Page 305 of Sinister

Each second feels like an eternity until a small beacon of light appears somewhere in the distance.

I squint my eyes. The light intensifies, blinding me. I shield my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Who’s there?” I demand.

More steps. The light has now enveloped the entire area. The person carrying the light is close to me, perhaps a few feet away.

A gasp echoes in the tunnel.

It takes me a few moments to acclimate to the change in lighting. But as I do, a few things start to take shape around me.

First is the space I—we’re—in. It’s a round vestibule at the junction of two narrow passageways. The walls are damp and moldy, with water dripping from somewhere above. A water source nearby?

The second thing I see, however, is the body.

The dead body.

My mouth opens and closes, and no sound comes out.

“Daphne . . .” I whisper in shock.

I only recognize her from her blond hair and the D pendant around her neck. Her face has been so completely disfigured that no one would be able to tell her identity.

There’s blood everywhere. All over her clothes. All over my clothes. On my hands.

I stare down at my palms, my eyes wide with horror.

But there’s a third thing that catches my eye: a medium-sized boulder, not too far from Daphne’s body, covered in blood. The murder weapon?

“Hands where I can see them!” a familiar voice rings out.

I blink. It’s Detective Fiona. She’s flashing a light toward me, toward Daphne’s body. But what is she doing here? How would she know to come to the tunnels?

That question can wait, though, because this looks bad.

I’m in a tunnel, alone with a dead body. I’m covered in blood, and the potential murder weapon is right there.

“Detective Bedford. This is not what it looks like,” I stammer.

“Do not move, Miss Valentine. Hands where I can see them.”

She takes a few steps forward, and I note she has a gun next to her flashlight, aimed straight at me.

Oh, no.

She must think I killed Daphne. And to be honest, I don’t blame her. It does look like I did it. And the fact that I woke up next to Daphne’s body right before the detective showed up makes everything even more suspicious.

Is someone trying to frame me? But why? And how would that fit into Sister Agatha’s murderous plan?

Unless . . .

My eyes widen in slow realization.

“It’s you,” I whisper.

“You’re coming with me, Miss Valentine. Get up. Slowly.”

The barrel of the gun is now just inches away from my face as she orders me to my feet.