Came Home From Deployment Early. Daughter Was Standing in a Hole. «Don’t Look In Other One!»
Four police cars arrived, lights flashing. Donald Gillespie got out first, a big man in his fifties with a weathered face and kind eyes. He took one look at the children and got on his radio.
«We need ambulances. Multiple juveniles, possible abuse and neglect.»
The next two hours were chaos. More police arrived, along with FBI agents and Child Protective Services. They found six more children in a locked basement room.
All of them were malnourished, bruised, and terrified. All of them had stories about the holes in the backyard, about being punished, about children who ran away. They found three more graves.
Eric sat in his truck with Emma wrapped in a blanket, watching as investigators swarmed the property. Myrtle had been arrested, still insisting she was helping troubled children, that the parents had signed contracts, that everything she did was legal discipline.
Donald came over around dawn. «They’re going to need statements from you and Emma.»
«Not today. She needs to be seen by doctors first, but soon.»
«What about the other graves?»
«One’s been identified already,» Donald said, his face grim. «Sarah Chun, missing from Pittsburgh last year, nine years old. Parents thought she was at summer camp. The other two, we’re working on it. Eric, how did you know to come here tonight?»
«I didn’t. I came home early from deployment. Brenda said Emma was here. I just… I knew something was wrong.»
«Brenda.» Donald’s expression changed. «We need to talk to her too. Did she know what was happening here?»
Eric looked at his friend. «I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.»
Emma stirred against his chest. «Daddy, can we go home now?»
«Not that home, baby. We’re going to a hotel, okay? Somewhere safe and warm, with room service and movies.»
«And you’ll stay with me?»
«I’m never leaving you again. I promise.»
As Eric drove away, the sun was rising over the mountains. In his rearview mirror, he could see the police lights still flashing, the search teams combing the property.
He thought about the parents of those children, getting phone calls right now that would destroy them. He thought about Sarah Chun’s parents, finally getting answers after a year of not knowing. And he thought about Brenda, asleep in their bed, who had sent their daughter to that house.
Brenda had known Myrtle ran a «discipline program» for troubled children, but she had sent Emma there anyway. Emma wasn’t troubled. She was a sweet, smart, happy kid. So why had Brenda sent her to Myrtle’s?
Eric’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He’d been trained to fight enemies overseas, but now he realized the real enemy had been here all along, hiding in plain sight. He was going to make sure every single person responsible paid for what they’d done, starting with his wife.
The hotel room was warm and bright, nothing like the cold darkness of Myrtle’s property. Eric had gotten a suite with two beds, and Emma had finally fallen asleep around noon after a doctor from the hospital came to check her over.
Mild hypothermia, bruises, trauma. The doctor had been gentle but thorough, documenting everything and taking photos of the injuries. Evidence.
«She’ll need therapy,» the doctor had said quietly at the door. «What she experienced… children don’t just get over that.»
While Emma slept, Eric sat by the window with his laptop, running searches he should have run years ago. Myrtle Savage. The New Beginnings Spiritual Retreat Center.
How had he never looked into this? Because you trusted Brenda, a voice in his head answered. Because she was your wife, and you believed her when she said her mother was helping troubled kids find God.
The search results made his stomach turn. The website looked professional, with testimonials from grateful parents, photos of smiling children, and Bible verses about discipline and redemption. But when Eric dug deeper into forums and review sites, he found different stories.
One parent wrote: “We sent our daughter there for three months. When she came back, she wouldn’t speak. Just cried and had nightmares. We asked what happened, and she said if she told, they’d put her in the ground. We thought she was being dramatic. Now I wish we’d listened.”
Another: “My son was there for a week before I pulled him out. He’d lost 10 pounds and had marks all over his body. Myrtle Savage said it was spiritual discipline and that we were interfering with his salvation. I called the police, but they said it was a family matter.”
Eric kept digging. He found a news article from three years ago, an investigation by the county. Child Services had visited the property after a complaint but found nothing wrong. The complaint had been dismissed as a disgruntled parent.
He pulled up the investigator’s name: Christina Slaughter. Then he searched for her. She’d retired last year and bought a house in Florida—a nice house, way too nice for a county social worker’s pension.
Eric sat back. The pieces were starting to come together, and he didn’t like the picture they formed. Myrtle had been doing this for years. Multiple children had been hurt, and at least four had died. But she’d kept operating because someone was protecting her.
His phone rang. Derek Mullen’s name flashed on the screen. Brother.
«Mullen,» Eric answered.
Derek’s voice was steady, calm. They’d served together for eight years. «Don called me. Said you found some heavy shit.»
«Yeah.» Eric glanced at Emma, still sleeping.
«You still in Virginia? I can be in Pennsylvania in six hours. You need me?»
«I need to know who I can trust. Don’s good. But there’s something bigger here, Derek. People were protecting what was happening. A social worker got paid off. Probably cops too. What do you need?»
«Can you do some digging? Quietly. Myrtle Savage, Christina Slaughter, anyone connected to that property. Follow the money.»
«On it. Eric, how’s Emma?»
«Alive. That’s all that matters right now.»
«And Brenda?»
Eric looked out the window. «I’m handling that today.»
After he hung up, he sat for a long moment, thinking. Then he opened his email and started writing. Subject: Resignation. After twelve years, he was done. Emma needed him more than the army did.
His phone buzzed. It was Brenda. “Where are you? The police were here. They asked about Mom. What’s going on?”
Eric didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled up the photos he’d taken of the grave with Sarah Chun’s remains. He looked at them for a long time, memorizing every detail. Then he opened a new document and started writing down everything he’d seen.
Everything Emma had told him. Every detail he could remember. This was going to court. He needed to be ready.
Around 3 p.m., Emma woke up. She looked around the unfamiliar room, panicked for a moment, then saw Eric and relaxed.
«Hey baby. How are you feeling?»
«Tired.» She sat up slowly. «Is Grandma in jail?»
«Yes.»
«Good.» Emma’s voice was hard in a way that made Eric’s heart break. Seven years old, and she already knew that some people were evil. «Daddy? Are we going back to Mom?»
That was the question, wasn’t it? Eric came over and sat on the edge of her bed. «I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth, okay? Even if you think it might hurt my feelings.»
Emma nodded.
«Did Mom know what Grandma was doing? With the holes.»
Emma’s eyes filled with tears. «She said I was being bad. That I wasn’t listening. That Grandma could teach me to be good. She drove me there Tuesday and told Grandma I needed to learn respect.»
Eric felt something cold and final settle in his chest. «What did you do that was so bad?»
«I wouldn’t eat my vegetables. And I talked back when she told me to clean my room.» Emma started crying. «I didn’t mean to be bad, Daddy. I just wanted you to come home.»
He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight while she cried. Over her head, his face was stone. Brenda had sent their daughter to be abused, possibly killed, because she wouldn’t eat vegetables. Because she talked back. Normal kid stuff. Things you handled with timeouts or taking away dessert—not with a woman who buried children in her backyard.
«You weren’t bad, Emma. You hear me? You were being a normal kid. What Mom did, that was wrong. What Grandma did was evil. But you did nothing wrong.»
«Can I stay with you?»
«You’re going to stay with me forever. I promise.»
There was a knock at the door. Eric checked the peephole. Donald Gillespie. He let him in.
«How is she?» Donald asked quietly.
«She’ll survive. What did you find?»
Donald pulled out a notepad. «Four graves so far. Sarah Chun, we already knew about. The second one is Marcus Wright, ten years old, missing from Philadelphia two years ago. Parents were told he was at a boarding school. The third is a girl, maybe eight or nine. We’re still working on identification.»
Donald paused. «The fourth is recent. Very recent. A boy named Tyler Brennan. He was only there for a week.»
«How many kids total went through that place?»
«We’re trying to figure that out. Myrtle’s contract claims she’s had over a hundred children through her program in the last five years. Most of them left alive. But we’re checking every name against missing persons reports.»
«What about Christina Slaughter?»
Donald’s expression darkened. «How do you know about her?»
«She investigated the place three years ago. Found nothing. Then retired and bought a house in Florida she shouldn’t be able to afford.»
«FBI’s looking into her now,» Donald confirmed. «Eric, there’s something else. We found financial records. Myrtle was charging parents $50,000 for a three-month program. Most paid cash. We’re talking millions of dollars over the years. Where’s the money? That’s what we can’t figure out.»
«Her bank accounts show regular deposits but nothing like that kind of cash. It’s going somewhere.»
Eric thought about that. «She had a partner. Or partners. Someone who made this look legitimate. Someone who kept the authorities from looking too close.»
«That’s what the FBI thinks too. They’re going through her phone records now. But Eric…» Donald hesitated. «They want to talk to Brenda. Your wife had to know something.»
«She knew.» Eric’s voice was flat. «Emma told me. Brenda drove her there on Tuesday. Told Myrtle that Emma needed to learn respect.»
Donald looked sick. «I’m sorry.»
«Don’t be. Just make sure everyone involved goes down. I don’t care who they are or what connections they have. Everyone.»
After Donald left, Eric made a decision. He picked up his phone and called Melody Hendricks, Brenda’s sister. She answered on the second ring.
«Eric? Oh my god. Brenda said you were home. Are you okay? She said something about Mom being arrested.»
«Melody, I need you to listen carefully. Your mother was running an abuse camp. She was torturing children. Four of them are dead. Emma was in a hole in the backyard when I found her.»
Silence. Then: «What? No. That’s not… Mom helps troubled kids. She’s strict. But she would never—»
«I saw the graves myself. The FBI is digging them up right now. Sarah Chun. Marcus Wright. Two others. All children under twelve. All dead because of what your mother did to them.»
«I don’t… Eric, this has to be a mistake.»
«It’s not. And Melody, I need to know something. Did you ever see anything? Anything that made you uncomfortable? Anything that seemed wrong?»
«I… I haven’t been to the property in years. Mom and I had a falling out. She said I was raising my kids too soft. That they needed discipline. I told her to stay away from us.» Melody’s voice was shaking. «Brenda still talked to her though. Said I was overreacting.»
«Brenda sent Emma there four days ago.»
«No. Brenda wouldn’t. She loves Emma.»
«She sent her to be punished because Emma wouldn’t eat her vegetables and talk back.»
Another long silence. When Melody spoke again, her voice was different. Harder. «Where’s Emma now?»
«With me. Safe.»
«Keep her away from Brenda. I mean it, Eric. I love my sister, but if she knew what Mom was doing and sent Emma anyway…» Melody took a shaky breath. «What can I do? How can I help?»
«Just tell the truth when they ask. All of it. Don’t protect anyone.»
«I won’t. Eric, I’m so sorry. If I’d known…»
«Just make sure it counts for something now.»
After he hung up, Eric pulled out his laptop again. Derek had sent him an encrypted email with preliminary findings. Myrtle’s financial records showed payments to several people. One name stood out.
Herman Savage, listed as Myrtle’s brother. He lived in town and worked as a… Eric stared at the screen. Herman Savage was a county judge.
The next morning, Eric took Emma to a safe house arranged by Donald. It was a small apartment above a bookstore in town, owned by a retired cop who owed Donald a favor. Emma would stay there with a female officer named Janet while Eric dealt with what came next.
«I don’t want you to go,» Emma said, clutching Mr. Hoppers.
«I’ll be back tonight. I promise. Janet’s nice, and you’ll be safe here. The door has three locks, and there’s a police officer downstairs.»
«Okay.» Emma nodded, but she looked small and scared.
Eric knelt down to her level. «Baby, I need to make sure the people who hurt you can’t hurt anyone else. That’s what I’m going to do today. Can you be brave for me?»
«Will you bring Mom?»
Eric’s jaw tightened. «Do you want to see Mom?»
Emma thought about it, then shook her head. «Not yet. Maybe not ever.»
«That’s okay. You don’t have to see anyone you don’t want to.»
He kissed her forehead and left, his heart heavy. But as he drove across town, the heaviness turned to cold, focused anger. He had targets now. Myrtle was in jail, but she was just the beginning. Herman Savage. Christina Slaughter. Anyone else who had enabled this nightmare. And Brenda.
