Beyond His Control

by Wild, Clarissa

“Of course.” I nod. “Right away.”

  But as he rushes back inside, I quickly run back up through the hallways again and grab Marsha’s arm. “Come.”

  “But …” she mutters.

  “Now,” I growl.

  She’s in complete shock, staring at her husband whom she presumed was dead.

  I drag her along with me through the hallway and down the stairs.

  “But I have to—”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” I interject. “You’ve done enough.”

  “I gave it to him!”

  “Yeah, well, looks like he gave the drink to one of the girls instead,” I reply.

  “Oh my God …” she whispers, tears filling her eyes. “He’s still alive. I thought he would be dead.”

  I firmly plant her against the wall. “Shh!” I place a hand over her mouth. “Do you want them to know? Do you want to die?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Then get yourself together,” I rasp, taking my hand off her mouth. “You failed. Learn from your mistakes.”

  “But I tried … I swear, I gave it to him. I just couldn’t watch him drink it,” she says, choking on her words. “I only had this one chance after the ceremony. He won’t let me give him anything any other time. I’ve messed up.” She smacks her forehead.

  “Killing people is hard,” I say, taking in a big breath.

  “How would you know?” she retorts.

  I roll my eyes and then look around to see if anyone could listen to our conversation before I continue. “That’s not the point. The point is … be prepared. Do better. Don’t get caught.”

  She nods while her eyes are down at her feet. “I … I killed another girl, didn’t I?”

  I rub my lips together and look away for a second. “Well, that’s a risk you need to be willing to take.”

  She averts her eyes too now. “They’ll know it was me.”

  “They won’t. No one here has the capacity or the interest in testing for hemlock,” I say, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Just stay low, keep quiet, and don’t mention it. If he talks to you about it, pretend you’re shocked. Nothing else.”

  She doesn’t say another word, so I guess this conversation is done.

  She knows she needs to keep quiet if she doesn’t want to get implicated. And I have no intention of telling anyone either because that would put me in danger as well.

  “It’s time for breakfast now. Go to the women’s room. Stay low. Enjoy your morning.”

  “But what about that poor girl?” she asks.

  “The elders who helps us will take care of it,” I say.

  “You mean get rid of her body.” She raises a brow.

  I place a hand on her shoulder. “Be more careful next time.”

  She shrugs me off, which I take as a cue to go.

  The more time we spend together huddled in the dark, the more suspicion we draw to ourselves. And I’m not about to let one mishandled poisoning ruin my rise to power.

  * * *

  Natalie

  “Mom?” I mutter.

  She won’t look at me.

  In fact, she hasn’t looked at any of the ladies in the women’s room since she came in. She’s been staring at her food the entire time, and everything’s gone untouched. What’s going on?

  “Mom?” I say as I lean in. “Are you okay?”

  She still doesn’t reply, but she’s clutching her dress all bunched up in her hands. Something’s definitely not right. Does this have something to do with the woman who was found dead in the president’s bed this morning? The other matriarchs were talking about it from the second they stepped into the room. Apparently, Agatha was tasked with the cleanup and that’s how they know.

  But they’re not seeing what I’m seeing right now. My mom isn’t okay.

  “Mom!” I grab her arm, and she seems to snap out of it.

  “Huh?”

  “Are you okay?” I ask, raising my brow to insinuate I want to know more even though I won’t say that out loud in front of these other women.

  Her lips part, and she looks at me for a second and then glances at the other ladies who have also suddenly noticed she’s not been speaking. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She clears her throat. “I just didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  “You do look a bit pale, Marsha. Are you sure you’re okay?” Abigail asks her.

  My mother’s body grows rigid, and I can tell she’s having a hard time. I have to intervene.

  I grab her arm and pull her up with me. “I think you should go back to your room to rest.”

  My mother stammers, but Abigail interjects, “Oh, that’s a great idea.”

  “I’ll take her. She’s still a little unstable from the recovery, so best someone go with her up the stairs,” I say, lifting her. My mother’s wobbly body helps aid me in my lie.

  “That’s lovely of you to do,” Meghan says.

  “Yeah, very daughter-like,” Trisha says, rolling her eyes. “Have fun upstairs all by yourselves. We’ll be here, playing a game.”

  “Thank you,” I say as I quickly rush off with my mother’s arm locked through mine. I close the door behind us and walk with her up the stairs.

  “Wait,” Mom says as we get to the top of the stairs. “I need a minute.” She bends over, leaning on her knees as she breathes out loud. “That place was suffocating.”

  “I could tell,” I reply.

  She looks up at me, but the sheer terror in her eyes makes my heart jump. “That girl didn’t die by accident.”

  My eyes widen, and I lean in so we can whisper. She just admitted she murdered someone. If anyone hears this, she’s dead. “What happened? I thought the president might’ve smothered her in her sleep or something.”

  She shakes her head. “The vials …”

  She immediately runs off toward her room, and I follow her as fast as I can. She dives underneath her bed and fishes out a box, opening it up. It’s filled with hundreds of vials.

  “Wow.” I didn’t know she had that many. “But the girl … What does she …?” I frown, but then I realize what she was actually doing. “You were poisoning him?”

  She puts a finger against her lips, and it stops me from saying another word.

  Now it all starts to make sense. The secretive behavior at every party. The trips she made in the middle of the night. How long has she been making these and where? Without anyone noticing?

  “I thought the vial you gave to Emmy was the only one you had,” I mutter as I watch her tuck all the vials into her pockets. “How long have you been doing this?”

  “For some time now,” she answers, looking me dead in the eyes. “And you know exactly why.”

  Chills settle in my bones.

  Yes, I know exactly why.

  My father has always been the one to make her suffer, so it would make sense she’d want to kill him, and poison is the easiest way to get rid of someone without anyone knowing you committed murder.

  But this is different. No one makes this much poison to just kill one person.

  This whole batch could kill almost half the community. Or more specifically … the men.

  She closes the box and hands a few vials to me. “Hide these.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere, as long as we can keep these away from Lawrence. If he sees them, he’ll know it was me,” she pleads. “Please, you have to take them. You’re the only one I trust.”

  I don’t know how to answer that. Even though I want to help her more than anything, am I ready to do this? Am I ready to risk my own life for … murder?

  “You have to do this,” she says. “You know this can’t go on for much longer.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  THUD!

  The loud bang makes me turn my head in shock.

  “Interesting book you have there, Marsha.”

  It’s Patrick.

  He’s standing right in the door opening. He’s been here the entire time. He’s heard ever
ything …

  And he knows my mother tried to poison her husband, and that I’m helping her cover it up.

  Chapter 22

  Natalie

  With the vials still in my hand, I completely freeze.

  We’ve been caught red-handed.

  Shit. Shit. Shit!

  What do I do? Where do I go?

  It’s too late; there’s no way to hide this.

  “There’s no use in lying, ladies,” Patrick says, casually leaning against the doorpost. “If you wanted to hide your crimes, you should’ve thought about that sooner.”

  “What did you hear?” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Everything.” The smirk on his face is insufferable, and I want to smack it right off. “I can’t believe you thought you could get away with this.”

  “Natalie,” my mother murmurs, side-eyeing me.

  “What? You wanna silence me?” He chuckles, crossing his arms. “Think you can stop me?”

  My mother suddenly picks up the small light standing on the nightstand, and she throws it at his face. He dodges, but the lamp shatters into a million pieces.

  “What the—” he growls.

  But before he can finish his sentence, she’s already thrown herself on top of him. She’s punching and kicking him in the stomach, trying to get him to go down, but he’s too big and muscular for her to bring down on her own.

  Then he grabs her by the waist and picks her up, throwing her over her shoulder. “Simmer down!” he growls.

  “Put her down!” I yell. “Don’t you touch her!”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, she attacked me,” he yells back. “Why do I even care? You two are going to hang anyway.”

  My eyes widen.

  Hang?

  No. No, no.

  Fuck!

  “I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I tell the president his own wife and daughter tried to kill him,” he says. My mom is slapping his back, trying to get him to drop her, but it doesn’t even seem to faze him.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I growl at him.

  His lip drags upward. “Watch me.”

  And then he turns around, putting my mother down on the ground only to grab her arm as if he intends to offer her up as a sacrificial lamb.

  “Let me go!” she screams. And as she glances at me with terror in her eyes, something suddenly clicks.

  I lose all self-control.

  Like a mad bull, I bolt straight at him, head down, arms stretched out. And without thinking, I ram into him as hard as I can, shoving him forward.

  Straight over the balustrade.

  Right before she tumbles over too, I grasp my mother’s hand and hold on tight.

  Patrick screams.

  CRACK!

  Silence follows. The floor underneath his head stains with blood, the puddle growing bigger and bigger. And I stare at the scene below like it’s straight from my nightmares.

  Did I just … kill him?

  * * *

  Noah

  I drop the book I was reading in the study and rush out the door … and run straight into Patrick’s limp body. One glance up onto the balustrade from which he fell tells me enough.

  Natalie and her mother are there, glaring at the body.

  Did they push him off?

  “He saw us,” Natalie hisses.

  I frantically look around. All the patriarchs are busy preparing in their rooms for the daily prayer that’s about to happen in a few minutes, but I’m not waiting around until they come out. If any of them see this, they’ll hang my wife.

  I immediately grab Patrick’s body and start hauling him, but he’s heavier than I thought.

  Natalie and her mother come rushing down the stairs, and Natalie grabs his legs to help me out. “Where to?”

  “I don’t fucking know, but he has to go! Now!” I growl. “What the hell did you two do?”

  “He saw us with the vials. Heard us talk,” Marsha explains.

  “And you killed him for it?” I growl back while dragging his heavy body.

  “He would’ve gone straight to the president!” Natalie barks. “What else was I supposed to do?”

  I look up, completely stunned. “You killed him?”

  They both look at me as if it’s a weird question to ask.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” I hiss at her mother. “Help us.”

  “C’mon, in here,” she says, as she guides us along into a hallway up ahead. “To the women’s room.”

  “What?” Natalie drops the body.

  “They’ll help us get rid of him,” Marsha says.

  “No way.” Natalie rubs her forehead, smearing blood all over. “Those women love their husbands. If they find out we killed him, they’re gonna kill us.”

  “They won’t,” Marsha says, standing her ground. “I know those women. I can convince them.”

  Natalie sucks in a breath through her nose. They’re clearly divided in how to handle this, but we have no other option. “We can’t bring him anywhere else. All the doors are guarded. There’s no way out with this one,” I say.

  Natalie looks at me sternly but then nods in agreement. “Fine. If you believe this’ll save us, I trust you,” she says to her mother.

  Natalie and I pick up the body again while Marsha quickly snatches a mop from the closet and wipes down the bloody trail behind us until we reach the door. She doesn’t knock as I presumed she would. Instead, she opens the door for us and waltzes in.

  “Hello, ladies,” Marsha says.

  When Natalie and I appear too, carrying a body, all the women jump up from their seats.

  “Oh my … Patriarch Patrick!” Ashley immediately approaches the body. “What happened?”

  Natalie opens her mouth, but I quickly intervene before she tells the truth. “He fell off the balustrade. Broke his neck, probably,” I say.

  “He needs a doctor,” Ashley says, inspecting his face and his breath. “He’s not breathing.”

  “He’s dead,” Marsha suddenly says.

  All the ladies gasp in horror.

  “And we need to hide the body,” she adds before I can pitch in with a lie.

  We eye each other down. She knows I don’t like her approach. What if the women rat us out? She trusts them too much.

  “We need your help, ladies,” Marsha says.

  “What? You want us to cover up?” Abigail asks. “For what? If he died, we should tell the president.”

  “No one can tell him,” Natalie says. All eyes are on her now. “If he finds out … he’ll know we caused his fall.”

  She swallows. Everyone’s eyes on her lips.

  There goes my plan.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him,” she says. She’s not crying. She’s serious as hell. “It just … happened.”

  “How?” Trisha says, raising a brow. “How does one accidentally kill a person?”

  “Because he was threatening me,” Marsha says.

  “All the patriarchs do that. To all of us,” Natalie says, and she narrows her eyes. “You all know the patriarchs better than anyone else. You’re married to them.” When Trisha raises her hand, Natalie adds, “Or your father is one.”

  “So?” Meghan says.

  “So you want to be treated like that? Like you’re trash? Like you’re nothing?” Natalie says. “Aren’t you all done with coming in second, or third, or worse? These men don’t love us. They hurt us. They use us for their own pleasure.”

  Abigail seems visibly unnerved. Natalie’s getting close.

  “We’re not human here,” Natalie says. “No one sees us as equals.”

  “The men are more important,” Sylvia says.

  “Says who?” Natalie retorts. “Them. Of course they’d say that. They want to keep us in that place. Subdued. Beneath them. Worthless.”

  “But we’re not …” Meghan says. “We birth every child.”

  “Exactly,” Natalie says, pointing at all the women. “We make the children. We make th
is community. Without us, they’d be nothing.”

  She’s getting through to them because none of them rebuke her words.

  “We don’t need them,” Natalie says, and she looks at her mom for support. “They need us.”

  “You’re ridiculous.” Trisha rolls her eyes.

  Marsha storms at her, grabs her arm, and forcibly tears down her dress, revealing bruises and marks all over her arm. “We’re ridiculous? You’re ignoring the obvious.”

  Trisha jerks her arm back, shocked that Marsha would go that far.

  Her secrets are out now.

  Not even the fathers are safe.

  But I am a patriarch too … and now all the eyes rest on me. “I’m not going to stop you all.”

  “From doing what, exactly?” Sylvia asks, folding her arms. “Because even if you wanted to stop them from being in charge, how do you intend to change the opinions of the hordes of people outside the temple?”

  Marsha cocks her head. “Simple.” And she gazes intently at Natalie. “She can convince them.”

  Natalie glances at me, her mother, and then the women until it finally dawns on her that everyone’s waiting on her. She’s the one … the one who has the people’s hearts.

  “They’ll listen to you,” Marsha says, grabbing her shoulders. “You can do this. I know you can. You’re my daughter.”

  She smiles, and it makes me feel warm even though it feels odd to admit that to myself.

  Natalie nods. Courage flows into her like a sea claiming back the beach, and she makes a fist with her hand. “This community belongs to us. Let’s take it back. Start a revolution.”

  “But how?” Abigail asks.

  Marsha fumbles in her pocket and takes out a vial, holding it between her index finger and thumb to show all the ladies. “With this.”

  Chapter 23

  Natalie

  After more convincing, the matriarchs finally took the vials and helped us get rid of Patrick’s body. There’s a tiny, fenced-off backyard behind the women’s room that’s used for gardening. We dug a hole there and stuffed his body in the pit, covering it up with soil and plants to make it look like we had been gardening.

  No one came to check on us, despite Agatha having ample time. I wonder if she knows what we’ve been doing and has been turning a blind eye. Not that I care. If she tells the patriarchs, who are they going to believe? An elder’s wife? Or us, the wives?