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𝙑𝙊𝙇𝙐𝙈𝙀 𝑰.  ──────────  RUIN!

❛ my mother's love      is choking. . . ❜
─── chapter four! ❫

004.  ╱    ❝ i looked around in a 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉-
𝖘𝖔𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖌𝖔𝖜𝖓, and i saw something
they can't 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖞. . . ❞

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TW  /   please read below :
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discussions of   religious + child abuse,
torture + religious rituals      themes of
grief + paranoia mentions of violence
references  to religion + christianity.

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﹙ 𝕸ONDAY ━ 𝕹OVEMBER 5TH, 1984 ﹚

     "THE LORD WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS," MARY CREST WOULD OFTEN SAY. However, Olivia Hart found herself grappling with the meaning behind those words more and more. As she watched Carson closely from the comfort of her desk, her heart ached for the child she'd known since birth. In many ways, after the death of Cadence, she viewed Carson as family. Sometimes a niece or daughter and now, Carson was hers. She was responsible for raising her best friend's daughter and ensuring she could still live a good and full life.

     The grandfather clock in the corner of Olivia's office chimed noon, its deep, resonant tones echoing through the room. Shafts of autumn sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floors. The room, a testament to West Linn's prosperity and Olivia's taste, was a blend of old-world charm and modern efficiency.

     Olivia's massive mahogany desk dominated the center of the room, its surface a carefully arranged landscape of documents, a state-of-the-art IBM computer, and framed photographs. To the left and right behind her, on either side of the large window overlooking the city, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, filled with law books, local histories, and various novels. A large oil painting of the town's Founding Fathers hung on one wall, their stern faces seeming to watch over the space with silent judgment.

     Near the window on the wall to the left of Olivia's desk, Carson sat at a child-sized table, her small frame hunched over a half-completed Bambi puzzle. The stuffed deer she clutched to her chest was new, its soft fur still fluffy and unmarred. Beside her, a stack of drawings told a silent story of the past few days—two-story navy blue houses with dark windows, shadowy forests, globs of red, family portraits with faces obscured, and a smeared white and grey mask.

     Carson's rich, dark brown hair fell in soft waves around her face. Her skin, naturally olive-toned, seemed paler than usual. Large, expressive eyes dominated her delicate features—eyes that were a mesmerizing mix of earthy-brown and green, framed by long, thick lashes. Those eyes, sometimes bright and curious, now held a haunted look far beyond her seven years.

     Her small, pointed chin quivered slightly, and she bit the inside of her cheek in concentration. Her lips were pressed into a solemn line and she tilted her head, continuing to work on the puzzle. High cheekbones, softened by childhood roundness, hinted at the striking beauty she would grow into. A smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks added a touch of innocence to her otherwise somber countenance.

     She wore a pale blue sweater that seemed to engulf her tiny frame, the sleeves rolled up to reveal thin wrists. On her left palm, a fresh bandage concealed the dying red and raw cross-shaped scar—forever a physical reminder of the horrors she'd been subjected to. It was also a reminder of one of the only things left that she shared with Malcolm aside from blood and a last name. Her delicate fingers moved methodically over the puzzle pieces, periodically pausing to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

     Despite the warm room, Carson carried a perpetual chill, her shoulders hunched slightly as if warding off an unseen draft. Every now and then, her gaze would flicker to the window, scanning the outside world with a wariness no child her age should possess. In these moments, the depth and intensity of her gaze were startling. Sometimes, it felt like she was seeing things far beyond the peaceful streets of West Linn. And sometimes, it felt like she was teetering on the edge between innocence and sin.

     After all, the Willamette Wraith hadn't brought death to her home. She had.

     For the millionth time, Olivia found her gaze trailing back to the little girl feet away. She lingered on Carson, noting how the sunlight caught her chestnut hair and created a halo effect that painfully reminded her of Mary. She shook off the memory and resemblance, re-focusing on the city's Thanksgiving parade plans. But her eyes kept drifting to Carson, drawn by an inexplicable mix of love and unease.

     There was a growing sense of disquiet.

     The tragedy that'd befallen the Crest family was more than a random act of violence. Something darker, something perhaps beyond understanding, had visited that house last Tuesday. And while she continued to look at Carson, a chill ran down her spine. Had it left, or was it sitting right here in the room, wearing the face of an innocent child?

     Right then and there, Olivia made a silent vow. Her hand unconsciously traveled to the locket she wore, which contained a picture of Avery and Cadence. She would protect Carson, no matter what. She owed it to Mary, to the memory of her own daughter, and to the little girl who survived the impossible not once but twice.

     The memory of yesterday randomly surfaced in her mind. Carson's quiet but firm declaration that she never wanted to go to church or pray again had caught Olivia off guard during breakfast. Despite the Crests' deep religious devotion and religious practices, Olivia readily agreed. She assured Carson she would never force her to go. It was a stark reminder of the invisible scars the child carried. From now on, it was her choice. And for the first time in seven years, since the day she and Malcolm were born, Carson skipped church.

     The clock chimed again, startling Olivia from her thoughts. She realized she'd been holding her breath, her knuckles turning white the longer she gripped the edge of her desk. With a deep breath, she forced herself to relax and focus, once and for all, on the task at hand.

     The parade plans and vendor list were spread across her desk, waiting for approval, but the words blurred. The upcoming Thanksgiving celebration seemed trivial in the wake of recent events. What was the point? The purpose? The black ballpoint pen hovered over the latest paper contract for a local band that wanted to play, poised to sign yet remaining motionless.

     Why couldn't she do this one, simple task? Why couldn't she just focus?

     Instead, her attention was drawn once more to Carson. The little girl was still hunched over the puzzle. The stuffed deer Olivia bought her was clutched tightly, fingers entangled in the soft fur.

     "Carson, sweetie," Olivia called gently, careful not to startle her. "How's the puzzle coming along?"

     Carson looked up, her large eyes meeting hers. For a moment, Olivia saw a flicker of something in those earthy depths—a shadow of a haunting horror with a thin layer of tears. However, the moment she registered the look, it vanished.

     "It's okay," Carson replied; those two words barely above a whisper. She hugged the stuffed deer closer to her chest. Part of her believed if she held it tight enough, she'd draw strength from it. "Bambi's face is hard."

     Olivia nodded, giving her an encouraging smile. "You've got this, sweetie. You've already gotten the entire border done, and that's fantastic! Just take your time. Remember, there's no rush."

     The short conversation came to a close when Carson turned back to the puzzle. She bit the inside of her cheek again in concentration, eyes narrowed with determination.

     Like Olivia said... she's got this.

     As she resumed examining the pieces, Olivia's smile slowly faded. A pit formed in her stomach and her mind wandered back to when she bought the stuffed animal. It was just after the unexpected meeting with the F.B.I. agents, a desperate attempt to bring some comfort to Carson's traumatized state. For now, it appeared to help.

     The memory of that conversation with Field Agents Jason Gideon and David Rossi sent a chill down Olivia's spine. She could still picture their grave expressions and hear the weight in their questions about Mary and the Crest family.

     Olivia's memory floated to Carson. The image of the little girl's defiant insistence about the Willamette Wraith re-played. "It's real," she insisted, her voice stronger than it had been all morning. "I saw it. Outside the front window after..." The pain in those words still echoed in her head.

     She remembered the frustration she'd felt, the worry that Carson was clinging to this myth as a way to cope. But now, looking at Carson's concentrated face as she fitted another puzzle piece, Olivia wondered if she'd been too quick to dismiss the child's words.

     Agent Rossi's probing questions still rang in her ears:

     "Were there any recent changes in their religious practices or beliefs that you noticed?"

     "Were there any financial troubles the family was facing? Any large debts or recent major purchases?"

     "Were there any signs of marital discord between Mary and Cyrus?"

     "And the children? Any issues at school? Behavioral problems?"

     "What about Carson's injuries? The bandage on her hand, the bruises I read about in the case file. Have those been fully explained?"

     Each question had been a blow, forcing Olivia to confront possibilities she'd rather not consider. She'd insisted that Mary and Cyrus were devoted to each other and the twins had no behavioral issues. But now, in the quiet of her office, doubts began to creep in.

     The revelation about Cyrus's call to Detective Reeves still stung. "He asked about increasing patrols near his house," the detective had said. "Said he'd seen some suspicious activity in the woods. When I asked for details, he said it was probably nothing, but he'd feel better with more police presence."

     Why hadn't Mary mentioned this to her? What else might her best friend have kept hidden?

     The implication of child abuse Agent Rossi made...

     Olivia's fingers traced the familiar contours on the locket. The parallel between her lost daughter and Carson would never be lost on her, and it filled her with fierce resolve.

     "I won't fail you," she whispered, so quietly that Carson didn't hear. "Not like I failed them."

     Suddenly, the shrill ring of the phone shattered the office's quiet, causing Olivia to flinch. Her hand jerked away from the locket and she reached for the receiver, knocking over a framed photo on her desk. It toppled face-down with a dull thud. Thankfully, no glass broke.

     "Mayor Hart speaking," she answered, her greeting steady despite the sudden rush of adrenaline. She glanced at Carson, relieved to see the girl still absorbed in the puzzle.

     "Mayor, it's Detective Reeves," came the familiar voice, tinged with an undercurrent of urgency that immediately set her on edge.

     Olivia's fingers tightened around the phone. "Sara, what is it? Has there been a development?"

     There was a pause, filled only by the sound of shuffling papers. "The F.B.I. agents, Gideon and Rossi, they're on their way to City Hall. They want to speak with you and Carson. Separately."

     A chill ran down her spine. She swiveled in her chair, turning away from Carson to shield her from the conversation. "Separately? Why? We've already given our statements."

     "They didn't say exactly," Reeves replied lowly. "But Olivia... they've been asking questions. About you."

     Olivia's breath caught in her throat. She glanced at her reflection in the window, noting the pallor that'd crept into her cheeks. "What kind of questions?"

     "About your relationship with the Crests, your whereabouts that night. They've been digging into the accident from three years ago, too."

     The mention of the accident sent a jolt through her body. She closed her eyes, willing away the flood of memories and grief threatening to overwhelm her. This was not the time to get emotional. "I see," she managed. "When can I expect them?"

     "They're en route now. Should be there within the hour."

     Olivia's gaze drifted to the antique clock on her bookshelf, its steady ticking suddenly oppressive. "Thank you for the heads up, Detective Reeves. I appreciate it."

     After she ended the call, she faced the overturned photo frame. With trembling fingers, she righted it, revealing a picture of herself with Mary Crest, taken years ago at a charity event. They wore matching royal blue dresses with their natural curls. Their arms were linked, faces alight with laughter and blissfully unaware of the tragedies lying ahead.

     Tracing Mary's face with her fingertip, a mix of emotions swirled in her heart. "Mary..." she whispered remorsefully, "what am I supposed to do now?"

     Of course, there was no response.

     So, she had to take a deep breath and steady her nerves. She glanced at the clock again—less than an hour to prepare. Her mind raced, considering the implications of the agents' interest in her. But she needed to stay calm for Carson's sake if nothing else.

     Turning back to her desk, Olivia began to organize the scattered papers. Her movements were precise and controlled despite the tremors in her hands. As she sorted through the documents, her line of sight fell on the stack of Thanksgiving parade proposals. For the first time all day, she finally found herself laser-focused on these plans like they were the most crucial task in the world. Deep down, though, she knew it was her way of deflecting.

     She picked up her pen, its weight oddly comforting in her hand, and began to methodically review each proposal. The familiar routine of municipal work provided a strange sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of her thoughts and reality.

     "Marching band route... approved," she muttered, signing off on the document with a flourish.

     "Float designs... approved."

     "Volunteer schedule... approved."

     One by one, she went through the proposals, her signature becoming more confident with each stroke. By controlling this small aspect of her world, she was rebuilding control of the larger, more daunting challenges looming ahead. There was nothing she couldn't do. Her confidence was unshakable.

     Those were the affirmations she always told herself.

     While she signed the last document, Olivia paused halfway through her signature. A dawning realization sunk in that she needed to explain the upcoming situation to Carson. Quickly, she finished her signature.

     The parade plans, now neatly stacked and signed, mocked her with their orderliness in the face of her internal turmoil.

     It's fine.

     "Carson, sweetie?" Olivia called delicately, rising from her leather office chair.

     The little girl looked up from the puzzle, her stare questioning. She was halfway done with Bambi's face. Olivia's heart clenched at the sight of her so small and vulnerable, carrying the weight of probably felt like the world.

     Olivia crossed the room, her wine-red heels clicking with every step. She crouched beside Carson's table, careful to tuck her dress under her thighs and maintain eye contact. "The F.B.I. agents we met before, Mr. Gideon and Mr. Rossi, they're coming to talk to us again today. Detective Reeves will be here, too."

     Immediately, Carson's fingers tightened around the puzzle piece she held. "Why?" she asked quietly, darting her weary eyes between Olivia's. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm tired."

     "I know. I know. They just have a few more questions," Olivia explained, keeping her tone light. "They want to make sure they understand everything that happened. Detective Reeves will stay with you while they talk to you, okay?"

     Carson nodded slowly, but Olivia could see fear creeping in. Then, in a small voice that quivered with uncertainty, she asked, "Why won't you be with me?"

     The question caught Olivia off guard, and she felt a pang of guilt. Lowering to her knees, she sat on the floor beside where Carson sat in a yellow chair. She reached out and gently squeezed the girl's hand. "Oh, sweetie," she said softly, "I wish I could be, but the agents need to talk to us separately. It's just how they do things. But listen... Detective Reeves will be there the whole time. She's a friend, remember?"

     The explanation didn't ease the panic Carson felt in her bones. Her lower lip trembled. "But what if I need you?" The mayor was the only person she had left that she knew and trusted.

     Olivia's heart broke and her face fell. "I'll be right down the hall," she reassured her, cupping her cheek. "If you need me for any reason, you just tell Detective Reeves, and she'll come get me straight away."

     "You promise?"

     "I promise."

     On impulse, Olivia pulled Carson into a gentle hug, minding the deer between them. "You're so brave, Carson. Remember what Agent Gideon said about the blue jays?"

     As they pulled apart, a ghost of a smile flickered across Carson's face. "They're clever and brave," she murmured.

     "That's right," Olivia nodded, mirroring the smile. "Just like you."

     A wave of protectiveness washed over Olivia when she stood up. Whatever the agents suspected, whatever questions they had, she wouldn't let them upset Carson any further. This would be the final time Carson was questioned and forced to talk about that night.

     Returning to her desk, Olivia picked up the phone again. She needed to inform her assistant about the impending visit and ensure they weren't disturbed. Her eyes fell on the photo of her and Mary while dialing the number, and she stifled a sigh.

     "I'll protect her, Mary," she muttered, the vow scarcely audible. "No matter what."

     The weight of that promise and the one she made to Carson settled on her shoulders. Whatever was coming, Olivia would be ready. There was no other option.

── 𐀔 ──

     A SHARP RAP ON THE OFFICE DOOR CUT THROUGH THE AIR LIKE A GUNSHOT. Olivia, who'd been absently straightening items on her desk, jerked her head up. Her fingers froze on the edge of a manila folder and her eyes met Carson's, seeing a flicker of fear cross the girl's delicate features. Carson held a puzzle piece mid-air, her small hand wavering. Olivia forced a smile, hoping it provided the smallest feeling of comfort, even as her own heart raced.

     "Come in," she called, her voice steadier than she'd been in the last hour. The antique grandfather clock in the corner seemed to tick louder, counting down to an inevitable confrontation.

     The heavy oak door swung open, revealing Detective Reeves. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her typically warm brown eyes were clouded with concern. The fluorescent lights of the hallway cast harsh shadows on her face, accentuating the lines of worry etched there.

     "Mayor Hart," she greeted, then softened her tone, "Hello, Carson."

     Carson pushed down the puzzle piece she held, completing Bambi's ears with a click. "Hi," she said, not looking up. Her fingers stroked the soft fur of the stuffed deer, seeking comfort. No part of her wanted to do this again—especially not with people who didn't believe her.

     Behind the detective loomed the imposing figures of Agents Gideon and Rossi. They filled the doorway, their dark suits stood out in the warm, wood-paneled office. The scent of their cologne mingled with the familiar smell of old books and leather that permeated Olivia's office.

     Olivia stood from her desk, smoothing down her emerald green dress. A crowd-winning smile decorated her lips. "Gentlemen, Detective. Please, come in." There was a hint of steel beneath her welcoming veneer.

     As they entered, Olivia couldn't help but notice how Gideon's eyes swept the room, taking in every detail from the framed photographs on the walls to the half-completed puzzle on Carson's table. Rossi, on the other hand, seemed focused solely on her, his gaze uncomfortably intense. The smile she wore didn't falter. She wouldn't be intimidated.

     "Carson..." Reeves walked to the left side of the room toward the circular children's table. Her moves were deliberate, slow, and non-threatening. "Did Olivia tell you what we're doing today?"

     Holding the deer closer than ever to her chest, Carson met the detective's friendly stare. "You're here to ask us more questions," she grumbled, narrowing her eyes.

     At this, Gideon and Rossi exchanged looks. There was a bitter and resistant undertone that couldn't be ignored. Some resistance was expected, especially from a child Carson's age given everything she endured. It hadn't even been a week since her world had been shattered.

     Blinking, Reeves quickly recovered from her shock. "Uh, yes, we are." She crouched to Carson's level. "Carson, do you remember me telling you how sometimes we need to talk to people more than once to understand everything?"

     Carson nodded, her grip on the stuffed animal tightening. Her knuckles turned white against the brown fur.

     "Well, that's what we're going to do today," she continued. "Agent Gideon and I are going to stay here and chat with you for a bit. Is that okay? Agent Rossi will be with Olivia down the hall in a conference room."

     "Will it take long?" Carson asked, glancing at the mayor. She didn't want to do this, and she knew that. Exhaustion filled her soul.

     Reeves shook her head, her ponytail swaying side to side. "We'll try to keep it short. And if you get tired, need a break, or want to stop, you just let me know."

     Rossi cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the tense atmosphere. "Mayor Hart, if you'd come with me, we can talk in a conference room down the hall." His voice was gruff but not unkind.

     Standing, Olivia's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. She could feel the weight of Rossi's scrutiny, his dark irises missing nothing. "Of course," she replied, her tone clipped.

     As she gathered her things, slipping a few files into her leather portfolio, she could hear Reeves speaking softly to Carson and explaining the situation. The girl's quiet responses tugged at her heart, each word a painful reminder of what happened and why this was happening in the first place.

     "Mayor?" Rossi prompted, gesturing to the door. His patience was evident, but so was his judgment.

     Olivia took a deep breath and squared back her shoulders. "Carson, I'll be down the hall. You're safe with Detective Reeves and Agent Gideon, okay?" She spoke with a confidence she didn't entirely feel yet came across as believable.

     Carson nodded, but her eyes were filled with more uncertainty. She clutched the deer tighter. At this point, it was her lifeline aside from Olivia.

     Following the man out of her office, it felt like Olivia was leaving a part of herself behind. The click of the door echoed with a sense of finality, separating her from Carson in a way that felt almost physical.

     In the hallway, the tension between Olivia and Rossi was palpable. Their footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, each step bringing them closer to a confrontation neither was fully prepared for. The walls seemed to close in, the fluorescent lights casting an unforgiving glare.

     Rossi opened the conference room door, gesturing for Olivia to enter first. As she passed him, she caught a whiff of his cologne—a scent that managed to be both comforting and threatening. It reminded her of courtrooms and interrogations, of power dynamics she wasn't used to being on the wrong side of.

     Conference room No. 1 was a stark comparison to the mayor's office—all sleek lines and modern furnishings. The large windows offered a view of West Linn, but right now, the familiar sight provided no comfort. Olivia took a seat at the large table, her posture perfect and hands clasped in her lap. A calm expression was glued to her face.

     Rossi sat across the table, his face unreadable. For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant sound of a phone ringing somewhere in the building.

     Then, leaning forward, Rossi broke the air. "Mayor Hart, we need to talk about the night of the murders." That single sentence carried the weight of an unspoken accusation.

     A chill ran down Olivia's spine and goosebumps rose on her arms despite the room's warmth. This was it. Whatever was coming, she knew it would change everything. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come.

     "Of course, Agent Rossi. Where would you like to begin?"

── 𐀔 ──

     A HEAVY SILENCE FELL OVER THE MAYOR'S OFFICE ONCE THE DOOR CLICKED BEHIND OLIVIA AND ROSSI. The grandfather clock ticked loudly, each second echoing like a gavel strike in a courtroom. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds, creating an interplay of light and dark that pulsed with each tick of the clock.

     Carson's small form shrunk into her chair, fingers still clutching the stuffed deer. The fabric of her pale blue sweater bunched around her wrists, partially hiding the bandage on her left hand. The half-finished puzzle of Bambi lay before her on the polished wood of the children's table, the deer's unfinished eyes seeming to stare imploringly at the room's occupants.

     Agent Gideon moved slowly, pulling out the yellow child-sized chair across from Carson. The metal legs scraped against the plush burgundy carpet, the sound unnaturally loud. He lowered himself carefully, his knees touching his chest in the small seat. His hands rested gently on the colorful table.

     Detective Reeves positioned herself near the door, her stance casual but alert. Her line of sight darted between Carson and Gideon, then to the stack of drawings next to the puzzle. From where she was, she could make out the outline of a two-story navy blue house with dark windows. The image rippled in the corner of her vision, a visual manifestation of the unease permeating the room.

     A gust of wind outside caused a branch to scrape against the window like fingernails on glass. Carson flinched. Her eyes widened momentarily before she forced herself to refocus.

     "That's quite a puzzle you're working on, Carson." Gideon gestured to the table, his sleeve riding up and revealing a simple silver watch. "Do you mind if I take a look?"

     Carson's stare darted between Gideon and Detective Reeves, who stood like a silent sentinel by the door. After a moment's hesitation, she gave a small nod.

     Gideon leaned in to examine the partially completed image. The puzzle pieces shimmered in the afternoon light, the unfinished portions like gaps in reality. "Ah, Bambi," he mused, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You know, I watch that movie with my son at home."

     For the first time all day, Carson's grip on the stuffed deer loosened. "Really?" she asked, studying his facial features.

     "Really," Gideon repeated. "It's one of his favorites. Do you like deer, Carson?"

     As she began to nod, a shadow passed over her face. Her eyes flickered to the window where she could see the forest in the distance. For a moment, the room darkened, the wooden panels of the walls creaking ominously.

     "Carson?"

     Blinking, she snapped out of the brief daze and swallowed the threatening lump in her throat. "I love deer," she whispered, clearing her throat. "They're my favorite animal."

     Both adults in the room caught the brief dissociation but didn't comment. It was better if they didn't.

     "Is that so?" Gideon asked, his tone encouraging.

     Carson nodded, stroking the stuffed deer's head. "Malcolm... he loved rabbits. We'd call each other Bambi and Thumper." Her voice caught on her brother's name, and the light in her eyes dimmed.

     Gideon's expression softened with understanding. "It sounds like you two had a special bond."

     "Yeah. He's my twin—half of me," she whispered, gaze dropping to the table. The unfinished image of Bambi took on a new significance. She wished Thumper was in the image—she wished Malcolm was there.

     Noticing the change in her demeanor, Gideon frowned. "Carson," he began lightly, "would you like some help finishing the puzzle? Sometimes it's easier when you have a friend to work with."

     Lifting her gaze to meet his, she raised a brow. "You want to help?"

     "Of course," Gideon replied warmly. He reached for a puzzle piece and turned it over in his fingers. "Which part shall we work on first?"

     Carson hesitated, then pointed to a section of the puzzle. "His eyes," she said, pulling her hand back when he glanced at the bandage. It dropped into her lap without a second thought, out of view. "They're not finished. I already did his ears, nose, and mouth."

     "I can see that..." Gideon said, feeling his heart drop at the innate reaction. Hiding injuries was common practice for her. "You've done great, Carson."

     While they worked on the puzzle, the soft click of pieces fitting together punctuated the quiet. Gideon's large hands moved carefully, almost delicately, as he helped Carson complete Bambi's eyes.

     "There," he said proudly, watching her snap the final piece in place. A small smile pulled at her mouth. "Now he can see clearly. What do you think he's looking at, Carson?"

     Carson tilted her head, studying the image. After a moment, she replied matter-of-factly, "The forest. He's watching for danger."

     Gideon nodded, noting the sudden confidence. Knowledge was something she valued and was confident in. "It's good to be aware of your surroundings," he said subtly. "Have you always been observant, Carson?"

     She shrugged, searching for the next piece that would help her start creating the flowers at the bottom of the image. "I guess. Mother said I notice too much sometimes."

     "Oh?" Gideon's tone remained casual, but his stare sharpened. "What kinds of things do you notice?"

     Locating a piece with half a petal on it, she paused. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the steady ticking of the clock. "Just... things," she answered, connecting the piece to the border.

     Gideon leaned back to give her space. He picked up another puzzle piece, turning it over in his fingers. "You know, Carson, I've noticed a few things too. Like how careful you are with your left hand."

     Immediately, the air chilled and every inch of Carson's body tensed. Her line of sight darted to Detective Reeves, who remained silent by the door.

     "It's okay," Gideon assured her, his voice soft. "We're just talking. Can you tell me how you hurt your hand?"

     The grandfather clock chimed the half-hour, and Carson flinched in her seat. She dropped the puzzle piece she held. Blinking, she gathered herself and let out a breath.

     "I fell," she said, not meeting his eyes. "At the playground after Sunday School." It technically wasn't a lie. She and Malcolm did fall off the slide at Church last week. That wasn't what the carving was for, though.

     "That must have been quite a fall," he replied, expression neutral. "Have you had many accidents like that?"

     Carson covered her left hand with the sleeve of her sweater. She hugged the deer to her chest and didn't take her attention off the image in front of her. "Sometimes," she mumbled. "Malcolm, too. Father said we're clumsy."

     "Can you tell me about some of the other times you or Malcolm got hurt?" Gideon asked, observing how she wouldn't look up at him.

     Tracing the outline of Bambi's face with her right hand, she inhaled deeply. Tears began to pool at the mere thought of everything she and Malcolm went through together.

     After a long moment, she responded, "There was a time when Malcolm fell down the stairs."

     The tension in Gideon's shoulders dropped in relief. Progress. "Can you tell me more about that?"

     Carson's brow furrowed as if trying to recall a distant memory. "He couldn't walk right for days. Mother said he was clumsy and it was his fault, but..."

     "But what, Carson?" Gideon prompted gently.

     "I saw Father push him," she finished in a rush, her words tumbling like water from a broken dam. This was the first time she ever said that out loud. "And then one time I spilled juice on a Bible. My... my wrists were so swollen I couldn't hold a pencil at school."

     A combination of sadness and controlled anger flickered in Gideon's irises. He clasped his hands together tightly, squeezing. "That must have been very painful. Were there other times?"

     Carson nodded, her fingers running through the pile of puzzle pieces. "Malcolm's arm broke. He said he fell off our front porch, but..." She swallowed hard. "But I tested it out. I fell off the front porch multiple times and never broke my arm. Mother did it."

     Gideon's breath caught in his throat and a flicker of pain crossed his usually composed features. His hands, resting on the table, curled into fists before he consciously relaxed them. Then, he glanced at Detective Reeves and caught her eye. The look they shared was heavy with understanding and barely contained fury. He saw his own helplessness reflected in her gaze.

     "Carson, how do you know your mother broke Malcolm's arm?"

     The little girl's hands stilled on the puzzle pieces. She glanced up at Gideon, then quickly looked away, afraid of what he might see in her sinful eyes. The room grew colder.

     "I... I heard it," Carson whispered, sinking into her chair. "It was after school. Malcolm was crying, and then there was a loud crack. Like... like when you snap a big stick."

     Detective Reeves felt her stomach churn. Her weight shifted from one foot to the other, fighting the instinct to intervene. Her hand unconsciously moved to her badge and she traced its outline.

     Her mind raced back to the numerous times she and the Police Captain discussed the Crest family. The suspicions, the repeated hospital reports, the gut feelings that something wasn't right. But every time, they hit the same wall: no concrete evidence, and two children who steadfastly denied any abuse when questioned by Family Services.

     "The next morning, his arm was in a cast. Mother said he fell, but..."

     Gideon closed his eyes briefly, fighting back a wave of nausea. The image of a child's arm being broken flashed through his mind, and he had to take a deep breath to center himself. When he opened his eyes, they were filled with sorrow.

     "But you knew that wasn't true?" he prompted softly, thick with emotion he couldn't entirely hide.

     Carson nodded, a single tear escaping down her cheek. "Malcolm told me later. He said Mother was angry because he couldn't recite a Bible verse correctly. She twisted his arm until it broke." She wiped away the tear and stared at Bambi's happy expression.

     This time, it was the detective who closed her eyes briefly. A wave of guilt flooded her. How many times had she driven past the Crest house and their church, knowing something could be wrong but unable to prove it or prove a hunch? How many opportunities to help these children had slipped through her and the captain's fingers?

     Gideon's jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his temple. His stare burned with quiet anger. He wanted to reach out and comfort Carson, to promise her that nothing like that would ever happen again, but he knew he had to maintain his professional distance.

     Instead, he took a steadying breath, forcing his tone to remain calm and encouraging. "You're very brave for sharing this, Carson," he said, infusing his words with all the warmth and protection he wished he could offer more tangibly. "Can you think of any other times?"

     As Carson's lower lip trembled, his heart broke for this child and the atrocities she'd endured. Clearly, she never had a supportive, protective adult in her life. If she had, this abuse likely would've ended.

     "Sometimes... sometimes we'd make Mother and Father angry. And then..."

     Gideon waited patiently while Carson struggled to find the words. The ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to grow louder, each second stretching out infinitely. He could feel his heartbeat quickening and dreaded what they might hear next.

     When the silence had stretched on for almost a full minute, he pressed. "And then?"

     Carson's fingers twisted in the fur of the deer. Her pupils, wide and haunted, seemed to look through him rather than at him. "And then we'd have to be punished," she answered. "To cleanse our souls."

     A sharp intake of breath from Detective Reeves broke the stillness. Gideon held up a hand, wordlessly asking her to remain quiet. He could sense Reeves' agitation and almost feel the waves of guilt and anger radiating from her.

     "Cleanse your souls?" he repeated neutrally even though his stomach churned with devastating dread. "Can you tell me what that means, Carson?"

     Carson's stare darted around the room, checking for unseen observers. The bookshelves appeared to loom larger, casting shadows in the afternoon light.

     "It means we were bad. Sinful. We needed to be purified."

     Gideon nodded slowly, his countenance a mask of repose. "And how did your parents purify you?"

     Her breath hitched—acting as a small, pained sound that echoed. She hugged the stuffed deer to her chest like a shield from the memories. "Sometimes with the belt. Sometimes with fire."

     The office was freezing. The warm wood paneling dimmed and the grain twisted into ominous patterns. Reeves leaned against the wall, her face ashen.

     "Fire?" Gideon questioned, hands stilling on the puzzle pieces. His voice cracked on the word, betraying his horror.

     Carson nodded, fixed on the half-finished Bambi. Her fingertips traced the outline of the deer's face again. "To burn away the sin," she explained almost robotically. "Like the lake of fire in Revelation."

     The two adults looked at each other. Both had paled significantly. They saw their shared shock and revulsion.

     Turning back to her, Gideon leaned in. "Carson, I want you to know what happened to you and Malcolm was not okay. It wasn't your fault, and you didn't deserve it. No one has the right to hurt you like that, not even your parents."

     Looking up at him, she bore unshed tears that glistened in the fluorescent lights. Her lower lip trembled. "They said it was to save us."

     "No. No. What they did wasn't saving you, Carson," he insisted, swallowing harshly. "It was hurting you, and it was wrong."

     A second tear slipped down Carson's cheek. She brushed it away quickly. Mother and Father always said tears were a sign of weakness and guilt. "Is that why the Wraith came? Because Malcolm and I did the ritual?"

     The questions hung in the air, creating tension among the three. For a moment, the forest visible through the window behind the mayor's desk appeared to press closer to the glass. Reeves shifted uncomfortably, her hand unconsciously moving to her holster.

     "I wanted to do it because all of our classmates had. Malcolm thought it might protect us and make Mother and Father stop..." A mass grew in her throat and fresh tears welled up.

     Gideon leaned in, his voice low and serious, his eyes never leaving Carson's face. "Carson, I need you to tell me everything you remember about the night the Wraith came. Can you do that for me?"

     Carson nodded and her grip on the deer tightened a final time. Her small frame sank further into the chair and as she opened her mouth to speak, a sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, causing everyone in the room to start.

     The door to the office burst open, causing Reeves to whirl around with her hand on her weapon. Olivia Hart stood in the doorway, her face a mask of controlled calm, but her eyes blazing with an intensity that made even Gideon pause.

     "That's enough," she said steadily with an undercurrent of steel. "This interview is over."

     As Olivia strode into the room, Rossi appeared silently behind her. His dark eyes took in the scene with sharp intensity. He positioned himself near the doorway, effectively blocking the exit. The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch.

     Gideon stood slowly, looking from Olivia to Carson and back again. "Mayor Hart, I don't think you understand the gravity of—"

     "I understand perfectly well, Agent Gideon," Olivia cut him off, walking swiftly to Carson's side. "And I'm invoking my rights as Carson's guardian. She's been through enough."

     In the midst of Olivia helping Carson get to her feet, Gideon noticed something that made him falter. The way Olivia's hand gripped Carson's shoulder, the almost possessive glint in her eye—it spoke of a protectiveness bordering on something else entirely. Rossi's subtle nod told Gideon he'd noticed it too.

     "Carson," Gideon called gently, offering her a reassuring smile, "is there anything else you want to tell us?"

     For a moment, Carson's stare met his. In that gaze, he saw a swirl of emotions—fear, confusion, and something else he couldn't quite place. She opened her mouth to speak but glanced at Olivia and closed it.

     "She's said enough," Olivia stated firmly, guiding the girl toward the door. Rossi shifted, his presence a muted challenge. "If you have any more questions, direct them to our lawyer."

     A tense moment passed between Olivia and Rossi, an unspoken battle of wills. Finally, Rossi stepped aside and allowed them to pass.

     Before leaving the office for good, Carson glanced back. Her earthy-brown eyes locked on Gideon's and, at that moment, he saw something that chilled him to his core. It was a plea for help, quickly masked by a well-practiced blankness.

     The door closed behind the pair with a final-sounding click, the echo reverberating through the room like the toll of a distant bell. Gideon, Rossi, and Reeves stood frozen in stunned silence, the air thick with dread. The half-finished puzzle of Bambi stared up at Gideon from the table, its incomplete form a poignant metaphor for the case. Bambi's cheerful eyes seemed to plead silently, holding secrets just out of reach.

     A coolness swept through the room, causing the hairs on the back of their necks to stand. The warm afternoon light dimmed when a cloud passed over the sun. Out the window, at the edge of the forest where shadow met light, something flickered. It was a shape that writhed and twisted in impossible ways. For a heart-stopping moment, it took form: a figure cloaked in mist and shadow, its face a smeared white and grey jagged oval of nothingness.

     And for the world's quickest second, it looked uncannily like the Willamette Wraith from Carson's drawing, brought to terrifying life.

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╱ 𝕬UTHOR'S 𝕹OTE. . .

⁰¹ 𝕽𝖀𝕴𝕹. . . RUIN !
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written by CARDIIAC © 2024.
破滅 . ݃♱ .

     dun dun DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

     we are officially done with Volume One of this book! yayyyyy!!

     what are everyone's thoughts? i'd love to hear from everyone, including the silent readers! (all feedback is appreciated <3)

     PLEASE READ: just so people are aware, in Volume Two, we are jumping ahead 31 years. a lot will have changed and i'm excited to show you where carson is, who she is, what happened, and a whole lot more.

     i hope you enjoyed chapter four! and i hope you have a beautiful day!

     thank you for reading <3

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

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