"Hold onto me!" Charlie screamed.

  "No! My work will be done!" Logan shouted, punching Charlie repeatedly on the side of the head and body.

  Charlie let out a cry of pain, but if the monastery was made of stone, he was made of steel. He held onto the woman and took everything Logan Bartlett threw at him.

  "Stop, or I'll shoot!" another voice now said, entering the room.

  A hail of bullets splintered into the doorway, and Logan leaped out of Valerie's view as she finally regained control of her limbs. She stood up and someone's strong arms wrapped around her, steadying her.

  It was Sheriff Carter.

  They both rushed to the balcony and helped Charlie, bloodied and bruised, pull the screaming woman up to safety.

  Charlie collapsed on the floor, and Valerie looked down below, watching as the shadowy figure of Logan Bartlett descended athletically down a pipe and then onto the grounds.

  He then disappeared into the grim, oncoming night.

  "Charlie," Valerie said, holding back tears looking at her partner's bruised face. His right eye was almost completely swollen shut.

  "Did you get him?" Charlie groaned.

  "No, he got away," Valerie gasped in the rain.

  Thunder loomed above them like a cloak of dread.

  "We had him!" Glen Carter said, shaking his head as he tended to the woman who was alive but almost paralyzed by shock.

  Will now appeared on the balcony. He looked down at Charlie.

  "I saw what you did, Charlie," he said, holding his friend's hand. "There's a thin line between bravery and stupidity."

  "Which one was I?" Charlie said, coughing.

  "Perhaps both," Will said, wiping blood from Charlie's eye tenderly. "But you saved this lady's life."

  "I don't think I could have taken hits like that and held on," Sheriff Carter said. "Remind me never to get into a fight with you, Charlie. I'll call an ambulance." The sheriff held the woman who had been attacked and helped her inside.

  "I can get up," Charlie said, and the group helped him. Will under one arm, Valerie under the other.

  They sat Charlie on a chair and waited for the ambulances.

  "What the hell happened to you both?" Valerie asked. "We tried to contact you."

  "When we got here," Will explained, "we were speaking with one of the monks when there was a scream. Someone came up from the cellars and told us there was a body down there, a priest named Jonathan Miller. We went down there and found the poor man, the words Post Tenebrus Lux carved into his skin. We knew the killer was near as the body was still warm, so we explored the basement level. I suppose with all this stone, there was no signal."

  "And that's when you found Logan Bartlett?" Valerie asked.

  “Yes, and Sheriff Carter and I got separated down there chasing him. When I came up here, I found him attacking his next victim. Then you arrived. And thank God you did. So, Logan, that's his name?" Will asked.

  "Yes," said Valerie. "Charlie and I discovered that he's the member of a group that tries to manipulate people with, as they see it, poor faith, to get them out of the Church."

  "Remarkable!" Will said. "And so, this Logan is killing people who he thinks aren't fit for the Church?"

  "In a word," Valerie said. "But he's killing those who decide to leave because he sees apostasy as the greatest religious crime."

  "Hmmm," Will thought out loud. "I wonder if he comes from a family who are anti-religious. That would ..."

  Valerie smiled. "Yes. That's what I thought. He's killing people because of the anger he feels towards his own family. Each time he kills a victim from the group, he's symbolically killing his own family's sins."

  "Doc, you've got a knife in your arm," Charlie said, slumped in a chair. He pointed to the cast in Will's arm with the knife sticking out of it.

  "That's okay," Will said. "It missed my arm, but I'm glad it stuck there, otherwise I would have been a goner. It's almost as if I was fated to encounter Lance Nielsen so that I could survive meeting Logan Bartlett."

  "You're not getting religious now, are you Doc?" Charlie asked.

  "There are more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophies," Will said. "You never know."

  Sheriff Carter entered the room.

  "The victim you saved sends her eternal gratitude, Charlie. She's being looked after by some of the monks here."

  "That's good," Charlie said, wincing. "I think my shoulder is dislocated. I'm pretty beat up."

  "Let the medics put you back together," Sheriff Carter said. Then he sighed. "I've put out a call to the Sheriff's Department to arrest Logan Bartlett on sight."

  "Kerry County and its hills are pretty vast," Valerie mused. "I hope they find him. I just wish we had another lead."

  "Might I suggest something?" Will said.

  "I'm all ears," Valerie answered.

  "If the profile is correct and Logan Bartlett is symbolically killing his family for leaving the Church behind," he explained. "There's a real chance we've reached the killer's saturation threshold."

  "What's that?" asked Sheriff Carter.

  "It's when a killer knows they are going to get caught," Valerie said. "So, they hyper-escalate. Basically, they either go on a huge killing spree or ... My God, Will, you don't think he'll try to actually kill his family before we finally find him?"

  "I do," he said.

  "We need to get moving, then," Charlie groaned.

  "You're going nowhere," Valerie said. "That's an order. And Will, would you look after him while you wait for an ambulance?"

  "Of course, Valerie. But where are you going?"

  Sheriff Carter's face was ashen. "We need to know where his family is. Right now."

  Valerie looked out through the balcony doors. The rain was now torrential, and night had fallen. She took out her phone and dialed a number.

  "Abbot Collins?" she said as the phone was answered. "Where can we find Logan Bartlett's family? It's a matter of life and death."

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Sheriff Carter drove almost as fast as Charlie, almost. Valerie felt the power of his truck climbing the uneven road, its wheels grinding against its worn surface.

  Outside, the hills of Kerry County were like dark shadows looming in the rain. Indistinct. Threatening.

  "How far now?" Valerie asked.

  "Not far," Sheriff Carter said. "We got lucky with the distance. Unless you think God played a hand in this."

  "I'll take any help we can get."

  Valerie watched and saw a sign. In the dim night, she read the words, Owl Marsh Manor.

  "Take a right here," she said.

  Almost immediately, as they followed the road through twisted forest, a clearing opened up at the foot of the Kerry Hills. There stood a large mansion.

  "Have you been to Owl Marsh Manor before?" Valerie asked.

  "No," he said. "It reminds me of the sort of place my wife always wanted us to end up. Some old mansion in the woods."

  "I hope you get that wish one day," Valerie said.

  "Yeah."

  But there was nothing idyllic about the house in the winter rain. It was as stark and as imposing as the hills themselves, staring down at them with its countless windows like eyes.

  The sheriff parked the truck next to the statue of a what looked like the mythical figure Pan. Half boy, half goat.

  "Do you really think Logan Bartlett will come here?" the sheriff asked.

  "I do," she answered. "He'll come for his mother. According to Abbot Collins, she's the one who put him into the Church when he was younger. Then she eventually gave up the Church and asked her son to do the same because she believed it was harmful. Logan didn't take that kindly. He had a breakdown and spent two years in a psychiatric ward."

  "And then Abbot Collins took him in?" Sheriff Carter asked.

  "Yes," Valerie said looking at the waterlogged darkness all around. "That's why he didn't kill anyone directly connected to that monastery. He only killed victims who had left the others."

  Valerie peered at the house. "Glen, do you see something unusual?" she asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Where are your men?" she said. "Didn't you call the Sheriff's Department and ask them to get here as quickly as possible.

  "Yeah. They should have been here well before us."

  Valerie looked again, and this time she could just about see the outline of a patrol car parked to the side of the mansion. "There. The patrol car doesn't have its lights on."

  Now, it was Sheriff Carter's turn to notice something. He drew his gun. "One of the doors is open."

  "Stay sharp, Glen," Valerie said, drawing her gun and leaving the truck behind.

  The rain was torrential, covering the estate in a blanket of wet noise.

  There was no point even trying to talk to each other unless they were shouting. Valerie pointed to the car, and they walked over to it, slowly.

  As they neared, Valerie saw something hanging out of the driver's seat. She switched her flashlight on, and it caught something glassy and lifeless. It was the eyes of one of Glen's deputies. His throat had been cut, and Valerie could see rope marks around the cut.

  "No ... Jenson," Carter said. "Dammit."

  "I'm sorry Glen, but we have to keep moving," Valerie shouted in his ear.

  Glen nodded with a grimace, and they moved up to the front door of the vast house. The rain was dripping into Valerie's eyes, but they had to keep going, even if the world was filled with uncertain shapes and threats.

  The door was open, almost inviting them in. Inside, the house seemed to be empty, but it was hard to tell as darkness had descended on the mansion like a thick blanket of fog. Valerie tried one of the light switches. The power had been cut, and they were only able to make out shapes with their flashlights.

  The entrance hall was huge, with a grand staircase leading up to the second floor. On both sides of the entrance were doors that led into what seemed like parlors or reception rooms.

  Valerie and Glen moved slowly and carefully towards one of them, their guns drawn and ready for anything that might come their way.

  As they approached the parlor, they noticed something strange on the floor. It looked like a blood trail that had been smeared across the marble tiles.

  Valerie and Glen exchanged a glance before following it cautiously, their flashlights illuminating their way. The trail led them further into the house, past grand furniture and paintings of old family members, until finally they reached another room in which another body lay.

  It was one of Glen's deputies, a kitchen knife sticking out of his eye. His throat had been cut in the same manner as Jenson's had been, and Valerie couldn't help but feel a chill as she took in this new horror. She looked at Sheriff Carter who was standing behind her and could see how shaken up he was by what he saw before him. He slowly shook his head and muttered something under his breath that sounded like "Logan".

  It was then that they both heard it. A loud thump from upstairs. Sheriff Carter's eyes flashed with anger. He ran out of the room towards the central staircase

  "Glen, wait!" she whispered, but he didn't respond.

  The sheriff rushed up the stairs in anger, his gun drawn, and his face a mask of fury. Valerie tried to follow him, but he was faster than she was. She still hadn't fully recovered from being dazed back at the monastery.

  By the time Valerie reached the foot of the staircase, the sheriff had disappeared up them onto the next floor.

  Valerie stepped on the first stair, but then she heard a blood curdling gasp from up above and the sound of something smashing.

  "Glen!" Valerie shouted.

  From out of the darkness up above, Sheriff Carter reeled backwards and fell onto the staircase. Valerie watched in horror as he tumbled down the stairs, his body smacking against the hard marble floor at the bottom.

  Valerie rushed to him.

  "Glen!"

  "I think I broke my leg," he said.

  She breathed a sigh of relief that he was still conscious. Blood oozed from a gash on his left cheek.

  "He leaped out at me," he said. "Slashed my face."

  "I won't leave you," she said.

  "No, you have to," the sheriff said reassuringly.

  "You'll be a sitting duck if he comes your way," Valerie said.

  "I still have Dolores," he said, holding his revolver.

  "You named your gun?" she asked.

  "No, my wife did. Dolores was her mother's name. She gave the gun to me and told me it would protect me like she did."

  A thump sounded from upstairs. Then a woman's loud scream.

  "Go!" the sheriff shouted.

  Valerie wasn't waiting any longer. This was it. Either Logan was leaving in cuffs, or she was leaving in a body bag. She rushed up the stairs and reached the top.

  Another scream came. Valerie held her gun out in front of her and pushed forward down a darkened hall.

  The screams grew louder as she approached a closed door at the end of the hall. She opened it and stepped inside.

  What Valerie saw made her freeze in terror. Logan Bartlett was standing in the middle of the room, his face twisted in rage, and his body shaking with anger. He had a rope tied around his mother's neck, hoisted up to the ceiling, her quivering body swaying back and forth like a pendulum.

  Logan was laughing hysterically as he pulled on the rope, tightening it more and more. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, his clothes disheveled.

  "Freeze!" Valerie shouted.

  Logan turned and snarled at Valerie. He let go of the rope, and his mother's still breathing body dropped to the floor.

  He rushed towards Valerie. She took aim and managed to hit him in the side. Then another in his shoulder. But the man wouldn't stop. His eyes were wide and filled with violent vengeance.

  He reached Valerie and punched at her head. Valerie ducked this time and kneed him in the stomach.

  His bloodied hands reached up and grabbed her hair.

  "My friends will protect me!" he screamed, dragging Valerie out into the hall by her hair.

  Twisting Logan's wrist, she snapped it back. He let go of her hair and howled in pain.

  "No one will save you from yourself, Logan," Valerie said.

  Logan backed away and grabbed a small table and vase in the hallway. He hurled it at Valerie, who deftly side stepped out of the way.

  "My friends will never let you put me in jail. I am their servant. They are my protectors."

  "And who are your friends?"

  Logan backed away and pulled his disheveled shirt open, tearing the buttons. He revealed three figures tattooed on his chest: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

  "They will protect me," he snarled as blood oozed out of the wound in his side.

  "No," Valerie said. "They would be ashamed of you."

  Logan lunged forward, and Valerie shot him in the thigh. But the man would not stop. It was as though he was possessed. Valerie felt him bearing down on her. He wrapped his muscular arms around her waist, pulled her up into the air, and then slammed her down onto the ground.

  Valerie felt the wind rush out of her lungs. She struggled for a breath.

  Logan now stood over her, grinning, but there was a wheeze under it as though the gunshots had taken their toll.

  "Now you will join them. You will be another sacrifice. Disbelievers shall perish. Post Tenebrus Lux. I am the light!"

  He wrapped a coil of rope from his pocket around Valerie’s neck and yanked her upward. But Valerie saw something he didn't. Someone was on the ground just behind him at the top of the stairs.

  The Sheriff of Kerry County, ready to do his duty. He had pulled himself up all those stairs, and with the gun his wife had given him, squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet hit Logan in the back, and he finally dropped to the floor.

  Valerie pulled herself to her feet and went over to the Sheriff.

  "Promise me one thing when you leave here," he said coughing and grinning.

  "Anything, Glen," Valerie said rubbing her neck. "I think I owe you one."

  "When you get home to Quantico," he said. "Call your fiancé. Patch it up with him. Life is too short."

  "I ... I'll try," she said, knowing that she was now conflicted. She knew that she was attracted to the sheriff, though she would never betray Tom. "Your wife is a lucky woman, Glen."

  "There's never enough time," Sheriff Carter said, panting on the ground. "One day, they're there, the next they're gone, and you never get to say all the things you want. So don't wait."

  "Oh Glen ..." Valerie looked at the man on the ground with deep admiration and affection. Her heart ached for him. The wedding ring hung from a chain around his neck, and now she understood. Glen's wife had died some time ago.

  EPILOGUE

  Valerie slumped down, exhausted, onto the couch after her flight. She looked around her apartment in the dim light. It was good to be home, but it felt empty.

  Tom wasn't back from his trip yet, and she had no idea what sort of condition their relationship would be in when he returned. She knew that she should do everything she could to mend the relationship. She did love him deeply. But meeting Sheriff Carter had thrown something of a spanner in the works.

  Valerie had thought about the man a lot. She spoke to him on the phone during her flight. He was in a hospital bed and being as warm and positive as usual. There was something about him that she felt drawn to. The profiler in her told her that it was because her relationship was on the rocks and another man was an easy way out.

  But no, she felt that it was more than that. Maybe she felt drawn to him because they were both broken. Broken in a way Tom wasn't. Sometimes the injured could help each other heal.

  Valerie had a terrible fear that her feelings for Sheriff Carter were a sign that she and Tom should not be together, but she tried to push that thought away as best as she could.

  She was almost glad for the exhaustion because it meant that she was too tired to process it all. The tiredness gave her an excuse to leave everything until tomorrow.

 

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