Chapter 391: Rural Power, Hidden Corruption

Chapter 391: Rural Power, Hidden Corruption
Aisling's POV

I hadn't slept all night. My eyes burned from crying, and my throat felt raw from screaming into my pillow.

When the sharp knock came at our front door, I nearly jumped out of my skin. My heart pounded against my ribs as I pressed my ear to the wall, straining to hear. Dad's heavy footsteps crossed the living room, followed by the creak of the front door opening.

"Good morning." A man's voice, unfamiliar but confident. "Sorry to disturb you so early, Mr. Pritchard."

Dad's reply was muffled, but I could hear the annoyance in his tone. His shoulder injury from yesterday had put him in a foul mood.

I crept to my bedroom window, careful to stay hidden behind the curtain. Below, I could see a group of people standing at our door. The film crew. My stomach twisted into knots. They're looking for her.

I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, knees pulled tight against my chest. They know. They have to know.

"...Sophie White," the man's voice drifted up through the floorboards. "We can't reach her..."

Dad's voice came next, smooth as butter. "Oh, you mean Sophie? I heard she had some family emergency. Probably already left."

A different voice now, younger and sharper. "Yesterday she was fine at the bonfire. How could she just leave?"

My breath caught. They were asking the right questions. Maybe they could help. Maybe they could save her—save all of them.

I strained to hear Dad's response, my whole body tense.

"Sophie's not from here," Dad explained, his voice carrying the practiced ease of a lifetime liar. "She was just visiting. Renting that little cabin for a few weeks. Must've been urgent for her to leave without notice."

I closed my eyes, picturing the scene. Dad would be standing tall despite his injured shoulder, his face a mask of innocent concern. He'd perfected that expression years ago.

The conversation continued, voices rising. The film director was angry about Sophie leaving mid-production. Dad was offering to find a replacement. They were arguing about contracts and payment.

Then Dad's voice changed, taking on that hard edge I knew too well. "If you're going to be unreasonable about this, then please leave my village. We don't welcome your filming anymore."

No, no, no. If they left, Sophie would never be found. That man who'd gone looking for her would never be found either. I pressed my hands against my mouth to keep from screaming.

The air in my room felt thick, suffocating. I crawled to the window again and peeked out. More villagers were gathering now, carrying farm tools—hoes, sickles, axes. My heart sank. Dad had called them without saying a word. Just like he always did when outsiders became a problem.

One of the film crew members—a pretty woman with long hair—said something I couldn't quite catch. But I heard the next part clearly: "...not just Sophie who's gone. Adam's missing too..."

I heard Dad's voice change again, a subtle shift only a daughter would notice. He knew now. He knew both of them were missing, which meant they might be together. Which meant the man might have found something.

"Good people of Birchfield," Dad called out to the gathered villagers, his voice carrying up to my window. "There's no issue here. Just a misunderstanding. Everyone should handle their own business."

I froze, my blood turning to ice. Those last words—"handle their own business"—that was the signal. Dad's code phrase when someone needed to disappear.

The villagers began to disperse, but I knew what they were going to do. The ones who were involved, the ones who helped bring girls to the village, they understood the order. Find Adam. Silence him. Make sure he never leaves Birchfield.

I can't let this happen again.

With shaking hands, I pushed the dresser away from my door. This had gone on long enough. Too many girls had disappeared, too many families destroyed. I couldn't live with myself anymore.

I bit down hard on my tongue until I tasted blood. If I was bleeding, they'd have to let me out. They'd have to take me to Dr. Clay. And once I was out, I could tell those film people everything.

The metallic taste filled my mouth as I unlocked my door. I'd tell them about the basement in the old mill. I'd tell them about the trucks that came in the night. I'd tell them about Sophie and where they were keeping her.

But as I pulled open the door, Mom stood there, blocking my path. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale.

"Aisling," she whispered, "where are you going?"

I swallowed the blood in my mouth. "Mom, please. I need to get out."

She shook her head slowly. "Not today, sweetheart. You need to rest."

"Mom," I begged, tears welling in my eyes, "I can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending I don't know what happens in this village."

Her face crumpled. "Aisling—"

"Let me out," I pleaded, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth. "I have to tell them. I have to tell them where Sophie is."

Mom's eyes widened at the sight of blood. "What have you done to yourself?" She reached for me, but I stepped back.

"I'm going to tell them everything," I said, my voice breaking. "About the girls, about what Dad does, about all of it. I can't sleep, Mom. I have nightmares every night."

Mom's expression shifted from concern to determination. "You can't do that, Aisling. You can't destroy this family."

"This family?" I laughed bitterly. "We destroyed ourselves the moment we started taking those girls."

"I just want you to leave this place clean," Mom whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't want you carrying the burden of being a trafficker's daughter, a murderer's daughter. I want you to have a chance at a normal life."

"There's no normal life for me," I sobbed. "Not while I know what we've done. Please, Mom. Let me make it right. Let me help them find Sophie."

For a moment, I thought I'd reached her. Her hand trembled as she reached out to wipe the blood from my chin. But then she pulled a small bottle from her pocket.

"I'm sorry, baby," she whispered. "This is for your own good."

I recognized the bottle—the same sleeping pills she'd been giving me for weeks. "No, Mom, please—"

But she was stronger than she looked. She grabbed me by the hair, yanked my head back, and poured the bitter liquid down my throat before I could fight her off. I choked and sputtered, but it was too late. I'd swallowed most of it.

"Shh, it's okay," Mom soothed, holding me as my limbs began to grow heavy. "It'll all be over soon. The village will quiet down again, just like it always does."

She lowered me to my bed, stroking my hair as she began to hum a lullaby from my childhood. The room started to spin around me.

Mom's lost her mind, I realized with crystal clarity. She's been broken by this place just like everyone else.