“S-Seth? Oh my—”
“Where is she?” I demand.
No warm-up. No easing into it. I’m not here to talk.
“I—Seth—sweetheart, I don’t—”
“I’m only going to say this once.”
I cross the room and grab her by the front of her shirt, dragging her into the living room until her back hits the wall with a crack.
“Where. Is. Brooke?”
She cries instantly. “I swear, I don’t know!”
I shove the barrel of my gun under her chin. “You know, Mary, I have been falling for this sweet, innocent aunt act since the day I met you. And I hate being lied to. You are going to cut the bullshit now unless you want your brain to coat the fucking wallpaper.”
Mary’s voice shakes so violently it breaks apart. “I’m telling the truth! John—John let Grant take her!”
The world goes silent. John let him take her.
“Why?” My voice drops to something quiet and violent. “Why would he let him take her?”
Mary’s chin trembles. “That was The Collective’s decision. They sent her to Elliot’s Manor.”
Everything in me goes cold.
“What the fuck is Elliot’s Manor?” I ask.
“It is where they send… the ones they want to punish,” Mary whispers. “It’s like a correctional facility for The Collective.”
I tighten my grip on her shirt. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know,” she sobs. “I swear I don’t know. I only know what it is.”
I shove the muzzle of my Glock under her chin. “If you lie again, this gun is gonna answer for you.”
She sobs harder. “I’m not lying.”
“Where is John?”
“He left right after Grant did,” Mary says, tears streaming down her face. “He said he had to prepare. I don’t know where he went.”
I stare at her. “Did you know about any of this?”
Mary nods miserably. “I did. I knew there were… expectations, plans. I didn’t know it would happen this soon.”
“You knew everything,” I snap. “You knew what he planned for her.”
She shakes her head weakly. “I… didn’t want Brooke to die like my sister.”
“You let them murder your sister,” I say. “And you let them take your niece to whatever fucked up prison they have hidden.”
Mary breaks into full sobs. “I begged John not to kill Brooke. I begged him. He spared her. So we raised her.”
“You call that raising?” I hiss. “Letting her grow up in the house of the man who killed her parents?”
Mary cries harder, like that is supposed to buy her mercy. “I didn’t want them to do this to Brooke. I couldn’t stop them.”
