The Omission Index, Ch 8: Cold Gospel Pt. 2

Daniel, forced to obey. The feeling, an old ache settled deep in Hale's bones. The flickering lamplight of the Calloway barn showed him a reflection. A younger version of himself, twisted, caught in a power he hadn't asked for. SHEPARD had called it 'Activation Enhancement.' Silas Blackwood, 'Divine Anointing.'

Different names. Same cold machinery grinding up children.

He'd hardly slept. The small motel room outside Clay County didn't offer much rest, but that wasn't what kept him staring at water stains on the ceiling. Daniel's flinching obedience played behind his eyelids. Silas's hungry look. The wave of desperate faith from the crowd, thick enough to taste.

Kwan sat at the rickety table, methodically cleaning his glasses. His usual calm had cracked, revealing something harder underneath.

"Coffee?" Kwan asked, though they both knew the motel's machine produced something closer to brown water.

"Why not."

The silence stretched between them as Kwan worked the machine. Steam hissed. The smell of burnt grounds filled the air.

"The boy's terrified," Hale said finally.

"More than that." Kwan handed him a cup. "He's in pain. You could see it in how he held himself, the way his hands shook."

"His power's unstable because it's being forced." Hale wrapped his fingers around the warm ceramic. "Twisted."

Kwan nodded slowly. "Clara Jenkins was right. Daniel's not just quiet - he's a prisoner. We won't get to him directly. Not with Silas watching him like a hawk."

"So what do we do?"

"Find someone Silas doesn't see as a threat." Kwan settled into the chair across from him. "Someone who might have seen something useful."

Hale thought of the night before. The smoky bar, Molly's easy laughter that had, for a few hours, pushed the darkness away. Her casual comment about the preacher being "creepy" felt less like bar talk now.

"The women from last night," he said. "Molly mentioned Silas. Said she didn't like how he treated Daniel."

"You think they'd talk to us? After last night, they might be suspicious of 'city boys' asking questions."

"Molly seemed genuinely worried about the kid. And Lynn..." Hale pictured those sharp, observant eyes. "She's the type who'd notice things. Protect people."

"Worth a try." Kwan drained his cup and grimaced. "Better than trying to storm Silas's camp."

***

Finding them wasn't hard. Lynn worked at the lumber mill on the edge of town - a sprawling maze of stacked pine that smelled of sawdust and diesel fuel. The whine of circular saws cut through the air.

They found her on lunch break, sitting on fresh-cut lumber with Mary Lou, sharing a sandwich that looked homemade.

Lynn's easy smile from the night before vanished when she spotted them approaching. Her shoulders squared.

"Well, well." She took a deliberate bite of her sandwich. "Look what the cat dragged in. Y'all lose your way back to the big city?"

"Still in town on business," Kwan said, keeping his voice easy. "Hoped we could ask you and Molly a few questions. About Silas Blackwood and the boy."

Mary Lou glanced between them, then at Lynn. A silent conversation passed between the women.

"What kind of questions?" Lynn's tone could have cut glass.

"Just trying to understand the situation better," Hale said. "Molly mentioned she had concerns about Daniel."

"Molly's got a soft heart." Lynn's jaw tightened. "Worries about stray dogs and lost kids. Doesn't mean anything's wrong."

The denial came too quick, too defensive.

"We saw the service last night," Kwan said quietly. "Daniel didn't look well. And the way Silas handled him..."

Lynn's sandwich stopped halfway to her mouth. "Yeah, well. Silas has always been rough with that boy. Thinks he's shaping him for the Lord." She snorted. "More like trying to get fire from damp wood."

"Is Molly working today?" Hale asked.

"Afternoon shift at the diner. Starts in an hour." Lynn studied them both, something calculating in her expression. "She's been talking about that kid all morning. Said he looked worse than usual last night. Skittish as a rabbit in a hawk's shadow."

She met Hale's eyes directly. "If you're really looking to help the boy - and not just stir up trouble for folks who've got enough of it - maybe she'll talk to you."

The qualifier hung in the air like a challenge.

"Maybe."

***

The Mountain View Diner lived up to its name about as well as a roadside shack could. Molly worked behind the counter, her movements tired. The liveliness from the night before had drained away.

When she saw them, surprise flickered across her face, followed by something more guarded.

"Hey." Her voice was quieter than before. "Didn't expect to see you boys again so soon."

"We were hoping you could tell us more about Daniel," Hale said. "You mentioned you were worried."

Molly glanced around the nearly empty diner, then leaned closer. "Worried isn't strong enough." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I saw him in town with Silas two days ago. Buying feed at Henderson's. Daniel looked like a ghost - pale, shaky. He had this look in his eyes, like he was seeing things that weren't there."

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "And he kept rubbing his head, like it was about to split. When he stumbled - just caught his toe on a loose board - Silas grabbed his arm so hard I thought he'd break it. The boy didn't even cry out. Just... cringed."

"Have you heard any talk?" Kwan asked gently. "Rumors about how Silas treats him? About those fire displays?"

Molly worried her lower lip. "People whisper. Some say Silas is a saint, working miracles. Others..." She glanced toward the door, then back. "Others say he's got a dark side. That the fires aren't always so holy."

"What kind of dark side?"

"Old Man Hemlock lives up the valley, near the barn. He swears he saw strange lights there last month. Late one night, not during a service. Said he heard chanting that sounded... wrong. Like something being forced."

Molly's blue eyes filled with genuine concern. "That boy isn't right. Silas is doing something to him. If there was a way to get him away from that man..." She straightened, decision crystallizing in her expression. "I'd help if I could. I know places. Ways to move unseen around here."

The offer hung between them, risky and real.

The diner's bell chimed as Lynn walked in, her mill shift clearly over. She gave Molly a supporting nod, then turned to Hale and Kwan. Her expression had shifted from hostile to something more complex.

"If you're serious about this," she said, voice low and firm, "and I mean genuinely serious about helping that kid - not just making a federal mess - then maybe we can talk."

She pulled out a chair and sat down uninvited. "But you need to understand something. Silas Blackwood isn't just some loudmouth preacher. He's got people around here under his thumb. You go against him, you go against them. And things can get ugly in these hills. Real fast."

Kwan leaned forward. "We understand the risks. Our main concern is Daniel's safety. If you have information that could help us reach him..."

Lynn studied their faces for a long moment. Whatever she saw there seemed to satisfy her.

"There's an old woman," she said finally. "Martha Pearsall. She lives on the edge of Silas's group. Religious, but she's got a good heart. She cared for Daniel before Silas got his hooks in deep. Sometimes - when Silas allows it - she lets Daniel help in her garden. Probably the only time the kid gets to breathe free."

She paused, weighing her next words. "If anyone could get near Daniel without Silas throwing a fit, or pass a message... it might be Martha."

It was thin, but it was something. A thread they could pull.

***

Back at the motel, Kwan spread out their meager intelligence on the narrow table. Public records on Silas painted a picture of rural simplicity - old census data, an unpaid tax bill from Tennessee. Nothing that screamed criminal mastermind.

"The small things bother me," Hale said, staring at the papers. "Clara Jenkins mentioned Silas makes regular trips to Charleston. Claims it's for 'church supplies.'"

"Charleston's a long way to go for hymnals," Kwan agreed.

"I'm going back to the barn. During the day, when it's empty. Maybe I can pick up something we missed."

Kwan looked up from his notes. "You sure that's wise? If Silas has people watching..."

"I need to try. There's something we're missing."

***

The Calloway barn stood empty under a flat gray sky. Inside, dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight streaming through gaps in the boards. The smell lingered - old hay, dust, and something metallic that made Hale's skin crawl.

He moved to the makeshift podium, running his gloved fingers over the rough wood. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his mind.

The usual echoes were there - Silas's pride, the crowd's fervent faith - but fainter now, like old stains. He pushed deeper, searching for something beneath the religious theater.

There. A leftover tension, sharp and worried. The purpose of secret meetings had left its mark on this place. Quick images flashed through his mind: Silas looking uncharacteristically respectful, talking with two men in expensive suits that didn't belong in these hills. Their faces were unclear, but they radiated cold professionalism.

Money changed hands. A small metallic case.

Hale's eyes snapped open. His throat tasted sour. This wasn't just Silas.

He began searching the small curtained area Silas used as a dressing room. Under a loose floorboard, hidden beneath dusty hymnals, he found a thin notebook. Most of it contained sermon notes and donor lists. But the back pages...

Different handwriting. Dates, initials. "S.B." and "D.P." Next to sums of money that were far too large for this poor congregation.

"Consultation Fee - A.G.I."

"Activation Protocol - Stage 1."

"Stabilization Serum - Batch 7."

"Performance Bonus - D.P. successful."

The notebook slipped from his suddenly numb fingers. A.G.I. Advanced Genesis Initiatives. He'd heard whispers at SHEPARD. Unethical activation experiments. Forced awakenings for wealthy clients.

His vision blurred. The barn's rough walls seemed to press closer. White pod. Machinery humming. Auracite dust settling on his skin like snow. Voices, calm and detached: 'Unlocking potential.' His own will dissolving, mind reshaped by unseen hands.

The violation wasn't the pain. It was the loss of control. Being turned into a tool.

He grabbed the notebook with shaking hands, photographing the pages with his SHEPARD camera. Every clinical notation, every reduction of Daniel's suffering to dollar signs and test parameters.

The boy wasn't just being abused. He was a product. An experiment.

***

"You look like hell," Kwan said when Hale returned to the motel room hours later.

"Found something." Hale's voice came out rougher than intended. He tossed the camera onto the bed. "Silas didn't find a boy with powers. He bought them."

Kwan's eyebrows rose as Hale explained. The notebook. The payments. The clinical language that reduced a child's torture to experimental data.

"A.G.I.," Kwan said quietly. "I'll run it through SHEPARD's database, but if they're as connected as you think..."

"They forced his abilities out." Hale sat heavily on the bed's edge. "Shaped them to mirror Silas's. The boy's a prototype. A proof of concept."

"And now?"

"Now they're probably planning the final demonstration. See how stable their product is under stress."

Kwan's usual calm cracked entirely. "We need to contact Martha Pearsall. Tonight."

***

By the time Kwan returned the next evening, word had spread through the valley's gossip networks. Silas was planning something big. A "Night of True Anointing" at the barn. His biggest performance yet.

"Martha's scared," Kwan reported. "But she loves that boy. She'll try to get close to him, see how he's doing."

"And?"

"She's not optimistic. Says Silas has been keeping Daniel isolated. Barely lets him out of sight."

They were interrupted by a soft knock. Molly stood in the doorway, her face pale.

"Martha came to see me," she said, stepping inside. "She managed to slip Daniel some cornbread this afternoon. Said he grabbed it like a starving animal, ate so fast he nearly choked."

Her voice cracked. "His hands were covered in blisters. Fresh ones. Like he'd been forced to hold something burning. He tried to hide them, but Martha saw."

The casual cruelty of it hit Hale like a physical blow. His own memories stirred - different pain, same disregard for the person suffering it.

"He told her..." Molly continued, tears threatening. "He whispered that Silas makes him 'practice' the fire. For hours. Even when it hurts so bad he cries. Even when he begs him to stop."

"What did Silas tell him?" Kwan asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.

"That the pain was 'God burning away his weakness. His sinfulness.'"

The systematic breaking of a child, disguised as divine purpose. Hale's hands clenched into fists.

"This Night of Anointing," he said. "It's their endgame. They're pushing Daniel to his breaking point, trying to force a full power display. For their final performance bonus."

"And Silas gets to play God in front of a barn full of people," Kwan added grimly.

"We can't let that happen."

***

Lynn arrived an hour later, her expression grim. She'd seen Silas in town, she reported. Strutting around like he owned the place, with Daniel trailing behind "like a beaten dog."

"The kid looked like death walking," she said. "Pale as winter moonlight, swaying on his feet. His hands were shaking - couldn't seem to stop. And there were fresh bruises on his cheek, angry purple marks half-hidden by his hair."

She sat down uninvited, her voice dropping. "Whatever Silas has planned for Saturday night, it's happening at that barn. And that boy... he won't survive it. Not in the state he's in."

"We intervene," Hale said simply.

"That barn will be packed with his most loyal followers," Kwan warned. "If A.G.I. has people there..."

"We'll need a plan," Lynn said. "A damn good one."

She leaned forward, her expression shifting to something more calculating. "I know that barn. Know the people who'll be there. The back wall, where the old tobacco chute used to be - the wood's rotted through in places. A determined person could slip through if they knew where to push."

"What about exits?" Hale asked.

"Main doors, and two side exits most folks know about. But there's an old animal trail that runs along the creek bed. Comes up right behind the barn, hidden by rhododendrons. Poachers use it sometimes."

"Security?"

"Silas always has a couple of his boys watching the main entrance. Big, dumb, loyal. But if there's trouble inside, they'll focus on protecting him."

"A diversion," Kwan said thoughtfully.

Lynn's smile was sharp. "I could cause a good ruckus. Strategically knock over some of those kerosene lamps near the back. Start a panic away from where Silas is performing. Get people moving toward the exits they know."

"That's incredibly dangerous," Hale said. "Fire in a wooden barn, panicked crowd..."

"I know how to handle myself." Lynn's tone brooked no argument. "And I know these people. I shout 'copperhead' and half that barn will clear out orderly-like, long as they see a safe way to go."

Molly spoke up then, her voice surprisingly steady. "When you get Daniel out... he'll need somewhere safe. Somewhere quiet, before your people take him."

She met Hale's eyes directly. "My aunt's got a hunting cabin up on Pinnacle Ridge. Empty this time of year. No phone, barely a road. If you could get him there..."

"That's asking a lot," Hale said carefully.

"That boy's been through hell," Molly replied. "He deserves a few hours of peace before whatever comes next."

Hale considered it. Involving civilians this deeply violated every protocol. But these women weren't just civilians anymore. They were angry, protective, and driven by something SHEPARD's manual couldn't quantify.

"Alright," he said finally. "But you understand the risks. If Silas loses control, if A.G.I. has more security than we expect..."

"We understand," Lynn said. Her voice carried no bravado, only cold certainty. "This is our fight too. What Silas is doing - what those bastards are doing to that boy - it stops Saturday night."

"One way or another," Molly added quietly.

The plan took shape in the dim motel room. Desperate and improvised, built on SHEPARD training, local knowledge, and the unexpected steel of two women who'd decided they'd seen enough.

Outside, the neon sign buzzed and flickered. Saturday night was two days away.

***