Chapter 384: Why Did Maya End Up Here?

Adam's POV

I moved through the shadows of the village, following the trail of dim lights from houses that weren't participating in the festival. The first house on my mental list belonged to the Sullivan family.

I approached silently, keeping to the shadows. The lock on their back door was simple—pathetically so. Within seconds, I had it open and was slipping inside. The house smelled musty, with undertones of something medicinal and sour.

"Who's there?" A woman's voice, high and frightened, called out from somewhere deeper in the house.

I moved toward the sound, stepping into what appeared to be a living room. A woman sat huddled in the corner, her wrists bound with what looked like a crude leather restraint attached to the wall. Her hair was matted, her face gaunt. When she saw me, she let out a piercing scream.

"Shh," I said, moving quickly toward her. "I'm not here to hurt you."

She continued screaming, thrashing against her restraints. I reached into my pocket, retrieving the syringe I'd brought for emergencies. It contained a mild sedative—enough to calm someone without knocking them out completely.

"This will help you calm down," I told her as I administered the injection. "I promise I'm here to help."

Her struggles weakened almost immediately, her eyes growing less wild as the sedative took effect. She stared at me, her breathing still rapid but no longer panicked.

"What's your name?" I asked gently.

She blinked slowly, the drug making her thoughts sluggish. "I'm... Maya Sullivan," she finally managed.

"Maya," I repeated, kneeling beside her to examine the restraints. "I'm Adam. I'm going to help you."

Her eyes widened. "Help me? No one... no one helps here."

"I'm not from here," I explained, working at the leather bindings. They were crude but effective, designed to allow limited movement without any chance of escape. "Maya, I need to know something, and I need you to be honest with me."

She nodded slowly, her gaze becoming slightly more focused as she adjusted to the medication.

"Were you brought here against your will?" I asked bluntly. "Were you trafficked?"

Her breath caught, and for a moment I thought she might start screaming again. Instead, tears welled in her eyes.

"You know," she whispered. "How do you know?"

"I suspected," I replied, finally freeing one of her wrists. "The way this village operates, the isolation, the gender imbalance—it all points to something deeply wrong."

Maya grabbed my arm suddenly, her fingers digging in with surprising strength. "Can you... can you really help me? Can I go home?"

The desperation in her voice made my chest tighten. "Home? Where is home for you?"

"A small town near Birchfield," she said, her words coming faster now. "My parents still live there. I was just... I was just traveling after high school graduation. I wanted to see some of the country before college. Then these men... they offered me a ride..." Her voice broke.

I gently freed my arm from her grip and worked on her other restraint. "What happened after they brought you here?"

Maya's story came out in broken fragments. Being locked in a basement. Beatings when she resisted. The iron chain they kept her on for the first year. A pregnancy she hadn't wanted, from a man whose name she didn't even know. An escape attempt with another woman, only to be caught by a driver who brought them back. The miscarriage that followed, whether from stress or deliberate action, she wasn't sure.

"I miss my parents," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I wonder if they think I'm dead."

I fought to keep my expression neutral, but inside I was seething. The pain in her grip as she clutched my arm again was nothing compared to what she must have endured.

"It's going to be okay," I promised her. "You and the others—you're all going to leave this place."

Her eyes widened. "Others? You know about the others?"

I nodded. "How many are there?"

"At least eight that I know of," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe more. We're not allowed to talk to each other. But I've seen them. I've heard them."

"Can you tell me where they are?"

Maya nodded, giving me rough directions to several houses scattered throughout the village. I memorized each location, then carefully administered another small dose of sedative.

"This will help you sleep," I explained as her eyelids began to droop. "I need to check on the others. I'll come back for you, Maya. I promise."

She nodded sleepily, already drifting off. I arranged her in a more comfortable position before slipping back out of the house.

The night had deepened, the sounds from the festival growing more distant as I made my way to the first location Maya had described—the Peterson house. As I approached, I could hear angry voices from inside. An old man was shouting, his words slurred with alcohol.

"Worthless bitch! Can't even cook a decent meal!"

A woman's voice responded, defiant despite a tremor of fear. "Go ahead, hit me again! You might as well kill me if you're so unhappy! You have the guts to do that?"

The old man's voice dropped lower, more menacing. "Don't tempt me, girl. We got rid of the last one who didn't know her place. Buried her out back with the others."

I felt my blood run cold. Others. How many women had died here? I wanted to break down the door right then, but I forced myself to move on. I needed to assess the full situation before taking action.

The second house—the Rhodes place—was quieter. Through a partially open window, I could see a woman sitting alone, tears streaming silently down her bruised face. She was whispering to herself, rocking back and forth, her gaze fixed on nothing. The vacant look in her eyes spoke of a mind that had retreated from reality.

At the Harper house, I found something even more disturbing. Behind the main building was a small shed that appeared to be a makeshift pen for sheep. Among the animals, huddled in the corner on a bed of dirty straw, was a woman. She was barely clothed, her body filthy, her eyes as vacant as those of the animals around her. She didn't even look up when I approached the pen's edge.

The fourth location led me to a scene that twisted my gut. Through a basement window, I could see a woman frantically trying to pick a lock on a door. Her hands were bleeding, leaving smears on the metal. She kept muttering, "Get out, get out, get out," over and over. When she looked down and noticed the iron chain around her ankle, she began beating her own leg with her fists, as if punishing it for being shackled.

By the time I'd completed my circuit of the houses Maya had identified, my hands were shaking with barely contained rage. This village's secret wasn't just about widowers. It was a trafficking ring, possibly operating for years, with women brought in to replace those who died or became too broken to serve their purpose.

I pulled out my phone, staring at the screen. There was one person I could trust with this—someone who had the resources and discretion to handle a situation this volatile.

I dialed Rex's number, stepping deeper into the shadows.