Page 69 of Illusionist
I don't ask for details. The hollow look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know about what thoseother thingsentailed.
“The truly diabolical part,” Silas continues, “was that they made the older children choose who got selected. Made us complicit in the abuse. They'd line up five or six kids, and you'd have to point to one. Had to choose which child would suffer so the others could be spared.”
The horror of it hits me like a physical blow. “They made you choose who got hurt.”
“Every week. For years.” His voice cracks slightly. “Do you have any idea what that does to a child's mind? Knowing that your friend's pain is the price of your safety? That your safety means someone else's hell?”
Nova's thumb strokes across my knuckles, and I realize my hands have clenched into fists without conscious thought.
“That's how they controlled us,” Silas explains. “Not just through fear of punishment, but through guilt. Through the knowledge that we were all equally responsible for each other's suffering. That we were all complicit in our own imprisonment.”
I think about the way the seven of them move together, the fierce loyalty I've witnessed. “But you found each other. Despite everything.”
“We did. Elias, me, Logan, Rowe, Jonah, Cole, Marek… we formed our own family within the hell they created. Protected each other when we could, shared what little comfort was available.”
“How did you escape?”
“Elias planned it. Even as a kid, he had that... quality. That ability to see ten moves ahead.” Silas's eyes soften slightly when he speaks about his brother.
But he mentioned dozens of children, yet only six by name. “What about the other children? The ones who aren't here?”
Pain flickers across Silas's face. “We tried to save as many as we could. But seven teenage boys can only do so much against armed adults who've been planning for every contingency.”
Nova's voice is soft when she asks, “Tell him about Zach.”
Silas's face twists into pure hatred as he visibly struggles to calm his breathing.
“Zach was five years old,” he finally manages. “Sweet kid, always trying to make everyone smile despite everything.”
“What happened to him?” I whisper. It's like we can keep the horror contained if we don't speak too loudly.
“The night we escaped, Logan set a fire, and Elias stayed behind to hold the Prophets' attention. We were almost clear… almost free when Zach succumbed to his injuries from... Logan held him while he died. There was so much confusion on his face.”
Tears blur my vision. The image Silas paints is too vivid, too heartbreaking to process.
“I'm sorry.” The words feel inadequate, meaningless against the magnitude of their loss.
“Don't apologize for something that wasn't your fault,” Silas says grimly. “The Prophets are to blame for everything.”
“You've been hunting them down,” I state, understanding these people more with every minute that passes.
“After we built this place, we spent years tracking them down,” Silas confirms. “Some scattered, changed their names, built new lives. Others stayed together, formed new operations under different names.”
“Like Malachi Voss.”
“Dear old daddy dearest,” he says with vicious humor. “Living his comfortable retirement, running his charitable foundation, playing the respectable pillar of the community. All while children disappear from his programs just like they disappeared from the Sanctum.”
I narrow my eyes. “The Bellmour Youth Initiative. He's still recruiting victims.”
“Different methodology, same predators.” A muscle twitches in Silas's jaw. “Instead of breeding his own victims, he identifies at-risk children through legitimate channels. Kids from broken homes, runaways, throwaways that nobody will miss.”
“And the system helps him do it,” I add bitterly.
“The system protects him. Respectable charity work, political connections, community standing. Who's going to believe a bunch of traumatized kids over a pillar of the community?”
I think about my investigation, about the way leads kept disappearing, files getting sealed, witnesses going silent. “That's why the FBI couldn't make progress on this case. The corruption goes too high.”
“Justice doesn't wear a badge, Teddy,” Nova whispers, her voice hollow.
