It was far to her right, just on the edge of her flashlight's beam.

Her heart pounded harder now as she quickly adjusted course and jogged toward it. The object came into view as a bright yellow scarf. Sheila reached down, her fingers brushing against the rough fabric. She recognized it immediately: This was the scarf Emily had been wearing in the picture Sheila found online. Apparently Emily had worn this scarf often, a little bit of sunshine on her otherwise monochrome barista outfit.

Sheila's heart hammered in her chest as she held up the scarf to the wind, watching it flutter like a wounded bird. Her throat tightened as she imagined Emily out here, alone and scared, miles away from the closest soul.

She knew someone was chasing her, she thought. Maybe she left it for us, just in case she got captured. She wanted someone to know she’d been here.

Suddenly, everything fell silent around her—the wind, the sounds of the distant night creatures, even her own heartbeat seemed to fade into nothingness. She had the haunting feeling of being watched. She spun around, shining her flashlight left and right. But there was nothing to see—only the endless expanse of salt flats stretching out in every direction.

She was about to press on when she heard a faint sound from behind her. She turned and focused her beam toward it, her heart pounding.

There it was again—a soft rustle of movement, like fabric brushing against the ground. It came from a small dip in the flats, just beyond where she stood.

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