Elliot’s voice is hoarse but clear: “I reject you.”
Her hand flies back to strike him, and I’ve seen enough. Catching her wrist mid-air with enough force to make her gasp, I twist it downward.
“Touch him again, and I’ll break it,” I say, my voice deadly calm.
Her eyes widen in shock, then narrow with recognition. “You!” she spits. “The devil who corrupted my son!”
Xavier steps into the room behind me. His presence alone makes Pastor Williams shrink further against the wall.
“Pastor Williams,” Xavier says, his voice carrying the easy authority of a man who never needs to raise it. “You’ve become an accessory to kidnapping, false imprisonment, and assault. The sentence for those combined charges is quite substantial.”
The pastor’s face goes ashen. “Mrs. Chambers assured me this was a family intervention. I didn’t?—”
“Save it,” Xavier cuts him off. “Your only option is full cooperation with the authorities. Statements, evidence, everything. Otherwise, the Blackwood family will take a personal interest in your church’s future in Ravenwood.”
Margaret lunges toward Elliot again, shrieking incoherently about demons. Knox intercepts her with gentleness, securing her arms behind her back.
“Whoa, easy there,” Knox says. “Let’s not add additional assault to your charges, shall we? The arson is already pretty spicy.”
On cue, the basement door opens. Dr. Amelia Larson enters, medical bag in hand, her professional composure unruffled by the scene before her.
“Dr. Larson, thank you for coming,” I say.
She nods, her eyes clinically assessing Margaret. “I’ve brought the emergency commitment paperwork. Based on what you’ve shared and what I’m observing, we have grounds for immediate psychiatric evaluation.”
As I work on Elliot’s restraints, my fingers tracing the raw wounds on his wrists, Margaret’s voice rises to a fevered pitch.
“You can’t do this to me! I’m saving my son’s soul! I’m his mother!”
Dr. Larson approaches her, voice calm but firm. “Mrs. Chambers, I’m a psychiatrist. I’m going to help you, but first we need to get you somewhere safe.”
I watch Margaret’s meltdown with cold satisfaction. This is exactly what I needed—a doctor witnessing the evidence of her complete mental breakdown. The recording captures everything: the restraints, the abuse, her religious delusions, and most importantly, her implicit confession to the arson.
“You burned down his gallery, and now you’ve kidnapped and tortured your own son,” I say, my voice clinical. “The prosecutor will have quite the case against you, Margaret.”
Her eyes bulge with rage as she struggles against Knox’s grip. “You have no power over me! God is on my side!”
“God won’t be your attorney,” I reply. The evidence is secure—I’ve already set it to upload automatically to my private server. “First arson charges, then kidnapping. And after your conviction, I’ll personally ensure you’re committed to Ravenwood Psychiatric Hospital’s wing for the criminally insane.”
Margaret screams something unintelligible as Dr. Larson administers a sedative.
I turn my attention to Elliot, whose eyes are half-closed with exhaustion. My chest tightens seeing him like this—dehydrated, wounded, barely conscious. I slice through the remaining restraints with my pocket knife and gently lift him from the chair.
“Julian,” he whispers, his voice cracking.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, gathering him against my chest. His body feels lighter than it should, and I can feel him trembling. “You’re safe now.”
He collapses against me, his head finding the hollow of my shoulder like it belongs there. I carry him carefully up the basement stairs, shielding his face against my chest as we pass the police officers Xavier called in advance.
Outside, the night air is cool and clean compared to the stifling basement. Our SUV waits at the curb, engine running. I slide into the backseat with Elliot still cradled in my arms, unwilling to release him even for a moment.
“Hold on,” I whisper, pulling him closer as Vane closes the door behind us. “I’ve got you now.”
The SUV pulls away from the church, carrying us into the night. Elliot trembles against me, his body far too light in my arms. His skin is cool to the touch, his breathing shallow. I wrap my jacket around his shoulders and pull him closer.
“Water,” I say, and Knox passes a bottle from the front seat without comment.
I hold it to Elliot’s cracked lips, supporting his head as he drinks in desperate gulps. When he finally pulls away, his eyes find mine in the darkness.