CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sheila and Finn arrived at Coldwater's central plaza as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the brick-paved square. A crowd had gathered around the statue of the town's founder, where a pristine white envelope had been taped to the bronze plaque. The air was thick with tension and the murmur of speculation from onlookers.
Crime scene technicians were already at work, carefully removing the envelope and placing it in an evidence bag. Sheila approached, her heart racing, acutely aware of the eyes of both her colleagues and the public upon her.
"What have we got?" she asked the lead technician, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Single page letter, handwritten," he replied, handing her the bagged document. "No fingerprints on initial examination, but we'll do a more thorough check back at the lab. The paper seems to be high-quality."
Sheila slipped on a pair of latex gloves and carefully extracted the letter. As she began to read, her brow furrowed in confusion. The handwriting was neat, almost calligraphic, adding an unsettling air of formality to the message.
"What is it?" Finn asked, peering over her shoulder.
"It's...some kind of religious manifesto," Sheila replied, her eyes scanning the page. "But it's not like anything I've seen before. The language is...archaic, almost Biblical in tone."
The letter was indeed a rambling discourse, filled with unfamiliar religious terminology and apocalyptic warnings. Sheila read aloud:
"Hearken, ye citizens of Coldwater, for the time of the Eternal Convergence is upon us, and the Celestial Hierarchy demands purity. I am but a humble servant of the Divine Paradigm tasked with cleansing the world of its transgressors. The tide is at its flood, the hour grows late. The sins of mankind cry out for judgment."
She skipped down a few lines:
"Each soul I send to judgment brings us closer to the Great Awakening. The sinful must be purged so that the righteous may ascend to the Empyrean Realm. Know that my work, though it may seem cruel to mortal eyes, is a mercy. For in death, the impure are given the chance for redemption that they squandered in life."
Finn shook his head. "What the hell is he talking about? It's like a mashup of a dozen different religions."
Sheila continued reading:
"To those who would stand in the way of the Divine Mission, know that your efforts are futile. The Cosmic Order cannot be denied, and the Cleansing will continue until the appointed hour. The stars themselves bear witness to my holy task, and the constellations guide my hand."
She looked up at Finn, her face grim. "It goes on like this for another page. References to obscure religious concepts, threats of more 'cleansing'. There's also mention of specific constellations: Orion, Cassiopeia, and Ursa Major. Could be significant. It's signed 'The Instrument of Divine Justice'."
Chief Dawson, who had arrived on the scene, joined them, looking worried. "Is this actually from our killer, or just some nutjob looking for attention?"
Sheila examined the letter closely. "There's a seal at the bottom—some kind of intricate symbol I've never seen before. It looks like it was stamped with a custom seal. What is that design? Thorns?"
"It's hard to imagine a copycat coming up with this level of originality," Finn said. "My guess is this is the real deal."
Sheila nodded. "I think so, too. He's revealing more of his ideology, like he wants us to understand his mission."
"But what does it mean?" Chief Dawson asked, frustration evident in his voice. "Is he giving us clues, or just spouting nonsense? And why go public now?"
Sheila read through the letter again. "He's positioning himself as some kind of divine judge, cleansing the world of sin. But these religious references...I've never heard of half of these terms. 'Eternal Convergence', 'Divine Paradigm', 'Empyrean Realm'...it's like he's created his own religion, or cobbled together pieces from various obscure beliefs."
"Or he's part of some cult we've never encountered," Finn suggested. "Maybe there are others who believe this stuff."
"That's a scary thought," Chief Dawson muttered. "One killer is bad enough. A group of them..."
Sheila ran a hand through her hair, thinking. "We need to research these terms, see if we can trace them to any known religious groups. And we need to analyze every word of this letter for potential clues about his next move. The mentions of specific constellations could be important—maybe they relate to timing or locations of his attacks."
"Maybe our killer has a background in astronomy," Finn said. "It would explain the star references and could narrow down our suspect pool."
"There's something else," Sheila said, pointing to a paragraph near the end of the letter. "He mentions 'seven seals' that need to be broken before the 'Great Cleansing' can be completed. Could he be planning seven murders?"
"God help us if that's true," Dawson murmured. "Four more murders." He ran a hand over his face. "The press is going to have a field day with this. We need to get ahead of it, maybe release a statement..."
"Not yet," Sheila said. "We need to control the information. If we release details, we might inspire copycats or cause a panic. Let's analyze the letter thoroughly first, see what we're dealing with."
"Okay," Dawson said hesitantly. "But don't drag your feet on this. If we don't speak to the press soon and control the narrative…there's no telling what conspiracy theories others might hatch."
***
"This doesn't make any sense," Sheila muttered, scrolling through yet another online forum about apocalyptic religions. "None of these terms—Eternal Convergence, Divine Paradigm, Empyrean Realm—show up anywhere in the mainstream or even fringe religious groups. It's like he made it all up."
She and Finn were back at the precinct, their faces illuminated by the glow of their computer screens. Books and printouts were strewn across the desk, each one related to obscure religious texts or astrological charts. The remnants of their last meal—takeout containers and half-empty coffee cups—cluttered the table, a testament to their relentless pursuit of answers. Sheila rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of exhaustion and frustration settling in.
Finn glanced over from his screen, where he was attempting to cross-reference the constellations mentioned in the manifesto. The soft click of his mouse and the rhythmic tapping of his keyboard punctuated the silence.
"Yeah, and the constellations don't lead us anywhere, either," he said. "I've looked into astrological interpretations, historical references, everything. There's nothing concrete that ties Orion, Cassiopeia, and Ursa Major together in any significant way."
Sheila sighed, leaning back in her chair. "So we have a killer who thinks he's on some divine mission, but we can't trace his beliefs or find a pattern to his actions."
The room felt stifling, the air thick with their combined frustration. The small clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, a constant reminder of the time slipping through their fingers.
Finn tried to offer a reassuring smile. "We'll figure it out, Sheila. We've cracked tougher cases than this before."
Sheila's eyes met his, but she felt distant, disconnected. "I don't know. This one feels different. He's meticulous, and every move is calculated. And this 'seven seals' business... What if he really is planning seven murders? What if we can't stop him?"
Finn reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the cold dread that had settled in her chest. "Hey, we'll stop him. We're good at this. We've got the team, the resources. We'll find the connection and put an end to this."
Sheila looked away, her mind racing with the thought of the seven seals. "But what if we don't? What if he targets another woman? We have no idea who his next victim might be or why he's chosen them. We can't protect everyone in Coldwater."
Finn squeezed her shoulder gently. "We can't think like that. We have to focus on the facts, follow the evidence. We'll figure out his pattern and catch him before he strikes again."
Sheila nodded absently, her thoughts spiraling. She glanced at the whiteboard on the wall, covered in photos of the victims and snippets of the manifesto. The smiling faces of Laura Hastings, Sophie Tournay, and Rachel Kim looked back at her, a haunting reminder of their failure to prevent their deaths.
"There's got to be something we're missing," she said, more to herself than to Finn. She leaned forward, tapping a pen against her notebook. "Maybe it's not about the constellations themselves, but what they represent. Orion, the hunter. Cassiopeia, the queen. Ursa Major, the great bear. They all have stories, myths attached to them."
Finn's brow furrowed in concentration. "So you think he's choosing these constellations for their symbolic meanings?"
"Maybe," Sheila replied. "Or maybe they're part of his twisted ritual. But why those three? What connects them?"
Finn stood up and began pacing the small office. "If we can figure out what those constellations mean to him, we might get closer to understanding his motives. But right now, it's like trying to put together a puzzle without all the pieces."
Sheila watched him pace, her mind working overtime. She felt the pressure mounting, the weight of the victims' families' grief pressing down on her. She thought about Chief Dawson's words earlier, the urgency in his voice. The media would be relentless when they caught wind of the manifesto. They needed answers, and they needed them fast.
The phone on the desk rang, jolting Sheila out of her thoughts. She picked it up, hoping for a lead, but it was just another reporter fishing for information. She hung up, her frustration boiling over.
"Every second we waste, he's getting closer to his next victim," Sheila said, her voice trembling with anger and fear. "We can't keep hitting dead ends. There has to be something we're overlooking."
She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. She was usually the strong one, the pillar of determination, but this case was wearing her down. It felt like the killer was taunting them, dancing just out of reach.
Suddenly, Finn's phone buzzed with a notification. He glanced at it, his eyes widening. "Sheila, come look at this."
Sheila hurried over, peering at the screen. It was a message from one of their contacts in the tech department. They'd gotten a hit on the seal from the letter. Apparently it was a custom design, very rare, sold by a store in town called Sanctuary of the Celestial Path.
Sheila was already on her feet. "I think it's time we go pay them a visit," she said.