Chapter 4: The Truth in the Shadows

Elliott’s heart was pounding in his chest, the sound of it deafening in his ears. His father’s presence at the door was overwhelming, an impenetrable weight pressing down on him. Elliott’s mouth went dry as he tried to take a step back, but his body refused to cooperate, locked in place by an all-consuming fear.

Dr. Samuel Delacroix didn’t move. He simply stood there, his cold eyes fixed on Elliott, his face expressionless. His hands were folded behind his back, as always, but tonight they felt like shackles, binding him to this moment.

“Aren’t you curious, Elliott?” his father repeated, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. There was something twisted in his words, something that didn’t belong. “You’ve found the truth, haven’t you?”

Elliott’s mind was reeling, the truth crashing over him in waves. The bodies in the jars, the preserved organs, the grotesque pieces of human anatomy—it all made sense now, and it made him sick. But what truly shattered him was the thought that his father had been hiding all of this from him—his own son.

Elliott’s breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. “What is this? What is all of this, Father?” His voice cracked, the words barely escaping through his trembling lips.

His father took a slow step forward, his gaze never leaving Elliott’s face. He looked down at his son with an almost detached curiosity, as if studying him, as though Elliott were a specimen to be observed.

“You’re just like her,” Samuel Delacroix said softly, almost too softly. “Just like your mother. Always asking too many questions, always digging too deep.” His eyes hardened, and a small, twisted smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “She got too curious, too, Elliott. And look where it got her.”

Elliott’s chest tightened, and his heart skipped a beat as he struggled to understand what his father was implying. “What do you mean? What happened to her? Where is she, Father?”

Dr. Delacroix didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turned on his heel, walking toward the far corner of the room where a large, heavy curtain was drawn across what Elliott had thought to be another part of the basement. Slowly, methodically, his father pulled the curtain back.

Elliott’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded so violently against his ribcage that it threatened to break free.

On a cold, metal table, laid out in grotesque disarray, was the body of his mother.

Her once-beautiful face was now pale and lifeless, her golden hair matted and torn. But it wasn’t just her appearance that made Elliott’s stomach lurch—it was the way her body had been violated, sliced open with surgical precision. The abdomen was torn apart, her organs exposed and carefully examined, her limbs spread wide in a way that made Elliott’s blood run cold.

His knees buckled beneath him, and he staggered backward, horrified, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. His mother—his mother—was nothing more than a disassembled corpse, her insides scattered like a puzzle, pieces of her scattered across the cold, unforgiving table.

“No… No, this can’t be…” Elliott’s voice faltered, his body trembling violently. “What did you do to her, Father?”

Dr. Delacroix’s expression remained unchanged as he turned to face his son. He spoke as if recounting a simple story, his tone low and emotionless.

“She wanted to understand. She wanted to know what I was doing, where the work was leading. She couldn’t leave it alone. Just like you.” His voice dropped, a sharp edge cutting through the air. “She wasn’t supposed to find out. But she was too clever. Too curious. She followed me. She saw what I was doing. And I couldn’t let her ruin everything.”

Elliott felt as though the ground had fallen out from beneath him. His mind spun, his thoughts fragmented into pieces, much like his mother’s body. “She was your wife! How could you—” He choked, the bile rising in his throat. “How could you do this to her? To us?”

Dr. Delacroix stepped forward, his eyes cold. “I had to, Elliott. I had to keep her alive. I couldn’t lose her. She was too important.”

The words didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Elliott staggered backward, his legs giving way beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, the room spinning around him as the weight of his father’s words crushed him.

“What… what do you mean? Alive?” Elliott whispered, his voice barely a sound. “She’s dead, Father. She’s dead!”

“Not entirely,” Samuel Delacroix replied, his voice chillingly calm. “I couldn’t let her go, Elliott. I had to keep a part of her alive. That is what this is all about. That’s why you’re here.”

Elliott’s heart raced, a fresh wave of panic flooding through him. He scrambled to his feet, his hands shaking as he backed away from his father’s cold, calculating gaze.

“You’re just like her, Elliott,” Dr. Delacroix repeated, his voice now a dark murmur. “You want to know too much. And I can’t let that happen. You’re part of my work now.”

“No!” Elliott shouted, his voice filled with desperation. He turned to run, but before he could move, a pair of hands grabbed him from behind.

Dyllan.

The butler’s grip was firm, too firm, as he caught Elliott by the shoulders and spun him around. Elliott’s eyes widened in shock as he realized what was happening.

“Dyllan—what are you doing?” Elliott pleaded, his voice breaking.

“I’m sorry, Young Master,” Dyllan said quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “But I have no choice.”

The next moment, Elliott felt his body go weightless as Dyllan pushed him hard. He fell backward, tumbling down the stone staircase that led into the basement. The world spun in a blur as the impact of his body hitting the stairs sent shockwaves of pain through his skull.

His vision darkened, the edges of his sight turning black as the pain took over. The last thing he remembered was the sickening sound of his head cracking against the stone floor.

Then, everything went black.

---

When Elliott’s eyes slowly fluttered open, the world was a haze of light and shadow. His head throbbed painfully, and his vision swam as he tried to focus. He attempted to move, but something was restraining him—his arms and legs were strapped tightly to a cold, metal table.

Panic surged through him as he tugged against the restraints, but the pain in his head only intensified. His body refused to cooperate, and the more he struggled, the more trapped he felt.

The sound of footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby, and Elliott’s breath hitched. He looked up, his vision finally clearing as he saw the familiar figure of his father standing before him. Dr. Samuel Delacroix was holding a scalpel, his eyes cold and clinical as they locked onto Elliott.

“You’re awake,” his father said, his tone almost detached, as if this was a simple medical procedure. “Good. I need you to stay calm, Elliott. You’ve been through a lot.”

Elliott's mouth opened in a desperate attempt to speak, but only a hollow, painful rasp escaped. His throat burned, his breath hitching as he tried again—nothing. His eyes widened in terror, his hands trembling against the restraints as he mouthed the words: Why? What’s happening? But no sound came. Nothing but silence.

“You’re just like your mother,” Dr. Delacroix said softly, his voice almost tender. “I can’t have you leaving, Elliott. I need to keep you here, with me, just like I kept her.”

Elliott’s heart stopped. “What are you talking about?” His voice cracked, desperation spilling from him.

His father’s face softened for a moment, almost as though he were explaining something to a child. “I couldn’t let your mother die, Elliott. I couldn’t bear to lose her. I needed her. So I kept her—alive. And now I need to do the same with you.”

Elliott’s eyes widened, the horror of his father’s words sinking in. He tried to speak, to scream, to beg for release, but as he opened his mouth, pain ripped through his throat like fire. His body seized as he gasped for breath, but no sound came out.

His father looked down at him, his expression unreadable. “I had to do this, Elliott. You can’t talk anymore. I couldn’t risk you telling anyone about what I’ve done.”

Elliott’s eyes bulged in terror as he felt the terrible weight of what had just happened. His voice was gone. His father had cut out his voice box.

Tears streamed down his face as he struggled against the restraints, but the pain in his throat was unbearable. And beside him, on the cold metal table, his mother’s disassembled body lay, a grotesque reminder of the horrors his father had inflicted.

“This is what’s left of her, Elliott,” his father said softly, his voice tinged with a strange satisfaction. “You and her… we’re the same. And I will keep you here. Together.”

Elliott’s world crumbled as he realized that he was trapped. Trapped in the very place his mother had been. Trapped beside her cold, lifeless body.

And in that moment, he knew there would be no escape.

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