The Paradigm of Evil: Redemption ebook

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to all the organizations and people who, every single day, stand up in defense of abused children and animals.

To those who, in a world full of evil, do everything they can to make it a little safer—thank you.

To my children, my parents, my siblings and their families, and my friends—for their love, their support, and their faith in justice.

PROLOGUE

"MERCY TO THE GUILTY IS CRUELTY TO THE INNOCENT."

—Adam Smith, The Theory of Moral Sentiments

This story is not entirely true. But neither is it entirely invented. Not everything here is fact. Nor is all of it a lie. Some of these events did happen—though perhaps in another form, at another time, under another name. The rest is fiction. Or perhaps the truth has simply not yet come to light. Time alone will tell which of it is a work of imagination. I leave it to the reader to find the answer— to where the truth ends and the fiction begins.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter I — Genesis

Chapter II — The Whistleblower

Chapter III — The Transaction

Chapter IV — Virus

Chapter V — Primum Non Nocere

Chapter VI — The Reaping

Chapter VII — Pedophobia

Chapter VIII — The Fortress

Epilogue

Chapter I

GENESIS

United States, Maryland, BaltimoreCaribbean Islands, Dominica

Maryland, Baltimore

What if the world had an army that fought evil? fourteen-year-old Jeremy thought as he watched yet another Batman movie, the Michael Keaton one. And what if it wasn't just one Batman, but dozens—hundreds, even thousands of them? What if they operated like that, living in every country in the world… His imagination stretched past its own limits.

From an early age, Jeremy Hill had been fascinated by the fight against evil and the idea of bringing wrongdoers to justice. Spider-Man, Superman, and Batman were the heroes he'd given countless hours to. Stacks of comic books and videotapes filled the shelves of his room, all of it under a thick coat of dust.

"Mom, who cares about cleaning," he'd say every time she walked in, "when the world is ruled by chaos, and crime spreads like a virus, wiping out the weak and ravaging the face of the earth?"

What makes a person do such depraved things? Is someone born evil? Or do we all come into the world the same—innocent children—and life and our surroundings decide the kind of people we become? Can a good person cross over to the other side because of what they live through? How does that happen? What drives the process that shapes who we are? Those were the questions Jeremy asked himself every time he heard about another murder, another rape, another abuse case on the news.

His classmates were interested in girls, dating, and fast cars. Not Jeremy. His mind was on the world's problems, and day after day he went looking for answers. He wondered how our view of the world, our attitudes, our actions get shaped, and what shapes them. Why are some people rotten to the core, while others carry such extraordinary empathy that they can't stand by and watch the innocent suffer?

* * *

"Hello?" A middle-aged woman answered in a hurry.

"Good afternoon. Am I speaking with Mrs. Elizabeth Hill?"

"Yes, good afternoon. How can I help you?"

"Mrs. Hill, this is Agatha Moreno, from Principal Langley's office," the caller said, a hint of irritation in her voice.

"I'm sorry—from where?" Elizabeth's expression sharpened at once.

"Principal Langley's office. Your son's school."

"Has something happened to Jeremy?" the worried mother asked.

"That's an unusual thing to ask, Mrs. Hill, but let me reassure you right away—Jeremy is perfectly fine," the secretary said, sounding annoyed.

"Then what is this about?" The mother's voice softened.

Jeremy attended one of the most prestigious high schools in the United States—National Boarding School. His parents hadn't enrolled him for the prestige or the elite circles, but for the private security the school provided. Jeremy was far from the only student in that position. At National Boarding School, in fact, it was unusual to see a student walking the campus without a bodyguard.

His father's company—Hill Corporation—was one of the largest, most influential in the country. As philanthropists, Jeremy's parents were known for their generosity toward the homeless, sick children, and stray animals. They landed on the front pages of the papers often, which drew the attention of people with far less honorable intentions. More than once they'd received threatening letters, death wishes, threats to kidnap their children. Protecting the family had always come first, and those threats only cemented their decision to hire private security.

"Mrs. Hill, today Jeremy beat up one of his classmates. Quite brutally," the secretary said.

"What? I don't understand. My son isn't aggressive. Something must have happened to make him react that way," she said, already coming to his defense.

Elizabeth was one of those composed, well-spoken women who kept their emotions in check and treated everyone with courtesy. She even had a gift for driving people to the edge of frustration simply by staying calm. But when it came to her children, she defended them like a lioness—especially when she believed they'd been accused unfairly.

"Mrs. Hill, it would be best if you came in for a meeting with the principal. There's no point discussing this over the phone."

"I'll be there," she said. "But let me make one thing perfectly clear. Before I speak with Principal Langley, I'm going to speak with my son and get the whole story from him. I intend to find out exactly what led him to beat up his classmate. And I'll say it again, Mrs. Moreno—he must have had a very good reason. My son is not a thug." Elizabeth's voice was firm. "Let's be perfectly clear on that."

"Mrs. Hill, you already know our school doesn't tolerate any form of violence, whatever the circumstances."

"We'll talk when I get there. Expect me."

Elizabeth hung up and set the receiver gently back in its cradle. She picked up her black Gucci handbag, slid the strap onto her shoulder, and swept through the snow-white wooden doors of their home.

In the driveway stood a black armored Ford Explorer. A tall, athletic man stepped out from behind it, in an elegant black suit without a single visible crease. His polished patent leather shoes were laced with thin, ebony laces. Short, impeccably trimmed hair and a well-groomed beard added to his commanding presence. He crossed to the rear passenger door, took the handle, and opened it.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hill," he said to his employer.

"Good afternoon, Michael," she answered, concern in her voice.

"Where are we headed, Mrs. Hill?"

"Jeremy's school, please."

"Everything all right?" he asked, catching the worry in her eyes.

"We'll see, Michael. I don't know what happened, but I got a call from the principal's office—they say Jeremy badly beat up one of his classmates."

Michael's eyes went as wide as fifty-cent pieces. Michael O'Donnell had been Elizabeth Hill's driver and bodyguard for years. He'd known Jeremy since the boy was four, and never once had he seen even a flicker of aggression in him. Just the opposite—kindness, compassion, empathy were the things that defined the kid. That made it all the harder for Michael to believe Jeremy could have beaten anyone up without a very good reason.

"That seems highly unlikely, Mrs. Hill," he said, trying to reassure her.

"I can't imagine what could have driven him to it."

"Anything I can do to help?" Michael asked.

"Thank you. For now, I'd like to find out for myself what this is all about. Let's go."

"Yes, Mrs. Hill."

* * *

Down a road paved with gray and white cobblestones, Michael and Elizabeth pulled up to an enormous colonial-era red-brick building whose stunning architecture set it apart at a glance.

Elizabeth waited for Michael to open her door before she stepped out. She made for the entrance with confident strides. Mrs. Moreno was already waiting, motioning the way with a bony hand. The secretary shut the heavy oak doors behind her—no small feat, given her slight build—then followed Elizabeth down the hall.

"Where's Jeremy, Mrs. Moreno?" Elizabeth asked, curt. "As I said, I'd like to see my son first."

"Of course, Mrs. Hill." The assistant's voice was noticeably friendlier now. "First door on the right, directly across from Principal Langley's office. Right this way," she said, gesturing ahead again.

"Thank you," Elizabeth replied coolly, and closed the door behind her.

She stepped into the room and stopped in front of the large window that took up most of the far wall. Beyond the glass, the treetops glowed in brilliant autumn colors.

"Mom!"

Jeremy shouted and ran to her, throwing his arms around her like he never wanted to let go.

"Jeremy! Are you all right, sweetheart?" She cupped his face in her hands and studied his blue eyes.

"Yes, Mom. I'm fine," the boy assured her.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. But it's a shame you didn't get to see that goddamn jerk." Jeremy bounced on the balls of his feet.

"Jeremy. Watch your language," she warned.

"But Mom, I can't come up with a better word for a piece of filth like him," he said, frustrated.

"Try. Go on."

"Okay. We were outside for recess," he began. "Playing ball, when I heard this awful sound. At first it was like a newborn crying—except there aren't any little kids here. A second later I heard it again. That's when I realized it was a cat. I ran toward the woods. First person I see is that meathead from the upper grade, John O'Callaghan. I ran up, grabbed him by the arm, spun him around. And then—" Jeremy went quiet, his eyes glistening.

"And then what, Jeremy?" His mother's face was turning to horror.

"And then, Mom—" He swallowed hard. "It was awful. He had a tiny kitten in one hand and a knife in the other. I took the whole thing in at once—it was like time just stopped. You know that feeling, Mom?" He looked at her for confirmation. "The kitten already had the pads sliced open on one of its front paws. I yelled, 'What are you doing?' You know what he said?"

"Go on."

"'I'm about to do the rest of them.' And then he laughed. Wasn't even bothered I'd caught him. Goddamn piece of trash," Jeremy said through clenched teeth. "I snapped. I tackled him. Johnny went down. I grabbed the kitten and set it on the leaves. Then I went back and beat the hell out of that piece of trash. He didn't stand a chance. After, while he was lying there, I picked up the knife and cut the palm of his hand." He looked back at his mother, waiting for a reaction.

"Jesus Christ, Jeremy!" she said.

"I'm sorry, Mom, but I couldn't help it. How can anyone be that cruel? How can anyone mutilate an innocent animal? What kind of monster does that?"

"It's all right, sweetheart." She pulled him in. "What happened to the kitten?" she asked, worry in her voice.

"Mrs. Moreno called a vet. They already picked him up. She said they'd take him to a shelter after."

"He's not going to any shelter. We're taking him home," she said, firm, straightening and lifting her chin as if to seal it.

"Really?" Jeremy looked at her like she was a guardian angel who'd just saved one more life.

"Yes, Jeremy. I'll take care of it in a minute. And that idiot Johnny?" she asked, if only out of basic decency.

"Well… his face is bruised, his hand's bandaged. Overall, he'll be fine. Just needs time to heal—that's what Mrs. Moreno said. I told him if I ever saw anything like that again, or heard he'd hurt another animal, it wouldn't end nearly as easy as it did this time."

"Jeremy, you can't say things like that. Those are criminal threats. You already taught him a lesson."

"He won't say a word, Mom. I promise," Jeremy said, firm.

"All right. Let's see what Mr. Langley has to say." She sighed, drew herself up, and composed herself. Then she and Jeremy started for the door. She wrapped her hand around the handle, opening the gate to the hell waiting in the school hallway.

"Mrs. Moreno, please take me to Principal Langley."

* * *

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hill. Please, have a seat." The principal gestured to a nineteenth-century wooden chair with a leather seat.

The moment Elizabeth sat down across from Langley, she remembered how she'd felt the last time she'd been called into a principal's office—back in high school. She'd punched a boy in the back row square in the nose after he tried to grab her backside. Ever since her late grandfather gave her the first and only piece of advice she'd ever needed, she had never let anyone disrespect her.

"Lisa, you've got two hands. Use them to defend yourself, and never let anyone treat you with disrespect."

His words had become her motto.

God, why do I have to go through this again? she thought, as a chill of unease ran through her.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Langley," she said, stern. "But before you begin—" She swept her curly brown hair back over her shoulder. "—I'd like to ask whether the parents of that… that—" She caught herself just in time, swallowing the insult before it slipped out. The principal's office was hardly the place. "Have the O'Callaghans arrived yet?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hill, and that's exactly why I wanted to speak with you as soon as possible." He looked at her like a tiger fixing on its prey.

"Wonderful," she said dryly, though she felt anything but comfortable.

"Mrs. Hill, you know perfectly well that violence is strictly forbidden at this school and always carries consequences. No exceptions. We have never tolerated this kind of behavior, we don't tolerate it now, and we never will. I'm sure you understand what that means."

"First of all, I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak to me in that condescending tone." She held Langley's gaze without a blink. "Second, this actually works out rather well, Principal Langley, because the behavior of one of your students—" Again she stopped short of saying something she'd regret. "—borders on criminal."

"Mrs. Hill, I'm talking about your son. Behavior like his is taken very seriously," he said, unable to hide his frustration. "And to be completely honest, John's parents are considering a petition for Jeremy's expulsion. They've said more than once that they intend to file suit against him—and against you, as his parents."

"I'm sorry?" Elizabeth's eyebrow shot up, her anger impossible to miss now. "You can't possibly be serious," she said with a scornful little laugh.

"I assure you, Mrs. Hill, I am. Those are our rules, and that's the law."

That was the moment Langley finally pushed her too far. Her mind went straight to work, running every angle for the strongest response.

"Very well. If that's the direction we're taking, then I have no problem with it." A faint, ominous smile crossed her face. "I have just one question. Am I right that John's father is currently running for governor?"

"Yes, that's correct. But what does that have to do with anything, Mrs. Hill? Your son assaulted another student, not the other way around."

"Absolutely true, Mr. Langley." A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "No argument there. But tell me—what do you think Mr. O'Callaghan's voters will say when they hear what his son did? Do you think they'll vote for a man raising a sadistic psychopath?" She leaned forward, both hands on the desk, eyes fixed on his.

"But—"

"Let me finish, Mr. Langley," she cut in, calm. "What do you think people will say about your school? Just picture tomorrow's headline: Sadistic Student Attends One of the Most Prestigious Schools in the United States. I imagine your competitors would be thrilled. And one more question, Mr. Langley—what will people think when they find out this immature son of a bitch tortured a defenseless little kitten, and Jeremy beat him up over it?"

She hit every word, making sure Langley understood exactly what would happen if he chose to side against her son.

"Good Lord," he muttered.

His eyes dropped to the desk.

It was the look of a man who knew he'd lost.

He realized there was no point arguing anymore. Elizabeth had laid out arguments that could badly damage the school's reputation and O'Callaghan's campaign both. Publicity like that would do no one any good.

"I understand, Mrs. Hill," he said at last, with a deep sigh.

"Mr. Langley, here's what you're going to do." Her voice stayed perfectly level. "You're going to speak with that monster's parents and pass along my message. Their son may stay at this school—but only if he starts therapy with a qualified psychologist and never harms another animal again. It goes without saying he should never be allowed to own another living creature. I trust we agree on that. And as for you, Principal Langley, you'll accept help from the animal-welfare foundation I work with. You'll make room in every class schedule for lectures on empathy and respect for animals. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hill. Perfectly clear," he said, helpless.

"Oh, and one more thing. You don't need to concern yourself with my son anymore. I'll take care of him. And the kitten." She picked up her handbag. "Goodbye, Mr. Langley."

She turned on her heel and walked out with her head high.

She went straight to the secretary's office.

"Mrs. Moreno, I'd like my son excused from the rest of today's classes, and I'll need the address of the veterinary clinic where you took that poor kitten," she said, looking down at the secretary behind her desk.

"Mrs. Hill, I can assure you it's one of the best clinics in the area," Agatha said, sounding a little intimidated.

"Thank you, Mrs. Moreno, for taking care of him. I truly appreciate it." Elizabeth's smile warmed. "Now—the address, please. The kitten's coming home with us. We're certainly not leaving that poor little thing at a shelter."

Agatha stepped away from her desk to tell Jeremy he could join his mother, then came back, wrote down the name and address of the clinic, and handed it over.

"Come on, Jeremy. Let's go pick up the reason this whole thing started." She smiled and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

"And what about me?" the still-worked-up boy asked.

"I'll tell you everything later."

As they walked the hallway toward the exit, they spotted Johnny sitting on a bench beside his parents.

"And where do you think you're going, Elizabeth?" O'Callaghan shouted, furious. "This isn't over. Your son's a thug, and he'll answer for what he did."

Elizabeth stopped in the middle of the hallway and slowly turned. She walked toward Johnny's father, heels clicking across the hardwood.

"You've got it wrong, Tom. It's your son who's the thug. And the sadist." She looked at the whole family with open contempt. "And this matter's already been settled."

She smiled.

"On my terms."

"You'd better go have a word with Langley."

Tom O'Callaghan didn't say another word. He knew confidence like hers didn't come from nowhere.

He turned to his son.

"What did you do, you little bastard? Tell me—what the hell did you do?"

Mrs. Hill slipped her arm around Jeremy again, smiled at him, and together they walked to the exit. Behind them came the furious shouts of the gubernatorial candidate and the sobbing of his son.

Michael was already waiting by the SUV, holding the rear door open.

"Mrs. Hill. Jeremy." He nodded. "Everything all right?"

"Yes, Michael. It is now." Smiling, she handed him the slip of paper. "Before we head home, let's stop by the vet. Here's the address."

"Yes, Mrs. Hill."

* * *

"Hey, Jeremy. What are you doing here? How did you get in? The door has a keypad lock," Edward asked, uneasy. "You know you're not supposed to come in here." Even though the boy had broken the rules, Edward hugged him tight, like he hadn't seen him in months, then gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"I know, Dad, but the door was open, so I figured I'd come in and say hi."

"You could've called me, like we agreed. Right?" Their eyes met. "You know I'll always make time for you. Just don't come in here again. Please. This is no place for kids," he said, calm.

"Dad, I'm not a kid anymore." Jeremy puffed himself up like a peacock.

You don't say that to a teenager whose hormones are swirling like a Texas tornado, Edward thought, catching himself just before the words got out. "You're right. You're not a kid anymore. But you'll always be my child." He smiled, put an arm around his son's shoulders, turned him toward the door, and steered him out. Compared to the brightly lit room that seemed to call to him, the hallway was fairly dark. Jeremy had never seen that room before. He was like a moth, drawn helplessly to the light.

Jeremy stopped.

"Dad… I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Son, don't apologize to me. Just don't come looking in here again."

"Dad, that's not what I'm apologizing for."

"Then what are you apologizing for?" Edward asked.

Jeremy didn't answer. He only cut his eyes toward the room he hadn't reached before running into his father. In that instant, Edward understood exactly what his son was about to do. He tried to stop him, but it all happened at once—too fast, and yet as if in slow motion. Jeremy twisted free of his father's arm, pushed off with both feet, and sprinted for the brightly lit room.

Edward reached for him, but it was already too late. All he could do was run after him as fast as he could.

"Jeremy, stop! I'm begging you! Stop!" The cry tore out of Edward's throat. "Stop! This will ruin your life! Jeremy!"

To Edward, time seemed to stop. He felt like he was running in place while Jeremy got farther and farther away.

Jeremy burst into the room and looked around. A second later, he froze. He stood there like a statue as tiny tears of despair welled up and slowly turned into a steady stream. Edward knew exactly what was happening inside his son's head. He knew the boy like the back of his hand—the kind of person he was, the emotions that moved him, the extraordinary empathy he'd been given.

"No! Jeremy!" Edward dropped to his knees, clutching his head in both hands. "No!" he cried again.

Jeremy stared at every wall in horror. Slowly, piece by piece, he took the place in, trying to force out words—any sound at all. He couldn't. He stood there like a pillar of salt, unable to move. He was as frozen as someone caught in sleep paralysis—fully aware and yet unable to make a single motion, desperate to draw a breath the nightmare had stolen. That was exactly how Jeremy felt as he uncovered his father's secret.

What the hell is this? he asked himself. My father is a psychopath. A sadist. A flood of thoughts overwhelmed him. How could he do this to me? How could he do this to other people? God… why? Tell me why. Whenever Jeremy needed strength, he turned to God, who he believed watched over him and carried him through the darkest moments of his life.

Father and son were trapped in the same abyss of grief and despair, though for entirely different reasons. Until that moment, Jeremy had believed his father was a saint. A protector who'd always been there for him, his sister, his mother—the whole family. And not only for them. To the world, Edward Hill was a philanthropist, a man who gave himself to helping those in need. In a single instant, Jeremy's whole world came down like a Jenga tower after the wrong block is pulled. He regretted his reckless decision.

I never should've come here.

He was furious with himself for that overwhelming need to uncover what had been hidden. Because of his bottomless curiosity, the world he'd always known had just ceased to exist.

For years, Edward had done everything in his power to keep his darkest secret from the son he loved more than life. Every precaution had held—until now. Only he knew the access code to the hidden room beneath the house. No one else had ever been trusted with it. Still, he'd left one safeguard behind—information locked in a safe-deposit box for his wife in the event of his death. Everything he did was wrapped in absolute secrecy. Apart from him, only a handful of people knew the truth. If it ever came to light, the spotless reputation Edward and his family had built over the years would be destroyed. They'd be dragged through the mud, and exposing that secret would hand their competitors an immeasurable advantage.

Jeremy would never have imagined that the guests who came to the parties at their home belonged to an organization tangled up in something so horrifying.

"My whole life has been a lie," Jeremy whispered, letting out a deep breath. He took a few unsteady steps until the backs of his legs hit a sofa against the wall. He sank into the cushions and buried his face in a pillow beside him. Tears still ran down his cheeks, though the flood had slowed to the occasional drop.

Edward couldn't move. He just stood there, staring at his son, wondering what was going through his mind, what he was feeling right then. He felt like the victim of a mob hit dumped into the ocean—clawing to breathe where there was no air, fighting to reach the surface. After a long moment, he pushed himself slowly to his feet with trembling hands. Then, careful not to startle Jeremy, he walked toward him.

"Jeremy… please. Let me explain everything," Edward said softly.

"Don't come near me!" Jeremy shouted. "I don't even want to know you!"

"Son, it's not what you think," Edward said, desperation in his voice. "I asked you so many times to stay away from this room, didn't I?"

"Who even are you, Dad?" Jeremy turned on him, fixing him with a dark, unsettling stare.

"I'm your father."

"Cut the crap, Dad! What the hell is going on here? Who are you? What did you do to these people? To those animals? Are you a Satanist? Are the parties in our basement some kind of sick Satanic thing?" The questions poured out, each one driven by the horrifying images still burned into his mind.

"No, Jeremy!" Edward protested. "Enough! Just let me explain. You came barging in here despite everything I told you. At least hear me out."

Jeremy looked at his father again, slowly shaking his head in disbelief.

"Go ahead, then! Talk! Explain! I'm dying to hear what you've got!" he shouted.

Edward went to the desk, pulled out a chair, and set it across from Jeremy. As he sat, he gathered his thoughts, ordering everything he'd meant to say when this day finally came—the day his children would learn the secret he'd hidden for so many years. He looked Jeremy dead in the eye and swallowed hard, feeling it scrape down his throat.

"Son," he began. "Not everything is the way it looks. You'll have to find the truth for yourself, but before you do, let me explain what you saw here, and what's behind it. You know the saying, 'Don't judge a book by its cover,' right?"

"Yeah, I know it," Jeremy said. "But what does that have to do with any of this?"

"You already judged me, didn't you? You assumed I was the one who did something so unimaginably sick."

"Well… yeah." Jeremy's voice softened as he tried to see where his father was going. "What else was I supposed to think?"

"Exactly. Without knowing what was really going on, you jumped to conclusions and accused me. That's only human." Edward drew a deep breath. "I once heard a story. There was a family—I don't even remember what country they lived in. Maybe it was never said. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it's simply a story with a lesson. There was a mother, her infant, and their dog. One day the mother left the baby asleep in one room and went into another. A little while later she heard the baby crying and rushed back. The first thing she saw was the dog, its muzzle covered in blood. Then she saw the same crimson blood on her baby's tiny body. She assumed at once that the dog had attacked the child. Without thinking, she grabbed the first heavy thing she could find and struck the dog. Then she ran to her baby. She checked him head to toe and found he wasn't hurt at all. Bewildered, she looked down—and there, beneath the crib, was a dead snake. The dog hadn't attacked the baby. It had saved the child's life by killing the snake before it could strike. But sadly… for their faithful friend, it was already too late."

Jeremy sat in stunned silence. The tears had stopped. His face stayed tense, one eyebrow up—just like his mother's when something surprised or displeased her. His eyes still glistened, but the corners of his mouth lifted, just barely. Now he understood where his father was going. A weight came off his chest. He realized it wasn't Edward who'd done those monstrous things.

"I'm sorry, Dad." He moved closer and put his arms around his father, then looked him straight in the eye.

"It's all right, Jeremy." Edward hugged him tight and patted his shoulder. "If I'd been in your place, I probably would've reacted the same way. I told you the story about the dog and the snake because I wanted you to take something from it. Never judge a situation on emotion alone. Keep a clear head until you know the whole story. First, find out what's really going on." He paused, weighing his own words. "Although… there are times when you simply don't have the luxury of waiting before you act," he added quietly.

Jeremy kept his eyes on his father, this time with real curiosity. More than anything, he wanted the truth.

"You know, son…" Edward went on, a note of nostalgia in his voice. "I always knew the day would come when I'd have to tell you the history of our family. I just never imagined it would be this soon. You're still too young for a truth this painful."

"What do you mean… our family?" Jeremy asked. Of everything his father had just said, that one word had caught him.

"Your mother is part of it too," Edward said, lowering his head as if he couldn't meet his son's eyes.

"So Mom knew about all this from the start?" Jeremy asked.

"Yes. She's actually the brains behind the whole operation." A faint smile crossed Edward's face.

"Oh, God," Jeremy muttered.

"Yes… God." Edward nodded. "In this case, that's exactly the word for it. He's watched over us all this time and pointed us in the right direction, as if we were instruments carrying out a mission He'd planned."

Edward rose, walked to one of the walls, and deliberately flipped each light switch, one after another. Every inch of the wall lit up, every detail laid bare.

"Come over here, son," Edward said, holding out his hand.

Jeremy got up and made his way over, dragging his feet, the rubber soles of his sneakers scraping the floor, putting off the inevitable by only a few seconds. He was afraid he was about to see something even worse than what he already had.

If only I could turn back time and go back to yesterday, he thought. Maybe I wouldn't have come up with such a crazy idea. Or maybe I still would have? Maybe this was inevitable. Maybe there was no butterfly effect at all. Maybe everything in our lives happens for a reason. Maybe it's all part of a plan.

Jeremy stopped beside his father. If someone had photographed the two of them from behind and somehow hidden the pictures on the wall, it could have passed for a beautiful family portrait. Unfortunately, reality couldn't be blurred, and the two of them now stood facing something they'd somehow have to learn to live with.

"Jeremy, are you going to open your eyes, or keep putting it off? Or maybe… you don't want to look at any of this anymore?" Edward asked, tension he couldn't hide in his voice.

"No, Dad. I want to see it. There's no going back now. The cards have already been dealt." With that, he cautiously opened his eyes, and they filled with tears at once. "God…" he whispered, slowly taking it all in. He walked from one side of the room to the other, studying the photographs that covered three of the walls. "Dad… tell me what this is. What the hell is going on here?"

"These are photographs of victims… and their abusers. We're not a cult, and we don't worship Satan." The corners of Edward's mouth lifted, almost imperceptibly.

"Then who are you?" Jeremy pressed.

"We're an organization that fights the cruelty we uncover around the world."

"What?"

"The people who come to our parties are members of that organization."

"But how? When did all this start? What exactly do you do? What are you fighting? Tell me everything."

"It began more than a decade ago, when you were still just a little kid. A few friends and I were sitting in my study one evening. The daughter of one of them had been brutally raped. The legal system failed her completely. They caught the man responsible, but there wasn't enough evidence, so he was released the next day. No justice. None at all. Watching our friend's helplessness—and the terror his daughter was living in—made us realize something. If the system won't protect innocent people… then maybe someone else has to."

"But, Dad!" Jeremy broke in. "Don't you think that by doing this, you become just like those bastards? What about your conscience? Your morals? Your integrity? This is supposed to be the job of the courts, not vigilantes. The system is supposed to fight people like that. It's supposed to protect us. It's supposed to make us feel safe."

Jeremy paced the room, gesturing as he spoke. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"Say that again, Jeremy," his father said.

"But… what?"

"You said it perfectly." Edward nodded. "It's supposed to. When I was your age, I believed the exact same thing. I believed the system would protect us. That the law would protect us. That the authorities were on our side. But life has a way of testing our beliefs, our judgment, everything we think we know. The system failed us, Jeremy. And we can't let monsters keep hurting innocent people just because there isn't enough evidence, or because the bureaucracy keeps anyone from acting in time."

"Oh, God…" Jeremy muttered.

"You've said that quite a few times today, son," Edward observed.

"Does that surprise you, Dad?" Jeremy said, sarcastic.

"After everything you've learned today? Not in the slightest."

"Please… go on."

"Well… as I was saying, we decided to take matters into our own hands. That became our first case."

"You caught the rapist?"

"Yes. We found him… and we gave him the justice the courts never did." Edward paused. "An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth."

"Sweet Jesus…" Jeremy murmured, holding his head.

"Then came another case—the murder of one of our members' husbands. After that, more and more followed. We never expected it to grow the way it did. None of us imagined the organization would spread across every continent. We go after serial killers, rapists, pedophiles, sexual predators, cannibals, human traffickers, child traffickers, animal abusers…" He paused. "The list goes on. There are far too many sick people in this world, son."

"And what do you do with them?" Jeremy asked, quiet.

"The same thing they did to their victims," Edward answered, without hesitation.

"The exact same thing?"

"Yes."

"The exact same thing."

"I see."

Jeremy fell silent. He no longer knew what to say. His whole body had gone still, while every thought racing through his mind was written plainly across his face.

"We call ourselves the Cicadas," Edward added.

"The Cicadas? Why cicadas? They're disgusting, and they make that awful noise."

Edward smiled faintly.

"Cicadas are remarkable insects, son. Did you know that in a lot of Asian cultures they're a symbol of rebirth, prosperity, happiness, and good health?"

"No. Can't say I've ever been into bugs."

"They've developed an extraordinary way of communicating. Those sounds let them reach one another across long distances. They're a lot like the members of our organization. We're an invisible, tightly organized network. We stay in constant contact with members scattered all over the world. They're the ones who bring us evidence of the crimes these monsters commit."

Edward suddenly fell silent.

A heavy quiet settled over the room.

His eyes came to rest on Elizabeth's tear-streaked face.

She must've been standing there a while, he thought, his heart sinking.

He knew their children were everything to her. And now she was watching her teenage son come face to face with an inheritance she'd never wanted for him, while other boys his age were out enjoying their youth. This wasn't the life she'd imagined for Jeremy. But neither could she walk away from the work they did and leave innocent people—and innocent animals—to suffer. She knew she'd never save the whole world.

But she'd always been determined to save as much of it as she could.

Seeing his father standing there in silence, Jeremy turned sharply, already knowing who he'd find behind him.

"Mom!"

He ran to her and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

"Mom… don't cry."

"I understand everything now."

Caribbean Islands, Dominica

"I remember it like it was yesterday—the moment I stood beside my father in his secret room and heard him say that name. The Cicadas." He went quiet a moment. "At first, I thought it sounded funny. Now I understand why they chose it." Jeremy brushed his fingertips gently across Grace's left cheek.

The rays of the rising sun filtered through the thin, milky-white curtains, stirring them with every breeze until they rippled like gentle waves on the sea. The ocean air drifted through the open doorway into the bedroom of their bungalow. Perched right above the water, the celadon-and-white beach cottage looked breathtaking against the backdrop of Caribbean palms.

The two lovers lay together in that secluded corner of the island, savoring every moment in each other's arms, treasuring every touch and every minute they had. Ever since they'd met at the Morpheus Foundation, they'd been unable to take their eyes off each other. Their love was timeless, selfless, boundless, unconditional. In today's world it seemed almost impossible—and yet it existed, worthy of admiration. They'd have done anything for each other. Who wouldn't want to love like that—and be loved the same way?

"You know, some people would probably call us psychopaths, sociopaths, some other kind of monsters. Because what have we become, if not beasts capable of doing such terrible things?" Jeremy said, out of nowhere.

"Darling, you can't look at us that way." Grace lifted her head from his chest and looked into his eyes. "I know there's always been a war inside you between what you see as evil and what you believe is right. But you have to remember how many children you've saved. How many abusers we've taken out of this world so innocent people could live without beatings, rape, burns, mutilation." She let out a quiet sigh. "I could go on listing those cases forever, but what's the point? We just have to stay the course and do everything we can to give as many children as possible a shot at a better life."

"Taken out. That's a nice way to put it," he said with a soft laugh. "But it doesn't exactly describe what we really do." He pulled Grace closer.

She rested her head on his chest again, nestling in. She turned onto her side, slipped one leg between his, and wrapped an arm around him. It was her favorite way to lie. In his arms she felt safe. At peace. He held her gently, their naked bodies fitting together as if they'd been cast from a single piece of bronze. Their bond was a rare thing—one of a kind, impossible to copy. And it wasn't built on physical intimacy alone. It ran deeper than that. The love, respect, and unwavering support they shared were beyond description.

"You know what scares me most?" she asked quietly.

"What?"