Page 35 of Let Her Live

"No way, Chris," the driver said, carrying the turtle off the road. "Are you insane? That's so messed up. This is why that park ranger hates us so much."

"It's just a stupid turtle, Eric." Chris, who was a lanky young man with short blond hair, reached out to the driver, Eric, who was taller but held himself with less confidence. Eric held the turtle up, only to get shoved by Chris.

The turtle fell to the ground.

He braced himself for the sickening crack of its shell.

"Dude, what the hell!" Eric shouted. "What's wrong with you?"

He held his breath, watching in absolute horror as Chris wound his foot up—then kicked the poor turtle as hard as he could, sending it hurling into the woods.

He could feel the gods' satisfaction at the sight of the turtle's suffering. The young man, Chris, was exactly the kind of person they wanted for their sacrifices. He could already imagine the glory he would receive for offering such a vile human to the gods.

But he had to make sure the turtle was actually dead. The gods had specific requirements, after all.

Before the gods had chosen him, he hadn't known that animals housed human souls.

It was something the gods had taught him, and now that he knew the truth, he couldn't see the world as anything but.

He had been so foolish before, so ignorant. But then they chose him and showed him how things truly worked in the world. Everything that happened before was just so... blurry.

He watched as the boys argued before getting back into their car and driving off. It was obvious that Eric had felt empathy for the turtle; he was a good person, more like him. But Chris, his vile friend, would pay for what he'd done.

Once the road was clear, he crept out from the forest and approached where Chris had kicked the turtle.

It lay there, its shell cracked open, its limbs twitching feebly. He knew that it would not survive for much longer, but it was not yet dead. He picked up the turtle and cradled it in his arms, feeling its heartbeat slow down with each passing moment. The gods were pleased with this offering, he knew. They would reward him handsomely for his loyalty and devotion. He held the turtle as it breathed its last breath, another soul released into the ether.

As he watched the turtle's final moments, he felt a surge of guilt mixed with excitement. Guilt for not being able to save the innocent creature from its cruel fate, but excitement for the favor of the gods. The power he would gain from such a sacrifice was immeasurable, and he could feel his soul trembling with anticipation.

The gods were all that mattered. He placed the turtle on the ground, making sure it was in a position that would be easy to find. He needed to prepare for the ritual.

As he walked back to his car, he couldn't help but think about the young men who had almost run over the turtle. Eric had been kind and caring, but Chris had been cruel and heartless. He knew that Chris was the perfect offering for the gods, and he would make sure that he would be the one to present Chris to them. Such cruelty and disregard could not go unpunished.

He recalled the license plate of the vehicle, along with the make and model. He would follow them, hunt them down, and learn their schedule.

And when Chris stepped away to be alone, when he least expected it, he would become the gods' next sacrifice. A much-deserved death for a vile human.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

Back at the police station, Jake had gathered a crowd of officers in the conference room. He knew it was a shot in the dark, but maybe one of these officers would know something about someone in the area who was known to be an avid animal enthusiast, someone who went to extreme lengths to protect him. Fiona stood off to the side while Jake took the lead. Once the group had assembled, he cleared his throat, then projected his voice loudly so all could hear:

"All right, everyone, listen up," Jake said. "Ms. Red and I are working on our profile of this guy, and we've come up with a few loose theories."

There was a chalkboard behind him. Jake grabbed a giant stick of chalk then began writing on the board:

"Male, likely between the ages of twenty-five and fifty," he said, reading out loud as he wrote down the details. "We believe he is of shorter stature, less than six foot in height. We also have confirmation that at least three of the victims have accidentally killed an animal during their trip—a lizard or squirrel, something like that. We believe this is what is connecting them, somehow."

There were mutters around the room. One officer spoke up, a young woman: "You think he's killing people who accidentally killed animals? How would he even know?"

"We think we're looking for a fairly advanced stalker," Fiona added in. "We also believe we're looking for someone who works with animals, is an animal rights activist, or something along those lines."

The room nodded. Jake dropped the chalk and faced them. "We've already talked to Henry Mitchell, a man who assaulted two trophy hunters not long ago, and we've cleared him. We've looked into local articles and records, but we were hoping some of you might have some personal knowledge of the area. Can anyone think of anyone who might fit this description? Who might go to extreme lengths to protect animals?"

One officer, a burly man with a thick beard, raised his hand. "I might know someone," he said. "There's this guy I used to work with at an animal shelter. He was always really intense about animal rights. He used to go on and on about how humans were destroying the planet and how only animals were pure. The guy used to stir up a lot of trouble for farmers, protesting on their property and all that."

"Interesting," Jake said. "What's his name?"

"Peter," the officer replied. "Peter Wilkes."

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