A smirk spreads on my face. She’s smart. Always has been. That’s how she came up with this idea, of course.
“What will your silence cost me?” she asks.
Poisoning your husband in front of six patriarchs is a risky business.
Especially when one of them catches you in the act.
“You know I’ll help you …” I mutter, and I look her deep in the eyes. “But you have to help me out as well.”
She mulls it over for a few seconds, eyeing her husband and Natalie from the corner of her eyes before returning her attention toward me. Then she nods.
It’s all I need … To secure this brilliant idea and use it to my advantage.
Chapter 20
Natalie
In the middle of the night, I wake up to a face perching right beside my bed.
I scream.
Nothing comes out of my mouth. A hand has been placed over my face.
The person whispers, “Quiet!”
It’s only then that I notice the scars on her face.
“Mom?” I mutter, barely awake. She’s not wearing her golden mask, which is what threw me off.
What’s going on?
Why is she here?
And why is she wearing a coat and shoes?
She places a finger on her lips and shakes her head, then peers over my shoulder. Noah’s lying beside me. Somehow, during the night, he found his way into my bed. I smile when I look at him.
My mother nudges me. “C’mon.”
I blink a couple of times to get rid of the sand in my eyes. I’m still completely delirious from sleeping and have no idea what she wants from me. “Why?”
“Just come with me,” she whispers, tugging at me.
Eventually, I let her drag me out of bed, and she covers me with a robe. “Here, put this on.” She places some loafers on the floor and grabs a scarf, which she wraps around my neck. When I’ve put the shoes on, she says, “Now follow me.”
She immediately rushes out of the room and down the stairs, and I’m having trouble keeping up. She skittishly glances around the hallway, pausing for a few seconds before running down the left hallway and into the auditorium. She bolts down the carpet lining the floor all the way to the big wooden doors in the back that lead directly into the community.
There, she freezes, and she touches the wood with the palms of her hand.
“What are you doing?”
She puts her ears against the door. “No guards tonight. Good.”
“Where are we going?” I whisper as I stand behind her, watching her every move.
She fumbles in her pockets. “Out.”
Feverish adrenaline rushes through my veins when she says that word.
Does she mean escape?
But we already tried that, more than once, and it always failed. Why would it be different now?
“It won’t work. They’ll catch us in no time. I tried at night,” I say.
“No,” she hisses over her shoulder. “We need to be somewhere on the grounds.”
I frown, confused. “Why?”
“You’ll see. Now, c’mon,” she says, and she opens the door. Just like that. That door that has kept us prisoners for so long is unlocked easily as though it wasn’t ever closed at all.
But it was … I remember … because when I first came here, I searched through this house and jerked at all the doors in the hopes that they’d set me free, and they never did.
“Did you find a key?” I ask as I follow her outside.
She looks around to see if anyone’s there before traipsing down the stairs. “Find?” She snorts. “Stole is more like it.”
“From where?” I ask as I come down to walk beside her.
She moves so quickly that I can barely keep up without panting. “Your father.”
My eyes widen.
“Don’t ask me how. You don’t want to know,” she says.
I stop her in her tracks by grabbing her arm. “Yes, I do.”
She eyes me down. “I did what I had to do.”
I narrow my eyes. “What did you do?”
She jerks free from my grip. “What anyone in my position would do.”
“Did you … kill him?” I mumble, shocked.
“No, of course not.” She sighs, rolling her eyes. “Not yet, anyway.”
I don’t know whether to cry, laugh, or smirk at that statement.
“There’s no time for this. We need to go. Now.” She grabs my hand and pulls me along with her.
If she won’t tell me, that must mean she did something out of line and dangerous. And I’m totally here for it. Even though I’m scared to death of getting caught, the thrill of knowing we’re doing something against the rules revitalizes me like nothing else can. I’ve not felt this alive since I last jumped over that fence and ran off into the woods.
And we’re getting damn close too.
“Here,” Mother whispers. She runs up to the hut’s door and knocks five times, with three of them being faster than the first two.
After a few seconds, the door barely squeaks open. Holly’s surprised face when she sees me catches me off guard because I’m as surprised to see her.
“Holly?” I mutter.
“You’re here,” she says, and now I’m even more confused.
“Where is she?” my mother asks, peeking inside.
Holly opens the door wider. “There.” She points at a woman huddled close by the fire with a blanket covering her body.
My mother quickly passes Holly and walks straight toward the woman, going to her knees in front of her. I can’t see who it is, and I don’t know if I want to know.
Why did my mother bring me here?
What’s going on?
“C’mon in,” Holly says. She cocks her head when she sees my hesitation. “My husband’s gone. Out hunting boars with a few others. It’s safe.”
I frown at that statement. Safe. I wouldn’t ever guess her to use that word in relation to her husband. How odd.
After I step inside, she closes the door behind us, but I stay put near the entrance in case I need to flee. It’s forbidden for women to have get-togethers without the consent of their husbands, and it’s expressly forbidden at night. If any guards discover us here, we’re dead.
“Are you okay?” my mother asks the woman in the chair.
She doesn’t respond, but she’s shaking vehemently.
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask.
My mother looks up at me. “This is why I asked you to come. She asked specifically for you.”
My eyes widen, and I almost get the urge to point at myself. “Me?”
She nods and swivels the chair around just enough for me to see who it is.
Emmy.
But it’s not the cheerful, smiley Emmy I remember from before, nor the hopeful but anxious Emmy that came with me to my apartment.
This Emmy … is broken.
Like a stuffed doll ripped apart at its seams.
“How did you find her?” I ask my mother swiftly.
“Holly had talked to Agatha about her after Emmy came running to her doorstep every night.”
Holly makes a face. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“Does anyone else know?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “And Agatha promised not to tell anyone else.”
“She’d better not,” my mother growls. That definitely sounded like a threat.
But I’m far too busy with Emmy to be bothered by that. Her face is covered in bruises and scratches, lips torn, hair a muddled mess, eyes watery, red blotches on her arms and chest.
“I did everything right,” she murmurs, looking at me with doe-like eyes that make my knees buck. “I did what he asked. I did everything. I cooked. I cleaned. I gave him my heart. My body. I gave him everything.” Tears stream down her face. “But it wasn’t enough …” She bursts out into wailing and covers the blanket around her body as a comfort.
I immediately wrap my arms around her, hold
ing her tightly against me as she weeps against my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh … you don’t have to say anything,” I whisper, petting her back.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She keeps on saying it like a record stuck on repeat.
It kills me to see her like this. We went through so much together. She wanted to belong so desperately. She always believed this community was amazing, that it would make her happy to get married … and then her husband turned out to be just as cruel as the patriarchs themselves. She was young and hopeful, and got so little in return.
I don’t know what I can say or do to make this feeling go away.
“It was supposed to be good. We were supposed to be happily married,” she mutters between her tears.
“I know they told you that,” I say. “I’ve been told the same lies.”
“I believed everything!” she shouts as I lean back to look her in the eyes. “I believed he’d make me happy!”
I grab a strand of her wild hair and tuck it behind her ears. “And he gave you scars instead.”
Her lips quiver again. “It’s not fair.”
“It isn’t,” I reply. “It never was.”
She looks down at her shaky hands. “I wish he’d never come to find me. It was so much better with you in your apartment,” she says under her breath.
“Is he the reason you came with me when I escaped?” I ask.
She nods faintly. “I didn’t want to admit it.”
I swallow. I knew it. Something about her behavior was off, but I could never put a finger onto it, and of course she’d never tell me why until it was too late.
“He was never kind or gentle,” she says. “Not at all like the elders teach us.”
“There’s a lot that isn’t what they teach us,” my mother interjects. “They expect us to be willful victims in our own narrative. Not anymore.”
I turn my head and look up at my mother who stands there with her arms crossed. All she gives me is a look, but that one look … it could start a revolution.
I grab Emmy’s hand and hold it tightly in my grasp. “I will fix this.”
She frowns, confused. “How?”
I tilt my head so I can look deep into her eyes and make sure she knows what I mean. “This community … it has to end.”
It takes her a while to process my words, but then her lips part and her eyes widen. “Wait … what?”
“These men rule over our bodies, Emmy. They’re hurting us,” I say, keeping her hands locked tight. “They hurt you.”
She shakes her head. “But he’s my husband. I … I … love him.” She almost chokes on her own words. She’d protect him over her own body; that’s how indoctrinated she really is.
“You don’t love him. You think you have to love him to survive,” I explain, still holding her close so she doesn’t attempt to run off. “He doesn’t love you back, Emmy. Can’t you see? Look at yourself. Look at the pain you’ve had to endure.”
We both look at the bruises on her arms, and I can tell she’s conflicted.
“You are an object to him. A doll to use and throw away when he sees fit,” I say. “Are you a doll? Are you just an object, a thing, Emmy? Tell me.”
Her lips tremor. “No,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Then resist,” I say. “Fight this community with me. With us.”
I look up at my mother and see the proud smile forming on her face.
This is why she brought me here. She could’ve gone to Emmy by herself. She could’ve talked to Emmy and made her feel at ease, but that’s not enough. Emmy needed someone she knew and trusted to tell her to stop loving the lies. To learn that she is worth more than the sum of a man’s choices. That she needs to fight.
“Help me, help us, stop them,” I say.
Slowly but surely, she nods. “But how?”
My mother suddenly goes to her knees in front of Emmy and me and fishes something from her pocket. And she says, “With this.”
It’s a tiny vial filled with a cloudy fluid. I don’t know what it is, but the smirk on her face tells me enough.
Death.
Chapter 21
Natalie
Emmy took the vial reluctantly, and my mother also gave one to Holly just in case. She didn’t want to accept it at first, but my mother told them it’s better to be safe than sorry. They both promised to keep it hidden and not to tell anyone.
Mother told Emmy when to use it and how. Infuse it with tea or put it in a strong soup so he won’t notice. The poison will take hours to days to take effect, but it’ll definitely kill him.
We go back to the temple, leaving Emmy with Holly until dawn. Holly will make sure she gets home safely, and she told us she’ll help Emmy with whatever she needs.
I pray neither of them will get caught.
Mom and I go back up to our rooms and go back to bed until the morning comes. I contemplated going with her to her room so I could ask her how many of those vials she has and what are in them, but it was almost dawn, and I didn’t wanna risk anyone finding us together.
No one can know what we’ve done … and what we’re planning on doing.
I’ve not closed my eyes since.
Even though I’m lying in bed, I’m staring straight up at the ceiling, my heartbeat rising with every passing minute. I’m anxious for what’s to come.
Not because I know I’ll have to get up in the morning and see whether or not there’s gonna be a ruckus in the community due to an “unforeseen” death … but because I know what we’ve done cannot be undone.
Something has been set into motion. The wheels are turning now, and there’s no way to stop what’s coming.
Death is inevitable.
The only question is … who will win?
Us or them?
When the sun comes up, Noah stirs beside me, and he wraps his arm around me while groaning. “Morning, beautiful.”
“Morning,” I reply.
“It’s nice to wake up with you,” he mumbles. “You didn’t mind that I stumbled my way into your bed, did you?”
“It’s fine,” I reply, and I close my eyes for a second before I get up from the bed.
Noah sits up as I grab my clothes and put them on. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just … have to talk to my mother.”
He gets up too and gathers the clothes he left on my floor. Then he walks over to me and presses a kiss to my cheeks. “Well, you know where to find me if you need me.”
I’m glad he doesn’t ask me any questions. But with that smirk on his face as he leaves, I can’t help but wonder if he just doesn’t wanna ask them.
* * *
Noah
Natalie’s distracted by something, and I’m curious to find out what exactly it is. It is rather coincidental that she’s not talking to me like she usually does the day after her mother poisoned her own husband. I wonder if she knows.
I wouldn’t put it past Marsha to tell Natalie what she did … And for Natalie to use the information to her advantage. It’s exactly the kind of thing I’d expect a woman with her history and her experiences to do when faced with a situation like this.
And when I walk past Marsha’s room, I pause and rub my chin as she fumbles around with something underneath her bed. When she gets up and turns around, she’s frozen to the ground, her eyes fixated on me.
I raise a brow.
Then I walk away.
Nothing to see here.
She follows me out the room and across the hallway. When I glance over my shoulder, she’s carrying a glass of water and tries to catch up with me, but I won’t let her.
I’m not interested in what she has to offer.
I know she’s going to try, but I won’t take the bait.
I hate my father more than anyone else here, but killing him with poison? That’s a woman’s choice of weapons, not mine.
“Noah!” she hisses.
She catches up to me and taps me on the shoulder. “You have to do it.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” I reply.
“Are you insane?” she whispers.
“No, I’m waiting,” I say.
“For what? Why would you let me do this if you didn’t want them—”
I stop and turn, holding a finger over my lips. “Don’t speak about this again.”
“But you know this has to happen,” she says. “I already started. It’s too late to turn back now.”
“I don’t have to involve myself in this,” I say, raising a brow. “All of this was your idea.” I point at the bottle and then turn around and walk off.
But she refuses to stop talking to me. “If I get caught, you know I’ll take you down with me, right?”
I stop and glance at her over my shoulder. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Patrick steps out of his room not too far ahead and cocks his head when he spots us. “What are you two arguing about?”
Marsha looks mortified.
“Nothing,” I say. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for breakfast.”
I continue walking toward the staircase while Marsha stays behind, still flabbergasted by our talk.
“What the …” Patrick yells from another room way back. “Fuck. Someone get the doctor! NOW!”
I pause at the top of the stairs as Patrick comes rushing out of the room. “Noah! Get the doctor!”
I nod as he runs back inside … into the president’s room.
Marsha inches closer to the door, her feet moving ever so slowly, almost as if she’s too afraid to go look.
Suddenly, something crashes into the ground.
The glass she was holding has dropped to the floor.
The president himself barges out of the room.
My jaw drops, but I quickly close it again before he notices.
“Noah! Are you deaf? Get the doctor,” he growls at me.
“Yes, sir. What happened?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.
“The girl passed out in my bed, and she won’t wake up,” he growls. “Just get the doctor. I don’t want no woman dying in my bed.”
Beyond His Control Page 15