15. Fourteen

In the days that followed, Eli changed remarkably. When we first met, he was as guarded and skittish as a stray cat. Slowly, though, I watched him relax, settling into the routines I established for him. He no longer flinched when I laid a hand on his shoulder, kept his eyes lowered when addressing me, and dropped to his knees without hesitation upon my arrival.

Pride swelled in my chest as I recalled how readily Eli had taken to the protocols. All my submissives underwent the same training, a system I had developed with Gavin’s help. But none before had embraced it as quickly as Elias. It was as if he had been craving the structure, the consistency, the unwavering expectations only a skilled dominant could provide.

While it would take time to break through his walls and unravel the trauma of his past, I could already see green shoots of progress sprouting in his psyche. Eli attended to his daily duties with newfound purpose, tackling each task with quiet confidence.

Yesterday, I entered my study to find my desk perfectly arranged, the day's schedule and correspondence laid out with meticulous care. Eli had taken it upon himself to prepare my workspace, anticipating my needs before I even voiced them. This small gesture spoke volumes about his growth.

In the evenings, when I read, Eli would kneel at my feet, his head bowed in silent reverence. He found solace in the stillness, the steady rhythm of his breath. Sometimes, I would rest my hand on his head, my fingers carding through his platinum hair. The simple touch grounded him, anchoring him to the present.

During our training sessions, Eli’s focus sharpened. He absorbed every lesson and command with a hunger that bordered on desperation, as if starving for the guidance. I tested him with increasingly complex tasks, and each time, he rose to the challenge.

Of course, his progress had its stumbles. Once, during a training session, he spoke out of turn, interrupting me mid-sentence. His eyes widened as he realized his mistake, and an apology formed on his lips, but I held up a hand to silence him.

“Eli,” I said, calm but firm. “What is the protocol for speaking during a lesson?”

He swallowed hard. “I am to remain silent unless asked a direct question or given permission to speak, Sir.”

“And did I ask you a question or give you permission to speak just now?”

“No, Sir.” His voice was barely a whisper, eyes downcast.

“Then you understand there will be a consequence for your lapse in protocol?”

“Yes, Sir. I apologize, Sir.”

I considered him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands trembled. Eli’s past left him with a deep-seated fear of punishment, a fear we were reshaping into a healthy respect for consequences.

Since it was his first offense, and given in his excitement, the consequence was light. I had him sit in silence for five minutes to reflect on his mistake, and he didn’t repeat it.

Unlike my patient that afternoon, who showed no interest in learning from his mistakes.

I leaned back in my chair, studying the man across from me, a longtime patient in his mid-forties who had been seeing me for years to work through issues with intimacy. Today, he seemed to regress, slipping back into avoidance.

“I don't know why I bother with relationships,” he said, bitterness tinging his voice. “It's pointless. I always get bored. I always cheat. I’m never going to change.”

I let his words hang for a moment. “That’s a big step, admitting your faults. However, that's an absolute statement.”

He shrugged, gaze fixed on the floor. “That's my experience.”

“And yet, you pursue relationships,” I pointed out. “Either you have masochistic tendencies or you believe deep down that statement is false.”

His jaw clenched. I could see the war in him, the desire for connection battling against the fear of vulnerability.

“Let’s examine the process instead of the outcome,” I suggested. “What patterns do you notice in how you approach potential partners?”

He was silent for a moment. “I come on strong at first. I'm attentive, almost overbearing. But then I pull back, find excuses to be busy, nitpicking flaws in the other person.”

“And what drives that behavior?”

“Fear, I guess. Fear of being hurt. If I cheat first, I can't get blindsided.”

“That's insightful, but perhaps flawed. Fear is a powerful motivator, but so is the desire to control. You were hurt when your first wife cheated. To avoid feeling that pain, you do the same to your partners. When you catch yourself making that assumption, you need to learn to correct it.”

“But I don’t know I’m making that assumption. Not consciously.”

“The subconscious mind operates beneath the surface, guiding our actions without us realizing it. But we can change its patterns. The first step is awareness. When you feel that urge to pull away, take a breath. Ask yourself if it's fear talking or if there's a legitimate reason to distance yourself.”

Alexander nodded slowly. “And if it is fear?”

“Then you have a choice: give in to it or push through, taking a calculated risk to remain open to connection.”

I could see the wheels turning in his mind, the struggle playing out on his face.

“I want you to start a journal before our next session,” I said. “Whenever you feel that urge to sabotage a connection, write down the situation, thoughts, and feelings. The act of writing will help bring those subconscious patterns into awareness.”

He frowned, but nodded. “And then what?”

“Then, in our next session, we'll review your entries. This isn’t about judging yourself, but understanding your mind and motivations.”

Uncertainty flickered in his eyes, fear of vulnerability battling his desire for change.

“Remember, growth is rarely comfortable,” I said softly. “It requires us to confront parts of ourselves we’d rather keep hidden. But on the other side lies potential for true transformation, unburdened by our past traumas.”

He took a deep breath, his shoulders squaring. “I’ll try.”

“Trying is the first step,” I replied, a small smile forming. “The rest will follow.” I rose, signaling the end of our session. “I look forward to reading your journal entries next week.”

He stood, shaking my hand with newfound resolve. “Thank you, Dr. Laskin. I appreciate your guidance.”

I maintained my professional demeanor as we stepped into the lobby.

“Same time next week?” I confirmed.

“Yes, I’ll be here.” He paused, vulnerability flashing across his features. “Thank you again. I know this won’t be easy, but I feel ready to face it.”

Pride swelled in my chest, tempered by the knowledge that the road ahead would be long. Change never came easily, especially when confronting dark parts of oneself. But Alexander had taken the first step, a victory in itself.

As he walked away, my attention turned to a figure in the lobby. A man I didn’t recognize, exuding a calm intensity that put me on edge.

I approached him, my steps measured despite the unease prickling along my spine. “Can I help you?”

The man rose, his movements fluid. Up close, I saw faint lines etched around his eyes, silver threading through dark hair. He extended a hand. “Dr. Laskin, I presume? I'm Special Agent Valentine with the FBI.”

I nodded, my mind racing with possibilities. An FBI agent showing up unannounced was never good. Had one of my clients drawn attention? Was this about my family’s questionable dealings? I concealed my thoughts behind a mask of professional interest. “What can I do for you, Agent Valentine?”

“Dr. Laskin,” he began, “I hope to discuss a sensitive matter.”

“Of course, though I must admit I'm not sure how I can assist the FBI. My work deals with the mind, not the law.”

Valentine smiled faintly, though his eyes remained sharp. “I assure you, the matter is within your expertise. It concerns your time with the Children of the Light.”

A chill ran down my spine at the mention of the cult. “My involvement was a long time ago, and I was a child. I fail to see how I could help.”

“I know you're not involved anymore, Dr. Laskin. But you have unique insight. Most others from the cult are either too afraid to come forward or have disappeared. Anything you can share would help.”

I stared at Agent Valentine, weighing my options. The memories of my time with the Children of the Light were buried deep, locked away in a part of my mind I rarely accessed. But he wouldn’t leave until I gave him something.

With a heavy sigh, I gestured toward my office. “Please, come inside.”

As we settled in, I clasped my hands tightly. “What exactly do you want to know?”

Valentine leaned forward. “We’re looking for a man named Ezekiel Sojourn, legal name David Cohlier. What can you tell me about him?”

I closed my eyes briefly, clenching my jaw. It had been a long time since I thought about my father. “Ezekiel is a charismatic man, a man of God and family values. That’s what his followers would tell you. The truth is less pleasant. He once believed in his teachings, but now he only cares about power and control, going to shocking lengths to maintain it.”

I leaned back, my gaze distant as I dredged up buried memories. “He’s a master manipulator, twisting perceptions until his followers can’t see the truth. He preys on the vulnerable, the lost, the broken. He offers them a sense of belonging, of purpose, of salvation. But it's all a lie, a carefully crafted illusion designed to keep them under his thumb.”

Agent Valentine nodded, his expression grim. “We've seen it before. Jim Jones, David Koresh, Marshall Applewhite. Men who use religion as a weapon, as a means of control. But knowing it and proving it are two different things.”

“Ezekiel is smart,” I warned. “He's been at this a long time, and he knows how to cover his tracks. His followers would die for him, kill for him, without a second thought. They're so deeply entrenched in his web of lies that they can't see the truth anymore, even when it's staring them in the face.”

I thought back to my own childhood, the years spent under Ezekiel's oppressive rule. The constant fear, the unrelenting pressure to conform, to obey without question. The punishments meted out to those who dared to step out of line, to question the unquestionable.

“He's not a religious leader to them,” I continued. “He’s their protector. For many, he’s their family. Their only family.”

Agent Valentine leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. “That's what makes men like Ezekiel so dangerous. They exploit the basic human need for connection, for belonging. They twist it into something dark and toxic until their followers can't imagine life outside the cult.”

I nodded, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. Talking about Ezekiel, about the Children of the Light, always left me feeling drained, as if the act of remembering sapped the strength from my bones.

“Ezekiel is particularly adept at targeting the young,” I said, my voice heavy with the weight of memory. “Children who are lost, who feel like they don't fit in. He offers them a place to belong, a family that will accept them unconditionally. By the time they realize the true nature of the cult, it's often too late. They're in too deep, too afraid to leave.”

Agent Valentine's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “We've had reports of missing children, runaways who were last seen in the company of known cult members. We suspect Ezekiel may be using them for some kind of ritual or ceremony, but we haven't been able to confirm anything.”

A cold knot of dread settled in my stomach. I knew all too well the kinds of rituals Ezekiel was capable of, the twisted acts he justified in the name of his so-called faith. The thought of innocent children being subjected to the same horrors I’d seen… It made my stomach turn.

The dread gnawed at me, tightening my throat, my hands curling into fists on the armrests of the chair. Agent Valentine’s words blurred as the weight of memories pressed down, pushing at the walls of control I’d so carefully built.

The meat. The blood. The taste of copper and dirt on my tongue.

I swallowed thickly, the taste of bile rising in my throat. I couldn’t let it happen again. I couldn’t—

A sharp pull, deep within me, snapped the last thread of calm.

The world shifted.

Suddenly, I was falling into a black void, away from my body. The edges of my vision darkened, and as the blackness swallowed me up, I realized what’d happened. Someone else had decided to take over.