The Compound
"He infiltrated the compound to rescue his sister. The leader's three wives found him first. They don't want rescue. They want what the leader can't give them anymore. All of them. Now."
I've been planning this for six months.
My sister joined the Children of the New Dawn two years ago. At first, it seemed harmless—meditation retreats, organic farming, community living. Then she stopped calling. Then she stopped responding to messages. Then my parents received a letter saying she'd been "elevated" and wouldn't be contacting outsiders anymore.
I tried everything legal. The cult's lawyers shut down every approach.
So now I'm trying something illegal.
The compound is in rural Montana.
Five thousand acres of isolation. A main building that used to be a resort. Dozens of smaller structures—barns, cabins, workshops. And a fence. Eight feet tall, electrified, monitored.
I didn't come through the gate.
I came through a drainage tunnel that a former member told me about. It lets out in a basement no one uses anymore.
That's where I am now. Waiting for night. Waiting for my chance.
That's when the wives find me.
There are three of them.
They come through a door I thought was locked, flashlights blinding me before I can react. I reach for my knife, but they're faster—or at least more numerous.
"Don't," the first one says. "We're not going to hurt you."
"We're going to help you," the second adds.
"But first," the third finishes, "you're going to help us."
They're all wives of the Prophet.
The leader of the Children. A sixty-year-old man named Thomas Crane who claims direct communion with divine beings. He's had a dozen wives over the years—most of them young, thin, interchangeable.
These three are different.
Older. Larger. The original wives, from before Thomas discovered his preference for youth.
Ruth is sixty-two, white-haired, probably two-seventy. She moves with authority—the first wife, I realize. The one who's been with Thomas the longest.
Hannah is fifty-five, brunette, maybe two-fifty. Nervous energy radiates from her. The second wife.
Sarah is forty-eight, blonde, probably two-forty. The youngest of the three, and the most desperate-looking. The third wife.
"We know why you're here," Ruth says. "Your sister."
"Where is she?"
"Safe. In the women's quarters. Thomas hasn't touched her—she's being prepared for marriage, but the ceremony is still weeks away."
"I need to get her out."
"And you will." Hannah steps closer. "With our help. But there's something you need to understand first."
"What?"
Sarah answers. "Thomas hasn't touched us in years. Since he discovered the younger ones. We're window dressing. Symbols of his power. But we haven't been wives in any real sense for... too long."
The implication becomes clear.
"You want me to—"
"We want to feel something," Ruth says bluntly. "Before we die in this place. Before we become completely invisible. We want one night where we matter to someone."
"And in exchange, we'll get your sister out." Hannah's voice is urgent. "We know the routines. The patrols. The safe routes. We can have her at the fence by dawn."
"All you have to do," Sarah finishes, "is give us what Thomas won't."
I should say no.
This is insane. I'm in enemy territory, surrounded by potential alarms, and three women I don't know are proposing sex in exchange for help.
But I look at them—really look—and I see something familiar.
Desperation. Loneliness. The hollow of being ignored.
I've felt that. After my divorce. After everyone chose sides. I know what it's like to be invisible.
"One night," I say.
Their faces transform.
They lead me deeper into the basement.
A room none of the others know about, Ruth explains. A place they've carved out for themselves, hidden from Thomas's all-seeing eye.
It's comfortable. Mattresses on the floor, covered in quilts. Candles that they light carefully, aware that any smoke could give them away.
"We haven't done this before," Hannah admits. "Taken someone. But we've talked about it. Fantasized."
"Tonight, we stop fantasizing." Ruth is already undressing. "Tonight, we live."
Ruth goes first.
She's the eldest, the first wife, and she claims the right. Two hundred and seventy pounds of flesh that hasn't been touched in years.
"I used to be beautiful," she says as I worship her. "Thomas told me every day. Now he doesn't look at me at all."
"He's a fool," I tell her.
She laughs. It sounds like breaking glass.
When I enter her, she cries.
Hannah is needier.
She clings to me, holds me, doesn't let go. "Don't stop," she whispers constantly. "Please don't stop."
I don't stop. I fuck her slowly, thoroughly, making sure she feels every movement. Her body is soft—two-fifty of neglected flesh—and it yields to me completely.
"Thank you," she gasps when she comes. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—"
I didn't know how much I needed to hear that.
Sarah is hungriest.
The youngest, the most recently abandoned, she hasn't fully accepted her invisibility yet. She fights it—takes me inside her with fierce energy, rides me like she's trying to prove something.
"I'm not old," she gasps. "I'm not done. Tell me I'm not done—"
"You're not done."
"Tell me—"
"You're beautiful. You're wanted. You're mine."
She shatters. Comes so hard she nearly screams, and Ruth has to cover her mouth.
After, they all curl around me on the mattresses.
"Dawn is in four hours," Ruth whispers. "Rest now. We'll get your sister when the time is right."
The Escape
True to their word, they deliver.
At 4 AM, they lead me through passages I never would have found. Past sleeping guards. Through locked doors they have keys for.
My sister is in a small cabin, drugged but unharmed. The wives help me carry her to the fence, to a section they've already disabled.
"Thank you," I say.
"Thank you." Ruth kisses my cheek. "For reminding us we exist."
"What happens to you?"
"We survive. We always survive." She smiles sadly. "But we'll remember this. For however long we have left."
I want to save them too.
I can't. Not tonight.
"I'll come back," I promise.
"We know you won't." Hannah touches my face. "But it's kind of you to say."
I carry my sister through the fence.
Behind me, the compound is silent.
Ahead, freedom.
One Month Later
My sister is recovering.
Therapy, deprogramming, slowly remembering who she was before. She doesn't know how I got her out. I tell her I hired professionals.
The compound is in the news now. Federal investigation. Allegations of abuse. Thomas Crane arrested.
And three women—listed as "cooperating witnesses"—are in protective custody.
I visit them when I can. It's complicated—they're still part of an investigation—but I find ways.
"You came back," Ruth says each time.
"I told you I would."
"And you don't lie." She smiles. It looks better now. Less broken. "Not like him."
The others join us when they can. Hannah, still needy but healing. Sarah, still fierce but gentler.
I can't give them back the years Thomas took.
But I can give them what I gave them that night.
Attention. Presence. The simple gift of being seen.
And maybe that's enough.
Maybe, for now, it's everything.