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6. the prophet

Unable to stay in the motel, the detective left the building and went outside, into the cool night air. It was cold, a lot colder than before and he was glad he was wearing his coat. He shuddered, imagining how cold it must have been for Esme Wilkinson. The detective stood in the middle of the road, the only lights coming from the motel behind him, wondering where he should go.

He finally decided to confront Father Solomon, hoping he would get something out of him. The detective walked forward, struggling to remember where exactly the church was from the motel. To make matters worse, he could feel a steady patter of rain begin to fall around him. After trekking aimlessly for nearly fifteen minutes, he found the police station and he knew he was a bit closer to the church but he still didn't know where it was exactly. Luckily for him, he saw a man running towards him, an umbrella high above his head.

"Excuse me sir!" The detective called out, stopping the man in his tracks. "Sorry to bother you but do you know where the St. Martin's Church of Edgecomb is? I've been trying to find it for a while now." The man made a sour face but pointed the detective in the right direction and ran away, wherever he was going. The detective sighed, feeling the rain get heavier around him.

By the time he found the old church, he was completely drenched from head to toe, shivering in the cold. The storm had gotten significantly better, and the detective could see the few strands of sunlight creeping into the night sky, painting it a pleasant purple. He pushed his wet hair out of his face and walked up to the church door, pulling them open and stepping inside.

The first thing he felt was the warmth from a thousand flickering candles, wafting over him, as he stared down the aisle at Christ. He didn't notice it before but from this angle, the statue seemed to be looking right at him, into his eyes, searching for some remnants of faith. It reminded the detective of his childhood, a time he had tried for so many years to forget, to move on from, but he couldn't. It was a part of him.

"Didn't take you to be the religious type..." He heard a voice say. He turned to the side and saw Melanie, locking a door behind her as she entered the main hall of the church.

"I'm not, just wondering what all the fuss was about." The detective said, standing up from the bench. "You didn't go home last night?" Melanie shook her head.

"Father Solomon told me not to because of the storm, he's asleep now so I'm going back before my own father realizes I'm not home." She explained, sliding on a thin coat. She smiled and sat down right beside him. "Did you get any sleep last night?" She asked, her voice surprisingly soothing.

"Not really, no" The detective replied, weakly. She nodded her head.

"I don't blame you, after what you saw last night." Melanie said, looking down at the ground. The detective's mouth suddenly went dry as he glanced at her, remembering the shadow monster in his room. He felt his smoky tendrils on his neck again and it's suffocating presence.

"What...what do you mean?" the detective stammered, his voice raspy. How could she have known about that?

"The man...in the forest..." Melanie answered and the detective let out a soft breath of relief.

"Right..." The detective murmured, placing his hands on his knees. She doesn't know. She couldn't have known because it wasn't real. It was just a nightmare. The detective thought to himself. He felt Melanie's hand touch his and he turned to find her uncomfortably close, her bright blue eyes, staring right into his.

"You're a good person...and I don't want you to get hurt..." She whispered to him, her grip on his hand tightening. "Please leave this place...nothing good can come of it..." With that she got up from the bench and buttoned up her coat.