Chapter 4

The sheriff' s car kicked up a cloud of dust as it pulled up the driveway. Sheriff Miller was a calm, reasonable man who had known our family for years. He looked at the scene with a practiced eye: me, terrified and disheveled; my father and brother, rigid with a strange, righteous anger; and Mr. Henderson, standing by his truck, looking deeply concerned.

"Thomas, Jakob, what's all this?" Sheriff Miller asked, his voice even.

"A misunderstanding, Sheriff," my father said smoothly. "Sarah has been through a lot. She is having... a difficult day."

"He's lying," I said, my voice trembling. "It's because of this."

I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out the wooden locket. I held it up for the sheriff to see.

"This is what's making them crazy. Ask them what it is. Ask them why they hate it so much."

Sheriff Miller took the locket from my hand. It looked harmless, old and worn. He turned to my father. "Thomas? What's this about a locket?"

My father' s face went pale. He exchanged a look of pure panic with Jakob. They were cornered.

"It is a matter of our faith, Sheriff," my father said, his voice dropping low. "It is not for outsiders to understand."

"Your daughter is making some serious accusations," the sheriff said, his tone hardening. "And I see bruises on her arms. I need you to make me understand, right now."

My father hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "Come," he said, turning back toward the house. "I will show you."

We all followed him into the dim, quiet farmhouse. He walked to a heavy wooden chest in the corner of the living room and took out a very old, leather-bound book. It was our family bible, its pages yellowed and brittle with age, the text written by hand in old German script.

He opened it to a specific page, the ink faded but still legible. He pointed a trembling finger at a passage.

Sheriff Miller leaned in to read. I leaned in, too, my heart hammering in my chest. I had to know.

The sheriff read the passage aloud, his voice filled with disbelief. "A woman of our blood who wears the Locket of the Forsaken is a sign of a pact with the devil. Her soul is forfeit, and the curse will fall upon her entire line... unless she is cleansed from the earth, and the object of her sin cut away from her body..."

My blood ran cold.

Cleansed from the earth. Cut away.

It wasn't just rage. It was terror. They believed I was a demon who had come to drag their souls to hell. They weren't trying to punish me. They were trying to save themselves.

I looked at my father's face, at the fanatical certainty in his eyes. I finally understood.

And in that moment, I knew I had to play their game.

"Oh, my God," I said, letting tears well in my eyes. I looked at the sheriff. "It was a misunderstanding. A terrible misunderstanding. Our beliefs... they are very strict. I... I forgot. I am so sorry for causing all this trouble."