Page 12 of Silent Night

Finn spared her any further embarrassment. "Well, what's done is done," he said. "The important thing is she found the nail, right?"

"Right," Natalie said, hesitating just a moment. Then she pulled out an evidence bag and forced a smile. "You never know what could prove crucial to an investigation. Good job, Sheila."

"Thanks," Sheila mumbled, passing the nail to her sister.

The sunlight glinted off the evidence bag as Natalie sealed it, casting a flickering pattern on Sheila's face. She still felt embarrassed, and she wanted to put the incident behind her as soon as she could.

"Alright, so what do we do now?" she asked.

Natalie turned to look at her sister, her eyes sharp and calculating. "We need to get to the coroner as soon as possible. If she can establish how long the body was in the water, then we might be able to figure out whether the killer was here this morning."

"Right." Sheila nodded, trying to still the whirlwind of thoughts racing through her mind. "If we can pinpoint the time, maybe we can find someone who saw something."

"And if we hurry," Finn added, "we might just be able to stop this guy before he covers his tracks."

CHAPTER SIX

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the Great Salt Lake, its light flickering off the ripples as if it were dancing on the water. Hidden among the tall grass, Jenson peered through his binoculars, fixated on the flurry of activity on the opposite shore. Police officers and detectives swarmed the area, their bodies tense with urgency as they scoured the scene. He couldn't help but smirk. They had found her—the young woman he had left lifeless in the lake's shallow waters.

"Scrambling around like ants," he muttered to himself, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction at their distress. The power coursing through him was intoxicating; he had taken control, and now they danced to his tune.

Glancing at his wristwatch, he was surprised to see that several hours had passed since he first began his vigil. He'd been too lost in the thrill of watching the authorities at work to notice the time.

Jenson had always been fascinated by the police, even fantasizing about joining their ranks someday. Oh, to be in a position of such authority, wielding power over others, bending them to his will.

"Maybe I still could," he mused, imagining himself donning the uniform and badge, becoming one of them. Yet for now, he reveled in the knowledge that he held the upper hand, an invisible puppet master pulling the strings from afar.

Lifting the binoculars to his eyes again, Jenson watched as the officers split into small groups, fanning out through the wilderness around the lake. They moved with purpose and determination, their voices carrying across the water in urgent, clipped tones. But despite their efforts, he knew they would find no clues to lead them to him. The feeling of power surged within him, a dark thrill that pulsed in his veins.

"Time to leave," he murmured to himself, his voice barely more than a breath on the wind. He carefully packed up the few items he had brought with him: the binoculars, a half-eaten granola bar, and a crumpled map of the area which he shoved into his small backpack. His fingers brushed against the cold steel of his pocket knife, and he shuddered with anticipation.

As he slung the pack over his shoulder, Jenson began hiking away from the Great Salt Lake, his steps confident and unhurried. The rugged landscape stretched out before him, a vast expanse of untamed beauty that stirred something primal within him. Yet even amidst such splendor, his thoughts were consumed by the memory of the woman's final moments.

"Her eyes," he whispered, feeling the weight of her gaze upon him once more. "So full of fear, so desperate for mercy." The recollection sent a shiver down his spine, a delicious frisson of excitement that made his heart race. He could still feel the delicate bones of her throat beneath his fingers, yielding to his crushing grip like fragile twigs. In that moment, he had been a god, bestowing life or death at his whim.

"Power," he mused, savoring the word as it rolled off his tongue, as if tasting it for the first time. "Real power. That's what I felt when I took her life." The thought of it made him giddy, a heady cocktail of adrenaline and euphoria that threatened to consume him. He knew he would never forget the rush he had experienced, and already he craved more. For now, though, he had to focus on escaping unnoticed.

As he continued his trek through the wilderness, Jenson couldn't help but smile at the thought of the police officers stumbling blindly through the brush, completely unaware of who they were even searching for. It was a game of cat and mouse, and he was determined to remain one step ahead. The thrill of the chase invigorated him, and he knew with certainty that this was only the beginning.

Jenson's stride quickened as he approached a quiet road, the sun casting long shadows across the desolate landscape. The area was rugged, with scrub brush dotting the uneven terrain and the occasional cottonwood tree rising above the parched earth. Insects buzzed around him, their wings beating an erratic rhythm against the silence that enveloped the scene.

He paused at the edge of the road, scanning the horizon for any sign of life. The stillness was disconcerting, yet comforting in its own way. As he stepped onto the cracked asphalt, a sudden roar shattered the calm, and a cloud of dust billowed in the distance. He squinted, trying to make out the approaching vehicle—an aging red pickup truck, its paint peeling and body marred by dents and rust.

The truck slowed to a crawl, its tires crunching on the gravel shoulder. Jenson tensed, his fingers tightening around the strap of his pack. With each passing second, his heart hammered harder in his chest. He knew he couldn't afford to draw attention to himself, but the urge to flee was almost overwhelming.

"Hey, there!" called the driver, leaning out the window. He was a man in his late forties, with a weathered face, scruffy beard, and eyes that seemed to bore into Jenson's soul. "You need a lift? Looks like you've been hiking quite a while."

Jenson hesitated, torn between the desire to avoid this stranger and the need to appear casual. He forced a smile, his voice strained as he replied, "No, thanks. I'm just enjoying a little walk. My car's not far from here."

"Suit yourself." The man shrugged, eyeing Jenson's worn canvas pack. "You a regular hiker? It's a beautiful area to explore."

Jenson's heart pounded in his chest, acutely aware of the potential danger of lingering on the road lest someone spot him. He forced a strained smile and replied with feigned enthusiasm, "Yeah, I love spending time outdoors. The scenery around here is breathtaking."

"Isn't it? Have you been up to Silver Falls yet?" the driver asked, seemingly oblivious to Jenson's discomfort.

"Uh, not yet," Jenson said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He glanced down the road, hoping for an opportunity to end the conversation politely. "I think I'll head that way next time."

"Ah, you should definitely check it out—it's worth the hike," the driver insisted, his voice warm and friendly.

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