Page 14 of Silent Prayer

"You telling me some psycho's been casing my place of business?" Tom asked.

"I'm telling you that you should probably keep a close eye on things in case he finds reason to come back," Finn said. "Keep the footage rolling."

They continued watching as Sophie and the man headed not toward the parking lot but toward an adjoining alley.

"That alley," Sheila said, her pulse quickening. "Where does it lead?"

Tom shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Nowhere, really. It's a dead end. Sometimes people use it to smoke or...you know, get some privacy."

Sheila and Finn exchanged a look, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Without another word, they hurried out of the office, back through the bar, and out the side door, emerging once again into the cool night air.

They crossed to the alley, which was dark, the flickering streetlight barely penetrating the gloom. Sheila pulled out her flashlight, its beam cutting through the shadows like a knife. They moved cautiously, alert for any sound or movement.

The air felt heavy, thick with the scent of rotting garbage from nearby dumpsters and something else...something metallic and sickly sweet that made Sheila's stomach churn with dread.

As they neared the end of the alley, Sheila's light fell on something sprawled on the ground. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she felt Finn tense beside her.

"Finn," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Look."

There, half-hidden behind a dumpster, lay a body. The beam of Sheila's flashlight revealed a woman's form, her limbs splayed at unnatural angles. Dark stains spread across her clothing, glistening wetly in the harsh light.

Sheila approached slowly, her training warring with the horror rising in her chest. As she drew closer, she could make out more details: the woman's pale face, her eyes staring sightlessly at the sky, her mouth frozen in a silent scream.

It was, without a doubt, Sophie Tournay.

CHAPTER SIX

The Father sat motionless in his sedan, eyes fixed on the alleyway behind Chester's Bar and Grill.

I wonder what she looks like now,he thought.Is she as beautiful in death as she was in life?

The night enveloped him like a shroud, the darkness a comforting presence. He had been sitting here a while, watching as the two police officers entered the bar and then emerged into the alley. He'd heard the report go out over the police radio, and he'd felt…what was that feeling? Satisfaction? Validation?

No—purpose. Meaning.

He knew he ought to drive away, get himself as far from the dead woman's body as possible, but something compelled him to stay. He liked to linger, watching the aftermath unfold, seeing the shock and horror on the faces of those who discovered his handiwork. Watching the news wasn't even close to being there in person.

Besides, it wasn't as if anyone would recognize him. If anyone remembered anything about him, which he found unlikely, it wouldn't matter because he would soon change his appearance.

As he sat there, drinking in the scene, the Father began to remove his disguise. The wig came off first, revealing close-cropped gray hair underneath. He peeled off the prosthetic nose and cheeks that had altered his facial structure. Lastly, he removed the colored contacts, blinking as his natural eye color was restored.

He placed each piece of the disguise in a specialized bag designed to preserve evidence. He would dispose of it all later, in a place far from here. He had been meticulous, leaving no traceof himself behind: no DNA, no fingerprints, nothing that could lead back to him.

Confidence surged through him. They would never catch him. How could they? He was merely an instrument of a higher power, carrying out God's will. Divine protection surrounded him like an impenetrable shield.

The Father closed his eyes, bowing his head slightly. "Lord," he whispered, "I thank you for guiding my hand tonight. May this act of cleansing bring us one step closer to Paradise on Earth. Bless this mission you have entrusted to me, and grant me the strength to continue your holy work."

As he finished his prayer, a sense of peace settled over him. He was doing what was right, what was necessary. The world was full of sin, and he was the cleansing fire sent to purify it.

With one last glance at the chaotic scene behind Chester's, the Father started his car. As he pulled away from the curb, blending seamlessly into the sparse late-night traffic, his mind was already turning to his next target.

After all, his work was far from over. There were so many more sinners to judge, so many more souls to send to their final reckoning.

And he, the Father, would be there to deliver God's justice, one sinner at a time.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Finn watched as Sheila stepped away from Sophie's body, her face a mask of shock and grief. He'd seen that look before in the days following Natalie's suicide, and it worried him deeply.

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