Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) (26 page)

“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.

“Where are we going?”

“Down the hall. We’ll use one of the interrogation rooms.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Interrogation? I thought you were just collecting a statement.”

“I am, but my office isn’t very private. I want to give you the most privacy possible. I’ll lock the observation room, and that way we’ll have total privacy. Is that okay with you, Isaac? If you prefer to stay here, we can. I’ll leave it up to you.”

Isaac returned to his chair and gripped the sides, his knuckles turning a pale shade of white. “I want to stay here.”

The detective gave a tight-lipped smile. “Suit yourself. I’ll just grab the camera and we’ll get to it.”

He left the room and I placed my hand on top of Isaac’s. “It’s going to be fine, son.”

“I know. I just want to get it over with so we can go home.”

“Now, you know when we get there, you can’t talk to anyone, right? Mother Aspen and I will check on you, bring you food, make sure you’re comfortable. You’ll have to text your mother.”

“Yeah, I know.” He laughed quietly. “She told me already.”

“She’s worried about you—wants to make sure you’re okay. But she can’t know you’re in the house, son.”

“Papa, I know.” For the first time since arriving at the station, he turned to face me. His brow was furrowed and his eyes tense. “I won’t tell her.”

I patted him. “This will all be over soon.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Detective Cooke returned with a video camera and tripod. After setting it up in the corner of the room, he looked to both of us. “All right, let’s get started.”

The house was dark save for one lit room, Aspen’s bedroom. Quickly, I sent her a text and was pleased when she responded immediately.

-We’re here. Is everyone in bed?

-Yes, coast is clear.

-Can you make sure? Head down to my study, please.

-Of course.

Isaac and I sat in the still air of my truck as we waited for Aspen’s reply. Every few seconds, he’d sniff and wipe his eyes with the back of his sleeve. The last two hours had been difficult—for both of us. Even though I knew all the details Isaac gave in his statement to the police, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t eat me up inside. Hearing him describe what happened that night, the way he was treated, the abuse he endured, made my stomach twist and adrenaline race through my belly. I wanted to kill Clarence, make him pay, ruin his life the way he’d ruined my son’s. But my feelings didn’t matter. All that mattered was Isaac—his feelings, his state of mind, his well-being. He had to know I’d never abandon him and that now, more than ever, he had my full support.

“You did good, son.” I patted him on the leg. “I’m proud of you, prouder than I’ve ever been. I know that wasn’t easy, not in the slightest. I just want you to know how proud I am.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, wiping his eyes again. “When will it stop?”

“What do you mean?” I asked softly.

“Everything. Me hiding from Mom and the rest of the family, the detective and the case. Everything.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Hopefully it’ll all be over soon and the prophet will be put away for a very long time where he won’t be able to hurt you anymore.”

“He’s not the prophet,” Isaac mumbled under his breath.

“What’s that?” I asked, not quite hearing what he said, needing clarification.

He turned to glare at me. “Stop calling him that. I’ve been thinking about what you said before—about how he named himself the prophet. Besides, a true prophet wouldn’t do what he did. He’s
not
the prophet.”

Emotion swept through me and the tears I’d been fighting for days flowed to the surface. I leaned forward and pulled Isaac to me. “You’re right, son. He’s not.”

He pressed his forehead into my shoulder and sobbed. And for the first time, I allowed myself to sob right along with him. I held my son tight and let my tears flow.

“I’m sorry, Isaac.” I choked through my tears. “So, so sorry.”

“Papa,” he wailed, his fingers clutching my shirt in tight fists. “I know you said I shouldn’t hate, but I hate him. I hate him so much I feel sick.”

“I know, son. I do too. I despise him to my very core. I’ll never let him near you again, do you hear me? You’re safe now, you’re safe.” I pulled him tighter as we cried together.

For several minutes, Isaac wept and I could feel my shirt grow damp when the familiar
ping
of my phone echoed through the truck. Isaac pulled away and pressed both of his hands to his eyes. I placed one hand on his shoulder and grabbed my phone with the other.

-Coast is clear. Come inside now, I’ll keep watch.

With an exhausted sigh, I turned to Isaac. “Mother Aspen said it’s time to come in. Are you ready?”

He nodded, biting down on his lower lip. I patted his knee and gripped his kneecap.

“Deep breaths, my boy. You can do this.”

“Okay, Papa. I’m ready.”

In silence, we closed our doors as quietly as possible and walked back to the bed of the truck to retrieve his two cotton duffle bags holding as many belongings as possible. We all hoped this would only be a matter of a few days and the rest of his things would remain undisturbed in his room until we could reveal his true location. Flora would want to clear away the rest of his things, but I would hold her off for as long as possible. I wanted Isaac to return to the room he remembered when all was said and done and Clarence was behind bars.

Aspen met us at the side door that was a few short feet from my study. She said nothing but nodded as we approached and crossed through the threshold of our home. It was eerily quiet. She closed the door behind us without making a sound and followed us to the dimly lit room. Isaac was the first to enter the closet and smiled as he peered into the small space. Not only had Aspen prepared an inflatable mattress for him, but she’d covered it in fresh linens and a quilt. A few of the framed photos from his room lined a shelf she cleared and an alarm clock was on the floor next to the bed.

I squeezed her hand. “Thank you. This is . . .”

“It’s good,” Isaac said with a grin. “Better than I imagined.”

“Oh good, I want you to be as comfortable as possible. Here, I’ll send you a text from my phone. You can reach me whenever you need anything, understand? Food, toiletries,
anything
. I signed up to clean this room all week, so no one should bother you. Aside from your father and me, that is. I’ve put fresh towels in the bathroom as well as the soap you like. There’s no shower, so you’ll have to give yourself sponge baths, unfortunately.”

“It’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

When Isaac was a little guy, we had to fight him to bathe. There was something about being in water that never appealed to him. He’d grown used to showers and seemed to prefer them to the baths of his toddler days, but part of me wondered if he was secretly looking forward to skipping showers for several days.

Aspen typed away at her phone. “There, I’ve sent you my number. Don’t hesitate, all right?”

“Thank you, Mother Aspen.”

Aspen leaned forward and placed a kiss on Isaac’s forehead before pulling him tight. “Thank you for giving your statement tonight. That couldn’t have been easy.”

Isaac shrugged within her arms. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“We’re going to get through this, all of us. And once the prophet is gone, things will be better.”

Isaac pulled away from Aspen and shook his head. Her mouth opened in confusion. “We’re not calling him that anymore.”

“Oh.” She turned to me, tilting her head in confusion.

I stood tall and patted my son on the back. “Isaac believes, and I agree, that Clarence Black should no longer be referred to as the prophet, since clearly he is nothing but a fraud. A wolf in sheep’s clothing who has duped us all for far too long.”

Aspen’s brow relaxed and she smiled from ear to ear. She gripped both of Isaac’s shoulders and forced him to meet her eyes. “That’s the smartest thing I’ve ever heard. And I couldn’t agree more.”

I smiled. “I thought you might.”

And there, as we stood with my son and watched him unpack his duffle bag, Aspen took my hand in hers for the first time in years. She took my hand and squeezed it, and I thought I might fall apart. She saw the conflict in my eyes and paused for a second before wishing Isaac a night of pleasant dreams. She then led me out of the room, closing the door behind her. We walked back to her bedroom. She closed the door behind us and locked it. She turned to face me. Her face was so beautiful, even when concerned—like I knew she was. She was worried about me since I’d come quite close to losing my composure in front of Isaac. Every emotion I had inside me was threatening to come to the surface.

I’m drowning, Aspen. Save me.

“Let it out,” she said, placing one hand on my cheek. “Dear Paul, just let it out.”

Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I attempted to hold it together. I didn’t want to cry in front of Aspen, the woman who consumed my dreams and captured my heart like no other woman had in all my years. I wanted to stay strong for her, but her invitation to let go took over and the tears formed in my eyes. I placed my hand over my mouth and closed my eyes tight as the sobs overtook me and my lungs shook with worry for Isaac, devastation for my family, and anxiety that Clarence might never be brought to justice despite all our efforts.

“It’s all my fault,” I muttered. “It’s all my fault. Ruthie, Isaac, all of it. It’s all my fault, Aspen. If I’d just listened to you months ago, none of this would be happening.”

“You don’t know that.” Aspen slid into me and wrapped her arms around my back, pulling me closer as I wailed.

“Shhhh, shhhh, it’s okay. You’re okay. We’re all going to be okay. Ruthie, Isaac, me . . . all of us are going to be fine. We’ll get through this. We
will
.”

I pulled away from her, wiping my tears away with the back of my sleeve. I shook my head in earnest. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve your kindness.”