CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Sheila's knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, her police cruiser cutting through the quiet streets of Coldwater. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the road, but Sheila barely noticed the picturesque scene. Her mind was focused entirely on her destination: Dr. Calvin Reeves' house.

Her phone, on speaker mode and resting on the dashboard, crackled to life with Finn's voice. "Sheila, where the hell are you? The press conference is about to start!"

"It doesn't matter, Finn," she replied, her voice tense. "We can't go through with it. Not now."

"What are you talking about? We've got Thorne in custody. The mayor, the chief, everyone's waiting—"

"Thorne isn't our killer," Sheila said, cutting him off. "It's Reeves. Dr. Calvin Reeves."

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end. "I've never heard of him. Sheila, just because you have a hunch—"

"I know how it sounds," she interrupted again, swerving around a slow-moving SUV. "But I've got evidence, Finn. He's connected to all the victims. He's part of Celestial Awakening. It all fits."

"Even if you're right, we can't just accuse someone without solid proof. We need to—"

"We need to find him before he kills again," Sheila snapped, no longer checking her frustration. "I'm done waiting, Finn. I'm done playing it safe while more women die. I'm going to Reeves' house, and I'm going to find the proof we need."

"Sheila, wait." Finn's voice was urgent now. "You can't go in there alone. It's not safe. If Reeves really is our killer—"

"Then I'll handle it," she said. "I need you to trust me on this, Finn. Can you do that?"

There was a long pause, filled only with the sound of Sheila's car engine and her own rapid breathing. Finally, Finn spoke. "Okay. But I'm coming, too. Don't do anything reckless before I get there, okay?"

"No promises," she said as she turned onto Reeves's street. "Just get here as quickly as you can." She ended the call before he could protest.

The house was a large Victorian, well-maintained and respectable-looking. Nothing on the outside hinted at the horrors Sheila suspected lay within. She parked across the street, her hand instinctively checking her weapon as she exited the car.

Approaching the house, Sheila's training kicked in. She observed the perfectly manicured lawn, the lights off inside, the absence of any vehicles in the driveway. It all suggested no one was home, but Sheila knew better than to trust appearances.

She rang the doorbell. "Police! Open up!"

No response. After a moment's hesitation, she tried the door handle. To her surprise, it turned easily.

"Dr. Reeves?" she called out as she entered, her voice echoing in the quiet house. "This is Deputy Stone. I need to ask you some questions."

Silence greeted her. Sheila moved cautiously through the house, her senses on high alert. The interior was immaculate, every surface polished, every item in its place. It reminded her of a showroom devoid of the lived-in feel of a real home.

In Reeves' study, Sheila found bookshelves lined with texts on psychology, religion, and astronomy. On his desk, a half-finished letter caught her eye. It was addressed to the medical board, expressing Reeves' intention to resign from his practice.

Sheila's heart raced. Was he planning to run?

As she continued her search, a nagging doubt began to creep in. What if she was wrong? What if this was just another dead end, and the real killer was still out there? The faces of the victims flashed through her mind, their eyes seeming to accuse her of failure.

Sheila shook her head, pushing the thoughts away. She couldn't afford to doubt herself now. She had to keep searching.

Finally, she came to a door she assumed led to the basement. Taking a deep breath, she opened it, revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness. Sheila flicked on her flashlight and began to descend, the old wood creaking under her feet.

The beam of her flashlight cut through the gloom, revealing a space that sent chills down her spine. Unlike the pristine rooms above, the basement was cluttered and chaotic. Tables were covered with strange symbols and diagrams. Shelves held jars of unidentifiable substances. And in the center of the room stood an altar, complete with candles and what looked disturbingly like bloodstains.

"My God," Sheila murmured, taking in the scene. This was it—proof that Reeves was their killer. But where was he?

And more importantly, where was his next victim?

A sudden creak from upstairs made Sheila freeze. Her hand instinctively went to her weapon as she listened intently. Another creak, followed by the sound of footsteps.

Someone was in the house.

Sheila's heart raced as she quietly made her way back up the basement stairs. She'd left the door slightly ajar when she came down, and now she peered through the crack, trying to catch a glimpse of the intruder.

A shadow moved across the hallway. Sheila held her breath, her fingers tightening on her gun. The footsteps grew closer. Just as she was about to burst out and confront the unknown person, a familiar voice called out softly.

"Sheila? You in here?"

Relief washed over her. "Finn," she whispered, pushing the door open. "I'm here."

Finn appeared in the hallway, his own weapon drawn. He lowered it with a sigh. "I take it you didn't find him."

"No luck so far."

"Well, I've got bad news, too. Just got a report about a missing woman. Megan Philips. Apparently, she was taken outside some kind of seminar—witnesses saw a man grab her and put her in his trunk."

"Did they get a license plate?"

Finn shook his head grimly. "No, not much of a description, either. The kidnapping was witnessed by a couple of middle schoolers on bikes. They said the man was tall and wore dark clothing, but that's about it."

"Well, at least she's still alive," Sheila murmured. "Or was."

"Oh, and one other thing. This seminar? It was being held at a community center, the same one where Reeves teaches."

Sheila cursed under her breath. "I knew it. He's our guy."

"Now we just have to find him," Finn said. He gestured at the open basement door behind Sheila. "Find anything interesting?"

Sheila nodded. "Come on, I'll show you."

She led Finn down the steps. As his flashlight beam joined hers in illuminating the basement, she heard his sharp intake of breath.

"Shit," Finn muttered, taking in the altar and the strange symbols covering the walls. "He's the Coldwater Confessor, alright."

Sheila nodded grimly. "But he's not here. And neither is Megan."

They made their way back upstairs, both lost in thought. In the kitchen, Finn leaned against the counter, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, let's think this through. If Reeves isn't here, where would he go? Where would he take Megan?"

Sheila paced the room. "He needs somewhere isolated, somewhere he won't be disturbed. But it also has to have some significance to him, to his twisted beliefs."

"What about going back to the community center?" Finn suggested. "That's where his group meets."

Sheila shook her head. "Too public. Even at night, there's a risk of someone walking in." She paused, a thought striking her. "Wait a minute. Reeves' wife—she was killed by lightning."

Finn studied her with a thoughtful frown. "You think that's connected to all this?"

"It has to be," Sheila said, her excitement growing. "That's probably what set him off, what made him start believing all this cosmic nonsense in the first place. We need to find out where it happened."

They began searching the house again, this time looking for any information about Helen Reeves' death. In Dr. Reeves' study, Sheila rifled through drawers while Finn scanned the bookshelves.

"Sheila," Finn called out suddenly. "Look at this."

He was holding a framed photo. It showed a younger Dr. Reeves with his arm around a smiling woman—presumably Helen. They were standing in front of a small cabin, trees visible in the background.

"Turn it over," Sheila said.

Finn flipped the frame, revealing a handwritten note on the back: 'Our last happy moment. Helen's Hideaway, Bear Creek Trail.'

"Bear Creek Trail," Sheila repeated, her pulse quickening. "That's up in the mountains, isn't it? There are a bunch of old cabins up there."

Finn was already pulling out his phone, searching for more information. "Yeah, it's about a fifteen-minute drive from here—ten if we're quick. Pretty isolated, especially this time of year."

Sheila's eyes lit up with determination. "That's got to be it. It's the perfect place for his 'cleansing ritual' or whatever he calls it."

As Finn called for backup, Sheila's gaze was drawn back to the photo. The smiling couple looked so normal, so happy. How had Dr. Reeves gone from that man to the monster they were now chasing?

She shook her head, pushing the thought aside. It didn't matter now. What mattered was stopping him before he could claim another victim.

"Backup's on the way," Finn said, pocketing his phone. "They'll meet us there."

Sheila nodded, already heading for the door. "Let's go. We can't wait for them to arrive."

As they rushed to their car, the sun had fully set, plunging Coldwater into darkness. Sheila couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time. Somewhere out there, in a cabin in the woods, an innocent woman's life hung in the balance.

And Dr. Calvin Reeves, the man they now knew as the Coldwater Confessor, was preparing for his final act of 'salvation.'