After straining to re-read the faded ink of the Bell family letters, Sarah found nothing that was useful to her situation or anything that she didn’t already know. But then she remembered what the redhead had told her, about the orb being the key. But even if she was able to retrieve the orb, Sarah had no way of knowing how to destroy it.
And then Sarah’s eyes fell to the mysterious book that she had lifted from Pat’s house. It was an old book, the spine and cover weathered, the pages along the side browned from age. She reached for the book hesitantly, struggling to lift its weight and set it in her lap.
Sarah ran her fingers over the cover, tracing the title with her fingers, which spelled Codex Gigas. Slowly, she opened to the first page and grunted in frustration when she saw it was written in a foreign language. She flipped through a few more pages and confirmed that the entire book was unreadable.
Frustrated, Sarah tossed the book aside and then hugged herself, rubbing her arms to try and stay warm. Since she found the book among the witch’s things, Sarah figured it might contain something useful, but if she couldn’t read anything inside, then it wouldn’t do her any good.
What she needed was someone she could talk to, someone she could trust, but the first person that she’d chosen to trust when she came to Bell ended up being the very thing that was trying to kill her, and the second person she trusted was gone.
She sat in the dirt, staring at the book she’d stolen, and then reached for it again. She opened the cover and turned to the table of contents. It looked as though each of the chapters were a name instead of a number.
She scrolled down the page, the words unfamiliar, but then stopped. She squinted at the name, reciting it. “Ecclesiastes.”
It was a name she recognized. Most of the orphanages that Sarah had lived in growing up were extremely religious, and every Sunday she was forced to go to church. She didn’t much care for the sermons, but she did like the fact that they served donut holes after the service. She’d stuff as many as she could in her pocket and snack on them the rest of the day.
Ecclesiastes was a book in the bible, but why the hell a witch would have something like this, Sarah had no idea. But it brought another thought to mind. If she was going to try and fight the devil, then she might benefit from a little holy intervention.
Bell didn’t have a church, at least not anymore after it was burned down, but she remembered seeing one when she was passing through Redford. It was as good a place to start as any, and seeing how she didn’t have any other leads, it was her best option.
Sarah shut the book and then scooped it off the ground. She shoved it back inside the bag along with the letters and the notebook and then turned south toward Redford.
Brent Alvarez lingered in the back of the squad car after the woman disappeared, still in shock over how she’d vanished into thin air, just like the handcuffs that had been around his wrists. He wiggled his fingers, smiling at his freedom.
Brent reached for the door handle of the cop car, and then laughed when it opened and he stepped out into the cold.
The difference in temperature between the back of the squad car and outside was minimal. But he didn’t complain about the cold. He’d lived in New York City his entire life, but the cold had eaten through his leather jacket and jeans after being stuck in the back of the fucking cruiser for the past few hours. And the more irritated he became, the more he wanted to shove the barrel of his pistol down that podunk cop’s throat.
Brent reached into the front compartment of the dash and grabbed his wallet and badge that Dell had confiscated upon his arrest, along with the revolver. He flicked the barrel open and found it empty, remembering that he’d fired all of his shots in the forest.
Brent popped the trunk and searched the back, but the only thing he found were a few road flares, a spare Kevlar jacket, and a box of twelve-gauge shotgun shells. He angrily tossed the box back inside and then slammed the trunk shut. “Shit.”
There were more bullets for the .38 special in the glove box of his GTO, though his precious car was currently flipped upside down in a ditch off the highway heading south. He could head there and check it out, but he wasn’t sure if the troopers hadn’t already arrived to confiscate it.
Hands on his hips, Brent glanced around the town until his eyes landed on the tavern. He was willing to bet the old bastard had a shotgun or rifle stashed beneath the bar and decided to go inside and check it out.
No longer concerned about keeping up with appearances, Brent smashed the front door window with his elbow, littering the inside with glass. He reached for the lock, gave it a twist, and granted himself entry.
The place reeked of stale booze and dirty dish rags, and Brent wrinkled his nose in defiance as he headed for the bar, feeling beneath the cash register, but to his surprise, he found nothing but counter. “You’re kidding me.” Brent ducked underneath and checked all along the inside of the bar, but there was no firearm to be found. “Dammit!” He pounded his fist against the bar and then reached for a bottle of tequila.
The liquor was warmer than the air outside, and Brent poured it straight into his mouth, spilling some of
