The cold, hard evidence of the Miller family’s death, coupled with Thomas’s notes, fueled a desperate need within me.
I had to talk to my father.
Arthur.
He was the weaker link, easily swayed by my mother, Beatrice, and terrifyingly obedient to Elder Thorne.
But he was still my father.
And somewhere, deep beneath layers of cult indoctrination, I hoped a sliver of the man who once taught me how to ride a bike still existed.
I knew calling my mother would be futile. She was a brick wall of Celestial Dawn dogma.
So, I waited until I knew Arthur would be alone, after Beatrice attended her weekly women’s fellowship meeting.
My fingers hovered over his number, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
What would I say? How much could I reveal without pushing him further away?
I took a deep breath and pressed call.
It rang for an agonizingly long time.
Then, a hesitant, “Hello?”
“Dad? It’s Elara.”
A beat of silence.
“Elara,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. “I… I wasn’t expecting your call.”
“I know,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But I need to talk to you. About Thomas. About the accident.”
Another pause. Longer this time. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head, assessing the risk, weighing his loyalty.
“Elara, we’ve discussed this,” he finally said, his tone strained. “It was a tragedy. God’s will. We must accept it and move forward in faith.”
“No, Dad,” I countered, my voice rising despite my efforts. “It wasn’t just ‘God’s will.’ Thomas was investigating Elder Thorne. He had proof Thorne was manipulating people, even local authorities. He thought the Millers’ ‘accident’ wasn’t an accident.”
The line crackled. He didn’t interrupt, but I could hear a sharp intake of breath.
“What are you talking about, child?” he finally managed, his voice now a mere whisper.
“I found his notebook, Dad,” I pressed, choosing my words carefully. “He documented everything. His doubts about Thorne, his investigation into the Miller family, his suspicions about Sheriff Brody. He wrote about a contact he met, someone high up in the cult who left, who confirmed Thorne’s pattern of ‘accidents’ for dissenters.”
Another silence, heavier, more profound than before.
I imagined him in his study, clutching the phone, perhaps glancing nervously at the door, fearing my mother’s return.
“Dad, why didn’t you tell me any of this?” I pleaded. “Did you know? Did you have any idea what Thomas was doing?”
He let out a shaky sigh, a sound that spoke of decades of suppressed fear and unspoken truths.
“Elara,” he began, his voice barely audible now. “The Elder… Elder Thorne, he… he strongly advised us to embrace the Feast of Everlasting Joy fully.”
My jaw clenched. The party they chose over my children’s funeral.
“He suggested we distance ourselves from… from worldly tragedies,” Arthur continued, stammering over the words. “He said it was important for the community to show unity, to maintain our spiritual focus.”
My blood boiled. “So he told you to abandon me? To abandon your own daughter when my family was destroyed?”
“It wasn’t like that,” he whined, a flicker of his old, placating self emerging. “He said… he said it was for the good of all. To prevent dissent from spreading. To protect the flock.”
“Protect the flock from what, Dad?” I pushed. “From the truth?”
He gasped, a small, choked sound.
Then, his voice dropped even lower, becoming a hushed, panicked whisper, as if he feared the very walls had ears.
“And he… he mentioned Thomas. Before… before the Feast. Not to me directly, but to your mother. That Thomas was asking too many questions. That he was ‘disturbing the peace.’ He said… ‘certain reports’ regarding Thomas’s activities were… were handled with discretion.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Handled with discretion by whom, Dad? By the community’s representatives?” I quoted from the summary, remembering his exact phrase.
“Yes. Yes, exactly,” he mumbled, relief in his voice that I had understood. “To avoid upsetting the Elder. To avoid… undue attention.”
“Undue attention on what, Dad?” I demanded, my voice sharp. “On the fact that my husband was uncovering a criminal enterprise? On the fact that he was about to expose Thorne?”
He whimpered, a sound so utterly pathetic it almost broke my heart.
“I don’t know, Elara. I truly don’t know the specifics. Your mother handles all the important discussions with the Elder. I just… I just try to keep the peace.”
“Did Sheriff Brody handle these ‘reports’?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. “Did Thorne pressure him to close Thomas’s case, just like he did with the Miller family?”
Another long silence. I could hear his shallow breathing.
Finally, he spoke, his voice thin and broken.
“The community… they have ways of ensuring things are handled… correctly. Quietly. For the good of the flock. Sheriff Brody is a good man. He understands the needs of the community.”
It wasn’t a direct admission, but it was all the confirmation I needed.
My father, in his pathetic attempt to “keep the peace,” had just confirmed everything.
Elder Thorne, through “community representatives”—likely my mother and other loyalists—had ensured that “certain reports” about Thomas’s dissent were “handled with discretion.”
And “handling with discretion” meant calling in Sheriff Brody.
It meant closing the case.
It meant calling Thomas’s murder an accident.
A cold, determined calm settled over me.
“Thank you, Dad,” I said, my voice empty of any real gratitude. “That’s all I needed to know.”
I hung up, not waiting for his reply.
The conversation had been brutal, leaving a raw, aching wound, but it also solidified my resolve.
My father’s fragmented confession confirmed the cult’s active manipulation, not just of its members’ minds, but of local systems.
And it cemented Sheriff Brody’s involvement.
The anger pulsed through me, a steady, unyielding beat.
This wasn’t just about my personal pain anymore. This was a battle for truth, for justice, for every other family Thorne had destroyed.
I called Leo immediately.
“It’s worse than we thought,” I told him, my voice flat. “My father confirmed Thorne ordered a cover-up. Brody was involved.”
“Good,” Leo said, his voice surprisingly calm. “Now we have our opening. It’s time to put Thorne in the public spotlight. And Brody right next to him.”
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