Haven of Solace

-The National Shrine of Saint Michael-

The rain had stopped, leaving the city slick and glistening under a weak morning sun.

Detective Inspector Davies pushed open the heavy intricately designed doors of the National Shrine of St. Michael, the scent of incense and old wood thick in the air.

He wasn't a religious man, not really, but after the night he'd had, the quiet solitude of the shrine felt necessary… very necessary.

The flashing images of the alley, the blood, the dismembered body, kept replaying in his mind. He closed his eyes, and the memories surged back, vivid and horrifying.

The call had come in just after midnight. A frantic call from a group of young people, their voices choked with sobs and terror. They'd been waiting, they'd said, waiting for their friend Thomas. He was supposed to propose to his girlfriend, Lisa. They'd even helped him plan it. But he never arrived.

Davies arrived at the alley to find a scene of unimaginable horror. His stomach churned. Even seasoned officers were pale, some turning away.

The rain had washed away most of the blood, but the air was thick with the coppery tang of death. Thomas's body… what was left of it… was strewn across the grimy pavement. His arm, the one holding the velvet box, lay a few feet away, the box itself crushed and bloodstained. The ring, a delicate diamond solitaire, was clenched in that fist, half-buried in the mud.

The friends were there, huddled together, their faces etched with grief and shock. They kept repeating Thomas's name, as if trying to conjure him back to life. Emily, the one who'd helped Lisa pick out her dress for the occasion, was shaking uncontrollably. Clark, the best man, stared blankly at the ground, his eyes filled with a horror that Davies knew would haunt him for years.

And then Lisa arrived. She'd received a call from the police, a call no one ever wants to receive. She walked into the alley, her face a mask of confusion and dread. She saw the yellow tape, the flashing lights, the huddled figures. And then she saw… the rest. The mask shattered. She screamed, a raw, piercing sound that echoed through the night. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed onto the wet concrete, her sobs mingling with the sound of the rain.

Davies opened his eyes, the images still burned into his mind. He'd seen a lot of gruesome things in his years on the force, but this… this was different. There was an unnatural quality to it, something that chilled him to the bone.

He found a quiet pew near the back and sank into it, closing his eyes. He tried to push the images away, focusing on the stained-glass window above the altar. It depicted a serene scene of angels, their faces calm and benevolent.

But even here, in this place of supposed peace, Davies felt a creeping unease. The light filtering through the colored glass seemed to cast long, distorted shadows that danced across the pews, like grasping hands. One shadow, stretched and grotesque, seemed to writhe on the wall beside him, almost mimicking a shape of a creature dreadful as if complete unwelcomed in a place of solace… No. He forced the thought away. He was letting his imagination run wild. Or was he? He glanced at the shadows again, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine. They seemed to shift and deepen, almost as if they were… watching.

He looked at the statues of the angelic figures, symbols of justice, champions of peace. Wish every person on the force had one of those, he thought wearily.

A rustle of fabric broke his concentration. He opened his eyes and saw Father Elias approaching, a kind, gentle man with a perpetually worried expression.

"Father," Davies said, a hint of weariness in his voice."Detective Davies," Father Elias replied, his brow furrowed. "You seem troubled."

Davies sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "We police are always in the face of trouble, Father. No days off to correct what's wrong. It's…" He paused, searching for the right words. "It's just… some things you see, they stick with you. The cries of those left behind… it's unbearable. It makes you wonder… why? Why does heaven allow hell to walk among us? Drugs, greed… all these things that turn people into monsters, ripping lives apart for their own twisted pleasure.

He gestured towards the angelic statues. "They stand for justice, for peace. but where is it, Father? Where is the justice for Thomas? Where is the peace for his Lisa?"

He glanced back at the stained-glass angels. "Just wondering what those guys are doing up there all day," he murmured, more to himself than to Father Elias, "waiting for people to recognize them, while people on the streets get slaughtered by God knows who. It's like… the shadows are winning, Father. They're growing stronger."

"They are the restless, Detective," Father Elias said softly, following Davies's gaze. "Who have guarded us since the olden times, and guide us still. Heaven is not sleeping, Detective. Its wheels may turn slowly, but they turn surely."

Davies sighed again, a deep, weary sound. "I don't know, Father...wish they were real and would help me. If we really do share the same goal – keep these people safe, for the sake of peace for eternity, should that be how they describe it?"

Father Elias placed a comforting hand on Davies's shoulder. "'For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways;' Psalm 91:11. The scriptures tell us of their constant care, Detective. And God's love, His offer of salvation, remains eternal, even in the darkest of times. We may not always understand His plan, but we must have faith that there is one."

As he spoke, a gentle shuffle of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. An elderly woman, Mrs. Soria, entered the shrine. She moved with a slow, deliberate grace, her face etched with wrinkles and a quiet sadness. She carried a small, flickering candle.

Davies watched her as she approached a small side altar and began to light it.

"Sometimes," Father Elias murmured, "faith is not about seeing the answers, but believing in the questions."

Davies nodded absently, his eyes still on Mrs. Soria. The flickering candlelight cast strange shadows on her face, making her features seem sharper, more gaunt. He imagined, just for a fleeting second, that he saw a flicker of something else in her eyes, a dark, unsettling glint that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

He dismissed the thought as fatigue and stress, but a nagging feeling remained. The shadows seemed to deepen around Mrs. Soria, clinging to her like a shroud.

He watched as Mrs. Soria finished lighting her candle and offered a silent prayer. As she did, Davies noticed a small, almost imperceptible tremor in her hand. It wasn't age, he thought. Was it something else? Something… troubling her?

"But what if the questions are too much father, what if the answers are always death and despair?" Davies said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Father Elias paused, his gaze turning to the altar before returning to Davies. He quoted softly, "'Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.' Psalm 23:4. We are not promised a life free from suffering, Detective, but we are promised that we are not alone in it. Not alone."

Mrs. Soria turned from the altar, her gaze meeting Davies's. Her smile was gone, replaced by an expression that Davies couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't hostile, exactly, but it was… a stark, emotionless mask, like the one he'd seen on Lisa's face before she broke, a silent echo of the night's despair.

Davies met her gaze for a moment, then turned back to Father Elias. "Thank you, Father," he said, a genuine note of gratitude in his voice. "For everything."

Father Elias smiled gently. "Detective, even after the darkest night, the sun always rises. There will be better days ahead. Have faith."

Davies nodded, the priest's words resonating with him. He stepped out of the shrine and into the morning light. The weak sun warmed his face, a welcome contrast to the chill in his bones. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the promise of a new beginning. He took a deep breath. Be optimistic about this case, he told himself. We will see the end of it.

He looked up. The pale light was breaking through the clouds. It wasn't a glorious sunrise, but it was there. He thought of Lisa, of Thomas's friends, of the darkness he'd faced. A flicker of hope sparked within him.

Perhaps, even in the darkest valley, there was a chance for light, for justice, for peace. He walked away from the shrine, determined to find answers. He carried with him not just the memory of the darkness, but the quiet promise of a new day, a new beginning, a new hope.