Page 108 of The Idol

I couldn’t find them.

Surrounded by the only home I’d ever known, I felt completely and utterly alone.

Taking in another painful breath, I forced myself to let go of the post and move forward. I didn’t know where to go, but I knew I needed to keep moving.

Everything was noise and pain and cold air slashing across the welts from Father’s cane. My feet pounded the ground unevenly, and every step hurt. I tasted blood—maybe from my mouth, maybe from somewhere else. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding—

Someone grabbed me.

I jerked away on instinct, ripping my injured arm out of the hold. The pain was blinding, hot, and sudden; it tore a horrible, primal sound out of me. I staggered, nearly fell, then shoved forward, vision swimming.

I just had to find them.

Father.

Daddy.

Someone who could tell me what’s happening. Someone who could make the world make sense again.

A voice called my name behind me—distant, swallowed by the chaos. The strangers were shouting. Women and men alike were crying. A child was screaming.

There was so much screaming.

Someone caught my arm again. “Elior—hey, baby, hey—look at me. Look at me. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Daddy.

I blinked up at him, chest heaving, everything blurring. His lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear any words—my pulse was too loud, the overwhelming noise scrambling my senses.

And then Jace’s expression changed. His eyes snapped to my face—the side where the cane struck. His face darkened with anger.

Fear surged in my chest, tangled with relief, and I latched onto the only thing that felt like safety.

“D-Daddy,” I sobbed.

His breath caught, and he pulled me closer, guiding me—no, herding me—toward an open van near the gate where some of the younger members were being directed.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said, keeping his voice soft.

I clung to him, dizzy.

I didn’t fully remember reaching the van. One moment I was stumbling along; the next, I was at the open doors, and Daddy was urging me inside.

“Elior, get in.”

But then—

“Move! Get him out! Now!” The shout sliced through the chaos.

My head snapped toward the chapel, following the loud voice.

Two strangers were dragging Father out by his arms—his robe torn at the bottom, his hair wild, his face twisted with fury.

“F–Father?”

I tore myself from Daddy’s hands before he could stop me. My legs almost gave out, but I pushed forward, stumbling over my own feet.

“Father!” My voice cracked. “Father, I’m here—I’m here!”