SEVEN MONTHS IN THE DARK: THE MOTHER WHO BROKE THE SILENCE

A face appeared in the beam of the flashlight.

It was a woman, her features sharp and weathered, wearing a thick hunting jacket. She lowered the light, gesturing for me to stay quiet.

“If you scream, they’ll hear you,” she whispered. “Follow me. Step exactly where I step.”

I had no choice. I crawled out of the hollow, shivering so violently my teeth rattled.

We moved silently through the woods, away from the flickering lights of Eleanor’s search party. After twenty minutes of agonizing walking, my back throbbing with every step, we reached a small, hidden hunting cabin tucked against the edge of the quarry.

Once inside, the woman bolted the heavy wooden door and pulled thick blackout curtains over the windows before turning on a small battery-powered lantern.

She turned to me. I finally got a good look at her.

She shared David’s eyes.

“You’re Rachel,” I gasped. “David’s sister.”

Rachel had left town fifteen years ago. David always told me she was a drug addict who ran away. Eleanor refused to even speak her name.

“Sit down,” Rachel said, tossing me a thick wool blanket. “Before you collapse.”

I wrapped the blanket around myself, sinking into a dusty armchair. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not helping you,” Rachel said coldly, crossing her arms. “I’m stopping her. I’ve been watching that house for three weeks, waiting for a chance to get you out.”

“You know about the channel?”

“I know what she does to pregnant women in that house,” Rachel said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

I stared at her, the blood draining from my face. “What do you mean, women? Plural?”

Rachel walked over to a small wooden chest in the corner of the room. She opened it and pulled out a faded, yellowed photograph. She handed it to me.

It was a picture of Eleanor, much younger, standing next to a pregnant woman I didn’t recognize. The woman looked terrified, exhausted. Just like me.

“That was David’s first wife,” Rachel said quietly.

My breath stopped. “David was never married before.”

“Yes, he was,” Rachel said. “Her name was Clara. She was pregnant. Eleanor locked her away, just like she did to you. She streamed it on the dark web, catering to powerful men who get off on control and degradation. When the baby was born… Clara supposedly died of complications.”

“And the baby?” I whispered, trembling.

Rachel pointed at the photo. “You’re looking at him.”

My mind spun. David wasn't Eleanor’s son. David was the baby from the first broadcast. Eleanor had stolen him, raised him, and now, she was forcing him to repeat the cycle.

“He’s a victim too,” I breathed, looking down at the phone in my hand.

“Don’t pity him,” Rachel snapped, her eyes flashing. “He made his choice. Now, give me the phone.”

She held out her hand. The coldness in her eyes shifted into something desperate.

“Give it to me. I can sell it to the highest bidder on that subscriber list. We can both get out of here.”

She didn't want justice. She wanted a payout.

I clutched the phone tighter. “No.”

Rachel reached into her jacket and pulled out a hunting knife. “It wasn't a request.”