the violet effect // spencer reid

32 • broken silence

• chapter warnings: spoilers for s4e3, mention of cults, indirect mention of rape, indirect mention of pedophilia, forced marriages, religious extremism •

previously:

The night stretched on, their connection deepening with every shared glance, every quiet laugh. As the hours slipped by, the barriers between them dissolved entirely. They found solace in each other, a sense of belonging that neither had fully realized they were missing.

•••

On Monday morning, the SUV cruised along the dusty rural road, sunlight filtering through the trees lining the sides. Inside, tension hung in the air as a recorded voice played through a speaker—a girl's voice, trembling and raw.

"He comes into my bedroom and lays with me. He says it’s God’s will. I’m only fifteen. And I’m not the only one. Please help me."

Spencer leaned forward between the front seats, his brow furrowed. His voice was calm but focused, “Tell us about the 911 call.”

Nancy Lunde, the social worker behind the wheel, kept her eyes on the road. Her tone was clipped and professional, though her jaw tightened at the weight of the situation, “I believe the ‘he’ she’s referring to is the church's leader, Benjamin Cyrus.”

Spencer nodded, flipping through the file in his hands, “Benjamin Cyrus. No criminal record. No record at all, really. What else do you know about him?”

“It’s rumored that he’s practicing polygamy and arranging forced marriages.”

Violet leaned over to glance at the file Spencer held, her expression serious, “Any idea who the caller might be?”

Nancy paused, “Jessica Evanson is the only girl whose age matches the details, but we can’t be sure. I negotiated interviews with all the children. It wasn’t easy.”

Emily, sitting in the front passenger seat, turned toward Nancy. Her voice was steady and authoritative, “Considering their views on outsiders, it’s best if you don’t identify us as FBI. Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.”

The SUV slowed as they approached a large wooden fence. A man stood by the gate, his eyes scanning the vehicle before opening it to let them through. The team’s eyes instinctively swept across their surroundings.

Crying babies. Women tending to small gardens. Men working under the blazing sun. The air smelled of dust and dry earth, thick with heat.

Nancy led the way toward a tall, stern-looking man standing near the main building. His presence commanded attention. “I’m looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus,” Nancy said.

The man smiled faintly, “You found him.”

“I’m Nancy Lunde. We spoke on the phone regarding the allegation.”

Spencer, Violet, and Emily approached from behind Nancy, their eyes fixed on Cyrus.

He tilted his head slightly, “Savages, they call us—because our manners differ from theirs.”

Nancy folded her arms, “We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus.”

Spencer leaned in, whispering to Nancy, “Actually, it’s Benjamin Franklin.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow but stayed on course, “Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid, and Violet Hankel. They’re child victim interview experts.”

Cyrus studied them with a thoughtful expression, “How far from God’s word must we have strayed for there to be a need to invent a job called ‘child victim interview expert.’”

Violet’s voice was steady, her gaze unwavering, “We wish we didn’t have to be here.”

“So do we. But you’re welcome nonetheless.” Cyrus gestured toward a nearby building, “The children are in the school, as I indicated.”

“Thank you,” Emily said, nodding.

Emily and Nancy started toward the school, but Violet and Spencer lingered for a moment.

Spencer glanced around, “You’re using solar power?”

Cyrus nodded proudly, “Yes. We’re completely self-sufficient—electricity, food, water. Ben Franklin said, ‘God helps those who help themselves.’” His gaze flicked toward Violet. “You look surprised.”

“Not surprised,” Violet replied. “Impressed, actually.”

Cyrus smiled, “Thank you. For admitting that.”

She exchanged a brief look with Spencer before stepping up the stairs to follow Nancy and Emily inside.

The classroom was sparse but tidy. A young girl sat on a chair, her posture stiff, while a woman—likely her mother—stood protectively beside her. Emily and Violet took seats in front of the girl, while Spencer remained standing nearby, observing.

“We go to school, we do our chores, and we treat ourselves and each other with the respect God demands,” the girl said, her voice unwavering.

Emily leaned in slightly. “But you’ve never been off the ranch?”

The woman spoke up, her tone defensive, “I brought Jesse here when she was two.”

Jessica looked at them intently, “You’ve talked to lots of children in your work. Tell me—are their lives somehow better than ours?”

The mother placed a hand on Jessica’s shoulder, “We devote ourselves to God. That doesn’t mean we’re not devoted to our children.”

“We’re not here because of your religious beliefs,” Violet said gently.

Jessica’s eyes narrowed, “Then why are you here?”

Emily’s voice remained calm, “We received a phone call alleging that an adult male member of your church was having inappropriate relations with the younger women here.”

Jessica’s eyes flickered with recognition, “You’re talking about Cyrus.”

“What makes you say that?” Violet asked carefully.

The mother stiffened, “Jesse, come on… shhh.”

Jessica’s chin lifted, “Is it inappropriate for a husband to share a bed with his wife?”

Emily’s eyes darkened, “You’re married to Cyrus?”

“Yes,” Jessica said with quiet pride. “Cyrus is my husband and a prophet. It’s an honor to bear his children.”

Spencer’s voice was calm but firm, “Jessica, you’re fifteen years old. The state of Colorado requires parental consent.”

Emily’s eyes flicked between the mother and Spencer, “She gave consent.”

Suddenly, the door burst open, and two armed men strode in, their presence oppressive and intimidating.

“Get up. Get up. Come on, stand,” one of them barked.

The other man motioned for them to move, “You heard him. Move.”

Across the room, several children huddled near a woman, their eyes wide with fear.

Cyrus entered the room, his expression unreadable. “We just got a very strange phone call from a news reporter.”

The men began searching the agents.

“Is there anything you want to tell me? About a raid, maybe?” Cyrus asked, his eyes narrowing.

The agents exchanged confused glances, genuinely clueless.

“They don’t know,” Cyrus muttered, a dark edge to his voice.

Outside, the distant rumble of engines grew louder. Black SUVs pulled up to the gate, and SWAT officers began positioning themselves around the buildings, weapons drawn.

The tension in the air grew thick as the first steps of the standoff began.