Page 59 of Silent Prayer

She moved on, entering the room where the meeting had been held. Chairs were still arranged in a circle, an echo of the gathering that had ended in chaos. Sheila walked the perimeter slowly, her trained eyes taking in every detail.

A movement caught her attention: a piece of paper fluttering in the breeze from an open window. She approached, realizing it was a photograph that had fallen from a nearby bulletin board. Sheila picked it up, her eyes scanning the image of smiling faces—members of Celestial Awakening at what appeared to be a recent gathering.

Her gaze was drawn to a figure standing next to Thorne. A man, middle-aged with salt-and-pepper hair and intense eyes. Something about him seemed oddly familiar, but Sheila couldn't quite figure out why.

Frowning, she pulled out her phone and began scrolling through Thorne's social media accounts, searching for any mention or tag of this mysterious man. As she delved deeper, her phone buzzed with incoming texts from Finn. She glanced at them briefly—he was getting impatient, reminding her of the impending press conference. Sheila ignored the messages. He'd just have to wait.

Moments ticked by as she scoured Thorne's online presence, frustration mounting as she found no clear connection to the stranger in the photo. She was about to give up when something caught her eye: a comment on an old post mentioning a "Dr. R" who had introduced Thorne to some new ideas.

Suddenly, it clicked. Sheila's mind flashed back to Laura Hastings' house, to a framed photo she'd noticed during theirinitial investigation. The stranger had been in that picture, standing in the background at what looked like a community event.

With renewed energy, Sheila started searching through Laura's social media accounts. It didn't take long to find what she was looking for: a post thanking 'Dr. Calvin Reeves' for his insights at a fundraising event at the library.

Her heart racing, Sheila dug deeper. Apparently, Dr. Calvin Reeves was a psychiatrist specializing in religious counseling. As she scrolled through his professional page, she found connections to not just Laura, but all four victims. Sophie had attended a workshop he'd led. Rachel had been photographed at a charity event where he was a speaker. And Emily had shared one of his articles just weeks before her death.

Then she came across an obituary for a woman named Helen Reeves—Dr. Reeves's wife. It appeared that, three years ago, she'd been struck by lightning while out for a jog. Had this inspired Dr. Reeves's killings? Had he taken it as some kind of a sign?

The pieces were falling into place. Reeves would have had the opportunity to interact with all the victims, to try and convert them to his beliefs. And when they refused...

She dialed Finn's number, her hands shaking slightly with the intensity of her discovery. As soon as he picked up, she spoke urgently, "Finn, we need to stop that press conference. I think I know who the real Coldwater Confessor is."

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Dr. Calvin Reeves, known to himself as 'the Father,' stood in the dim room, his face illuminated by the flickering light of candles. The air was thick with the scent of incense, a heady mixture of sandalwood and myrrh that would purify the space for the ritual to come.

He was arranging ceremonial items on a small altar: a silver chalice, a worn Bible, and a candlestick—an instrument of cleansing. He'd always loved rituals, time-honored traditions. It was an ode to the past, to an understanding of the world that predated his lifetime.

Perhaps that was why he enjoyed theater, at least the ones that focused on the classics. Too bad he couldn't go back to the Masquerade any time soon.

His eyes fell on the unconscious form of Megan Philips, bound to a chair in the center of the room. A pang of something—regret? Doubt?—flashed through him, but he quickly suppressed it. This was necessary.

This was his calling, as he had known the moment his wife was killed in that storm. She'd been a distraction, a hindrance. She'd been removed so he could focus solely on his mission.

His mind drifted back to earlier that day, when he had first laid eyes on Megan at his community outreach seminar. She had stood out immediately—bright, articulate, questioning. He had seen the potential in her, the spark that could be nurtured into a blazing faith. But when he'd approached her afterwards, sharing his vision of cosmic truth, she had recoiled. Her rejection stung, and he'd known right away that she had to be punished.

It hadn't been difficult to lure her here. A simple ruse—a dropped wallet, a moment of distraction in the parking lot. The chloroform had done the rest. Now, as he watched her stir,beginning to regain consciousness, he steeled himself for what was to come.

Megan's eyes fluttered open, confusion quickly giving way to fear as she took in her surroundings. "What...where am I? Dr. Reeves? What's going on?"

"Hush, child," the Father said. "You're here for a greater purpose. To be cleansed, to be made worthy of the cosmic truth."

"Cleansed? What are you talking about? Let me go!" Megan struggled against her bonds, panic rising in her voice.

The Father sighed, shaking his head. "I had hoped you would understand, Megan. That you would see the light willingly. But sometimes, the path to enlightenment requires...intervention."

He began to pace, his words flowing with the fervor of a true believer. "You see, Megan, we are at a crucial juncture in the universe's grand design. The stars are aligning, the cosmic forces converging. But for the great awakening to occur, the world must be purified. Those who reject the truth...they are obstacles. Impurities that must be removed."

Megan's eyes widened with horrified realization. "You...you're the one they've been looking for. The Coldwater Confessor. You killed those women!"

"Killed?" The Father's voice rose with indignation. "No, you misunderstand. I saved them. Freed them from their earthly sins, their stubborn rejection of the divine plan. Just as I will save you."

"Dr. Reeves, please," Megan pleaded, her voice shaking. "This isn't you. You're a psychiatrist, you help people. Think about your patients, your colleagues. What would they say if they saw you now?"

For a moment, the Father faltered. Images flashed through his mind: years of study, of counseling troubled souls, of being a respected member of the community. When had it all changed?When had he first heard the cosmic whispers, seen the grand design hidden in the stars?

But as quickly as the doubt came, it was washed away by the certainty of his mission. "They would not understand," he said, more to himself than to Megan. "They are still blind to the truth. But soon, very soon, all will be revealed."

He turned back to the altar, lifting the ornate candlestick. Its weight felt right in his hand, a perfect balance of form and function. "This," he said, holding it up for Megan to see, "is the key to your salvation. Through this, you will be cleansed, your soul freed to join the cosmic dance."

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