Page 51 of Silent Ritual

The water was clear, illuminated by the late afternoon sun filtering through a gap in the rocks. A thin veil of steam hovered over the surface, dissipating into the dry desert air. The hissing and gurgling of the water filled the otherwise silent surroundings with an underlying note of unrest.

Sheila crouched by the water’s edge, peering into the pool. A small ripple moved across the surface, sending a shiver along her spine despite the sweltering heat. What secrets did this place hold? Could they be looking at the murderer's hideout?

A movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned to see Finn scanning the area around them, his eyes narrowed in focus. His hand rested near the holster of his gun, ready to react at a moment's notice.

"What is it?" Sheila asked, her heart pounding with anticipation.

Finn held up a hand for silence, straining to hear. She followed his gaze to a prickly pear cactus several feet away.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered, squinting against the harsh desert sun.

Sheila strained her ears, but all she could hear was the sound of their own breathing and the distant hum of desert insects. "Hear what?"

"That rustling sound..." Finn said, moving cautiously toward the cactus, his gun now drawn. The rustling sound came again—louder this time and accompanied by a low growl.

"It's coming from behind that cactus," Finn murmured, his voice barely audible over the faint hissing of the spring.

They advanced slowly, their eyes glued on the prickly pear cactus. A sudden gust of wind whipped up sand around them, making them grimace and shield their eyes.

Then something bolted out from behind the cactus, causing both Sheila and Finn to jump back instinctively. It was a desert fox, fur matted and eyes wild with fear. It darted past them and disappeared into the desert underbrush in a flash of russet fur.

They both stood frozen for a moment, their hearts pounding in their chests. Finn holstered his gun with a shuddering sigh.

"I guess the desert isn't as deserted as we thought," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sheila didn't return the smile. She was too busy staring at what the fox had left behind.

Behind the cactus was a small, carefully concealed hole burrowed into the side of one of the rocky hills surrounding the spring. The hole was barely visible, tucked between a cluster of shrubs and obscured by loose rocks.

Sheila moved toward it, her heart hammering in her chest. She crouched down, peering into the dark recesses of the hole.

There was something in there, gleaming faintly.

“What is it?” Finn asked. “Did you find something?”

“I’m not sure,” Sheila murmured, slipping on a pair of latex gloves. She twisted her body sideways to reach into the hole. She half-expected to feel the teeth of another fox sinking into her hand, but instead all she felt was stone and sand. Then her questing fingers encountered something long, cylindrical.

She grasped it and pulled. It rasped along the stones, making a jarring melody.

When she finally pulled it out, it flashed in the sunlight, momentarily blinding her. As her eyes cleared, she stared at the object for a few long seconds before she could make sense of what she was seeing.

“The knife,” she said with a note of wonder. “The golden knife.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

The man lingered in the hallway, listening to the woman’s voice drone on and on in the classroom. He checked his watch—class was almost over.

He felt like a caged animal, growing more restless by the second. Cassandra and her pack of wannabes had served their role, distracting the police from him, but that would only last so long. Eventually, they would come knocking on his door…

But would they really suspect him, an unassuming university teacher with no history of violence?

You’re safe, he reassured himself. Stop worrying.

He just needed to get to Laura Simmons. If he could just perform the ritual on her, he would feel so much calmer, so much more like himself. All he had to do was wait for her class to end, then find a way to isolate her.

Besides…she deserved it. He’d heard her talking about the murders, saying how the person responsible must truly be a psycho if he believed the stars were telling him what to do. She had laughed about it—actually laughed—and the sound had taken the man back a few decades, to when he was just a helpless little boy ridiculed for ideas.

All his life he’d been bullied and maligned for his beliefs, beliefs that had taken root when his grandmother had introduced him to the ancient art of astrology. She had told him stories of cosmic signs and divine intervention, instilling in him a faith that was as unshakeable as it was misunderstood. He'd been ridiculed, ostracized, and even feared for his beliefs. But he hadn't cared. He knew the truth.

And now, he was taking revenge on those who dared to mock his sacred beliefs. Cleansing the world, one ignorant soul at a time.

---