Chapter 33
33
M y curiosity gets the better of me a week after our escape. What started as a quiet nagging has grown too loud to ignore. I sit in front of my monitors, pull up Google, and type “Magnolia Hollow Alabama Covenant of Divine Light news” into the search bar. There are far more results than I was expecting—it’s even made national news.
For a moment, I hesitate. What if they’re looking for me? What if I’m a suspect? What if?—
Possibilities race through my mind. I take a deep breath, then click on a video from the night we escaped. I just have to trust we’ll figure it out, no matter the outcome.
A somber-faced newscaster stands before the front doors of Josiah’s sprawling antebellum manor, flashing police lights behind them. Officers and investigators move in and out of the building, grim-faced, while the occasional black body bag is wheeled out on a gurney.
“Good evening, I’m Lisa Vaughn, reporting live from Magnolia Hollow, where law enforcement officials are scrambling to make sense of the horrific events that unfolded here last night.
Details remain scarce, but what we do know is that this once-isolated religious community has now become the scene of what authorities are calling a mass homicide.
According to initial reports, gunfire and explosions rang out just before dawn, drawing local authorities to the historical manor home behind me early this morning. What they found inside remains unclear, but sources close to the investigation suggest that the Covenant’s leader, Josiah Wainwright, is among the deceased. The circumstances surrounding his death—and those of multiple others—remain unconfirmed.
The Covenant of Divine Light, once regarded as an evangelical retreat, has long been the subject of whispered rumors from locals. Many believed the group to be self-sustaining and devout, if a bit reclusive. But early evidence points to a much darker truth.
Authorities have yet to disclose the total number of casualties, and it remains unclear whether any members of the Covenant escaped during the chaos. What is clear, however, is that something terrible transpired here last night, and this tiny town may never be the same.
For now, Magnolia Hollow is left reeling, desperate for answers. Who orchestrated this attack? What truly went on behind the Covenant’s closed doors? And most importantly—how long has this nightmare been brewing?
We’ll be on the scene, bringing you live updates as they become available on this developing story—one that has left this quiet town shaken to its core.”
The broadcast ends with a drone shot of the entire estate, crawling with authorities. Even the Sacred Hall is being roped off with police tape. Feeling a bit of relief, I release my breath slowly—so far, none of our names have been mentioned.
I scroll to a more recent update and find another clip from the same reporter. She stands before the Sacred Hall, the sun setting behind her, casting fresh shadows over the scene. Her gaze is directed toward the side of the hall closest to the woods, her expression clouded with concern.
A gentle wind tugs at her shoulder-length auburn hair, and she tucks thick strands behind her ear before gripping her microphone tightly. Then, she turns to face the camera, her gaze sharp, focused.
“Tonight, we bring you chilling new details about the Covenant of Divine Light, the so-called religious sanctuary that, in reality, was a front for something far more sinister.
What was originally believed to be a tragic mass homicide has now turned into something even darker. Authorities have confirmed evidence of what appears to be a ritualistic murder and an attempted violent takeover, which led to the brutal deaths of dozens of the Covenant’s men.
The remaining Covenant members—primarily women and young girls— have been taken into protective custody and are receiving treatment for severe trauma after decades of abuse and brainwashing. Their identities remain strictly confidential, as several remaining male members of the Covenant have already made attempts to reclaim them. Federal agents are actively searching for these fugitives.
But what investigators uncovered today has shaken even the most seasoned professionals to their core—a mass grave. Thirty years of secrets buried beneath the soil.”
She takes a breath, then nods to the cameraman, who pans over to the tree line.
A large rectangle of exposed, reddish-brown dirt is roped off in a grid-like pattern, where excavation crews carefully work to unearth the remains of those buried and forgotten. Tears begin streaming down my face, a heaviness settling deep in my chest.
“Forensic experts have confirmed the discovery of human remains—dozens of them—at various stages of decay.
While authorities have not yet released an official count, initial estimates suggest that the death toll could be staggering. Some of these victims, mostly women, may have perished recently, while others appear to date back decades.
Law enforcement officials urge anyone who believes their loved one may be among the unidentified victims to come forward immediately. A dedicated tip line has been established for families seeking closure.”
A number appears in a banner across the bottom of the video as the camera cuts back to the reporter. Her face remains stoic, but her eyes make it clear how atrocious the scene truly is.
“The true horrors of the Covenant of Divine Light are only just beginning to be discovered, and tonight, one question remains: How many more bodies are waiting to be found?
This is Lisa Vaughn, reporting live from Magnolia Hollow.”
The broadcast fades out, cutting back to the studio, where the newscasters are momentarily lost for words, still processing the details their colleague just reported.
They shake themselves out of their stunned silence and say a few words about the station’s thoughts and prayers being with the true victims. They assure the public that they will be with them every step of the way as more information about this tragedy unfolds.
The last thing I hear before my pulse roars in my ears is the end of the emergency hotline number.
The rest of the words don’t matter. I don’t need to call the hotline to get confirmation. I already know.
She’s there.
My mother.
At some point, the guys came to stand behind my chair while I watched this last video. I’m not sure how much they saw, but their silence tells me they saw enough. I don’t even have to say it—I’m sure they already know.
“I have to go,” I whisper. “I owe it to her to at least give her peace in death.”
Whit leans against the desk beside me, his hand finding mine. “We’ll go with you.”
I nod, swallowing hard. For a moment, I thought I’d have to do this alone—the weight of it nearly unbearable.
The tension slowly bleeds out of me as my shoulders drop in relief. I should know better by now. I’ll never stand alone again. They will always hold me up when I can’t, while never holding me back in the process.
I call the hotline and give them my details. The fear of being a suspect is no longer an option. The investigator on the other end asks several questions. I tell her the story of my original escape—how my mother facilitated it—and how I fear she may have been killed in retaliation.
She is silent for a moment before clearing her throat. “As a mother myself,” she says softly, “I would gladly give my life for my children’s safety.”
Hot tears track down my cheeks again as she goes over the details of what I will need to do to identify my mother’s remains and have them released to me.
At the end of our conversation, she asks if I’d be willing to give a statement to help them piece together a full picture of the cult I grew up in. I agree, knowing we have time to figure out exactly what to leave out. We set a meeting time for tomorrow morning, and she promises to personally walk me through everything.
A few hours later, we’re on a plane, heading back to Magnolia Hollow.
The guys booked a hotel in a town close enough, knowing I wouldn’t want to stay there again. They packed for a few days, just in case it takes longer than anticipated, and had the jet ready to take off as soon as possible—all without me having to ask.
The silence is comforting as I process everything. They don’t speak, but they don’t leave my side either. Each of them takes turns holding me, kissing the top of my head, or simply giving my hand a gentle squeeze. Each action is a reminder that I’m loved, that I’m not alone.
It took a few days to jump through all the hoops, but—just as I knew she would be—my mother was, in fact, one of the bodies recovered.
The investigator, Laura Calder, stayed true to her word and made the process as painless as possible for us.
I chose to have my mother’s remains cremated. I liked the idea of being able to send her ashes to blow in the wind—finally free.
Which is exactly what I do when we get home.
They take me to the top of a nearby mountain lookout, and with one glance, I know my mother would have found the view stunning.
Snow coats the naked trees, and white blankets the land as far as I can see. The mountains in the distance kiss the clouds as dawn begins to peek out from behind them.
No one says anything as we take in the peaceful beauty.
The bag I hold should feel heavier—it shouldn’t be possible for the weight of a life to be carried in one hand.
I open it as the wind whips through my hair, pulling the remnants of my mother with it, carrying her toward a freedom she never knew in life.
The January air in Vermont freezes my tears as fast as they fall, but I barely feel it.
I tip the bag, allowing the final ashes to join the others as they dance across the swirling wind.
The four of us stand as sentries, until the sun—and the world around us—finally wakes, breaking the spell.
With an arm around my shoulder, Whit guides me back to the SUV. We make the short trip home, our frozen bodies thawing in the heat blasting through the vents.
“Thank you,” I whisper to them, grateful for their silent support.
“You never have to thank us for taking care of you, Celest,” Beckett says from the driver’s seat, his usual sharp tone uncharacteristically softened by tenderness.
Whit turns from the front passenger seat to look at me with a gentle gaze. “We’ll never leave you to shoulder the burdens of life alone.”
Quinn’s been holding my frozen fingers from the moment we slid into the backseat. He gives me a slight squeeze before pulling me into his arms. “We love you, and there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you.”
I have no words, so I just nod and bury my face into his chest.
When we pull into the garage, I’m surprised when the guys lead me to one of the Gators. Quinn drives us up a winding path, finally stopping at a small cemetery.
“We wanted to make sure you had a way to visit your mom, even if she’s not really here,” Quinn says, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly.
I follow Beckett and step through the gate as he holds it open for me. Whit takes my hand and leads me to a brand- new headstone, flecks of shiny minerals glinting in the early sun filtering through the trees.
I kneel beside her gravestone, pressing my palm against the freshly carved granite. The inscription makes me gasp—it’s perfect.
In Loving Memory
Naomi Grace Monroe
A Mother and Hero
“A mother's strength is a force to be reckoned with,
forged through the fires of adversity.”
“You gave her my last name,” I whisper.
“Your father no longer has any claim on her,” Beckett says, his voice firm.
Whit places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “And she was the one to give you the last name Monroe.”
I’d never really thought about it, but they’re right. My father has no place here. My new name was a gift from my mother—something untainted by my past, a reminder of her that will stay with me for the rest of my life.
“We’ll be waiting by the gate. Take your time,” Whit says, giving my shoulder one last reassuring squeeze.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I should’ve forced you to come with me.” I run my fingertips across the quote at the bottom of the stone, the words offering me strength.
“They picked the perfect quote for you. I’m not surprised. You would’ve loved it, even if you would’ve been horrified at me being with three men.” I pause, laughing quietly to myself. “Or, who knows, perhaps you would’ve surprised us all.”
“You told me to live a happy life, and I can assure you that I will—I already am.”
I glance over at the gate, watching the guys in a quiet conversation. Quinn says something that makes him laugh, and Whit punches him in the shoulder, though I can tell from here that he’s chuckling. Beckett rolls his eyes, even as the corners of his mouth twitch.
I shake my head and turn back to my mother’s memorial.
“I love them. More than I thought possible. You gave me this life, and I will not waste it.”
I take a few deep breaths of the crisp morning air, rising to my feet. Looking up at the sky, I let the sun warm my face, while resolve flows through me.
“Father will get what he deserves,” I finally say to her.
“I promise.”