The Fallow

by Alicia Britton

  A few times, Herald’s former self had gazed upon the estate with wide, hopeful eyes. He had secured Captain’s support and that was truly something. There would be other benevolent people out there like him, and then. . .

  He was cautiously optimistic. And he intended to change the world with just his words, all without firing a single bullet. If all had gone well, things would have been golden for him too, much like the tint of Virtue’s long thick head of hair in the mid-day sunlight.

  Someday, she was supposed to be playing with their children. They’d have sunny locks of their own. Unless, of course, they took after Herald, in which case they’d have a brown as deep and rich as the fertile earth.

  And what did he see now?

  Shapes. Color that failed to warm him. Beyond that, there were ghosts in the shadows. Everything was as cold and hollow as Morton Aamon Wersal’s soul.

  As long as he lived, Herald could not. By the day’s end, that dichotomy would be put to rest. He’d see to it, even if he died in his attempt.

  Then and only then—in this world or the next—would he find some tiny shred of peace.

  Chapter 27

  Captain

  Captain’s second phone line wouldn’t stop ringing. Family, in-laws, business associates, the Authorities, the Divinity Daily. It was hard to believe those were the friendly calls. The rest, and there were at least twice as many, were threats from strangers.

  He had no comment. Even with persistence, did they honestly think that would change?

  And then the door? Did one of his wives have the audacity to knock? He gave explicit orders. Do not disturb under any circumstances.

  The knock didn’t appreciate being ignored. It returned . . . louder and angrier. “I said not now!”

  He didn’t bother putting his hand over the receiver. The only people he had any desire to converse with kept transferring him from one incompetent fool to the next. At that moment, he was still on hold. And he had been waiting on hold for close to half the day!

  At least the knocking went away. For the time being. The phone stopped clamoring too. He was alone in his office with one silent line . . . finally.

  He collapsed into his rolling desk chair, closed his eyes, and pressed his fingertips into his migraine. Not more than a single deep breath later, the ringing resumed. It was joined by a “Thank you for holding. Mr. Arnold?”

  “For the fifteen thousandth time, the name’s Wersal!”

  She paused to consider that, long enough for him to wonder if he was on hold again. “Who?”

  “Morton Aamon Wersal! I asked to speak with someone in the Vault?”

  Ring a bell?

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to, sir. Would you like me to transfer you to the Main Office?”

  Not a single person in the Braintree Compound was even acknowledging the Vault’s existence. He couldn’t say he blamed them. Obviously they were being careful, but the run-around they were putting him through—a preferred client—was beyond infuriating. Weren’t they supposed to be reputable business people? One scandal—and they had certainly dragged him down with them—and this was how they were treating him?

  “No, because they transferred me to you, and this is coming after they transferred me to about six other people. You see? Here’s the thing. I want my damn money back,” he ground out with his mouth pressed to the receiver. “If you can’t help me, find someone who can!”

  Before answering, the bitch left plenty of dead air space, no doubt placed there to further trifle with his patience and sanity. “I will transfer you to Finance.”

  “Wait!” Not good enough. He had talked to them too—twice—and they had even less of a clue. “You know what? I want to speak to Leviathan.”

  “I’m sorry—” she began, and he cut her off.

  “Yes, I’m aware he’s not taking calls today. But this is an emergency!”

  “Please hold,” she said mechanically.

  She clicked off the line before he could argue.

  After a crackling sound came a deafening beep. He had to whisk the phone away from his head. He put his ear back at the precise moment the line went dead.

  It clicked over to a dial tone.

  Captain’s other line continued to ring, but rather than answer it, he hung up the receiver with a bang. He probably broke the damn thing, but that didn’t stop it from shrieking. It wasn’t a particularly satisfying way to vent his rage, either.

  Someone was about to get punished like never before.

  It should be Virtue.

  He was having an abysmal week, but he tried to look on the bright side. He was another day closer to finding her. He would put money in the right hands . . . once he dug himself out of this new hole he was in. And she’d turn up. Vermin would eventually surface for something decent to eat. And that’s when his trap would spring.

  He sighed. He’d figure that all out. Right then, he needed a break—a good, long, hard one.

  He went into his top desk drawer and reached into the right corner. And he came back empty handed.

  Strange. He always put his keys in the exact same place. They were there the day before, he knew for a fact.

  He had a spare set somewhere. Digging through his other drawers, all of which were more disoriented than usual, he couldn’t seem to locate those, either.

  Who had he let borrow them last?

  Dr. Wayward had been there yesterday and was possibly stopping in again that afternoon. The medical bills had been bordering on obscene. He could certainly afford to buy his own Fallow hoard. But for whatever reason, he preferred to defile someone else’s. And Captain had bartered accordingly and came to a new arrangement.

  Last he knew, he had given Dr. Wayward his primary set of keys. But he was almost positive he had returned them. And he would never take them without asking . . . if he knew what was good for him.

  It could have been Maynard. He was in the process of grooming his eighteen-year-old son to be a man. Captain had given him a taste of the privilege, and he was addicted, to say the least. And it wasn’t just any son Captain shared his secrets with, not that they were secret anymore, thanks to The Rising Tide.

  Ha! They wanted change? So much for that! Ever since his den became common knowledge, his spoiled adolescent boys were making requests. Maynard was among the very few who knew where the keys were kept, but he had proven himself trustworthy. Or so he thought. . .

  Perhaps I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

  He had been out of sorts. It wasn’t like him, but it was possible he had misplaced them or forgotten who he had loaned them to.

  Bursting from his office, he was about to look, but first. . .

  He heard laughing in the parlor. How dare they? They were a family in crisis, and this was how they were acting, like it was all some big joke?

  Like he was the joke.

  Didn’t they realize The Rising Tide was their problem too?

  He turned the corner and rushed into the room, clearly catching the shirkers, the moochers, and the loungers off guard.

  They weren’t particularly sly, either. He thought he had removed every filthy copy of the publication from his household. He had watched them burn just to be sure. But they kept turning up. He had no idea where they were even getting them from. They lived on a goddamn island! All travel and deliveries had to be approved by him!

  “Claudia?” he questioned, snatching the pamphlet from her.

  Two of his other wives scattered. They weren’t stupid.

  Staring down at Claudia, her betrayal struck him deeper than usual. He’d expect disobedience from some of the others. But from her? After all the money he had spent to cure her of pneumonia? She was the only one who invited him into her bed after the scandal broke as well. She offered comfort and reassurance. No one will believe such lies.

  And at that moment, she had nothing to say. After a direct crack against her jaw with the back of his hand, all she managed to do was blubber and so
b. She wasn’t one for pain, not that she ever had a true taste of that before. She was usually the good one!

  As he charged over to the fireplace, more tinder in hand, a smirk graced the corner of his eye.

  Amber was reading a novel, draped like a princess over an armchair in the corner.

  She was his youngest wife. She was undeniably beautiful even with zero effort whatsoever. She was also ill-mannered, withdrawn, and lazy. She only spoke to spew venom. She only seemed to move when evading her womanly duties. She was feisty when cornered. And this wasn’t merely a matter of opinion. Some had more empathy and tolerance for her than others. But it was still a general consensus. No one enjoyed her company. She was a miserable human being.

  And no one would miss her.

  “Amber. . .”

  She looked up from her book and notched her brow as if her name was somehow misunderstood.

  “Get up!”

  He cast a shadow over her. And how did she respond? She rolled her eyes and returned to her place on her page . . . like he was insignificant.

  It would be the last time.

  He flung her book into the fire. He was fairly far from it, but his throw was dangerously accurate. Embers shot halfway across the very spacious room. They should consider themselves lucky.

  At long last, Amber was afraid.

  He didn’t waste any time, grabbing and squeezing the life out of the closest accessible flesh—her slight breast and dainty throat. He could almost get his whole hand around it.

  After dragging her from the chair, he pinned her arms from behind. He carried her into the hall. It didn’t really matter where they ended up. He could make her wish she was never born in the bathroom, the terrace, or the garage if need be.

  Amber kicked and flailed, but she didn’t seem to have enough air in her lungs to resist with any potency. He was squeezing her too hard.

  And then there was proof. God and the Redeemer were always on man’s side.

  The day prior, he had just come in from outside when he said bon voyage to Dr. Wayward. After being handed the keys, he slipped them into his overcoat pocket. Their wrap-up conversation was much longer than he would have liked, and the keys must have slipped his mind.

  That same coat was hanging on a hook on the back of his office door.

  By the next day, he’d file his complaint with the Fallow Authorization Committee. Adultery would do the trick. He’d get a son or two to lie. They could make it true. He didn’t care anymore. And it would be official by the week’s end. Until then, she’d get the full Fallow experience.

  He had never done anything so vile to one of his actual wives before. The prospect was titillating.

  While Amber pressed her feet against the door, Captain turned the knob to his office. The door flew open.

  With one hand fumbling through his coat pocket, it was, indeed, a task to keep Amber quiet and contained and himself out of harms’ way. It helped that he had no reason to hold back. It wouldn’t matter what the others would think, say, or do. They’d never have to know.

  The right pocket was empty. So was the left.

  That’s strange. I could have sworn. . .

  The phone was eerily quiet. It allowed Captain to hear the jangling of his keys . . . in someone else’s hands. With Amber still thrashing in his arms, he turned around and glanced up.

  “Looking for these?”

  Herald.

  The nerve of him . . . to be here . . . alive.

  He had the sliced phone wire in one hand and the keys in the other. There was a knife placed on the desk in front of him. It was a sharp and expensive one from the kitchen.

  And he has his squalid feet up on my desk!

  “Have a seat,” Herald offered, making a deceitfully polite gesture to the less comfortable chair. “And why don’t you let your wife go? You know this isn’t about her.”

  Captain reluctantly released Amber. She staggered into a corner and collapsed there. “Stay. Right. There,” he told her. And for once, she obeyed.

  By no means was he bending to Herald’s suggestion. He just happened to agree with him. It wasn’t about Amber. And it would be wise to save his strength.

  The door slowly swung all the way shut. It made a soft click when it latched closed. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather stand.”

  ***

  Herald’s glare was unyielding. And Captain was the target of his contempt. Herald’s hand, however, was shaking as he fiddled with the knife on the desk. He sent it into a slow spin.

  “I want to know something,” he croaked out as if most of his energy was being used to fuel his vibrations. “You came to me. You had ideas. With your help, we made it a business. You invited us to this godforsaken island! Now I have to ask . . . why? Did you ever believe in us? Did you want change? Or did you get some twisted kick out of giving us hope and taking it away at whim?”

  Captain paced forward, smiling. He even chuckled at his nerve. “So many questions. I have a couple of my own. How’s Virtue holding up? She won’t ever be the same, will she?”

  “She’s . . . made her peace!” he spouted off.

  Herald couldn’t evade a thing. And Captain was just getting started. “She’s tainted and you know it. What’s it like fucking what’s rightfully mine?”

  “Yours?” he fired back. “Because you paid the bill and had your torture checklist embedded in her arm?”

  “Honestly. . .” Captain glanced back at Amber. “Does it feel like I’m inside of her too?” Amber was sniveling in the corner far from the door. She wasn’t going anywhere. “I always will be, you know.” His stroll forward slowed to a pause, but he resumed his war of words advance. Herald wasn’t the only one with a gift. “And here’s what baffles me. You actually think you’re so much better than I am. You can blame it on love, but it was essentially your manhood that put her within my reach. Wasn’t it?”

  Herald was staring down at the knife on the desk. It had landed with the tip toward his body and it lay motionless between his stiff, flat hands. He was only thinking about using it for anything worthwhile.

  “You don’t even deny it. You’re a man of this world. You’re a Hargreave through and through. And you’re as callous and selfish as the rest of us. You call it reform, but what you’re after is influence. You want what will give you options. Money. Power. And you’ll fuck over whoever it takes to get it. Me? The Braintrees? Even your poor sweet Virtue.”

  “That’s not true!” he cried out, eyes back up, finally man enough to plead his case with some conviction. “She was nineteen years old when I met her. Do you even remember being that young? And I was her first . . . anything. She loved me. Only me. It was instant and mutual. Despite what we had going against us and what pain we went through to deny it, our attachment was forever.” Herald lurched to his feet . . . and the desk chair fell over as a result of his petulance. It made quite the racket. “What kind of monster are you?” he asked, speaking over the distant flurry of footsteps. “Why? Why would you go so far in your attempt to break us? It’s . . . inexcusable.”

  Herald grabbed for the knife.

  Captain held his ground, more amused than afraid. “Why don’t you put that down before you hurt yourself?”

  “No.”

  Herald made his way around the desk, and Captain started treading backward with his hands up. “You don’t have it in you.”

  “Try me.”

  Captain was backing himself into a corner. But that was by design.

  Amber tried to scramble out of his way, but she was the way.

  She let out a screech as he dragged her to her feet. He covered her mouth and nose with his hand. Her neck was clutched in the crook of his other arm before Herald could even process what was happening. Amber was more prepared for this certainty than he was.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Captain warned, crushing her windpipe. She pawed at his arm. But it was futile of her to bother. He could end her life with one arm tied behind his back.

&
nbsp; Herald stopped and staggered. Then he carried on . . . in their direction. It was cautiously, but his intent was still clear. “You’d kill your own wife? I don’t believe it.”

  “Would I kill you to save myself, Amber?” It was a loud whisper in her ear. He eased up on her neck and mouth, allowing her to speak. And when she didn’t say anything, he squeezed a sob and the air out of her again. “Well? Give your only hope an answer.”

  Through the constriction, Amber somehow found her nod.

  “There you have it!” Captain took the effort to the next level. He was sure she was blue. She was dying in his arms.

  Would Herald be able to watch Amber’s pretty eyes pop out? Or would he see Virtue in her delicate features and do the “right” thing?

  “Stop! All right.” Herald loosened his grip on the knife and held up both hands. He began leaning forward, as if to set it down.

  And that’s when the door flew open, interrupting his descent.

  Captain was never particularly fond of seeing Dr. Wayward . . . until then. “So sorry to barge in. But I couldn’t help but overhear the commotion.”

  Herald backed a step away from the door, the knife securely in his grip once again. “Who . . . who are you?” he stammered.

  “I could be asking you the same question,” he replied, firm but still courteous. “But I think it’s safe to assume you’re Herald?” The gulp Herald consumed was his admission. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the legend in the flesh. Nonetheless, I would advise you to set the weapon down. I’m sure we can settle our differences amicably.”

  “That’s not possible!” Herald lashed back.

  “In that case, here’s the door. . .” The doctor presented it with a convincing smile. “These are challenging times. Our Captain can certainly understand why emotions are so high.”

  Dr. Wayward had his uses. He said what people needed to hear. He came across as trustworthy.

  Amber, unfortunately, was never convinced. After a surprisingly fierce thrash, she freed her mouth to chime in. “Don’t listen to him!”

  While Captain overtook her mouth once again, Herald glanced at her to consider the warning—Was it the truth? Could he trust her? Was she just a part of the act?