Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) (24 page)

“Thanks for coming,” Porter began. It was imperceptible to anyone but her, but Brinley could hear a slight cracking in Porter’s voice. He was nervous, and for good reason. This subject was one so private, so personal and raw. It was nothing to be taken lightly and a topic that was difficult to broach. “I know Charlie and I haven’t told you too much yet, but that’s what today is for.”

“You guys planning something against the prophet?” one boy asked, his eyebrows wide and shaky.

“Yeah, so if you’re not comfortable with that, it’s best you go. I don’t wanna force anyone into anything you don’t wanna do,” Porter said, scanning the room.

“Into what exactly?” another guy asked. He was around Brinley’s age, and she wasn’t quite certain but she thought she remembered him from the compound. Rick? Ryan? Rob?

Porter hesitated and Brinley squeezed his hand tight, offering him the most comforting expression she could possibly give. She knew he was grateful to have her there with him, thankful to have her by his side as he came face to face with the unimaginable horror of his past.

“The prophet is raping and abusing kids. He’s been doing it for at least ten years now. He lures them into the temple where he and a bunch of creeps tie them up, beat the shit out of them, and rape them. Then, at least for the guys, he kicks them out. I don’t know if he’s doing this to girls or not, but he’s, uh . . .” He cleared his throat. “He’s definitely doing it to guys.”

“Seriously?” one of the boys with a baby face asked. “How do you know?”

Porter hesitated for a moment, his eyes drifting to make contact with Brinley’s. She tightened her grip on his hand and nodded ever so slightly.

“Because I was one of them . . . but the statute of limitations keeps me from testifying. It happened more than seven years ago, so there’s nothing I can do. But it happened to me, and I know I’m not the only one in this room who went through that. I know it.”

The room fell silent. Brinley’s eyes tiptoed from one face to another. Some stared with their mouths agape, while others seemed to retreat within themselves staring at their laps, the floor, anywhere but the eyes of the other people in the room. For those guys, her heart sank. They were, most likely, the victims of the prophet. Porter’s grip on her hand tightened.

“There’s a detective, a good one, who’s building a case against the prophet, and he needs as many people to come forward as possible. I know you guys don’t want to get dragged back there, but if anyone here went through that, if anyone . . .” He cleared his throat again. “If you’re willing to talk to the police, then let me know. You don’t have to say anything now, just . . . just talk to me. Or call the number on the card.”

That was her cue. Brinley stood, retrieved Detective Cooke’s business cards, and passed them to everyone in the room. A few of the boys mumbled thanks, but most kept their eyes on Porter as they held their hands out for the card.

“The prophet’s a smart motherfucker,” a guy said from the leather recliner. “It doesn’t matter what this detective does, he’ll get away with it. Clarence Black has cops in his back pocket, always has.”

Porter shook his head. “That may be true, but I trust Cooke. He’s a good man, and he’s on our side. Believe me, guys. I wouldn’t come to you if this wasn’t for real. All I’m asking you to do is think about it.”

The guy in the leather recliner stood, dropped the business card on the table, and slipped his baseball cap on. “No, thanks.” He walked to the door and slammed it behind him.

Porter shrugged. “That’s fine, I get it. It’s not gonna be a picnic. I know that guys. But just think about it, all right? We have an opportunity here.”

The kid in the leather recliner scoffed. “To do what? Embarrass ourselves? Drag ourselves through the mud all over again?”

“No.” Porter shook his head. “I mean, yes. Yes, it’ll be embarrassing. Yes, it’ll be fucking horrendous to relive this shit. But what about our younger brothers and sisters, huh? What about them? What if we can save them? What if we can save each and every one of them? Isn’t it worth it—all the shame and humiliation—isn’t it worth it?”

The tips of his fingers were shaking as he scanned the room, finally looking down at the floor. “Just take the card, sleep on it. That’s all I’m asking.”

The room was quiet as most of the young men left the apartment, Brinley watched in disappointment as several of them left the detective’s card behind.

“That’s what I was afraid of, man,” Charlie said, sinking into the sofa and sipping his beer. “They can’t talk about it.”

“I know,” Porter said, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”

“Maybe some of them will reconsider,” Brinley said, hope still permeated her voice.

Porter gave her an appreciative smile, but she recognized it right away—it was the one he used when he was humoring her naive notions, the smile he used when he knew her intentions were pure but highly misguided in the outside world. That smile made her stomach clench as she knew he’d already given up hope.

“Maybe it’s best to just let the detective handle it. You already said there’s someone on the compound, right? Some kid who just went through this? He can testify.”

Porter and Brinley both nodded. Jonathan had called two days prior to let them know that Isaac Black, the son of Paul and the nephew of the prophet, was one of his latest victims.

“Yeah. He did this to his own nephew. That fucker has no shame whatsoever.”

Charlie shrugged dismissively. “So, let him testify. He’ll have his family to support him . . . unlike these guys who have
no one
.”

“He’s just a kid, though. He could back out, get cold feet. I wanted Cooke to have more witnesses.”

“It is what it is, man,” Charlie said with another sip of his beer. His voice was detached, insensitive. He’d left the compound on his own accord when he turned seventeen and never considered returning. When Porter first discussed having this meeting with other guys from the compound, Charlie balked at the idea. He felt it was a private matter for each person to work out on their own. In her gut, Brinley wondered if Charlie had also been a victim of the prophet. Because of the statute of limitations and his apprehensive attitude, she knew it was best Porter not push the issue.

“Porter?” a voice said from the front door. One of the boys who couldn’t make eye contact during the meeting was standing at the threshold of the apartment.

“Yeah?” Porter walked to the door to join him, and Brinley walked away from the two men, giving them space. Despite their soft voices, though, she could hear their conversation.

“Hey, Jared.”

Stealing a small glance, she could see the flushed cheeks on Jared’s face. He was one of the younger men; she estimated he was still a teenager. A feeling of conflict rose within her chest. Of course she wanted the case against the prophet to be strong, but as she studied his round cheeks free of stubble and his baby-blue eyes, she secretly hoped he hadn’t been victimized.

He’s just a baby.

“I, uh . . . I’ll talk to him,” Jared said, his voice squeaking slightly. “To the detective.”

“Oh,” Porter replied. “Thanks, man . . . and I’m . . . you know, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”

“When did you leave the compound?” Porter asked.

“Last year,” Jared answered. “I’m probably the only one who’ll talk, though. You know that, right?”

“I do . . . and that’s okay.”

“But there are others. I
know
there are. People say all kinds of shit when they’re fucked up. Half the guys in here were in that room, maybe more.”

A frightful chill ran down Brinley’s spine. She turned to her husband, who was unfazed by Jared’s estimate. He was all too familiar with that knowledge, and it broke her heart.

Porter nodded, placing a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “I know, but we can’t force anyone. They have to come forward on their own. Like my wife said, maybe they’ll sleep on it and change their minds.”

Brinley knew that last sentence was disingenuous, but it didn’t bother her. She knew Porter was attempting to make things easier for Jared, to comfort him with the idea of others telling their stories in solidarity.

Jared pressed his lips into a thin line, shaking his head back and forth. “Doubtful, but that’s okay. I want the prophet to pay and if it means getting up in court and telling my story, then I guess that’s how it has to be.”

“Thanks, man. I’m here if you need . . . well, anything.”

Jared smiled with his eyes, still pressing his lips together. Brinley could see his relief.

“Where are you staying?” Porter asked.

“My cousin, Ralph. He’s regular LDS and his family’s pretty cool. They have a guest room and don’t charge me rent.”

Porter nodded. “Nice.”

“I’ll get my own place eventually. Thankfully my cousin doesn’t make me go to church on Sundays.”

A sardonic laugh left Porter’s throat, and Brinley smiled in understanding. Neither of them had considered attending church services of any kind since leaving the compound. Her cousin Tiffany had suggested she and Porter consider joining the mainstream Mormon faith, but that was something neither of them was interested in. She knew that might change in the future, but for now she understood as well as anyone the desire to leave religion out of one’s day-to-day after experiencing life on the strict compound.

“Yeah, in our house Sundays are for sleeping in. I get it.”

Jared smiled, a genuine smile of relief and gratitude. “I’ll call the detective tomorrow morning. And I’ll be in touch.”

When Jared left the apartment, Porter placed both hands against the door and sank into the wood. Brinley walked to him, placing a hand on his back.

“You okay?”

He turned to face her, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bloodshot, but there was relief in the relaxed nature of his brow, respite in the smile that crossed his face. He wrapped an arm around her and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“Relieved. A room full of abused kids and I didn’t think I’d get one of them to talk. Jared might still change his mind, but I’m hoping he won’t.”

“I don’t think he will,” Brinley said, shaking her head. “I could see the same relief in his face. His secret isn’t weighing him down anymore. He can breathe again.”

Porter nodded. “I know how that feels.”

“And now you can go, knowing that you’ve done your part. You can let go of that guilt.”

Porter opened his mouth to speak, but Brinley continued. “I know it’s been eating at you—that it’s been too long for you to testify. But now you can go to Bridgewood and focus on
you
, on getting better.”

Recently they’d made arrangements for Porter to visit Bridgewood Pines, an in-patient substance abuse center. He’d signed up for a twenty-eight-day program and was planning to leave in a few short days. Brinley knew it was paramount for him to find others to testify before he could give his full attention to his treatment. The house would feel so empty without him and Brinley was, in some ways, dreading those twenty-eight days, but she knew she could handle it. She’d handled much worse, after all.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Now it’s in Cooke’s hands. I’ve done my part. I just wish I could sit on that stand, ya know? Sit on that witness stand, look that bastard in the eye, and help send his ass to jail for the rest of his life. I wish . . .”

“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.