Page 75 of Blood Moon

“Progress,” he said.

“Then why are you frowning?”

“It’s happening too damn slow.”

Just then, a phone rang. He had a collection of burners in a ziplock bag in the floorboard. He fished around in it until he found the one ringing. It was one of the police officers working with him in secret. He answered quickly. “I’m here.”

“Barker issued a warrant for your arrest. He and the ogre also had a closed-door meeting. Ogre left it licking his chops. Watch your back.”

“Thanks. Don’t use this number again. I’ll call you on another.”

He disconnected and said to Beth, “Never a dull moment.”

Chapter 20

He drove down the road that was so familiar to him now he knew where to swerve to avoid the deeper potholes. Inside this natural tunnel formed by trees whose branches meshed above the road, there was only dusky light. The heavens stubbornly refused to clear.

But there would be no rain or clouds on Thursday night. He was certain of it. Everything would be perfect this time.

Crissy Mellin, her burnished-gold hair notwithstanding, hadn’t been right. It was as simple as that. He felt nothing except a powerful disdain for the young woman who had ruined the ceremony for him.

He did, however, experience an occasional twinge of remorse over the young man the police had blamed for her abduction. News of his suicide had been upsetting to him.

Why, though, should it have disturbed him? He’d had nothing to do with it. The police had made a terrible mistake, but Fate had also had a hand in it. As unfortunate asthe circumstances had been, Billy Oliver was predestined to die in that jail cell.

Nevertheless, it was a mystery to him why Oliver had confessed to a crime he didn’t commit. He’d been shocked to learn that. Thewhyof it was befuddling. But if there were an explanation, it wouldn’t be a mystery, would it?

Having now reached his destination, he shook off his reflective mood and resolved to think only forward. No more dwelling on what had been, but what would be. His heart kicked up its pace as he got out of his car.

The padlock he’d installed was much too fancy for the building, but it was advertised as the best. He punched in the code, heard the reassuring clink of metal within the mechanism, and pushed open the door. The hinges were well lubricated and didn’t squeak at all.

He switched on the light, a ceiling fixture enclosed in a wire cage, like the ones used in gymnasiums. Unattractive but serviceable, it filled the open space with glaring light. He’d learned from last time that he required more wattage than he’d had. Brighter light didn’t create as pleasing an ambiance for such a sacred ritual, but it was more practical, and this time he had to think less aesthetically and more practically.

He regretted that the setting wasn’t more like a temple with a row of fluted columns along each side and an altar draped in embroidered silk. His altar was a handmade workbench constructed of unvarnished wood. He’d bought it at a junkyard, paying in cash to a man tossing chicken feed into a henhouse.

He fantasized walls covered in opalescent tiles ratherthan corrugated tin that was pocked with dents. To help alleviate the ugliness, he’d thought about taping up posters with celestial themes, but purchasing anything even marginally connected to the ritual was risky. The smallest thing could get him caught. The walls remained unadorned.

Nor were they soundproofed, which was a concern, although there was very little chance of being discovered by making noise. There was no one within at least a mile of here.

He’d stumbled upon the building purely by chance one day when he was out for a drive and took a wrong turn. It was set well back from a narrow dirt road that was traveled only by someone who was lost, as he’d been.

The track leading from the road to the building was overgrown. Weeds and underbrush grew halfway up the exterior walls. A thick, leafy vine, hanging from a live oak tree, draped the side of the building most visible from the road, providing a natural camouflage.

After discovering the structure, he’d returned to it often. Eventually he’d determined that it was ideal for his purpose. Clearly it hadn’t been used for years. A place didn’t become this derelict unless it had been abandoned by an owner with no plan to return. He’d simply claimed it, and no one had ever challenged him.

The interior was fifteen by twenty feet. In one corner was a deep utility sink. A mop and containers of bleach and other industrial-strength cleaning agents were within easy reach, as was a box of latex gloves. One couldn’t have too many.

Since the debacle in ’22, he’d upgraded the plasticsheeting with which he’d lined the concrete floor. The material he was using this time was much thicker but still pliable, and pliability was important. Handling dead weight could be cumbersome.

Above the workbench cum altar were two shelves he’d attached to the wall with stout brackets and screws. The lower shelf was lined with a spotless white cloth. On the cloth lay a collection of surgical instruments, lined up evenly and in the order of their length, shortest to longest. He’d sterilized them numerous times, but he would do so again before Thursday, probably more than once.

The upper shelf was empty. The space was reserved for something special. He would place it there ceremonially and reverently. That would be the final step. Then everything would be ready.

Nothing would go awry this time.

Only two more days! His chest became tight with excitement when he thought about it.

Chapter 21