Estranged son of cult elder tracks missing mother whose children were abandoned in snowstorm, uncovering family's dark secrets.
The moment I stepped into Elder Silas Croft’s office, the air hung thick with the stale scent of parchment and the unspoken weight of his authority. He sat behind a large, ornate desk, his spectacles perched low on his nose, giving him an air of sagely importance that always grated on me. He wasn’t just the Flock’s notary; he was their treasurer, their record keeper, and Emmett’s most unwavering lieutenant.
“Elijah,” Silas said, his voice a low rumble, barely looking up from the ledger he was scrutinizing. He didn’t offer me a seat. The dismissive tone was intentional, meant to remind me of my outcast status. “I understand you’ve brought a troubled flock to your door.”
I stood my ground, refusing to flinch. “Abigail Finch has been abducted, Silas. Her children were deliberately abandoned in the gorge. I have proof.” My words were clipped, sharp with the rage I still carried from Raven’s Gorge.
Silas finally lifted his gaze, his eyes sharp and unreadable behind the thick lenses. “Abduction?” He slowly set down his pen, a practiced gesture of solemnity. “That is a grave accusation, Elijah. Especially concerning one of our own.”
“She didn’t vanish by divine calling,” I insisted, my voice tight. “Emmett orchestrated it. He used Jed Pinter to abandon her children. They barely survived.”
A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through Silas’s hand as he adjusted his spectacles. It was a small detail, but I noticed it. It spoke of a man uncomfortable, perhaps even afraid.
“Brother Elijah,” Silas began, his voice taking on a patronizing, pitying tone, “your long absence from the Flock has, regrettably, left you susceptible to outside influences. To… untruths.” He sighed, a performance of weary patience. “I regret to inform you that your concerns, while understandable given your attachment to the lost, are unfounded.”
My jaw tightened. “Unfounded? I found Abigail’s charm in the gorge. I found the impressions of a sled and children’s boot prints where they were left to freeze. How is that unfounded?”
Silas shook his head slowly. “The Lord works in mysterious ways, Elijah. And sometimes, in His wisdom, a member of our community chooses a path that is difficult for us to comprehend.” He reached for a leather-bound folder on his desk, pulling out a single sheet of paper.
He held it up, his gaze meeting mine with an unnerving calm. “Abigail Finch, of her own free will and sound mind, has chosen to renounce her ties to the Flock of the Guiding Light. She has declared her intention to seek solitude, to sever all familial bonds, and to pursue a path independent of our community. Her departure was by her own design.”
My blood ran cold. “That’s a lie,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“It is a signed and witnessed document, Elijah,” Silas countered, his voice firm, unwavering. He slid the paper across the desk, pushing it towards me with a manicured finger. “Dated three weeks prior to the snowstorm, in my presence, and that of Brother Jedediah Pinter.”
My eyes scanned the document. It was a formal renunciation, drafted in the familiar, archaic language of the Flock. My gaze snagged on the signature at the bottom: “Abigail Finch.” It was delicate, almost fragile, but something felt wrong.
I leaned closer, my heart pounding against my ribs. The ‘A’ in Abigail, the loop of the ‘g’—they were slightly off. A familiar tremor in the hand, but not Abigail’s tremor. It was too neat in some places, too hesitant in others, almost as if someone had practiced it, or guided her hand when she was weak. My memory of Abigail’s true signature, from a long-lost letter, was distinct. This was a crude imitation.
“This isn’t her signature,” I declared, looking up at Silas. “It’s forged. Or she was forced to sign it under duress.”
Silas merely smiled, a thin, humourless line on his lips. “Brother Elijah, you are a farmer, not a scribe of the law. You have been gone from us for many years. Perhaps your memory of Sister Abigail’s hand has faded, much like your understanding of the Flock’s righteous path.”
He reached for the document, but I held it fast. “Why would she renounce her children? Her family? She would never abandon them. Not willingly.”
“The ways of the Lord are not for us to question,” Silas said, pulling the document from my grasp. “Sometimes, a soul seeks absolution through extreme measures. Perhaps her recent… curiosity into the Flock’s finances weighed heavily on her conscience. A departure, she felt, was the only way to atone.”
My head snapped up. “Curiosity into the Flock’s finances?” The casual way he dropped that detail, a barb meant to sting, revealed more than he intended. It confirmed Abigail wasn’t just a random victim; she was a threat to Emmett.
“Indeed,” Silas confirmed, his gaze cold. “Unbecoming meddling for a sister, in truth. Some would call it outright defiance of the Elder’s divinely inspired management. Such actions can lead to much spiritual unrest.” He tapped the document with his finger. “This is a legal instrument, recognized by the community. It protects the Flock from any false claims or interference from those who would seek to undermine its sacred mission.”
“You’re protecting Emmett,” I accused, my voice low and dangerous. “You’re complicit in this.”
Silas leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Watch your tongue, Elijah. You are not a member of the Flock. You have no standing here. Your accusations are nothing but the desperate ramblings of an outsider, seeking to stir up trouble. Our community, under Elder Kincaid’s wise guidance, will not tolerate such disruption. Especially from his own wayward son.”
He paused, letting his words hang in the air, a thinly veiled threat. “Your presence here is already a strain on the peace. I suggest you consider the welfare of the children you so readily took in. They are now, by this document, wards of the Flock, should their mother choose to remain absent. But out of the Elder’s compassion, we have allowed them to remain in your care for now, given the circumstances of the storm. Do not mistake compassion for weakness, Elijah.”
The implication was clear: push too hard, and the children would be taken from me. Taken back into Emmett’s control, their safety at the mercy of his twisted will. He was using the children as leverage, twisting legal formality into emotional blackmail.
I stared at him, my initial rage giving way to a colder, more calculated resolve. He was right about one thing: I couldn’t rely on internal channels. Silas was Emmett’s puppet, bought and paid for. This wasn’t just about Abigail’s abduction anymore; it was about the corruption at the very heart of the Flock.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm. “I understand, Elder Silas,” I said, my voice deliberately even. “Thank you for clarifying the Flock’s position.”
I turned to leave, but Silas’s voice stopped me at the door. “And Elijah, a word of advice, from a place of genuine concern for your soul. Do not speak of these… theories… to others. The Flock has a way of dealing with dissenters. You would do well to remember that.”
I didn’t answer. I just walked out, the chilling weight of Silas’s complicity pressing down on me. He wasn’t just dismissing my claims; he was actively participating in the cover-up, using the cult’s structures to protect Emmett. But his casual mention of Abigail’s “curiosity into the Flock’s finances” had given me a new lead, a direction I hadn’t considered. If Emmett was covering up money troubles, there might be paper trails. And if there were paper trails, someone meticulous would have found them. Someone like my sister, Leah.
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