Page 32 of Silent Night

Sheila's eyes burned from the glare of the laptop screen as she sat hunched over in the precinct break room, searching through page after page of messages on Birds of a Feather. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights and the ticking clock on the wall provided little comfort during the late-night hours. Her gaze darted from one face to another, each seeming to blur together like an indistinguishable sea of strangers.

The harsh scent of stale coffee lingered in the air, reminding her of the numerous empty cups scattered across the table. Her hand reached out for yet another dose of caffeine, but the cup came up empty. With a sigh, she pushed herself back in the chair, her back aching from slumping so long.

"Come on, Sheila," she muttered under her breath, "you've got to find him."

The precinct was eerily quiet at this hour, the buzz of daytime activity now replaced by a haunting stillness that seemed to amplify the weight of her responsibility. The linoleum floor gleamed beneath the flickering overhead lights, reflecting the shadows of empty chairs and abandoned desks. It felt as though she were the only soul left in the world, searching for answers in a sea of uncertainty.

Her mind drifted to Natalie – her older sister, the golden child, the kickboxing champion – now confined to a wheelchair after being shot in the back during their previous investigation. Guilt clawed at Sheila's insides, propelling her forward with a desperate need to make things right. If she could just find the killer, maybe it would alleviate some of the blame she carried for Natalie's injury.

"Focus, Sheila," she chided herself, forcing her thoughts back to the task at hand.

She let out a deep breath, steeling herself against the fatigue that threatened to consume her. No matter how tired she was, she couldn't let it stop her. She owed that much to Natalie.

She leaned in closer to the screen, willing herself to see something – anything – that might lead her to the killer.

she had spent hours poring over the messages sent to Jennifer Bainbridge and Hadley Ferguson, the two young women who had met their untimely deaths at the hands of a killer they very well may have met on Birds of a Feather.

Hey there, beautiful, read one message. Wanna meet up later?

"Ugh, another creep," Sheila muttered under her breath. She had reached out to the victims' families, explaining her intent to find their daughters' murderer. Although hesitant, they'd agreed to provide the login information for Jennifer's and Hadley's accounts.

Your eyes are like stars, said another message. You shine so bright.

"How original," Sheila snorted, rubbing her temples in frustration. She continued scanning through the barrage of messages, her eyes growing blurry from the blue light of the screen. Then, something caught her attention, making her sit up straighter.

Repent, for the hour of judgment is upon you, wrote a man named Mark to Jennifer. Death comes swiftly, and only the righteous shall be spared.

"Whoa," Sheila whispered, her heart beginning to race. She clicked on Mark's profile, her fingers trembling slightly. His profile picture was nondescript, but his messages were saturated with Biblical language about repentance, sin, and death.

Did you know that the wages of sin is death? another message from Mark read. Turn away from your wicked ways and embrace salvation.

Sheila stared at the screen, her stomach churning with unease. This discovery troubled her deeply, setting off alarms in her head. With each message she read, her sense of urgency intensified. Was this just some religious fanatic, or could he be connected to the murders?

Through fire and brimstone, the wicked shall be cleansed, Mark had written. Your time is running out, Jennifer. Choose wisely.

Mark hadn't sent any messages to Hadley. That didn't mean, however, that "Mark" might not be a fake identity, and that the real person behind the profile might not have an additional profile he'd used to message Hadley. Following this theory, Sheila decided to search Hadley's messages for any that sounded similar in tone to the messages Mark had sent.

After scrolling through a few pages of messages, she finally found one from someone named Tyler. Her heart pounded in her chest as she read the message, which was eerily similar to those Mark had sent Jennifer.

Your sins have mounted high, reaching the heavens, Tyler had written. Only by repentance can you hope to be saved.

"Damn," Sheila muttered, squinting at the screen. "Could Tyler and Mark be the same person?"

Her mind raced, connecting the dots. The language was too similar to be a coincidence. And if they were the same person, that would mean...

"Two profiles for one twisted individual," she said.

Determined to look deeper into Mark's and Tyler's profiles, Sheila studied their account details. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the creation date—both accounts had been created on the same day.

"Gotcha," she said triumphantly, her pulse quickening with each new revelation. "This can't be just a coincidence."

She leaned back in her chair, her eyes burning from staring at the screen for hours. She knew she needed to share this information with someone, but who? Natalie was the obvious choice, but she hesitated. It was late, and she didn't want to disturb her sister's much-needed rest.

Maybe I should wait until morning, Sheila thought, torn between urgency and consideration. But what if it's too late by then?

Her mind raced as she weighed her options. Going home seemed like a reasonable decision, but exhaustion had settled in, making the idea of driving unappealing. Instead, she decided to stay at the precinct, opting for a short nap in one of the break room chairs before diving back into her investigation.

Besides, she reasoned, a bit of rest might clear my head, help me figure out what to do next.

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