The sky was pouring when Arwah drove to the Coldwell building, while Bryan filled her in quickly about what had happened at home. He let her drive this time as a sign of appreciation. It was a relief his wife was safe and secure with Arwah's family, learning there was a military-trained security guard protecting their home. He had theories about her father's position, but it wasn't the right time for curiosity. 

"Wow! I don't think he's psychic anymore," Arwah commented on his story. "I think he has a clandestine way of monitoring everyone."

"Possibly, but how? I searched the house for surveillance bugs. It could be some advanced technology ."

"It still doesn't explain how he took the kids without leaving a trace."

Bryan clenched his jaws. Nothing made much sense so far. 

"There's something else…" she hesitated. 

"What is it?"

"The kids. They all had special conditions," she explained. "Kyle Johnson has CP, the other two kids are on the autism spectrum, and your daughter…"

Bryan straightened, staring at her attentively. "All brain disorders."

"Conditions that don't go away."

"What do you think that means?"

"I'm not sure, but it must mean something. The kids saw things normal people don't see and they all have this connection."

Bryan's eyebrows furrowed.  "Their brains are wired differently."

"Exactly."

"They all witnessed similar occurrences."

"And they were somehow warned about Coldwell," she recalled.

"So he took them before they saw too much?" Bryan wondered.

"Or said too much."

"That means there is a third party trying to help," Bryan concluded.  

"Help the kids? Or help us expose Coldwell via the kids?"

"Maybe both." 

"I think the kids are gifted." Arwah nodded confidently. 

"Because of their conditions?"

"Some studies claim that neurodivergent people may in fact have superior brains. A human evolution we're yet to understand."

Anxiety began to creep into Bryan's mind. What the hell did that psycho want? Study their brains or something?

"If he so much as lay a finger on Bree, or any of the kids, I swear to God I'll make him regret he was ever born."

She shook her head. "He wouldn't need all the theatrics if he intended to harm the kids. It's a power game to him, he's pulling the strings and enjoying the confusion he's causing."

"I'm not," Bryan muttered. 

It was getting dark when Arwah stopped the car a block away from the Coldwell building. The rumbling thunder, along with the increasing rainfall were the only detectable sounds. The street was clear of onlookers, still it was foolish to attempt a break-in from the main entrance. 

"Here." Bryan extracted a small object from his pocket. 

"What's this?"

"It's a laser pen, for the security camera. You'll blind the camera until I crack the back exit." 

"Brilliant!"

Bryan pulled on the hood of his raincoat and got out of the car into the deluge. With their backs against the damp walls, they circled around the back of the building.

Arwah detected a surveillance camera and aimed her laser, while Bryan unfolded his lockpicking kit and the break-in went smoothly. 

There was complete silence as they sneaked into the semi-dark corridor, compared to the roaring storm outside.

"Focus on the cameras and keep your face covered," Bryan whispered.

She adjusted the hood over her head. "What are we looking for?"

"We'll know when we find it."

They roamed around the hallways and ended up at the vacant front desk. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. 

Arwah scanned the reception. "I don't see any cameras."

"I suppose you don't need a security system when you're psychic," Bryan scoffed. 

"Let's check upstairs." 

They climbed the stairs to the upper floor, copying the same directions the blonde employee had shown them hours ago. There were a couple of ordinary doors, one with the sign 'Media Room', the other 'Meeting Room'. 

Arwah froze, gawking at the solid wall. "Where's the door?" 

Bryan frowned, running his hands along the smooth surface of the wall. "I guess I was wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"There is a security system, just not for surveillance."

"Hidden doors?"

"Sliding walls." Bryan paced across the corridor, inspecting the walls under the dim light seeping through the false ceiling. 

"I wonder what else is hiding behind those walls." 

A hushed laugh came out of nowhere and rooted them to the floor. 

Arwah's eyes expanded. "Did you hear that?" 

Bryan placed his finger on his lips, pointed to the door of the media room, and drew out his gun. They didn't expect someone to be in the building. Not in this weather. Even the security guard had abandoned the entrance gate. 

He inched closer and turned the doorknob as quietly as possible. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. He slid inside, uncertain of what to expect. 

The media room resembled a miniature movie theater. Recliner seats were scattered around the place, and Paw Patrol was playing on the eighty-something inch flatscreen. 

Another childish giggle echoed in the room, and Bryan's eyes zeroed in on its source. 

"Kyle?" 

The boy peeked around the back of his recliner. "Hey, mister police. Are we going home?"

Bryan rushed toward the boy, checking out the rest of the chairs. "You okay, Kyle? Are the other kids with you?"

Kyle shook his head. "No, just me."

"How did you get here, Kyle?" Arwah asked, kneeling in front of the boy. 

"I dunno, I just woke up here."

Bryan got down to his level. "Did you see anyone around?"

The boy's gaze pendulated between the two of them and he grinned. "I saw a talking butterfly."

Bryan pressed his lips in frustration. Angels, fairies, and butterflies wouldn't make the cut in his final report. 

"Is it like the angel you saw at home?" Arwah suggested.

"No, it was a butterfly and I saw it on TV." The boy pointed to the oversize screen. "Super shiny with swirling colors and it knows my name and then told me stuff."

Bryan's forehead creased. It sounded like some kind of a brainwashing technique. "What did it tell you, Kyle?"

"About Master Lord Vinson. He brought me here and fixed my legs, see?" Kyle swung his legs and jumped off his seat, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

Arwah gasped and covered her mouth. 

Bryan gawked at the boy's legs that were so different from earlier today, when he'd been wobbling on his crutches. The once crooked and feeble legs now looked straight, healthy, and completely normal. 

It was impossible… Cerebral palsy wasn't  a curable disease, and it certainly couldn't be reversed in a few hours. 

"I can walk and run and jump like the other kids, thanks to Master Lord Vinson… oh, and the butterfly wanted me to tell everyone a message."

"What's the message?" Bryan was hoarse, trying to contain his shock.

"Master Lord can fix all of the kids."

Bryan stopped dead in his tracks, while the thought involuntarily toyed with his mind.  What kind of a parent wouldn't give anything for their children to be healthy and happy? If this boy was cured, then maybe his daughter had a chance to live a normal life, too. But at what cost? 

"But he wants everyone to believe in him first," the boy continued.

Bryan's jaws locked. That was the catch… Coldwell was blackmailing everyone into worshiping him. He wanted them to kneel down and sing his praises, using their sick children as bait… That bastard!

Arwah snorted. "Believe what exactly?"

"That he's the paragon of perfection," Bryan growled through gritted teeth. "That he can control the future of their children. You were right, it is a power game. He's gathering devouts who believe in his holiness… holy is untouchable."

The boy shrugged, shifting on his good-as-new legs. "Can I go home now? I wanna show mom I'm all better."

Bryan sighed, getting up to his feet. "Of course, son, let's get you home."

"Uh, detective." Arwah's voice trembled. "I think we'll have to stay put for a while."

Bryan glared at her. "Because…?"

Arwah gulped and held her palms up in the direction they had just come from. The wall behind them was smoothly decorated with golden paneling and antique lighting. It showed an elegant taste in interior design, except for one big problem. 

The door was gone. 

***

In-chapter prompt:

"Nowhere to go"

"A butterfly that's super shiny drops off a message."