The letter wouldn't stop burning in his mind.
Every word seared itself behind Daniel's eyelids until he could no longer tell if the ink had stained his hands or his conscience.
Three days had passed since Pastor Morgan received the envelope.
Three days of restless nights and whispered rumors that spread like wildfire through Maplewood's narrow streets.
Everywhere Daniel went, eyes followed. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Doors closed quicker than usual. Even the morning birds seemed quieter, as though the town itself was holding its breath.
The countdown had begun—he could feel it.
---
That morning, Daniel walked into the church for service. The pews were full, faces pale and expectant. Pastor Morgan stood at the altar, sermon notes trembling in his hands.
Daniel sat near the front, beside the aisle. He couldn't focus on the hymns. Every voice felt heavy, off-key, as though fear had stolen the harmony.
Then Morgan spoke:
> "Before we begin, I must address something troubling our hearts… A letter has surfaced—a cruel, deceitful message meant to sow division among us."
The crowd murmured. Daniel's chest tightened.
Morgan raised his hand for silence. "The Lord warns us in Proverbs 19:9—'A false witness shall not go unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall perish.' We will not let gossip destroy this house of faith."
But the whispering didn't stop.
If anything, it grew worse.
A woman in the back—Mrs. Thompson—stood, her voice cutting through the tension. "Then tell us, Pastor, is it true? Did Daniel Cole have something to do with Rebecca's death?"
The room went dead still.
Morgan hesitated. "That is not for this pulpit to decide."
Daniel stood abruptly. "No. Let them ask. Let them look at me."
He turned to the congregation, his voice cracking under the weight of everything unsaid. "I didn't kill Rebecca. I didn't lay a hand on her that night. I'm guilty of many things—lies, pride, weakness—but not murder."
Someone shouted from the back, "Then why the letter?"
Another voice followed, sharper. "Because he's been hiding something!"
The words struck him harder than stones.
He saw faces twist with fear, others with pity, and a few—too few—with faith.
Morgan called out for calm, but the tension had already broken. Daniel felt it. He could no longer stay.
He walked out of the church into the cold morning wind.
Each toll of the bell behind him sounded heavier than the last.
Three tolls again.
He froze. The same number from before.
And then he saw it—nailed to the church gate—a second letter.
Its seal was broken, the paper damp from dew.
Across the top, written in crimson ink, were four words that made his blood run cold:
"Three days remain, sinner.