 You've always been such a good girl, Amanda," he said, his voice worn full of sorrow. Shut up, she hissed. Mandy resisted the urge to backhand him. It would have been easy. She was ten inches shorter, but he was old and handcuffed. She couldn't believe she'd sat in a confessional not two weeks ago, coming clean about her impure thoughts of Dylan McLaughlin to this sick bastard. The woods before them were lit a stark white by the battery-powered work lights the forensics team had hauled in. Gnarled and twisted trees cast sharp-edged shadows in the glare. The soil was sandy and thin. Things did not grow well here. No animal trails threaded between the trunks. One wolf creek, flowing nearby, curved around the area. As if the water itself wanted no part of this place, people had called it cowbelly bend for as long as Mandy could remember, although she didn't know why. It was the setting of many campfire ghost stories from her youth. She watched in silence as the forensic team, dressed in their white coveralls, excavated one shallow grave after another, sifting through the soil for evidence. They already had plenty, but more never hurt. A confession would be even better. That's why she was here. Father Robert had promised to give one, but only if he were present when the bodies were disinterred and only if Mandy accompanied him. Two other, more seasoned investigators were in charge of the case. They stood off to the side, smoking cigarettes and casting side-long glances at Mandy and the priest. Serial killers were way out of her league. She'd only been promoted to detective six months ago. To make matters worse, he was her parish priest. It was against protocol. She was entirely too close to the suspect, but the chief wanted to hand this investigation off to the district attorney, all wrapped up in a bow. The case was starting to generate media attention. It was the sort of thing that could launch a political career. Mandy suspected the chief would like that very much. So here she was, standing in the middle of these godforsaken woods, wrestling with all the anger and betrayal. They came with finding out that the man she had held in the utmost respect since the fifth grade was a murdering piece of filth. Mandy didn't know whether to vomit or pull out her gun and shoot him in the face. Maybe she should do both. Why twelve? She asked instead. Twelve is a holy number. The old priest answered, not looking at her. Twelve tribes, twelve apostles, twelve gates in the new Jerusalem. Twelve is the number of rule and perfection. One may have sufficed, but twelve was safer. Safer for what? She asked, but the priest gave no answer. Working carefully, it took some time for the team to remove the bodies from their shallow graves, bag them and haul them out to the nearest road where the coroner's van waited. There was no easy access to the site, no paths, no hiking trails. The ground was too rough to use gurneys, so the coroner's aides had to carry them by hand. Mandy was amazed that Father Robert was able to drag the bodies back here and bury them all by himself in the first place. The media had already dubbed him the confessional killer. His victims were older with no immediate family. They were easy targets and it would be some time before anyone noticed they were missing. The preliminary evidence indicated that he'd strangled them, twelve and all, after taking their confessions. And then he stopped. Almost two years had passed since his last murder. The only reason he was caught was because of a new law that required all staff of any organization that hosted children's programs to submit fingerprints for a background check, regardless of whether they worked directly with the children or not. Once in the system, Father Robert's prints were flagged as a match for an unidentified set lifted from a car in a missing person cold case. Questions were asked, suspicions raised, surveillance was ordered, warrants issued, searches made, and evidence gathered. Pings on his cell phone records showed that he'd visited Cowbelly Bend several times. Detectives investigated the area. The corpse dog they'd brought along went nuts. Just after 3 a.m. by Mandy's watch, the forensics investigators lifted the last body out of its grave. It was in an advanced state of decomposition, but she could make out tufts of white hair, a tattered burgundy sweater, and rosary beads clutched in desiccated hands. Sally Elizabeth Monroe. Father Robert said, matter of factly, as if he were pointing her out to Mandy at an ice cream social, wonderful woman devout, never missed a mass. Watching the tech zip the corpse into a body bag, Mandy felt the heat rising in her cheeks. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms to keep from striking the priest. New aids from the coroner's office hoisted the bag by the loops on each corner. Father Robert made the sign of the cross with his cuffed hands as they passed, heading into the woods for the long walk back to the road. The forensics people started packing up their equipment. You want to know why? He said, looking down at her for the first time. He was tall, thin, almost to the point of gauntness. Two skin hung over his Roman collar and waddles. Mandy couldn't believe it, but she still saw kindness in his eyes. He must be insane. It was the only answer that made sense. Yes, I do. She said, still not trusting her temper. Why? Father Robert drew a deep breath, gazing off into the trees beyond the empty graves. There is more to this world, this universe than we know or comprehend. He began, much of it is hidden from us and for good reason. Other realities exist concurrently with our own time and space. Some call these dimensions, but in scripture they are known as spiritual realms. I'm really not interested in a Sunday school lesson, listen. He said rather sharply, there isn't much time. There are barriers between our world and the others, barriers put in place for our protection. But in some places, these barriers have worn thin and can be breached. This is one of those places. I had to consecrate the ground with the graves of those who were in a state of grace. A brisk wind suddenly rattled the branches of the stunted trees, stopping the priest mid-sentence. Leaves swirled over their heads. The remaining members of the forensics team looked up from their work, startled. Scents wobbled on their stands, sending beams of harsh white illumination strobing in all directions before toppling over. Boxes of latex gloves, face masks, and protective booties spilled, releasing their contents to join the spinning leaves. An unused body bag caught in an updraft swatted Mandy on the shoulder before wrapping itself around a nearby tree trunk. On their pistols, the other two detectives spun left and right, looking for a threat they could feel but not see. With a sense of dread filling her belly, Mandy's hand dropped instinctively to her own side arm, but the priest grabbed her arm. Remember your faith, Amanda. Father Robert said over the growing gale, No matter what happens, remember your faith. The first creature emerged from the earth in front of one of the crime scene techs. It did not spring from the ground in a shower of dirt, instead it simply rose, materializing like a shadow taking on substance. It was hulking and deformed. The tech screamed, raising his hands defensively. The creature snatched him up and stuffed him into its gaping maw, devouring him whole. Gunfire erupted to Mandy's right. She whirled to see another monstrous form advancing on the two detectives. They fired frantically, to no effect as it strode towards them. With a single swipe of its clawed hand, it decapitated one of the officers. Her head tumbled to a stop between Mandy's feet. She shrugged off the priest's grip. Her own gun came up into a firing position, sights aligning on the beast as it grabbed the other cop, crushing his ribs between its massive palms and sending a gout of blood spewing from its mouth. Before she could pull the trigger, a sharp blow to her temple drove her to her knees. Everything went black. When she regained consciousness, all was quiet. The wind had died away. One of the battery-powered work lights had been righted. Its single remaining unbroken bulb cast the area in a dim glow, but it was enough to see the carnage. The detective's head, Becky, something or other, Mandy couldn't remember, lay in the dirt, eyes staring blankly. Intestines hung from the branches of a tree like Halloween streamers, shreds of white coveralls were strewn all around, some with bloody chunks still inside. She saw a severed hand clutching a pistol. The slide locked open on an empty magazine. Blood spatter covered everywhere. Several feet away, Father Robert knelt, rifling through the spilled contents of a crime scene toolbox. What the hell? She managed, before a shooting pain lanced through her temple, stealing her breath. Mandy tried to lift her hands to her throbbing head, but found that they were cuffed behind her back. Father Robert must have used her key to take them off himself and put them on her. Hell, yes, exactly. The priest replied. He held something up to inspect it, but his body blocked it from her view. He stood, groaning, even with a painful thud of her heartbeat reverberating in her skull, she could hear his knees pop. Father Robert turned to face her. There was a gash on his forehead. Dirt kicked blood covered the left side of his face. His shirt was torn, cholera skew. All of his exposed skin was covered in cuts and abrasions. He was missing a shoe. They were demons. He explained, that's what I was trying to tell you before. This is a place where the barrier between the mortal realm and hell has worn thin. Entities can pass through, taking on physical form when they enter our world. That's why I killed those people after they made their confessions. They died in a state of grace, burying them here, consecrated the ground, and closed the breach until they were disinterred by your friends. He paused, casting a deep sigh and shaking his head. Ugh, that was my fault, really. I should have been more careful disposing of Mr. Bagwell's car. Nevertheless, I was able to force the demons back through the breach. It was not easy. He pointed to a plastic evidence container filled with clear liquid sitting on the ground. That's from the creek. I blessed it. Now, it is holy water. It will hold them, but not for long. What are you talking about? Uncuff me, she demanded. Father Robert limped forward until he was standing over her. There was no way to stop the police from removing the bodies once they were found, and I can't bury anyone here again. They'll just be dug up and taken away. If this breach is not sealed, there will be no stopping the legions of hell as they pour into our world. Do you understand? Uncuff me now, she said, as loud as she could. Maybe the guys from the coroner's office were still close enough to hear. Father Robert stepped around behind her, but instead of unlocking the cuffs, he lifted her to her knees, nodding his fingers into the hair on the back of her head. From the corner of her eye, she saw his right hand, thumbing open the blade of a box cutter. The same kind the forensics team used to cut plastic sheeting to protect a crime scene. When Cain killed Abel, Abel's blood left an indelible stain on the earth. And blood cries out from the ground. That should be enough to seal the breach. I hope it's enough. That's why I needed you here. You've always been such a good girl, always so devout, so faithful. I'm sorry, Amanda. He said, deep sadness in his voice. She screamed as he wrenched her head back and touched the blade of the box cutter to her throat. Do you have anything to confess, my child?