Page 41 of In Her Prayers

The climb seemed to stretch on, each step echoing in the tight space like a drumbeat in the silence of the night.As Jenna ascended, the carillon began to chime once more, this time resonating with the solemn notes of the Angelus—that call to prayer that was meant only to be played by day.Jenna couldn’t suppress a deep shiver of dread and apprehension.It was as if the dead were calling again—this time while she was awake.

It had been years since she first accepted her unusual connection to the other side, and yet she knew better than to dismiss these signs out of hand.They had led her to breakthroughs in cases before.Whoever—or whatever—awaited her in the bell tower, Jenna was resolved to face it head-on, armed with both her weapon and her wits.The melody wrapped around her, a siren’s call luring her onward, upward, into the heart of mystery that Trentville concealed behind its small-town facade.

The persistent buzz of her phone was a distant concern for Jenna as she stepped into the carillon room, her attention held by the haunting melody that filled the air.Moonlight filtered through the narrow windows, casting an eerie glow on a figure seated at the keyboard.His back to her, he loomed like a specter in the dimness, unresponsive to her presence.

“Identify yourself,” Jenna’s command cut through the music’s cadence, authoritative and sharp.There was no movement, no sign that her words had reached him.Frustration knotted in her gut; this silence was an affront, a challenge to her resolve.She advanced, every step measured, weapon drawn but held low, not yet aimed.

Then she saw that his hands weren’t even on the keys, which danced away untouched by human fingers.The keys moved with purpose, plucking out the chiming notes of the Angelus.The very air seemed to thrum with otherworldly energy, but Jenna pushed aside the creeping fear.She would not be swayed by superstition or trickery.

Her foot caught against something soft and yielding, nearly sending her sprawling.Recovering, she looked down to find plastic and linen wadded up at her feet, the same materials used to enshroud the bodies discovered within these hallowed walls.The sight was a visceral punch, dragging her back to the grim reality of her investigation.These remnants were a macabre breadcrumb trail, and she knew they bore significance—a clue or perhaps a trap.

Steadying her nerves, Jenna focused on the task at hand: confronting the figure who defied explanation.It was time to reveal the face of the person who sat so still, strangely joined with the shadows and the endless tolling of the bells.

She stepped cautiously to the side of the seated figure, her service weapon held at the ready.The dim moonlight filtering through the bell tower’s windows did little to prepare her for the ghastly sight that awaited her.

Instead of a living, breathing suspect, she found herself staring down at the time-ravaged remains of a corpse.

The desiccated body was dressed in remnants of clothing that might once have been familiar to the townsfolk of Trentville.Its skin, drawn tight over brittle bones, gave the impression of antiquity—a relic hidden away in the hushed confines of St.Michael’s.A shiver of realization ran down Jenna’s spine.This was no recent death; this was a macabre monument to a crime long past.It was the body they hadn’t been able to find, none other but Ezra Shore.

Her thoughts halted abruptly as someone grabbed her from behind, and a cord bit into the flesh of her neck.The cord tightened, strangling air and sound alike, as Jenna clawed desperately at the garrote locked around her throat.Then, chillingly clear against the strain of her gasping breaths, came a voice both known and feared.

“I never knew you had such a lovely voice, sheriff,” Larry Clark rasped into her ear, his words laced with a perverse admiration.“You’ll work wonders for the bells, just like the others did.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Jake gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.He had left the two recruits he was working with as soon as he heard the haunting phrases from “Crossroad Blues” resonating from the carillon’s chimes.With each note, the urgency to reach St.Michael’s Catholic Church only intensified.

His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, but his thoughts lingered on the strange occurrence.Why would anyone play blues on a church carillon at this hour?The familiarity of the tune and its unsettling presence in the dead of night did not sit well with him.He knew that Jenna must feel exactly the same way.

As the church’s bell tower came into view in the distance, Jake reached for his cell phone.He dialed Jenna’s number, needing to share his concern, to hear her voice.But as he brought the phone to his ear, the familiar sound of the Angelus chime cascaded down from the tower, layering over the ringtone.It was a call to prayer, a reminder of devotion, but now it felt like a forewarning.

“Come on, Jenna,” he muttered, the call redirecting to voicemail.The abrupt silence on the other end was louder than any chime could ever be.He ended the call, a frown etching deeper lines into his forehead.The combination of the late-night blues and the unanswered phone gnawed at him, an instinctual alarm that he couldn’t ignore.Jenna was more than just the sheriff or his partner; she had become the compass by which he navigated the complexities of Genesius County.

With every passing second, as the distance to St.Michael’s shortened, Jake’s resolve hardened.

His thumb pressed down on the speed dial for the police station, and without waiting for the greeting, he barked orders into the receiver.

“This is Deputy Hawkins.Something’s wrong at St.Michael’s.Get units over there now.”

The dispatcher acknowledged her voice a mix of confusion and efficiency, saying she’d send some of the officers who had just come in from the search for Larry Clark.Jake cut the connection before she could ask questions.

As he rounded another corner, the pale silhouette of St.Michael’s bell tower loomed ahead.It was then his phone rang.

“Jake, it’s Frank,” the former sheriff’s voice came through, rough with concern.“Did you hear the carillon?It played just now.”

“I heard it,” Jake confirmed, his eyes never leaving the road.“I’m on my way to the church as we speak.Something’s not right, Frank.”

“Damn straight,” Frank replied.“I tried reaching Jenna earlier, no luck.”

“Same here,” Jake admitted, though he’d already moved past worry into action.

“Should I call the station?”Frank asked.

“Already done,” Jake assured him.“I’ve called it in.Backup should be on their way.”

“Alright then,” Frank muttered.“Keep me posted, Jake.”

“Will do,” Jake replied before ending the call.He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat where it landed with a soft thud against the leather.

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