Devil's Trap

XIII

"You have to go to the hospital," said Fitzgerald. He was right. But he wasn't going to. He and Stella were both under a tattered blanket, sharing the warmth around their shoulders on the steps of the church.

Jack looked up at Fitzgerald. "You know we can't do that. Our profile was completely off. The suspect wasn't religious, but he was an incredibly intelligent man. We need to start making arrests of all in the congregation," he said.

Stella lifted her head from his shoulder. Still shivering, she began to speak. "He manipulated and indoctrinated at least twenty people. They're all still out there," she began. Her voice was shaking. "Not to mention the fact that there are two victims we haven't found."

Jack looked at her, puzzled. How hadn't they found the two victims? They were always displayed for the police to find. He pondered this for a few moments before realizing something chilling. The last two victims hadn't been killed yet. He and Stella were the final two.

In the moment he looked at Stella he knew that she had realized the exact same thing. Without a moment to process, she buried her face in his chest.

"Jeez, Jack," she said. She met his eyes, drawing a shaky hand up to his forehead. Gently, she took his cheek in her hand and opened her mouth to speak.

"You don't have to say anything," he said, flinching as he pulled her closer to him. He touched her like her skin was eggshells. Looking down onto her bruised cheeks and swollen eyes, he grew remarkably close to tears. "I love you a little bit too, Stella."

Over the city, the sun began to rise. Cars passed them in the street, their lights flickering against the flashing lights of police cars shielding them from the rest of the world. No one paid any attention to the trembling kids huddled on the granite. No one stopped to wonder about their broken ribs or their bloody noses or bandaged wrists. No one cared that they were bleeding through their dressings.

But somehow all was calm. The city was made of angels again. They could see the sun through the rain. Hands linked again, Jack Winona and Stella Augustine made the best of their suffering. They were immortals to this apocalyptic sunrise.

In front of them, skyscrapers hid speakeasies under their roofs and the streets were entangled in a drunken dance of lost souls in their cars. The sun was peeking over the lace silhouette of morning, garish and blinding, filled to the brim with secrets of an undiscovered universe.

All was beautifully chaotic.