CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Father parked his car a few houses down from Emily Davis's modest two-story home. The quiet neighborhood was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, but he saw no sign of Emily.

Yet.

He checked his watch: 9:17 PM. Surely she was still up. Her car was parked out front, so where was she? Taking a shower? He didn't want to approach the house until he was certain she was inside.

His heart rate quickened—not with nerves, but with anticipation. This was always the most exhilarating part: the moment before the hunt truly began.

He took a deep breath, centering himself. This wasn't about personal gratification. It was about fulfilling his divine mission.

As he breathed, his mind drifted to the letter he'd left in the town square. A smile played on his lips as he imagined the confusion it must be causing the police. The mixture of religious doctrines, the invented terms, the cosmic references: all carefully crafted to mislead and distract. Let them waste their time trying to decipher nonexistent clues while he continued his holy work.

Next, he thought about his earlier success with Jason Reeves. He chuckled softly, remembering how simple it had been to slip into the Spice Haven kitchen posing as a health inspector. While the panicked staff scrambled to address his fabricated concerns, he'd easily accessed the order meant for Reeves and laced it with ipecac syrup.

Child's play.

The sight of movement distracted him. Emily was pouring herself a cup of tea in the kitchen, her red hair catching the light as she stirred in some honey. Her phone lay on the counter, and she stared at it as if it contained the answers to life.

Such a small, mundane detail, but it spoke volumes about her character.

Frivolous. Focused on earthly conveniences rather than spiritual truth.

He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the clerical collar. As he fastened it around his neck, he felt the familiar sense of righteousness wash over him. He wasn't just a man anymore. He was an instrument of divine will.

Next he reached into his bag, feeling the familiar cold weight of the candlestick. He had chosen it with care—cylindrical, heavy, and perfect for his holy work. He wasn't just a man anymore. He was an instrument of divine will.

He slipped the candlestick into his voluminous coat pocket, then approached the front door and knocked. Emily opened the door slightly, her green eyes widening in recognition as she saw the clerical collar.

"Father? Can I help you?"

The Father smiled gently. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you at this hour, child, but I was hoping you could spare a moment to discuss matters of the soul."

She hesitated, glancing behind her. "Um, now's not really a good time..."

She's been following the news, he thought.

He stepped closer, his hand slipping into his coat pocket, fingers gripping the candlestick. "It's never too late to find salvation. I can show you the way to something better than you've ever known—a way of peace and joy beyond anything you've ever experienced before."

Despite this good-natured invitation, Emily's worry seemed only to deepen. She swallowed hard, and a vein began to thrum in her neck. It was clear to the Father that she had no interest in accepting his offer.

Just as Emily tried to slam the door shut, the Father thrust his shoe in the gap, stopping it from closing. He shoved the door inward and made a grab for Emily, but she retreated, letting out a scream.

The Father pulled out the candlestick. "Don't say I didn't try to help," he said as he advanced into the room.