Silent Night, page 8
Sheila felt a chill run down her spine as she considered the implications of what they were learning. Having a criminal background didn't mean West was guilty, but it sure did make him a more interesting suspect—especially if he was using a false name.
"Pastor Walden," she asked, "what crimes was Simon convicted of?"
David hesitated, his face growing somber. "I don't like sharing another person's sins, especially when they've made efforts to repent and reform. However, under the circumstances..." He sighed, resigned. "Simon was convicted of assaulting his girlfriend."
"Assaulting her?" Sheila asked, her heart pounding in her chest. "What exactly did he do to her?"
"According to Simon's own testimony," David said, his voice low and pained, "he attempted to strangle her."
CHAPTER TEN
Sheila sat in the driver's seat of the van, her hands gripping the wheel as she stared at the house across the street, thinking of the pastor's words about Simon West—or whatever his real name was. Beside her, Natalie shifted in her wheelchair, her eyes focused on their target as well.
"Pastor Walden said West's turned over a new leaf, that he's not the same violent man anymore," Sheila murmured, her voice filled with doubt. "But do you think people can really change, Nat?"
Natalie shrugged, her gaze never leaving the house. "People can surprise you, Sheila. But I wouldn't bet my life on it."
The early afternoon light illuminated the modest one-story home, giving it an almost deceptively serene appearance. Its off-white exterior was clean and well-maintained, the windows framed by pristine white shutters. A neatly trimmed lawn surrounded the property, bordered by a low wooden fence. On the surface, the house seemed unassuming and harmless—akin to its supposed occupant.
"Nothing about this place screams 'violent criminal'," Sheila mused, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
"Appearances can be deceiving," Natalie said. "Let's drive over there and see if he's home."
Sheila shifted the van into drive and approached the house, her hands gripping the steering wheel with an intensity that betrayed her nerves. As they pulled up to the house, she glanced over at Natalie, whose expression was a mix of determination and concern. The two sisters shared a brief, wordless exchange before getting out of the vehicle.
"Here goes nothing," Sheila muttered as they made their way to the front door. She raised a clenched fist and knocked. They waited in tense silence for a response, but none came.
"Think he's out?" she asked, peering through a window beside the door. She could make out a narrow glimpse of the interior—a darkened hallway lined with framed photographs.
"Could be," Natalie said, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Or he might just not want to answer. Try the door knob."
"Isn't that illegal? Entering without authorization?"
Natalie smiled. "Yes, it is. But checking whether a door is locked to give us a better idea of whether he's home or not? Nothing illegal about that."
Sheila reached for the doorknob and gave it a tentative turn, but it would not budge. "Locked," she said, drumming her fingers against the door in frustration. "Now what?"
"Maybe you should snoop around a bit," Natalie suggested, nodding toward the side of the house. "You never know what you might find."
A thrill of excitement coursed through Sheila at the prospect of taking matters into her own hands. "Are you sure?" she asked. "It's not trespassing?"
"Just to walk around the house?" Natalie waved a dismissive hand. "In my book, that's called good policework."
Sheila nodded and, steeling herself for whatever she might find, darted around the side of the house, her keen eyes scanning for any signs of West's presence. The gravel crunched beneath her sneakers as she tried to peer through the windows. To her disappointment, however, the blinds were drawn tight, obstructing her view.
"Any luck?" Natalie called.
"Nothing yet," Sheila said, frustration evident in her tone. She pressed on, rounding the corner to enter the backyard. It was a simple, unassuming space: a small patch of well-trimmed grass surrounded by wooden fencing and a few flower beds lining the perimeter. A modest patio sat adjacent to the house, adorned with a couple of chairs and a recently used grill. Nothing seemed out of place or suspicious, leaving Sheila feeling increasingly uncertain about their mission.
Where was West? If he wasn't home, how could they track him down? She considered returning to Natalie and suggesting they stake out his workplace when an eerie sound caught her attention.
Pausing mid-step, Sheila strained her ears, trying to pinpoint the source of the muffled noise. It sounded like it was coming from below—the basement, perhaps?
Her pulse pounding in her ears, Sheila took careful steps toward the side of the house. She stepped into the flower bed, her pulse quickening as she pushed past overgrown bushes. The scent of damp soil and wilted flowers filled her nostrils, heightening her senses. She crouched down to peer through a low basement window. Straining her eyes, she tried to make out any details in the darkened room.
There was movement—subtle, but unmistakable. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and her stomach twisted with unease. Sheila's fingers brushed against the window latch, surprised to find it unlocked. A sudden urge to explore the basement swelled within her, driven by her relentless ambition to uncover the truth.
Still…doing so would be against the law, wouldn't it? She decided to check with Natalie first.
She hurried around the side of her house to her sister. Natalie watched her approach, her head cocked with curiosity.
"Nat," Sheila said urgently. "I think there might be someone in the basement."
Natalie's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing. "Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure. There's movement. The window's unlocked, so I could climb down through it."
Natalie hesitated, her gaze flicking between Sheila and the house. The tension in her jaw betrayed her frustration at being unable to join her sister.
"Go ahead," she finally said, her voice firm. "If you think there could be someone who needs help, you have every right to enter the house. But be careful, okay? I'll call for backup, just in case."
Sheila nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. As she headed back to the basement window, doubt crept into her mind. What if this wasn't part of their investigation? What if they were meddling in some innocent person's affairs?
But the memory of those muffled noises haunted her, compelling her to push forward. If there was even a chance that someone needed help, she couldn't ignore it.
Sheila's fingers trembled as she grasped the window's edge, pushing it open with a quiet creak. She hesitated, her gaze darting between the window and the dark depths of the basement. Had she really heard something, or had it only been her imagination? Her heart thundered in her chest, betraying her uncertainty.
A muffled moan came from within, snapping her back to reality. Someone needed help. Sheila steeled herself and stepped onto the window ledge, carefully lowering herself into the black abyss. Her legs dangled as she searched for a foothold, and once she found one, she descended as silently as possible.
Once inside, Sheila reached for her phone, its screen casting a dim light that barely illuminated a wall lined with shelves covered with an assortment of items: power tools, boxes of nails and screws, buckets of plaster, ceiling tiles, copper tubing, and other tools. The air was musty, heavy with dampness, and she could feel the cold seeping through her sneakers as she ventured farther into the room.
"Hello?" she whispered. "Is anyone there?"
A soft rustling sounded behind her, causing her to whip around, her phone's light sweeping across the room. It fell upon a woman bound to the wall by chains, her wrists raw and her face a mixture of fear and relief. Her once-vibrant red hair hung limp and dirty, framing a face streaked with grime and tears.
Sheila's heart thundered in her chest as she took in the sight of the woman, chained and suffering. The woman's eyes, bloodshot and desperate, seemed to scream for help, even though her gag prevented any words from escaping her lips.
"It's okay," Sheila whispered, her fingers trembling as she reached out to grasp the ragged cloth that silenced the captive. "I'm going to get you out of here."
As Sheila worked to loosen the gag, the woman's eyes darted around the room, her fear palpable. Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles white, as she anticipated her rescuer's next move. Sheila could hear her own breaths coming in short gasps, her mind racing with each tug at the fabric.
"Stay calm," she told the woman, trying to keep her own voice steady. "I'm going to get you out of here."
With one final pull, the gag came free, and the woman's labored breathing filled the silence. She swallowed hard before speaking, her voice barely a whisper. "He's...he's here."
"Who?" Sheila's heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening.
Before she could process the woman's warning, light flooded the basement, casting stark shadows on the cold concrete floor. Sheila spun around, her pulse hammering in her ears as she saw a hulking figure descending the stairs, each step seeming to echo in the small room, like the slow tick of a clock counting down.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sheila's heart pounded in her chest as she watched the hulking figure descend the basement steps, his massive form backlit by the light from upstairs. She could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead as her fear threatened to consume her. But behind that fear was a fierce determination.
She would not allow this monster to hurt his prisoner again.
"Run," the woman chained to the wall behind Sheila whispered, her voice hoarse and desperate.
Sheila swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the man, never leaving him for a moment. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage, and tried to remember all the years of training she'd undergone—the countless hours spent honing her body into a weapon.
"Who are you?" the man asked, his deep voice sending shivers down Sheila's spine.
"I'm with the police," she said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded. "And you're under arrest."
The man studied her for a moment, his eyes as dark and cold as the void of space. The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, ready to snap.
"You shouldn't have interfered," he said finally, his voice low and dangerous.
For a brief moment, doubt flickered through Sheila's mind. Was she really capable of taking down this giant? She pushed the thought away, reminding herself that she had trained for fighting opponents who outmatched her in size and strength. Her determination returned, fueled by her desire to protect the woman behind her and bring this man to justice.
"You mean I should've let you continue torturing this woman?" she asked. "Not going to happen. You're not going to lay another finger on her, so help me God."
The man's face twisted into a snarl, and he charged at Sheila like a wild animal. Her heart hammered in her chest as she faced the monstrous figure barreling toward her. Everything around her seemed to slow down, and her instincts, honed by years of intense training, took over.
She ducked beneath his outstretched arm, feeling the whoosh of air as it narrowly missed her head. In one swift motion, she pivoted and landed a solid kick to his side, driving him back toward the cluttered shelf dominating one of the walls.
The man grunted, clearly surprised by her agility and strength. His eyes widened with shock and confusion, but the surprise quickly turned to anger. It seemed he hadn't anticipated such a challenge from her.
"Is that all you've got?" she taunted, adrenaline coursing through her veins.
Seething, the man attacked again, but this time with more caution. He circled Sheila, looking for an opportunity to strike. Sheila mirrored his movements, never taking her eyes off of him. She was waiting for the right moment to strike again.
The man lunged at her, but Sheila was ready. She dodged his blow and drove her elbow into his back. He stumbled forward, and Sheila seized the opening. She landed a quick jab to his temple, sending him reeling.
The man shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He seemed disoriented, and Sheila knew she had the upper hand. She launched herself at him, kicking him hard in the side and following it up with several jabs to the face. Despite landing these blows, however, he seemed unfazed, and Sheila felt a flicker of doubt.
He seems hardly bothered at all, she thought. Maybe I'll just have to wear him down.
Sheila's fists connected with the man's body, each blow fueled by her desperation to end this nightmare. Sweat trickled down her brow, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The man, despite his untrained movements, was proving to be a formidable opponent.
"Is that all you've got?" she panted between punches, hoping to throw him off balance.
With a snarl, the man seized Sheila by her waist, lifting her off the ground as if she weighed nothing. She felt the air rush out of her lungs as he hurled her across the room, her body slamming into the cold concrete floor and the breath rushing from her lungs.
"No!" the woman chained to the wall cried out, her voice cracking with fear.
Sheila's vision swam back into focus. Panic clawed at her chest as she tried desperately to breathe, but her lungs refused to cooperate. The massive figure approached her with slow strides, his shadow stretching ominously across the basement floor.
"Thought you were tough, huh?" he sneered. "You're just like the others, weak and pathetic."
As the man closed the distance between them, Sheila spotted a rusty pipe lying near her hand. It must have fallen from the cluttered shelves during their struggle. Gathering what little energy she had left, she wrapped her trembling fingers around the cold metal.
"Time to die," the man growled, reaching for her.
"Think again," Sheila said, swinging the pipe with all her strength. It connected with the side of his head, eliciting a satisfying thud.
The man stumbled, dazed by the unexpected blow. Seizing her opportunity, Sheila rolled onto her knees and launched herself at him. She pummeled his torso with a flurry of punches, each one fueled by the determination to save both herself and the woman still chained to the wall.
"Get...off...me!" the man roared, shoving Sheila back.
Sheila caught herself. Then, planting her foot, she jumped forward, uttering a wordless cry as she delivered one final, powerful strike to his jaw.
The man's eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Sheila stood over him, chest heaving, her heart pounding in her ears.
In the sudden silence, she became aware of the sound of heavy footsteps pounding overhead. She braced herself, sweat dripping down her temple, heart hammering against her ribcage. The basement door flew open with a bang, and a shout reverberated through the space: "Police!"
A team of officers hurried down the stairs, guns drawn and faces set with determination. The man on the floor groaned, trying to push himself up, but he was no match for the swarm of police that descended upon him. They subdued him with practiced efficiency, pinning his arms behind his back and snapping handcuffs around his thick wrists.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" one of the officers asked Sheila, concern etched into his furrowed brow.
"Y-yes," she stammered, the adrenaline starting to ebb away, leaving her shaky and weak. "Check his pockets. Does he have a set of keys?"
One of the officers searched the man and quickly discovered a small set of keys, which he tossed to Sheila.
With unsteady steps, Sheila moved toward the woman chained to the wall. Her eyes were wide with terror, yet a glimmer of hope flickered within them as she stared at Sheila. As she approached, Sheila could see the bruises and cuts marring the woman's skin, evidence of her captor's cruelty.
"Hey, it's okay. We're getting you out of here," Sheila assured her softly, fumbling with the keys. Her hands were slick with sweat and trembling from exhaustion, but she refused to let that stop her.
As the lock clicked open, the chains fell away, and the woman collapsed into Sheila's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "He was going to kill me," she choked out between sobs, clinging to Sheila like a lifeline. "Just like the others."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sheila winced as she wrapped her bruised hands with care in the sterile light of the sheriff's station break room. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the all-too-familiar scent of stale coffee and burnt microwave popcorn. Her knuckles throbbed, a pulsing reminder of her recent fight with Simon West.
"Those bruises look nasty," Natalie said from her wheelchair nearby, her brow furrowed with sisterly concern. "You're lucky you didn't hit your head on the concrete when he threw you, or who knows what might have happened."
Sheila sighed and met her sister's gaze. "I know, Nat. I'm okay, really." She recalled the adrenaline coursing through her veins during the altercation, how it almost felt like her old kickboxing days. But this was different—this was real life, not sport, and the stakes were infinitely higher.
The break room door swung open, and a handful of officers strolled in, their uniforms crisp and clean. Their laughter rang through the small space, momentarily drowning out the hum of the vending machine and the ticking of the wall clock. Sheila couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement at the thought of officially joining their ranks soon. How would it feel to wear the badge, to truly belong here among these men and women dedicated to justice?
"Hey, what happened to your hands?" one of the older officers asked, nodding toward Sheila's wrapped knuckles.
"Simon West happened," Natalie replied before Sheila could speak, her voice tight with annoyance.
"That big fella in Room Three?"
"That's the one."
The officer shook his head, clearly impressed. "Hats off to you for taking down a giant like that."
Sheila smiled, grateful for the comment.
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