Don't Go Into | the Devil's Den (Book One)

Two | Not Alone

Before stepping out of the SUV, Detective Grant analyzed the golden key. To his dismay, nothing stood out. No markings. No wear. No inscriptions.

 I guess this thing has some weight to it. He curled it like a dumbbell. Must be a prize to unlock.

He approached the church, meticulously examining the surroundings. It was unnervingly quiet, with only the whistling wind and rustling foliage breaking the silence. Detective Grant observed something strange about the parking lot: there were no footprints–only the fresh tire tracks from his SUV. Note-to-self: no one lives in this town.

A daunting feeling overcame him. He whirled around, drawing his sleek handgun in an instant, expecting someone to be there. He felt eyes on him, but from where? Being surrounded by woods didn't help. Crouching down, he closed his eyes, tuning in on the sounds. But moments passed, revealing nothing new about the landscape. 

With the shadows lurking about, he continued patrolling.

He meticulously searched the perimeter for any sign of Laney but yielded nothing to show for it. Unexpectedly, a bird chirped. He'd never felt so relieved to hear one; it reminded him of home.

As his last resort, he climbed up the set of concrete steps and approached the wooden double-doors. Leaning in to analyze the doors' scuff marks, he wondered if it had any relation to Laney, but quickly abandoned the thought. Wear-and-tear. 

He rhythmically knocked, the way an old friend would. Seconds passed with no sounds of movement toward the door. No creaks. No shuffling. He knocked again in the same pattern, but to no avail.

He stood there, refusing to quit. A memory surfaced and urged him to his bulging pocket. He sifted through the set of keys, eager to find the match. He couldn't understand what he was doing. It felt like second nature. Each key inserted had failed.

 "I'll have to pick it," he mumbled with a grimace. He got out his kit and went to work. Closing his eyes, he delicately passed the pin through the hole, carefully feeling for the 'catch'.

The door swung open, knocking the pin out of his hand and sending it jingling down the steps behind him.

A man stood in the doorway. A man dressed in a flowing, blue silk robe. Detective Grant's handgun barrel stared, shakily, into the unbothered man's forehead.

"Would you like to come in?" The man nonchalantly asked. "Sorry for the delay. I was praying; don't like to be disturbed."

Detective Grant carefully lowered the gun into its holster, watching the man's eyes the entire time. "My apologies Father Elron. I'm Jarod Grant, a detective specialized in cases involving missing people. A local resident's child has gone missing and-" He paused, scrunching his face in confusion.

Before he could let a word out, the man started. "Oh my, do you think the child is around here?" he asked, lacking enthusiasm. "Please, come in! I am Reverend Father Elron, the presiding priest here at Repentance Community Church. Yes, we are Catholic."

Detective Grant winced. Not because of the church's denomination. Not even because of his strange presence. But because he knew Father Elron's name before he told it. He gripped his forehead as distant memories poured in.

But memories of what? He couldn't fully comprehend them. They floated about like scenes from a movie he'd seen at age six. "I'm sorry, but have we met before?"

Father Elron stepped aside, his arms stretched in submission. "Please, come in."

Detective Grant cautiously walked in, ever mindful of his surroundings. The interior outshined the exterior by miles. It was complete with complex murals painted on every wall, beautiful gold chandeliers, a huge shrine atop the pulpit and many rows of benches.

He decided to save his questions for now. He didn't want to ruin any chances of finding clues. "Mind if I have a look around?" Detective Grant humbly asked. "It'll be quick, I promise."

"My pleasure, Detective." Father Elron gracefully approached the spacious pulpit, no sound emitting from his footstrikes. "I'm eager to know what you find." He kneeled and prayed quietly; only whispers of gibberish were audible.

Detective Grant scanned the walls. The murals swirled and twisted, forming many different depictions of angelic beings. Though the colorful stained-glass windows radiated light into the sanctuary, the details were difficult to make out.

 From his belt, he unclipped a flashlight and shined it on virtually everything. As he progressed, more distant memories bubbled to the surface. A flash of deja-vu nearly knocked him off his feet. He had to lean on the wall to regain his awareness. I... I have been here before. 

"Are you okay, Detective?" Father Elron said without looking up.

He plopped onto a bench. "I-I'm fine," he replied, shining the flashlight on it. After staring at it for a few moments, he wiped his finger across the wooden surface. A heavy trail of dust dispersed upon contact. Intrigued, he stood up to discover that his spot was completely dust free.

"Father," he began, "how long has it been since the last mass?"

Father Elron simply responded, "months."

A lightning bolt struck Detective Grant in the head. "Months?" He worriedly asked, "how could that even be? The girl's mother said she'd last seen her here last week. I wrote it down."

"Did you?" He questioned, arising from prayer. "Are you sure?"

"Well, yes," Detective Grant answered confidently. "All of my files on the case are out in my car. Wanna take a look?"

"No need, Detective. But tell me, what is really bothering you this time?"

This time? Detective Grant was taken aback. His tone grew in frustration. "This time? What do you mean this time? What are you hiding?" He fought the urge to reach for his gun.