CHAPTER THREE: HIS HOLINESS HAS REPEATEDLY STATED THIS IS NOT A CULT

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BEATRICE'S BROW FURROWED as she propelled herself forward, curiosity driving her words. "So, remind me again why you two brought me here along with you guys?"

Two hours ago, Beatrice had been prepared for a typical day at the office, expecting to be needed by ten in the morning. However, her expectations were swiftly shattered when her phone rang at seven and the voice on the other end belonged to Hotchner. The clerk was instructed to grab her go bag and join Emily and Reid in Colorado immediately, disrupting her expectations of a mundane office job. The suddenness of it all had left her reeling, and though her colleagues already briefed her on the case and her role in it, she still wanted to go over it again for clarification.

She never thought her boss would allow her to engage in fieldwork, especially after what he deemed as a "stunt" in New York. The repercussions of her actions were felt when Rossi informed her that while her division praised her skills (they were unaware of the reprimand and confiscation of her own electronics), it put the BAU in a precarious position since the incident involved hacking a satellite to prevent a bomb. The amount of paperwork and reports that Beatrice and the team had to compile to explain her decision was overwhelming.

Spencer turned his attention to the female driver, opening a brown folder. "Tell us about the 911 call."

Bea leaned in, her eyes fixed on Nancy Lunde, the Child Protection Service agent, as she offered her theory. "I believe the 'he' that they referred to is the church's leader, Benjamin Cyrus," Nancy explained.

Curiosity piqued, the blonde turned to the doctor, who was flipping through Benjamin's records. "No criminal record," the doctor declared, his tone filled with surprise. Beatrice edged closer, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the elusive unsub. "No record at all, really. What else do you know about him?"

"It's rumored that he's practicing polygamy and forced marriages," she revealed, her voice laced with concern.

"If we prove he's forcing himself onto those teenagers, I call dibs on punching his face." Beatrice seethed. While she respected individual choices and diverse lifestyles, the idea of forced marriages, particularly involving minors, stirred a deep anger within her.

Emily smirked, "Yeah? Get in line."

Actually, after returning from Ohio, Garcia and Derek organized a small team gathering for some much-needed fun. Beatrice found herself effortlessly connecting with her fellow BAU members, especially forming a close bond with Emily and Derek, who had a penchant for mischief and adventure. Additionally, she couldn't help but be in awe of Reid and Garcia, whose genius intellects shone brightly, captivating her attention.

As the team prepared to enter the territory of the Separatarian Sect, the blonde couldn't help but voice a lingering question. "Before we proceed, I'd like to know more about this Separatarian Sect. What do we know about their church? Are we even dealing with a church? Because honestly, they sound more like a cult."

Nancy's expression tightened slightly. "Liberty Ranch was founded in 1980 by a Libertarian. Said it was created as a self-sustaining community."

"But Libertarians aren't religious," Reid wondered. "They believe that everyone has the right to do what they want as long as they aren't infringing on the rights of others."

"Clearly this sect abandoned Libertarian principles. They are now categorized as a Christian Fundamentalist group, but specifics about their beliefs, practices, and inner workings remain elusive. This is why we called in for your assistance."

Shifting gears, Beatrice asked about the potential identity of the anonymous caller. "Any idea who the caller is?" she pressed, hoping for a lead.

The driver's gaze dropped. "Uh, Jessica Evanson is the one who the age fits," she admitted. Beatrice picked on her nails in thought. They couldn't be certain, but Jessica seemed like a promising lead.

Preparing for their next move, Emily pulled out her gun, badge, and credentials. "Well, considering their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn't identify us as FBI," Emily suggested. The analyst nodded in agreement as Emily continued. "Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts."

Beatrice reached into her holster, passing her weapon to Spencer, who quickly hid it away along with Emily's belongings. "You, Beatrice, are our transcriptionist," Emily explained, outlining her role. "Your primary task is to document and transcribe the interview we will conduct. The recorder and laptop's there at the back."

As the vehicle came to a stop near the chapel's entrance, the woman carefully scanned their surroundings and grabbed her equipment. Stepping out, she took a moment to absorb the scene before her. The compound exuded an unmistakable aura of a polygamist cult, with its desolate desert setting and an air of seclusion. It was clear that this seclusion served a purpose. By keeping their members cut off from the outside world, the group could effectively shield them from conflicting ideas that might challenge their beliefs.

Standing beside Spencer, Bea's gaze fixed on the man seated beside the stairs, clutching what appeared to be a Bible.

Nancy's voice held a firm yet polite tone as she addressed the man. "I'm looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus,"

"You found him."

Nancy introduced herself, reminding Benjamin of their prior phone conversation regarding the allegation. However, Benjamin responded with a quote from his scripture, referring to how they were labeled as "savages" due to their differing manners.

"We didn't come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus."

Spencer interjected, swiftly correcting Nancy. "Actually, it's Benjamin Franklin."

As the tension hung in the air, Nancy proceeded to introduce the rest of them. "Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid," she began, gesturing towards them. "They're child victim interview experts, and Beatrice Sterling is their transcriptionist."

Benjamin's unwavering gaze fixed upon Beatrice, intensifying her unease. It was as if he were meticulously studying her, examining every nuance.

The moment shattered as Benjamin's expression changed, the glimmer in his eyes fading into something more guarded. "How far from God's word must we have strayed for there to be the need to invent a job called child victim interview expert?"

The woman couldn't help but release a small sigh of relief. The prospect of a suspected cult leader taking a keen interest in her was the last thing she desired at this moment.

Emily replied to Benjamin's question, her voice filled with sincerity, "We wish we didn't have to be here."

The leader's response mirrored her sentiment. "So do we," he acknowledged before stepping aside, granting them access. "But you are welcome, nonetheless. The children are in the school as I indicated."

"Thank you."

Beatrice trailed closely behind Emily and Nancy, her eyes scanning each facility with a watchful gaze. With her laptop securely held against her chest, she remained vigilant. However, her attention was momentarily diverted as a group of men carrying large bags caught her eye. Curiosity getting the better of her, she paused in her tracks, instinctively drawn to observe their actions.

Curiosity consumed her thoughts. The weight and size piqued her interest, fueling a growing sense of intrigue within her.

As the woman stood there, a voice suddenly broke the silence. The words resonated through the air, making her jump in surprise. "Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars. Khalil Gibran."

She turned around swiftly, her eyes widening as she realized it was Benjamin Cyrus standing there. The close proximity of his warm presence sent a shiver down her spine, causing her to instinctively step away, pushing up her glasses in an attempt to regain her composure.

"When will you stop running?"

Confusion clouded Beatrice's mind as she tried to comprehend his words. "What?"

Benjamin offered her a sympathetic smile. "I know a survivor when I see one."

"No offense, but you don't know—"

Interrupting her, Benjamin spoke with a calm certainty. "God led you here, Miss Sterling. This is no coincidence. He wants you to know you can finally rest and be saved."

A chill ran up Beatrice's spine as the weight of his words settled upon her. She began to grasp why cult leaders often possessed a charismatic and genuine demeanor. Benjamin's eyes held an eerie empathy, as if he could see the burdens she carried, as if he knew her struggles intimately. It was unsettling, the way he seemed to peer into her soul.

Lowering her gaze for a moment, Beatrice took a deep breath, attempting to gather herself. "I better get back to my team. They're probably already looking for me."

"Please."

Entering the school, Beatrice immediately stood beside Reid who began to ask where she went. "Something just caught my eye." She told him, stealing another glance at the doorway before focusing on the female teenager Emily and Nancy were conversing with. She was Jessica Evanson, the one they mentioned that fits their caller. The analyst pulled out her laptop and began to transcribe the interview, listening carefully to every question and answer they threw at each other.

"But you've never been off the ranch?" Emily inquired, her tone gentle yet probing.

Jessica's mother, Kathy Evanson, spoke up this time, answering, "I brought Jessie here when she was two."

Beatrice detected a hint of arrogance and defensiveness in Jessica's voice as she retorted, "You've talked to lots of children in your work. Tell me, are their lives somehow better than ours?"

"We devote ourselves to God. That doesn't mean we're not devoted to our children."

"We are not here because of your religious beliefs."

"Why are you here?"

"We received a phone call alleging that an adult male member of your church was having inappropriate relations with the younger women here."

"You're talking about Cyrus."

Beatrice paused from typing, lifting her gaze from the screen and peering over her glasses.

"What makes you say that?"

Kathy tried to appease her daughter. "Jessie, come on."

"Is it inappropriate for a husband to share a bed with his wife?"

"You are married to Cyrus?"

"Yes. Cyrus is my husband and a prophet. It's an honor to bear his children."

The weight of the situation settled upon Beatrice, furrowing her brow as she grappled with the information at hand. That was a clear indication the Separatarian Sect was a cult. Clearing her throat and exchanging glances with Emily, she directed her words towards Jessica, her voice carrying a mix of concern. "Jessica, you're fifteen years old," Beatrice stated firmly, her gaze unwavering. "Marriage licenses are only issued to those who are eighteen years of age."

Reid chimed in, adding another layer of legal context. "That, and the state of Colorado requires judicial or parental consent."

Emily's eyes flickered towards Jessica's mother, her tone concluding the situation. "She gave consent."

As the classroom door swung open with a forceful bang, Beatrice's heart leaped into her throat. Her eyes widened in disbelief as several armed men burst into the room, their rifles poised menacingly. Slight panic washed over her, her mind racing to comprehend the sudden turn of events. Did they catch onto them? Swiftly, she rose to her feet. The commanding voice echoed through the room, demanding everyone to stand.

The voice of one of the teachers broke the tense silence, "What's going on?"

Beatrice's attention flickered briefly to the teacher, but her focus was quickly drawn back to the figure who entered the room. Benjamin Cyrus stood at the forefront, his arms crossed.

His piercing gaze settled on Emily and Beatrice, tone laced with accusation. One of the Separatarians began patting down their bodies. "We just got a very strange phone call from a news reporter. Is there anything you want to tell me about a raid maybe?"

The weight of his words struck Bea, rendering her speechless, her mind racing to comprehend his claims.

"They don't know,"

Following the cult leader's command, they all swiftly made their way to a hidden hatch concealed beneath a table. Shocked by the sudden eruption of gunfire, Beatrice's initial surprise quickly transformed into a surge of instinctual action. Without hesitation, she dropped to a crouching position, seeking cover from the chaotic barrage of shots echoing through the air. Her mind raced, assessing the situation and calculating the best course of action.

Amidst the mayhem, her attention was drawn to a young child stumbling in the midst of the commotion. Beatrice swiftly sprang into action. With a firm yet gentle grip, she reached out and supported the trembling child, her training and experience guiding her every move.

"Come on, come on!" Bea implored, her voice filled with a mix of urgency and soothing calmness. She understood the overwhelming fear the young boy must have been experiencing, and was determined to provide him with a sense of safety amidst the chaos. "Stay calm for me, kid,"

Beatrice followed the crowd, her steps deliberate and measured. She felt a mixture of relief and gratitude as she spotted her companions emerging from the tunnel.

With a deep breath, she guided the young boy alongside her, leading him towards the designated area where the rest of the group had gathered. Her eyes scanned the wooden boxes stacked behind them, brimming with an arsenal of rifles. "Are those what I think they are?"

"Where'd all these guns come from?"

Reid admitted, "I don't know. Garcia checked with the state police."

As the leader of the group worked to pacify the distressed crowd, Beatrice's brows furrowed with concern, and she instinctively adjusted her glasses. This was meant to be her first field assignment with the BAU, a moment which should have filled her with excitement, but quickly spiraled into a dangerous situation where she and her colleagues were caught in the line of fire.

As chaos unfolded around her, Beatrice felt a gentle tug on her pants, drawing her attention downward. Her heart sank as she beheld a young boy, his tear-stained cheeks and red, frightened eyes reflecting the distress that had engulfed them all. It pained her to witness the innocence of a child shattered by such violence. She knelt down to meet the boy's level, her voice filled with reassurance. "Hey there, what's your name?"

"Gabriel."

A wave of empathy washed over Beatrice as she gently brushed his disheveled hair. "Gabriel, can you tell me where your mom and dad are?"

The boy sniffled, his voice trembling. "I don't know. . ."

In that moment, a familiar voice pierced through the commotion, calling out the boy's name. Bea's eyes met those of a distressed mother, her relief palpable as she rushed towards them. Gabriel's small frame darted towards his mother's waiting arms. The mother mouthed a heartfelt "thank you" to Beatrice, and the latter smiled back.

"It's the state police," the CPS agent stated, just as the clerk rose to her feet to meet her. "I'm an officer of the state."

Beatrice's response was dismissive. "Well, there's nothing we can do right now. They're shooting at each other like there's no tomorrow."

"I can talk to him."

Emily's voice cut through the tension. "No, you can't. It's dangerous." She hurriedly moved towards the agent, but it was too late. Nancy had already pushed herself out of the crowd and sprinted towards the tunnel entrance. "Nancy, stop! Nancy!"

Beatrice instinctively grabbed hold of Emily's arm, pulling her back as one of the separatarians blocked their path, rifle in hand. "We can't follow her, Emily. Let's stay here and wait for Lunde's return."

Moments later, the gunfire above them ceased. Benjamin Cyrus reappeared but Nancy was conspicuously absent. Emily's concern was palpable as she questioned Cyrus, "Where's Lunde?"

Cyrus met their gaze, his expression grim. "It wasn't us."

Bea's hands flew to her lips in shock. The realization hit hard-Nancy must have been caught in the crossfire, a victim of a stray bullet fired. Emily's protest rang out, her voice filled with desperation. "What? You can't engage in a shootout with the police! We have children here."

Cyrus, resolute and undeterred, asserted his position, cocking his gun. "I didn't start this. I'll take the roof. You take the tunnel."

At that moment, Beatrice was in her element. The chaos and urgency awakened a heightened state of awareness within her, enabling her to respond effectively. They were now thrust into a dangerous confrontation, with lives hanging in the balance. She knew what needed to be done, and was determined to see it through. She exchanged a glance with Emily, their shared determination and resolve mirroring one another. The bunker grew eerily quiet as the Separatarians began to disperse, leaving only Beatrice, Emily, and Reid remaining inside. The weight of the situation pressed heavily upon them, and Beatrice couldn't help but feel a mix of anger and sorrow for the lives lost in this senseless violence.

A follower entered the bunker, his voice heavy with grief as he delivered harrowing news to Cyrus.

"What about the baby?"

"I have her. She was at the school," Jessica, his teenage wife, emerged into the bunker, cradling the child in her arms.

Cyrus's tone shifted, his voice gentle and soothing as he addressed the distraught child. "Hello, darling. It's all gonna be alright, honey. Mommy and daddy have gone to God, okay? It's all gonna be alright. Take her to the temple and pray." He then turned to his wife, offering a comforting touch to her cheek before redirecting his attention to the follower. "Distribute weapons and ammo. I prayed this day would never come, but it has. God will see us through."

Bea's eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms and scoffed softly, "May your God see you through. . . indeed."

THE NEXT MORNING, Beatrice, Emily, and Reid were escorted to the chapel where the rest of the cult's followers had gathered. Taking their seats, the team observed their surroundings, their focus lingering on Cyrus, who seemed to be anticipating something. Suddenly, knocks on the door interrupted the silence, and the cult leader promptly opened it, welcoming a familiar face inside.

A sense of relief washed over Beatrice as she recognized Rossi entering the chapel, carrying a box of supplies. Cyrus greeted him, introducing himself as Ben and motioning for him to join them. "The children, and our guests," he added.

Rossi's gaze met the eyes of the three BAU members, but his expression remained neutral, as if he didn't know them. "I'd hoped you'd let me take the children,"

"Nah, they're our protection. I remember Waco. We all do."

"This isn't Waco."

"They stay for now. . ." Benjamin asserted, his words trailing off as he expressed his reliance on divine guidance. "Please don't try to force us out."

Rossi assured him, "No one's gonna try to force you out of here. Trust me."

"Trust is earned."

"It is."

"Tell them I'm not crazy," Benjamin asserted. "Tell them I'm just a man living by God's law."

"I will."

With Rossi's departure, Cyrus directed his followers to prepare the wine. The cult members efficiently went about their task, handing out the drinks to everyone present in the chapel. However, Beatrice, Emily, and Reid were directed to a separate area, positioned as if they were to be the audience for an upcoming event. Benjamin announced the significance of the moment, declaring, "We are celebrating. Everyone drinks. Everyone rejoices. Because today we are one day closer to being with him."

"Look at Jessica's body language. The way she looks at him." Emily's keen observation drew Beatrice's attention to Jessica's body language. The way the girl looked at the cult leader was nothing short of adoration and devotion. It was as if she was on the brink of kneeling down to worship him.

"She literally worships him." concurred Reid, voicing his doubts. "There's no way she made that 9-1-1 call."

Suddenly, Kathy stepped forward, physically positioning herself between Cyrus and her daughter, effectively blocking Jessica's view of the leader. "Look how she comes between Cyrus and her daughter," Emily observed. "She's inserted herself between them."

Beatrice's mind raced with conflicting thoughts. What if Jessica's mother knew deep down that something was terribly wrong? Could it be possible that she had made that 9-1-1 call, desperately seeking help for herself and her daughter? "What if. . . Kathy knows this is all wrong? But she's still in denial," she mused aloud.

The unsettling turn of events took a horrifying twist as Cyrus raised his glass, prompting everyone to follow suit. "Acknowledge him in all things, and he will guide your way. Drink to acknowledge him. And I will guide our way."

Beatrice's unease intensified as she watched the members of the cult drink from their glasses, including Jessica's mother. The cult leader's chilling words echoed through the chamber, and dread coursed through Beatrice's veins. "Please don't tell me he just led these people to kill themselves," she whispered, her voice laden with horror.

"We will be with him soon. We have drunk the poison together," Cyrus declared, his words chilling the air. As the followers at the back began to quietly wail, the haunting sound filled the chamber. It was as if they had awakened from their fervor, now faced with the dire consequences of their actions.

"He just did." Emily's grave response only confirmed Beatrice's worst fears.

Cyrus continued to speak, invoking biblical verses to justify their actions. His words painted a picture of a promised land where suffering would cease to exist. The imagery of God wiping away tears and the absence of death, sorrow, and pain seemed to offer solace to those who had just consumed the lethal drink.

"What do we do?"

Spencer's response was filled with certainty as he shook his head. "Nothing. We can't intervene now."

"We have to do something. These people just took poison." asserted Beatrice. The sight of the cult members consumed by the poison weighed heavily on her conscience, and she couldn't stand idly by as lives hung in the balance. No, not again.

Before she could make a move, Reid swiftly reached out and grabbed her arm, his grip firm yet pleading. "Beatrice, no."

"I'm not just going to watch these people die, Reid. Let me go."

"Look, Cyrus just told them they drank poison. I think he's just bluffing."

"What?"

"Just after he told them about the poison, he waited for them to start to react." Reid's words echoed in Beatrice's mind, unraveling a thread of hope amidst the situation. "Then he nodded to Cole, and he started writing." She observed the cult leader's actions, his deliberate nod to Cole, and the subsequent scanning of the audience. "They're scanning the audience looking for reactions. They're writing down the names of the people who are crying."

"He's creating a loyalty list," Emily concluded, her voice tinged with disgust.

A profound sense of anger surged within Bea as she clenched her fist, her knuckles turning white. "Bastard," the woman seethed, her voice laced with anger. "He's a manipulator who thrives on control and power. Uses fear and coercion to keep his followers obedient."

Spencer's solemn agreement confirmed her words.

"Be still. There was no poison," Cyrus declared, his voice carrying a mix of authority and delusion. The cries of the people subsided, their tears halted by this unexpected twist. "Instead, a test of faith," he continued, his tone laced with an unsettling righteousness. "Your adversary, the devil, waltzes about as a roaring lion! Choosing whom he may devour. Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother's keeper."

Beatrice's jaw tightened. The revelation that there was no actual poison, but rather a twisted test of faith, only deepened her disdain for the cult leader. His manipulative tactics and penchant for psychological control were on full display, as he scolded his followers like chastised students who had failed an exam.

She glanced at her fellow agents, the shared sentiment of incredulity etched on their faces. "Just when I thought he couldn't be crazier," Bea ground her teeth, her voice filled with exasperation.

BEATRICE STRAINED AGAINST the restraints that bound her hands with all her might. The sensation brought back haunting memories of her time in Iraq, where she had fought to free herself from captivity. The parallels between that grievous experience and the present situation only heightened her unease.

She glanced at her colleagues, Emily and Reid, who were also subjected to the same treatment. They had gone from being undercover agents to hostages, trapped in the clutches of Cyrus and his cult. The indignation simmered within Beatrice as she assessed their surroundings—the underground bunker that had now become their prison.

Cyrus's rage-filled presence suddenly enveloped the room and a sudden, violent yank on Beatrice's arm sent shockwaves of pain coursing through her body, causing her to cry out in agony. She winced as his fingers mercilessly gripped a fistful of her hair, forcing her head back.

"Beatrice!" The sound of Emily's voice calling out her name broke through the haze of pain and tension surrounding her. "What are you doing, Cyrus?"

Beatrice's eyes locked with Cyrus's. The grip on her hair and arm remained unyielding, the pain intensifying with each passing moment. "Which one of you is it? Which one of you is the other FBI Agent?" The cult leader's angry demand pierced the tense atmosphere. "I know Beatrice here is one. God revealed it to me. Senator Sterling. . . She is your mother, right?"

Bea's brow furrowed in a mix of pain and frustration. Marjorie was her aunt, not her mother, but she knew challenging him would only worsen the situation.

"I knew from the beginning something was different about you, Beatrice Sterling." He scowled. "Now, tell me, which one of them is it? Who's with you?"

Reid's voice cut through the tense atmosphere. "Why do you think one of us is also an FBI Agent?"

Cyrus brandished a gun, his actions speaking louder than words. "God will forgive me for what I must do."

A wave of panic surged through Beatrice as the weapon was aimed at Reid's face. Her muscles strained against the bindings, her desperation to protect her friend fuelling her desire to break free. She struggled against Benjamin's grip. "Let go of me! I'm the only FBI agent here! There's no one else!"

"Keep quiet! I know there are two!"

Reid, staring down the barrel of the gun, swallowed. "I—I don't know what you're talking about."

"Who is it?"

And then, with an admission that resonated with the weight of sacrifice, Emily spoke, "Me. It's me. Beatrice and I are FBI agents."

Beatrice's world spun in a haze of pain and disorientation as Cyrus forcefully dragged her and Emily by their hair. The searing agony coursing through her body amplified her every instinct to fight back, but the restraints on her wrists kept her helplessly at his mercy. She winced as they stumbled, struggling to maintain their balance.

As he hurled them into a room, Beatrice's body collided with the ground. Pain seared through her body as Cyrus delivered a ruthless kick to her stomach. The force of the impact left her gasping for air and the world around her spun in a disorienting blur.

"I told you not to put me in this position!" Cyrus's enraged voice pierced through the chaotic scene, reverberating in her ears. His words were laden with anger and accusation, casting blame upon Emily and herself.

Her heart twisted with anguish as Emily bore the brunt of Cyrus's aggression, her body forcefully colliding with the wall. Bound, battered, and with her strength waning, Beatrice could only watch in agony as Emily endured the unleashed brutality.

The violence escalated further as Cyrus continued his tirade, invoking biblical scripture to justify his brutal actions. "Get up, both of you! Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil."

The leader's grip then tightened around Bea's throat, cutting off her air supply. Panic welled up within her and helplessness consumed her as her attempts to free herself proved futile.

Just as darkness threatened to encroach upon her consciousness, he released his grip from around her throat, and the woman's body convulsed with a desperate fight for air. Gasping and wheezing, she struggled to steady herself, her vision clouded and distorted. Her hands reached out blindly, searching for something to hold onto. The room seemed to sway and spin, a disorienting dance that mirrored her own battered state.

Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she watched Emily, battered and bruised, face Cyrus. Through gritted teeth, her associate's resolute words pierced through the chaos. "We can take it."

The leader's response dripped with contempt. "Oh, you two can take it?"

The analyst clung to Emily's words, sensing the underlying message they carried beyond their immediate situation. Her declaration was a silent message to the team who listened from the outside. She knew they would be grappling with a difficult decision, torn between rushing in to rescue them and preserving the integrity of the larger mission.

"Pride comes before the fall." Before Beatrice could react, Cyrus seized her by the hair, wrenching her head back with brutal force. A jolt of searing pain shot through her scalp as he slammed her against the jagged remnants of the shattered mirror. The memories of her previous torture merged with the present, intertwining in a web of anguish and torment. With blurred vision, she reached out, her fingers tracing her broken glasses, the lenses cracked beyond repair.

This had to stop now.

Struggling to catch her breath amidst the pain, Beatrice got up on her knees, her body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and despair. Desperation surged through her as she summoned tears, digging her nails into her palms to evoke a convincing display of agony. "Stop! Please stop! Emily, I'm so sorry, but I—I can't. . . take—God, I'm so sorry!"

She continued to wail, her heart pounding in her chest as she heard Cyrus's movements slow. "I'm tired. God, I'm so tired. The world is so evil, so violent."

"Tell me, what did you do?"

A palpable presence loomed over her, and she felt Cyrus's uncertainty. Taking hold of his forearms, Bea held onto him tightly, her eyes locking with him. She forced herself to confront the darkest corners of her past, digging deep into the guilt and pain that still haunted her. "I killed a. . . young boy," she confessed, her voice strained and heavy with sorrow. The memory of that fateful day resurfaced, vivid and haunting, and she found herself reliving the horrors once again. Tears streamed down her face as she bared her soul. "He was holding two grenades, and he threw them into a group of children hiding in a house. I. . . shot him, but I was too late. I tried—tried to stop it, but I just couldn't get there in time. They all died. They all died—Oh, God!" Her voice cracked as she screamed, the weight of her confession crashing down upon her.

Her words seemed to strike a chord within Cyrus, and he pulled her into an embrace. "What happened to the boy, Beatrice?"

The touch was unexpected, but she held onto her act. "He-He died. The bullet went through his chest. I couldn't sleep ever since then." The woman fisted her hair, her lips quivering as tears continued staining her cheeks. "I took this case because I thought. . . I thought I could atone for my sins, but there is no salvation for me, is there, Cyrus?"

As he held her, his voice softened, his words infused with scripture and a semblance of mercy. "Proverbs 28:13 said whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy." His thumbs wiped away her tears and he continued, his smile unnerving to Bea as he spoke of salvation and faith. "This is why God sent you here, Beatrice. He wants to save you. Our God is faithful and just to forgive. You found salvation. . . here in this place, with us."

Beatrice pressed a trembling kiss against Cyrus's cheek. "Cyrus. . . thank you, thank you. I always felt like a puppet dancing, deceiving everyone. Putting on a show for everyone to see."

That was a coded message to the team outside, signaling that her actions were just part of a calculated act and the timing for intervention was not yet right.

His response was gentle. "It's okay, you are with us now." With a tender touch, he extended a hand to help her rise from the ground, guiding her as she regained her footing.

His gaze then shifted to Emily, disgust twisting his features. "Tie her up. Put her upstairs. I'm taking our new believer home."

Home, my ass. Beatrice wondered if there was a special place in hell for men like him and if there wasn't, well then, there should be.

"IT HAS COME to my attention that some of our brothers and sisters have lost their faith in God," Cyrus's voice reverberated through the room. "That they no longer love us," he continued, his words punctuated by the rustling of paper as he sifted through his piles of names.

Earlier, she heard Reid convince Cyrus to release a child in exchange for the names of the FBI agents, who happened to be her and Emily, and gain his trust. The two of them engaged in a brief conversation, during which Beatrice disclosed her successful attempt at convincing the leader that she was a new follower. Although her partner expressed concern about Cyrus doubting her act, she remained confident, noting the unwavering focus the leader had shown towards her since their arrival at the ranch. "Todd Sutters. Melanie Sutters. . ." Her attention snapped back to the present as the leader began calling out names.

As Beatrice made her way through the crowd, her eyes taking in the sight of her friend's battered form. "Nice acting earlier. Almost had me believing." Emily's remark, tinged with a hint of admiration, pierced through the tension.

Beatrice's lips twitched, but she remained guarded. "Men can't stand damsels in distress. They always think they need to become their rescuer."

"So, what happened?"

Bea crossed her arms, her tone steady. "Cyrus released a child earlier. Reid's suggestion actually got through to him."

"He trusts you and Reid now."

The analyst nodded. "Yep. New believers are the best because their flames burn as bright as the sun."

"Where'd you hear that from?"

"There's this church near my apartment. I visit sometimes, donate to the kids, things like that."

"Can you see without your glasses?"

"I can still make out faces and see silhouettes. I'll be fine."

Reid's presence interrupted their conversation, his guilt and concern palpable. Bea's gaze shifted to him, taking in his apologetic and tormented expression.

Emily attempted to downplay her injuries, masking her pain. "It's not as bad as it looks," she insisted, but Beatrice could sense the underlying discomfort. While her own injuries were tended to under Cyrus's orders, Emily had only received basic care from Kathy Evanson, leaving her wounds raw and untreated.

He swallowed hard, his voice filled with remorse. "I'm so sorry."

A mixture of sympathy and understanding welled within the analyst, and she felt a need to alleviate his guilt. As Emily shifted the topic, Beatrice's attention was drawn to the individuals Cyrus was releasing. "Look at who he's releasing."

"Wyatt Rayborn. . ."

"It's the ones who failed the loyalty test." Reid's observation echoed her thoughts.

An unsettling feeling simmered in Beatrice's stomach. "I really have a bad feeling about this. It's like he's preparing for his final show."

"We'll get word to the team. Wait for a sign from outside to indicate what time the raid will come. For now, keep up with the act."

Driven by determination, Beatrice spun around, facing Emily directly. With trembling hands, she clasped her associate's forearms, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I want to save you, Emily. Please, let God save you."

Emily's reaction was swift, snatching her hands away. Reid stepped forward to Cyrus, mumbling to him, keeping their conversation to themselves and to also divert his attention.

In the next few hours, Beatrice quietly observed the scenes unfolding before her eyes. Half of the followers were being sent outside the chapel, while food was brought inside as per Cyrus's request. However, she knew deep down that the cult leader had no intention of surrendering. Tomorrow, he planned to orchestrate the act of sacrifice, the mass suicide they were determined to prevent.

"You two don't have to be a part of this. You can go," the leader said, just as Beatrice entered the chapel. As everyone was having their meal, she took advantage of the moment to slip away and search for a flashlight, hiding it upstairs in one of the bedrooms. "Especially you," Cyrus's hand touched her cheek. "You have just found your faith."

"I think I'd prefer to stay," Reid's voice was resolute. "Somebody needs to tell your story."

Beatrice nodded. "I will stay too and bear witness. The gospel must live on."

Cyrus smiled, his satisfaction evident. "And I'm glad it'll be you two. Now that the false believers have been cleared from our midst, we make our final preparations."

Just then, several wooden boxes containing explosives were brought inside the church, causing Beatrice's heart to leap into her throat. The gravity of the situation intensified, and she knew that if she had any chance to send a message to the team outside, now would be the time.

Leaving the two of them behind, with the excuse of seeking guidance through prayer, Beatrice hurried upstairs. Clutching the stolen flashlight, she swiftly turned it on and directed its beam towards the window. She began sending her message in Morse code, desperately hoping that someone outside would notice.

"Come on, please," she pleaded, the minutes ticking by. The late hour, well into the depths of the night, weighed heavily on her, knowing she had to return to the chapel before her absence raised suspicion among Cyrus and his followers.

Suddenly, a red dot appeared on the blank wall beside her, sparking a surge of hope. Frantically, she flashed her flashlight on and off, completing her message. Mass suicide. Morning. Explosives. When you coming here?

Three dots flashed in response from behind her, and she nodded in acknowledgment.

"Three? Okay, good." With a final burst of light, she sent her last transmission. "Under. . . stood." Slowly, she crawled out of the bed, her voice wavering. "Three, huh. I mean, that's the time when everyone's drowsy. Even I feel drowsy at that time."

She glanced at her watch, realizing she only had half an hour left to save as many lives as possible. As she entered the bedroom where Emily was held captive, she found her sitting on the bed, as if waiting for her arrival. "They're coming here at three AM," she informed as she swiftly untied the restraints that bound her friend.

"I know. I just talked to them."

"Let's get you out of here. I'll go get Reid. You focus on gathering—"

Before Beatrice could finish her sentence, the sound of the door opening shattered the air, and panic gripped her heart. She feared that their plan had been discovered, but as Kathy stepped into the room, her words brought a surprising twist.

"You were right. They're setting the place to blow up."

Beatrice exchanged a glance with Emily, their unspoken understanding solidifying. Emily had taken the initiative to involve Kathy in their plan. Working together, they quickly freed Emily from her restraints. "I told Jessie that Cyrus wanted her to gather the women and children."

"What about the man we came in with? Where is he?"

"He's in the chapel with Cyrus. I couldn't risk bringing him here without raising suspicion," Beatrice explained to Emily, her mind racing with thoughts of Reid's safety.

Kathy took charge, gripping Emily's arm and urging them to move swiftly. "We have to hurry. It's already 2:35."

The analyst reassured Emily, her voice filled with determination. "I'll find Reid, Ems. Just go with them."

As she watched Emily and Kathy disappear into the shadows, Beatrice steeled herself for the task ahead. She needed to locate Reid and ensure his safety before time ran out. However, her steps were interrupted by the sound of gunshots echoing through the chapel. Fear coursed through her veins as she dropped to the ground, seeking cover. The urge to rush to Emily's side, to protect the children, was overpowering, but she had to find Reid first. With a deep breath, she rose to her feet and entered the chapel, only to witness the scene playing out before her.

Cyrus, consumed by a maddening rage, assaulted Reid with the butt of his rifle. "You cannot convert my brothers," Cyrus asserted, delivering another brutal blow and her colleague collapsed to the ground in pain. Without hesitation, Bea called out to the cult leader, using every ounce of strength within her to pull him away from Reid. "Spencer! Get away from him, you delusional piece of shit!" The satisfaction of landing a punch on Cyrus's face provided a fleeting moment of release, but the threat remained. "I've been itching to do that since earlier."

Cyrus spun around, his eyes filled with menace as he locked gazes with Beatrice. The confrontation escalated, and a follower of Cyrus aimed his rifle at her. "You just bought yourself a one-way ticket to hell, woman!" he sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she met his threat unfazed. "Well, let's say hi to each other there then!" retorted the woman, her voice laced with defiance. "You really think I'd just believe in your salvation scheme? Now, I may not be that religious or well-versed in the Bible, but I have read that no murderer has eternal life abiding in him!" Bea spat out the words as she shielded Reid from his wrath.

"That's 1 John 3:15," Reid groaned, his voice strained with pain.

"Now's really not the time, Einstein," Beatrice retorted, her focus never leaving Cyrus.

The confrontation intensified as Cyrus revealed a manual detonator for the bomb, declaring, "No one had to follow. God could have stopped me."

But before he could press the button, sudden gunfire erupted in the chapel, aimed at Cyrus and his second-in-command. Beatrice's heart raced with trepidation as she watched his dead body hit the ground.

"He just did," remarked Reid, his voice filled with weary triumph.

The analyst let out a long, shuddering breath, her body still trembling with a potent mix of relief, adrenaline, and sheer exhaustion. Leaning against the sturdy wooden door, she closed her eyes. It was finally over, the nightmare they had endured had reached its end.

"You all right, guys?" Derek's voice carried both relief and worry, his eyes searching their faces for any signs of lasting harm.

"We're fine. Where's Emily?" Reid's voice was filled with concern as he stood up.

"We got her out of here."

Beatrice's gaze drifted to the figure of Jessica. Confusion and desperation etched deep lines on Jessica's face, leaving the blonde with an unspoken question on her lips. Before she could voice her concern, Derek intervened, his voice filled with a gentle promptness.

"Sweetheart, come with me. We need to get you out of here. Let's go right now."

Jessica's gaze lingered on her husband's lifeless body, and in just a moment, she picked up the detonator, sealing her own fate. Time seemed to slow down as the gravity of the situation hit. "No, Jessica, don't!" Beatrice's desperate plea hung in the air, but her attempt to intervene was abruptly halted as Derek pulled her back.

"Run!"

Alerted, Beatrice's instincts kicked in, and she pushed her body forward with every ounce of strength she had left. Her muscles strained, and the ground beneath her feet blurred as she sprinted towards safety. As they raced away from the explosion, the force of the blast propelled them forward, rolling them across the stairs in a flurry of movement. She felt the impact reverberate through her body, leaving her disoriented. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring her vision and making it difficult to breathe. The acrid smell of smoke invaded her senses, mingling with the taste of adrenaline on her tongue.

Gasping for air, Bea fought through the haze, gradually regaining her senses. She pushed herself up, her muscles protesting with each movement. She took a moment to steady herself, feeling the ache and bruises that adorned her body.

"You two okay?" Morgan's voice cut through the haze as he stood up, his concern evident.

Beatrice's eyes fixed upon the blazing church, a profound sorrow gripping her heart as she realized they had failed to save Jessica, the very reason for their presence in this place. She closed her eyes, the weight of devastation coiling within her like a venomous serpent.

Derek extended his hand to assist Beatrice to her feet. The three of them descended the stairs slowly. As they made their way down, they heard Emily's voice calling their names. "Reid! Morgan! Bea! Reid—oh, thank god!"

"We're okay," Derek reassured Emily. "I think all the kids are out."

Kathy Evanson approached them, her eyes filled with concern. "Where's Jessie?"

Beatrice's heart sank, knowing the painful truth but unable to bring herself to speak the words. She averted her gaze, taking a step back and left them to confront the devastating news on their own. It was then that Hotchner approached her, his stoic demeanor intact but a flicker of concern evident in his eyes. She sensed that he still held reservations about her, but there was genuine care for her.

Rossi trailed behind him, his expression filled with concern. "Are you alright?" he inquired, standing beside Hotchner.

"Maybe, when bombs stop trying to kill me." Beatrice let out a faint chuckle.

"What?"

"I said, it's gonna be a great year!" She carried on humorously, managing a feeble thumbs-up. "First field case, and I almost got blown to bits. Can't wait to see what's next!"

Rossi offered her reassuring pat. "You did a good job today, Bea."

Hotchner nodded. "We have a medical team here. Make sure your wounds are treated."

"Agent Sterling,"

The sound of a familiar voice drew their attention, and Beatrice almost rolled her eyes when she saw who it was. One of her aunt's private security details. No wonder Cyrus had known her identity. The presence of her family's security team must have leaked to the press.

Beatrice dismissed the agent with a wave of her hand. "Tell the senator I'm fine."

The agent persisted, insisting that Beatrice accompany them. Her boss nodded in agreement. "It's okay. Go home. We can handle things from here. You've done more than enough today."

The analyst let out a weary sigh. "Let's go."

As they walked away, her gaze shifted towards the tents where families had found refuge. She watched as tearful reunions unfolded, witnessing the raw emotions of joy and relief. Beatrice knew that although the scars from this ordeal would linger, there was solace in the knowledge that she had played a part in saving lives, in bringing hope to those who had been trapped in the clutches of darkness.

I did it again, dad. I hope you're proud of me.

————

gosh, i like this buildup. it's slow and i feel like it's how it would roll in the series. hotchner still doesn't trust her and beatrice also doesn't like his personality. i also wonder what will take this two to set aside their grievances with each other. also, i hope you like the episode per chapter format!