Page 54 of Silent Ritual

“Without their presence looking suspicious?” Finn tapped away at his phone. “According to this, that building houses the offices of three professors: Dr. Erik Solberg, Dr. Margot Lane, and Professor Alan Harris."

“What do they each teach?”

Finn looked back down at his phone, scrolling through some more information. "Harris is a professor of history, Lane specializes in art history...and Solberg teaches astronomy."

“Astronomy,” Sheila murmured. “That would fit—a class where he can indulge in his love for the stars without drawing attention to his more radical ideas.” The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like Solberg was definitely someone they needed to speak with.

“That’s not all,” Finn said. “He went to med school for a few years, too, before he dropped out."

"Why's that relevant?"

"Because of Fiona Blake,” Finn said, looking gravely into Sheila’s eyes. “Whoever bandaged her had medical training—and Solberg certainly ticks that box.”

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Darkness had settled by the time Sheila and Finn arrived at Erik Solberg’s home, a weathered two-story house secluded in the dense woods a few miles from the university. The flicker of a lone light filtered through the half-open blinds on the second floor, painting long, distorted shadows on the dew-soaked grass. As they approached, they noticed Solberg's car parked outside, its windows gleaming under the silver light of the moon.

Sheila felt a chill rush down her spine. She exchanged a glance with Finn, his face etched with grim determination. They approached the house, their boots crunching the gravel beneath them. In the stillness of the night, each sound felt magnified - the far-off hoot of an owl, the rustle of leaves, their own steady breathing.

Sheila knocked on the front door, her heart pounding in her chest. No response. She knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing. She exchanged a worried glance with Finn.

“Solberg!” Finn called out, pressing his ear to the door. “We need to talk!”

The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the distant screech of a night creature. Finn frowned, his eyes scanning the front yard before settling back on the house. He turned to Sheila, his expression grim.

“We need to get in,” Finn said, looking for an entrance. “Maybe if we talk with the judge, he’ll expedite a warrant."

"Let's check around back first," Sheila said. "There's no telling what we might find."

Finn nodded, and together they circled the house, keeping close to the shadows. The backyard was an unkempt wilderness of overgrown shrubs and gnarled trees, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal hands against the backdrop of the starlit sky.

One of the back windows was slightly ajar, a sliver of light streaming through the gap. Finn gestured for Sheila to stay put as he moved closer, peering into the gloom within. His eyes widened as he took in the sight.

"Shit..." he whispered under his breath.

"What is it?" Sheila asked in hushed tones, stepping closer to him.

There, on a table inside the room, was an open book, its pages filled with symbols of the Zodiac. Alongside it were piles of photographs spread out. As Sheila stepped closer, she could make out faces within those pictures—faces of Cassandra Jenkins, other members from her group, and chillingly, a photograph of Natasha Ivanov—the latest victim.

There was a map pinned to the wall, as well, annotated with cryptic notations and marked locations, each corresponding to the places where victims were found.

Sheila brought her hand over her mouth in horror as she saw what lay inside. “He’s been watching them—all of them."

"I'd say that's reasonable cause for entering," Finn said.

Sheila grabbed the window and pushed it upward. Then she scrambled through the opening and landed inside the dim room, the scent of must and old books filling her nostrils. The adrenaline coursing through her veins made her feel lighter, sharper.

Sheila moved cautiously toward the table cluttered with photographs and the open book. A moment later, Finn landed behind her. She didn't have to turn to know he was scanning the room, his hand never straying far from his gun.

"Look at this," she whispered, stepping aside to let Finn take in the sight of Solberg’s twisted obsession.

Finn's gaze moved over the photographs laid out on the table, each face marked by an astrological symbol. His eyes hardened as he reached for his phone.

"I’ll call this in," he said, dialing a number and holding it close to his ear.

Sheila gave a curt nod, but her eyes were drawn to the large map on the wall. It was marked with strange symbols—astrological signs she recognized—and each one corresponded with a murder site. Her hands clenched into fists as she examined it closely.

"Look," she said, pointing to the map. "He’s planned everything according to the Zodiac signs. Each sign corresponds to a victim."

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