While sitting outside the home of the next sacrifice, a woman named Liz Hamilton, Schofield used one of the neighbors’ unsecured wireless networks and accessed the camera feed inside the house. He watched as Liz slept peacefully, the covers rising and falling at slow, consistent intervals. Liz was an early to bed, early to rise kind of person.
Closing the laptop, he observed the falling snow and tried to work up the courage to do what had to be done. He had to know the Prophet’s plans for the final ritual, and he could no longer delay the inevitable. He dialed the number from memory, and after three rings, the Prophet’s slow and soothing Southern voice came over the phone.
“Do you have the girl, Harrison?”
Schofield’s voice failed him. His tongue felt fat and useless in his mouth.
“Harrison? Are you there, boy? Did you get my message from earlier?”
“I’m here, Prophet. And I did receive your message.”
“So you’ve stayed away?”
“Yes, sir. Just as you instructed … Sir, I … I was wondering about the final ritual.”
“Just do as you’re told. Don’t concern yourself beyond that. I’ve made all the arrangements.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. I need to know who the final three sacrifices are. I need—”
“How dare you question me! I speak for the Father. By questioning me, you are questioning him. We each have our roles to play. You focus on preparing yourself for the ascension, and let me handle the details.”
Schofield bit down on his lip, and his whole body shook. He could almost feel the whip tearing into his back, ripping the flesh. The Prophet naked and screaming in some strange tongue. But he’d only been a boy then. A boy with a hollow soul. Now he was a man and had taken the strength of others.
He summoned all the strength and courage of his victims and said, “That’s not good enough. Tell me! Who do you plan to use as the sacrifices?”
The Prophet was quiet. His slow breathing and the hiss of static filled the line. “I think you already know.”
“They’re not part of this. I’ll never let you near them.”
“You’ll do as you’re told.”
“I won’t let you hurt my family!”
“Why do you think I sent you back to live with your grandfather and lead a normal life?” The Prophet laughed. “You’ve honestly never considered it until now, have you? I gave my permission for you to have a family. They’re mine. Your children only live because I allowed it. And why do you think that is?”
Schofield was quiet. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“I allowed it because they provide what’s been missing from the other rituals. When you were a boy, we made sacrifices, but they didn’t really mean anything to you. It was the same last year. They weren’t your sacrifices. It wasn’t your choice. Your heart wasn’t ready. It wasn’t dark enough, hard enough. The last ritual was only to prepare for the darkest night. Everything we’ve worked for has been leading to this. The darkest night in five hundred years. Now you are ready. When you choose to sacrifice your own children to the Father, you will ascend to the throne. You will be the true Antichrist. This world will be no more, and a better one will be born from the ashes.”
The fear and doubt flooded over Schofield, but he wiped away his tears and said, “No. I won’t allow any harm to come to them. I’m tired of doing what you tell me to do. I’m not your puppet. I’m not that little boy anymore.”
“You’ll do as you’re told!”
Schofield hung up the phone. Anger, fear, and confusion swirled inside his mind. The maelstrom threatened to tear him apart from within. It felt as though the pillars holding up his fragile world were crumbling, and the sky was falling down upon him. He was losing control and had no idea how to stop the downward spiral.
He looked toward the home of Liz Hamilton. He needed her strength. His confidence and power had grown with every kill, and if he wanted to protect his family and stop the Prophet, he would need all the souls he could get.
It was time for another sacrifice.