Page 29 of In Her Prayers

Jenna nodded, understanding the gravity of such a change for a man devoted to his craft.The carillon, with its array of bells, had been George’s creation, an extension of his very soul, and automation must have seemed an affront not just to his artistry but to his identity.The towering instrument he had installed now echoed with a mechanical precision devoid of human touch.

“Music was a living thing to him,” Sister Agnes continued, “breathed into existence by the musician’s passion.To see it reduced to gears and timers...it wounded him deeply.”

As she dwelled on this first tragedy, Sister Agnes’s face shifted.“But,” she said, her voice now trembling, “it was ten years later when we all felt the earth shatter beneath us.Rachel—David’s older sister—vanished without leaving a single trace behind.”

Sister Agnes sighed deeply.

“George and David...”she whispered, the pain of the memory evident.“They were never the same.A part of them disappeared with Rachel that day.It changed this place, too, forever marked it with her absence.She was a wonderful singer, you see—a soprano.The heart and soul of the choir, you might even say.And that hymn of her father’s—it was always her favorite.George died in 1965, I believe.”

With an inward shiver, Jenna recalled the coroner’s findings, the estimated date of death for the second skeletal remains discovered in the church—around 1960, the same year when Rachel disappeared.And she remembered the high, sweet voice of the choir-robed woman she saw in her dream.She saw the same realization dawn in her companions’ eyes, the connection snapping into place with an almost audible click.

Jenna leaned forward, her hands clasped together as Frank shifted the topic with a deliberate change in his timbre.

“Sister Agnes,” he began, his voice carrying the weight of years and authority, “could you tell us about the night in ‘89 when the carillon started playing on its own?”

The elderly nun’s eyes widened slightly, her gaze unfocused for a moment as if she were sifting through decades of memories.

“Odd that you should mention that,” she murmured.“I haven’t thought about that for years.Yes, that was quite an unsettling experience.I remember it vividly.It was well past midnight, and the whole town could hear the carillon.At first, it just sputtered out a few notes.But then it started playing the Angelus, all by itself.”

“Was there ever any mechanical explanation found?”Frank pressed, his gray eyes keen.

Sister Agnes shook her head, her white wimple shifting slightly with the movement.“No, nothing conclusive,” she replied.“A repairman from Kip’s shop examined it the next day but found no faults.It was as if the bells had a mind of their own that night.We simply couldn’t explain it.”

Jenna noted the unsettled flicker in Sister Agnes’s otherwise serene demeanor.The incident wasn’t just a technical anomaly; it had left its mark on the community’s collective psyche.

Then Sister Agnes stood, her movements slow but certain.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my duties,” she said, offering a solemn nod toward each of them.“I’ll be right here in the church if you need me.Good day, Sheriff Graves, Deputy Hawkins, Mr.Doyle.May God guide your investigation.”

As the nun exited the Parish Hall, Jenna turned to Jake and Frank.Their huddle was instinctive, shoulders almost touching as they convened in a tight circle, their voices a low rumble against the high ceilings of the hall.

“Rachel’s disappearance lines up with the timeline of the first victim,” Jenna stated.“It can’t be a coincidence.”

“If she is our Jane Doe,” Jake added, “it means we’re dealing with more than just cold cases.We’re unearthing a legacy of grief that’s been buried in this church for generations.”

“And David Cavanaugh is an important piece of the puzzle,” Frank added.“He’s tethered to this church, and he knows the carillon like the back of his hand.Who knows what else he might know?”

“Or might have done?”Jake added.

“His reaction today was … off,” Jenna agreed.“There’s something about David that doesn’t sit right with me.It’s like he’s guarding a secret of some kind.”

The air between the three of them was electric, charged with the gravity of these new revelations.

“We need to look into David’s past,” Jake said firmly.“And his father, George.There’s more to their story, something we’re not seeing.The carillon, the hymns—they’re pieces of a puzzle.If we find out what those pieces mean, we might just see the whole picture.”

“Let’s keep digging,” Jenna agreed.“We owe it to the victims and to this town to uncover the truth.”

Frank’s face, weathered by years of service and concern, mirrored Jenna’s troubled expression.

“Jenna,” he cautioned, his voice a gravelly note of reason, “we’ve got to tread carefully.Suspicion is one thing, but we need concrete evidence before pointing fingers.”

His gray eyes implored her to temper her instincts with the methodical approach that had served them well in past investigations.

“Agreed,” she said.“Now let’s check in with Colonel Spelling.”

With a collective nod of agreement, they exited the Parish Hall into the main part of the church.Jenna’s steps echoed on the wooden floor, breaking the silence they left behind.The melody of the hymn lingered in the air, a haunting refrain that seemed to watch them depart, carrying with it the secrets of St.Michael’s Church.

She had a deep foreboding that evil hidden in St.Michael’s wasn’t ended—that something dark still lingered in this church.And, of course, there was still a third body to be found—a body that neither she nor her companions could tell anybody about.Was Spelling and his team going to find it on their own?If not, how would it ever come to light?

---