Shadows of the Divine

Chapter 3: Revelations and Rifts

The drive to my father's house was tense, the silence between Carter and me weighted with unspoken anticipation. I navigated the familiar streets; each turn a reminder of the conflicted emotions that churned within me. As we pulled up to the modest brick house nestled among towering oaks, I steeled myself for the confrontation ahead.

Inside, the air felt charged with unresolved history. My father greeted us with a stern expression that softened into a mask of disappointment as he looked at me. His features, weathered by years of contemplation and scholarly pursuit, mirrored my own in many ways—sharp cheekbones, a determined jawline, and eyes that held a glint of intellectual curiosity despite the weight of disappointment they now bore.

He stood before us in attire that spoke of academic rigour—a well-worn tweed jacket over a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up as if ready for intellectual battle. His presence, always commanding, seemed to fill the room with an aura of both authority and defiance, a contradiction that had shaped our tumultuous relationship over the years.

"Selene," he began, his voice laced with thinly veiled reproach. "Playing detective now? Has rejecting the Lord's path brought you to this?"

I bristled at his tone, years of resentment bubbling to the surface. "I'm a consultant," I retorted sharply. "In psychology and religious teachings—no thanks to you. It makes me an asset to the NYPD."

Carter stepped forward, his presence a buffer between us. "Mr Nox, we're here to discuss your work and any connections it might have to recent events."

My father's gaze shifted to Carter, his demeanour turning defensive. "My work is scholarly," he declared, his voice tinged with pride. "Published on numerous platforms, open to interpretation by many."

I cut in, my patience wearing thin. "What about the rituals, Father?" I pressed, my voice cold and professional. "The symbols, the pentagrams—the same ones used in these murders?"

He scoffed, dismissing my accusation with a wave of his hand. "Ancient rites, misunderstood by those who lack the depth to comprehend their true meaning."

"Father," I began, my voice steady despite the turmoil within me, "how do you interpret your work then? How does someone go from studying ancient rituals to orchestrating these... twisted ceremonies?"

My father regarded me with a mixture of resignation and defiance. "Scholarship is about understanding," he replied, his tone measured. "To some, these rituals are a means of invoking power, of seeking transcendence. But others..." He paused, his gaze drifting toward the window. "They see them as a pathway to salvation."

"Salvation?" I echoed, incredulous. "By committing murder?"

He met my gaze, his eyes weary yet unyielding. "In their minds, these acts ensure their place in the afterlife," he explained. "A misguided belief that the ends justify the means."

Carter leaned forward, his voice cutting through the tension. "Mr Nox, we've been seeing a pattern emerge between these murders and the beliefs of Doomsday believers. They both seem to share a belief that they can control their fate when the end times come. Your work, especially on these religious rituals, seems to be a guidebook of sorts for these killers. What do you make of this connection?"

My father's expression tightened, his gaze shifting between Carter and me. "It's a perversion of knowledge," he began, his voice measured yet tinged with regret. "My research was meant to shed light on ancient practices, not to inspire such heinous acts. But those who twist these teachings... they see them as a means of ensuring their survival in what they perceive as a coming apocalypse."

He sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of his own words. "It's a tragic misunderstanding of faith and desperation," he continued, his voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and frustration. "To them, these rituals offer a false sense of control in a world they believe is teetering on the edge of oblivion."