CHAPTER TWENTY

Sheila stared at Stark and tapped her fingers on the edge of her chair.

Come on, she thought impatiently. Wake up.

They were at Mercy General Hospital, an l -shaped white building situated on the outskirts of Coldwater County. Stark was hooked up to a bevy of medical equipment, each machine beeping and humming in its own rhythm. The room stank of antiseptic, the sterile scent overpowering and harsh.

Sheila straightened as the door swung open and Finn walked in, his face grim as he carried a pair of cups of coffee.

"Any change?" he asked, nodding toward Stark as he handed Sheila a cup.

"Still out cold," Sheila said, frustration seeping into her voice as she took the coffee. "He must've hit his head pretty hard when he dove out of the truck. The doctor assured me Stark will be okay, but I overheard him use the word ‘coma' to a nurse."

"Great," Finn muttered.

Sheila's mind went back to Stark's desperate plea before he passed out. Just what had he meant by 'it wasn't my idea'? Was he admitting that he'd been involved in the murders? Was it possible there were others involved—maybe a number of members of Jenkins' occultic group?

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Sheila sipped her coffee and grimaced. Hospital coffee always tasted like charcoal filtered through dirty socks. The metallic clang of the ventilator was now the only sound in the narrow hospital room. She couldn't stand it, this waiting, not knowing what was to come.

Finn adjusted his tie, breaking the silence. "We'll get him to talk," he said, his voice carrying a reassuring note of certainty.

Sheila's gaze lingered on Stark's unconscious form, bathed in the harsh glow of fluorescent lights; her mind was a whirlwind of unanswerable questions and fear. Was this man responsible for the ritualistic murders? And if not him, then who ?

She felt Finn's hand on her shoulder, his grip firm and comforting. "How are you holding up?"

"Considering I didn't sleep last night and we seem to be behind the killer every step of the way? Perfectly fine," she replied, her voice thick with sarcasm. She ran a hand through her hair, the stress of the past few days evident in her tense posture.

"Hey," Finn said. "Whether it's Stark or someone else, we'll catch this bastard. It's only a matter of time."

And how many more dead bodies will we have to examine before then? Sheila wondered glumly.

Suddenly, a rapid succession of beeps emitted from the machines hooked up to Stark. Sheila was on her feet in an instant as nurses rushed into the room, pushing Finn and her aside. The doctor strode in, his face set in an intense concentration as he began barking orders.

"What's happening?" Finn asked one of the nurses.

"His vitals are spiking. It's like he's having a seizure," she said quickly before returning her attention to Stark.

Sheila looked on helplessly as medical personnel swarmed around Stark, their bodies obscuring him from view. Beeping filled the room as the machines echoed his vital signs' desperate struggle.

Then, without warning, Stark's body went still, and the tumultuous beeping subsided into a slow, steady rhythm. The doctor leaned back, pushing his glasses up to his forehead as nurses and EMTs stepped away from the bed.

"Is he..." Sheila began, her pulse pounding in her ears.

"Stable," the doctor replied, exhaling loudly. "But not out of danger yet."

Sheila's heart sank. He was their only lead to the Mirage Murderer, and time was running out. He might even be the killer himself, but if he died now, how would they prove it?

"What are the chances of him waking up soon?" she asked.

The doctor's eyes narrowed. "I understand you're eager to question him, but his health comes first. It's hard to say when he'll regain consciousness, if at all. For now, we can only wait and see."

Sheila looked at Finn, her eyes mirroring the desperation she felt. They could be inches away from cracking the case open, yet it seemed like the answer was slipping further away with each passing second.

Suddenly, a sharp gasp broke the silence. Sheila's heart jumped as she turned back toward the bed. Stark's fingers twitched, his eyelids fluttering as they slowly opened. He groaned, his gaze blurry and unfocused as it drifted over the bustling room. His breathing was heavy and labored, the beeping on the monitors echoing each heaving breath.

"Stark—" Sheila started, moving closer, but a nurse held her back.

"You need to give him space," the woman said.

"I just need to ask—"

"Not now, you don't," the nurse cut her off, a stern edge to her voice. "His condition is too unstable."

Frustrated, Sheila stepped back, clenching her fists at her sides. Time was ticking. Each passing second was one more the killer could be using to prepare his next kill.

Suddenly, Stark's gaze settled on Sheila. His eyes widened in recognition and, for a moment, fear flashed across his face before being replaced with confusion. It was clear he remembered their chase.

"Why did you run?" Sheila asked Stark.

The nurse turned toward Sheila, planting her hands on her hips. "For the last time—"

"I didn't do it," Stark said. "The killings, the dead women in the salt flats—I wasn't part of it. But I did come across one of them."

The room fell silent. The nurse, perhaps realizing the importance of this conversation, sighed and stepped back to monitor one of the machines.

"That's why I ran," Stark continued. "I figured maybe you found my DNA or something on the body."

"Whose body?" Finn asked.

"Vanessa Hart—yes, that was her name."

"How would she have your DNA on her?" Sheila asked, puzzled.

"We were out in the flats searching for bodies, a group of us," Stark said, clearing his throat. "After summoning the Cherubim…we had to see its work with our own eyes. I guess I got a little too…curious." He looked away.

"What did you do to the body?" Finn asked.

"I didn't..." Stark swallowed, a troubled look crossing his face. "I didn't do anything to her. I just...closed her eyes." He paused and swallowed again.

Something in Stark's voice set off Sheila's alarm bells. She had the distinct impression he was hiding something.

"What else?" she asked. "What else happened?"

"I…I haven't told anyone."

"All the more reason to tell us now," Finn said .

For several seconds, Stark said nothing. Then he seemed to come to a decision, and he nodded to himself. "Right as I was closing those eyes, a shadow fell over me. I didn't even hear a footfall. I was about to turn around, thinking it was someone else from the group…but then I caught the smell."

"Smell?" Sheila asked, wondering where this was going.

Stark nodded. "You couldn't miss it, not even next to a dead body. It smelled like…sulfur." He glanced at the two officers, a look of horror creeping over his face. "Like whatever was behind me had just crawled out of the pit of Hell."

"Did you see who it was?" Finn asked.

Stark shook his head. "I got the distinct impression it didn't want me to turn around. I waited, thinking I was going to be next—that I'd soon be lying on the ground next to the dead woman. And then, after a little while, it just moved away. When I finally had the courage to turn around a while later, it was gone."