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He’d soon find out.
Bending slightly, he slipped through the gaping maw of what had once been the monastery.
Total darkness enveloped him and he heard the steady drip, drip, drip of water on what had once been a stone floor and the scratch of claws, unseen rats, he figured, as they scurried out of his path.
The roof had collapsed partially, and he couldn’t stand upright. He used the flashlight sparingly, hoping not to announce his presence with the bright rays. Feeling his way forward, stumbling twice, he saw, through cracks around what had once been a door, an eerie wavering light.
Bentz’s heart clutched.
He doused his flashlight for good.
Inching forward quietly, he realized he was seeing another sagging doorway, this one leading further inside what was left of the building.
His weapon drawn, Bentz sent up a quick, silent prayer to a God he’d left years before.Please, don’t let me be too late.
* * *
Father John was directly behind her.
Sam felt his presence and her skin crawled.
He’d stopped.
Completely avoiding her peripheral vision. She swung her head as far as she could, back and forth, trying to spot him, but it was impossible. If he stayed directly behind her, if he was not moving at all and very close, he was invisible to her.
Her heart thudded.
Her nerves were frayed.
And her hands—good Lord—her hands still could break free!
Though the chair wasn’t bolted down and rocked a little when she twisted within it, there was no way she could make it turn and keep up with him. It scraped, moved slightly, but she couldn’t see directly behind her.
Did she hear something over the sound of running water and the thundering of her heart?
Sense something other than the monster’s slight breathing?
Or, more likely, was she feeling unfounded, bitter hope?
She strained to listen and heard the slightest scrape of a shoe again. This time only inches from her, just out of her field of vision.
No, no, no!
She felt his breath upon the top of her head, riffling through her hair.
Panic spiraled through her.
She whipped her head around, the chair rocking more, scraping against the stone floor, but he stayed at her back.
“Where are you—”
In that instant she felt a sudden whoosh of air as he flung the rosary over her head to circle her throat.
No!
Oh, God, no!
Razor-sharp stones bit into her flesh, cutting off her air.
