Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series)

by Melissa Brown

  “Jared will do that. And you can rest knowing you gave him that opportunity. You did that, Porter, no one else.”

  Porter pulled his lips into a crooked smile. “How did I get so lucky?”

  Brinley blushed, knowing he was talking about her, his love for her. “We’re both lucky. Don’t ever forget that.”

  He laughed and pulled her tight. “I’ll try, Brin. I’ll try.”

  Chapter 22

  Just as I suspected, my brother requested a meeting with me the very next morning. Clearly he intended to keep his promise to Isaac. Forty-eight hours. And less than twelve remained.

  Plans were already set in motion. I would drive Isaac, complete with suitcases in tow, to meet with the detective at the station. Everyone, including my dear wife Sarah, would believe Isaac was gone, that he was no longer a part of our family or community. When the house was peaceful and dark, Aspen would guard my study to make sure no one would see us as we re-entered the home. She’d prepare a makeshift bed for him in the walk-in closet, and he’d stay there for as long as necessary.

  First I had to deal with Clarence.

  I had to sit across from him and watch him spew hateful lies about my child. I had to push down the rage that was already building in my gut as I approached his home. I’d have to keep myself from killing him with my bare hands.

  Just keep sweet, Paul. Just keep sweet.

  It’s a lot harder than it sounds when your brother is evil incarnate and rules over everyone you love.

  “Thanks for coming,” Clarence said, perched on the side of his desk with arms crossed. His head was tilted in his usual smug, I’m-smarter-than-you’ll-ever-be pose as he gestured for me to take a seat in front of him. The primal, protective part of me wanted to rip him limb from limb, to make him suffer, to hear his last dying breath as I pressed my thumbs into his neck.

  Just keep sweet. Just keep sweet.

  “It sounded important.” I placed my hands in my lap, linking them together, attempting to appear casual. The last thing I wanted to do was tip my hand, give him any sign I knew what had happened with my son. Playing dumb was never so difficult as it was when I watched Clarence nod and pull his lips into an overly dramatic grimace.

  “Unfortunately, this is the kind of meeting I never want to have. But Heavenly Father was clear, and I am but his meager servant.”

  Meager servant? You’re an agent of evil, and you serve no one but yourself.

  I cleared my throat, masking my anger even as my pulse raced out of control and I could feel my cheeks flushing. “I see.”

  “Well, I’ll just go ahead and say it. It’s your son, Paul.”

  “Which one? I have thirty-two.”

  “Isaac, I believe his mother is Sarah, your wife who bakes all the delectable treats.”

  “Yes, Isaac, he’s a good boy. A very good boy.” I raised one eyebrow.

  Clarence gritted his teeth and rubbed his left temple, attempting to appear conflicted. And I found myself wondering how many times I fell for his wildly terrible acting abilities. How many times had I sat in this exact spot and believed his lies and callous deception? How many times had I endured his god complex? That thought left a boulder of doubt in the pit of my gut, knowing it had most likely happened dozens, if not hundreds of times within my lifetime as his brother and member of the priesthood. How many times had I allowed him to steamroll me in the past? How many lives were affected by my actions?

  How many? How many? How many?

  My pulse was racing in anticipation. Clarence scratched his chin and nodded. “I’m afraid Isaac has been led astray.”

  I shifted in my seat, my head conjuring up all the possibilities Clarence could pin on my son. Things he didn’t do. “What do you mean?”

  “I found him a few nights ago, defacing the side of our new temple.”

  “Defacing?”

  “Yes. And I need you to brace yourself, brother. What he did was quite alarming. I must say I never saw it coming.”

  Because it didn’t, you liar.

  “Did he write on the temple?”

  “Yes, on the east wall, the side that faces many of the homes in our community. He used fecal matter.”

  “What?” I growled. I knew Clarence would lie, I expected him to tell me Isaac was smoking, doing drugs, or drinking—some of the many things teenagers have been expelled for in the past. But this . . . this was offensive, degrading, and purely for Clarence’s sick enjoyment. He couldn’t let Isaac be known to the community as a reckless teenager. No, he had to make him an instant apostate, an enemy of everyone on the compound. He had to make him disrespectful and offensive. No one would question his expulsion. No one.

  “He used dog feces to write a horrendous message on the side of the temple. I found him myself smearing it on the building. When I questioned him, he didn’t stop; he ignored me. I know your boy can be quite focused and in his own head, but I was stunned. Shocked, even.”

  “I’m shocked too,” I said through gritted teeth. I could feel my jaw tick as anger surged through every cell of my body. I wanted to kill him. It was no longer just a fleeting thought in my head. I wanted to murder my brother in cold blood.

  But I didn’t.

  “What did it say?”

  “Death to the prophet,” he said with a straight face.

  Liar.

  “I’m sure you must know how conflicted I am about all of this. He’s my nephew, after all. But this behavior, this blatant disrespect cannot be allowed. And I have to admit, I’m feeling a bit frightened for my safety. I have to treat this message as a direct threat to my life.”

  You’re not afraid of anything, especially not Isaac.

  “Can I see what he wrote?”

  “Unfortunately, no. My sons have been given the task of removal, and I’m proud to say that aside from a slight tinge of color on the surface, the message is gone. By the grace of Heavenly Father, it has been repaired. Isaac’s mark will never be known to the innocent members of our community.”

  “I see.”

  “This is where things get murky, brother. As much as I care for your boy, he cannot stay. You must know that.”

  “Do you have a photo?”

  He recoiled. Normally, I would allow him to steer the conversation, but I wasn’t complying this time. No, this time I was going to resist.

  “I’m sorry?” he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

  “Did you take a picture of what he did? Do you have proof of any kind?”

  He rose to his feet, glaring down at me with arms crossed. “Do you dare question your prophet . . . again?”

  “No, but you’re telling me my son committed an act so heinous, so awful that he’s to be removed, but you won’t show me any proof that he did anything whatsoever. Don’t you think that’s just a little suspect?”

  “What’s suspect is your lack of responsibility.” He leaned forward, placing both of his hands on the arms of my chair. His nose was mere inches from my own. I could smell the scent of his favorite cinnamon gum as he spoke. “The only proof you need is my word. I. Am. Your. Prophet. If I say he threatened my life, then it is so. Do you hear me?”

  I swallowed hard, not breaking eye contact. My chest rose and fell as I studied him, remembering Aspen’s words. I had to pretend to obey his orders or I’d be putting Isaac at further risk, I’d jeopardize the entire plan.

  “You’re right,” I said, breaking eye contact and looking at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

  Clarence pushed himself back from my chair and leaned into the wood of the desk once again. His shoulders relaxed and his arrogance manifested itself into an all-too-satisfied smile.

  “That’s better. Now, I know this is difficult, but he needs to go. Immediately.”

  “When?”

  “I expect you to collect his things this evening and escort him off the compound. He can have one last meal with the family to say his goodbyes.”

  “All right.”

  “I mea
n it, Paul. When I wake tomorrow, he will no longer be a member of our community.”

  “You have my word. I’ll speak to Sarah and Isaac as soon as I return home.”

  “Good.” Clarence smiled wide, extending his hand. “I knew you’d heed my words once the shock of his actions wore off.”

  I nodded, looking away.

  “Believe me, it’s difficult to imagine those we love could commit such atrocities. But there’s evil among us, brother.”

  There is evil in this very room.

  “Indeed,” I said, and scorn dripped from the word. I pressed my lips into a thin line. “I’ll deal with Isaac.”

  I walked to the door and Clarence cleared his throat. I turned back to face him once again. “Was there something else?”

  “Are you forgetting something?”

  I searched my brain, wondering what I could have possibly forgotten. My mind was spinning like crazy, and it was difficult to focus.

  “I, uh . . . don’t believe so.” I shook my head in realization. “Of course, you have my most sincere apology. On behalf of my family, I’m very sorry, Clarence.”

  He offered a forced smile, the corner of one lip pulled to the side only slightly. “That’s all well and good, but damage to the temple isn’t a small offense. And it’s certainly not easy . . . or cheap to fix.”

  Money. Of course, he wanted money. Not only did he fabricate a story about my child, but now I had to pay him to “fix” this imaginary offense to the temple.

  Sick, twisted, horrendous human being.

  “Of course,” I said, reaching for my wallet. “How can I repent for this infraction?”

  “Three hundred dollars should cover the labor.”

  “Can I get it to you later today?”

  He waved me away casually and I wanted to break his fingers.

  “Yes, of course. No rush.”

  “Thank you.”

  He raised both hands, his palms facing the ceiling. “I am here but to serve.”

  Madness built within my brain as I stared at the man who was born to the same mother and father as I, to the same family with the same ideals and values. A man who manipulated me for years because of my trusting and obedient nature. That was over. I wouldn’t rest until he was behind bars and unable to hurt anyone else in our community. I wouldn’t rest until his life was forever altered, until he got exactly what was coming to him: justice.

  “He what?” Sarah screeched, her skin ashen as she pressed her hand to her mouth. She shook here head as tears streamed down her cheeks. “No, Paul, please. No! You can’t let him do this, please. Don’t let him take my baby.”

  I pulled her close to me, so close, and allowed her to weep into my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I have no choice.”

  “Where will he go? What will he do?”

  “He’s going to stay with a friend of mine.”

  “Who? You have friends off the compound?” She sniffed, her eyes bloodshot.

  “I have one, and Isaac will be well taken care of. This is only temporary. Do you hear me? We’ll bring Isaac back. This isn’t goodbye, I promise you.”

  She burst into tears once again and clutched my shirt. “Why is the prophet doing this? Why? Hasn’t he done enough?”

  “He’s keeping Isaac quiet, that’s why. This way no one will know what he’s done.”

  Sarah pulled away and glared at me. My normally submissive and soft-spoken wife spoke in an octave deeper than I’d ever heard. “Then maybe we should tell them. Maybe we should tell everyone.”

  As impressed as I was by her instinct to protect Isaac, I couldn’t let Sarah disrupt the plan I’d conjured with Detective Cooke and Aspen.

  “No, we can’t do that. Not yet,” I said, shaking my head forcefully and grabbing each of her elbows. “When the time is right, we will. You have to follow my lead, Sarah. Can you do that?”

  She swallowed hard, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. She looked down at the floor and then met my eyes again. “Yes.”

  “Do you trust me?” I asked, moving my hands to her shoulders. “Really trust me?”

  “I trust you with my life.”

  “Then trust me with Isaac’s. Please. The prophet will pay for what he’s done, but I need time. You have my word that Isaac will be well taken care of while he’s gone. He’ll be safe, he’ll be fed, and he’ll be comfortable, of that you can be sure.”

  Sarah placed her hand on my cheek and smiled through her tears. “My dear husband, you’re one of the good ones.”

  I shrugged, feeling myself choke up at her words. “I’m doing my best.”

  “Take care of my baby. And make him text me every single day. Morning and night I’ll be sending messages, and I want him to respond.”

  “I’ll see to it,” I said, smoothing down her braid. “He’ll miss you just as much as you’ll miss him.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “That’s simply impossible.”

  “Thank you for trusting me. We’re going to get him back, I swear to you.”

  She nodded. “Can I say goodbye to him now?”

  “Yes. He’s in his room packing a few bags. We’ll go after dinner.”

  “All right.”

  “Try not to cry when you’re with him, okay? It’ll scare him, and I’m really trying to avoid that. I want him to be confident that this is only temporary.”

  She shrugged and exhaled deeply, her deep brown eyes honest and vulnerable. “I’ll do my very best.”

  “I know you will.”

  Sarah left the room and I sank to the floor, holding on to the post of her bed as I bit into the knuckles of my hand, willing myself to stay strong, to stay composed. I couldn’t fall apart when my family needed me the most. I’d lied to one of my wives, and I knew it would eat at me for days, weeks, months—however long it took before I could reveal the truth to her. Before I could tell her that her son was in our home the entire time. I could only hope once we were free of Clarence’s tyranny and abuse, she’d have forgiveness in her heart. I’d already hurt Aspen more than my brain could even process; the idea of hurting Sarah as well was outright painful.

  Slowly, I pulled myself off the floor and walked to the bathroom. After splashing cold water on my face, I stared into the mirror. As the water streamed down my pale skin and dripped into the porcelain below, I knew what I had to do.

  Hiding Isaac was only the beginning. I had to do whatever it took to aid Detective Cooke in his case against the prophet. The sooner that monster was behind bars, the sooner we could all move on to a healthier, more prosperous future. And as I stared at myself in the mirror, I knew I was prepared to lead. Did I consider myself the mouthpiece of God? Absolutely not. But the ten thousand residents of our compound didn’t need that. They needed someone who had their best interests at heart. Someone who wouldn’t lie to them or destroy their children’s hopes and dreams. Someone who would lead them with dignity and respect.

  Someone like my father, Walter Black.

  Someone like me.

  Chapter 23

  “Are you all right, son?”

  Isaac was rocking back and forth in the chair of Detective Cooke’s office while he nibbled on his fingernail. Cooke was running late, but would meet us there to take Isaac’s statement and formally start the paperwork to press charges against Clarence.

  “Mm hmm,” he answered as he stared off into space, removing one fingernail from his mouth, shifting his hand a bit and biting into the next nail.

  “It’s okay to be nervous.”

  “He’s late. Our appointment was at 7:00. It’s 7:08.”

  I sighed, following his eyes to the clock on the detective’s desk. “He’ll be here, don’t worry.”

  “It’s impolite to make people wait. That’s what Mama always says.”

  “She’s right, but Detective Cooke is working on another case. He doesn’t want to keep us waiting, but he’s been held up.”

  Isaac closed his eyes and I took his hand in mine, squeezing
it. “Are you scared? That’s normal.”

  He shrugged. “I want to forget about it. Talking about it makes me . . .”

  “Embarrassed?”

  He nodded, biting another nail.

  “I know. But it’s the only way to help all the other kids. We have to save them from your uncle. He’s a very bad man.”

  “But he’s the prophet.”

  “He made himself the prophet, son. Your grandfather died suddenly, and your uncle seized control of our community. He was the eldest son so everyone went along with it. But that’s over now. He’s a false prophet, and he needs to be overthrown.”

  “And that’s what’ll happen? If I talk?”

  “It’s a start, yes.” He still wouldn’t look at me. “Listen, son, if I could spare you from this, please know I would in a heartbeat. But it has to be you.”

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Detective Cooke rushed into the room. His hair was sloppy and his shirt was wrinkled. The best word I could use to describe him would be disheveled, a disheveled mess.

  What does Aspen see in you?

  I stood to shake his hand. “That’s all right; we haven’t been here long.”

  “Seventeen minutes,” Isaac said. “We’ve been here seventeen minutes, Papa.”

  I patted Isaac on the shoulder. “Yes, son, that’s right. Detective Cooke, this is my son, Isaac.”

  The detective extended a hand to my son. “I’m glad to meet you, Isaac. Although I wish it was under different circumstances.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Should we get started?” the detective asked before pulling his chair from behind his desk to sit a few feet from Isaac and me. “Your father told me you’d prefer to give a video recorded statement rather than a written one.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ll ask you several questions and you can take your time. Just give as many details as possible. Details strengthen our case.”

  “Okay,” Isaac said, clearing his throat. “I’m ready.”

  “All right, then, come with me.” Detective Cooke stood and Isaac and I followed suit.