by Aya DeAniege
“The same could be said for suspension, which I have dabbled in some small amount. Do it right, and it's amazing, no matter your gender. Do it wrong, and you can cause serious damage. That being said, most acts we perform are much like cooking. We just have to stress the trouble areas because unlike cooking. There's no clear fire or sharp knife area unless you literally play with fire and knives."
“Can I strike you here?” I asked Nathaniel, placing the crop where I thought his kidney was.
The man looked down. He was silent a long time before he made a small sound.
“I'm not certain about there."
“That means no,” I said.
He chuckled, barely.
I smacked him with the crop as hard as I could. The strike made him bend over, hands on the floor. I was fairly sure it wasn't from pain so much as shock. He hadn't expected me to hit him for laughing, but I had.
Because I could.
At that moment I saw just how addictive being in control could be. A million ideas came to me, but I clamped down on all of them as I looked up at Madonna.
“We don't have long to explore today,” she said, “'but I will walk you through as much as I can without encroaching on sex in some manner. As long as you have the IUD and you're both clean, we won't even need to discuss that.”
“I do,” I said.
“I am," Nathaniel murmured.
“Fantastic,” she said. “Let's play with the whip and see if we can't entice him to make some noise, shall we?”
Chapter Fourteen
I could walk you through everything that happened in the trial, but the videos and documents are public domain. They can be viewed by anyone, at any time, for any reason. I'd rather not detail each time I went to the trial, not with how wearing it was the first time. I watched Nathaniel and Mr. Wrightworth both take the stand.
But not before Michie did. I always thought it odd, that he was the go-to submissive they had. Michie had never been dragged into Albert's plotting. Michie was simply a part of the background for me. I had, until that point, assumed that Nathaniel referred to Michie because he was an available sub who happened to be a masochist.
“Please state your name for the record.”
“Michael Norfolk.”
“And please tell the court about your relation to the defendant, Albert Edwards.”
“Uh, Albert is my uncle by marriage. My mother and Albert's wife were sisters.”
Michie was the 'boy.' The one that Nathaniel and Mr. Wrightworth had somehow gotten away from Albert, the one who was protected from Albert.
The one Albert desperately wanted back.
I was so startled by that revelation that I lost track of the questions, only coming back to myself when Nathaniel took the stand.
Nathaniel was dragged through the mud to give his father the air of a caring man. They claimed the contract Nathaniel and Mr. Wrightworth were forced to sign helped save Nathaniel. He did not deny the claim but was prevented from elaborating by the defense.
The prosecution leaped at the chance and asked Nathaniel about the 'but' of his answer to the defense.
He explained that the contract did technically save him, but it was Mr. Wrightworth's actions that truly did it. Nathaniel's testimony was supposed to be about building up Albert's character as the caring businessman. That was their primary defense, that Albert Edward was a good man, deep down.
There was no denying that he had killed those women.
Well, I suppose there was some denying that he had killed them, but they were found on his property. He all but admitted that he had done it. They may not have had video evidence of his killing any but the last girl—through the video of him forcing me to watch what he had done to her—but they were capable of linking him to them through genetic material, means, motives, and access.
What the defense aimed to disprove was that he took their lives against their wills. Assisted suicide wasn't illegal and at that time the laws weren't clear that it could only be performed on those who were infirm in some fashion.
If he had signed death contracts, it all would have been perfectly legal. But he had hidden that part of himself from Mr. Wrightworth because he was afraid—for a good reason—that once their contract was up, Mr. Wrightworth would use everything at his disposal to destroy Albert. The contracts would also have cost Albert a great deal of money.
Greed won out in the end.
Mr. Wrightworth took the stand to collaborate Nathaniel's story about the contract. He was bound to Albert just the same as Nathaniel was, meaning he could say nothing explicitly wrong about Albert, for fear of violating the contract.
Upon sitting, he was asked the question that all witnesses are asked. The one question that I'm certain half of those sitting in the witness stands were anticipating with bated breath.
“Please state your name for the record.”
I swear I saw his lips twitch upward.
He was dressed in his usual dark grey suit with the trinity knotted purple tie. Not a line of him was out of place. Certainly, the suit wasn't as rich looking as that of Nathaniel or Albert, or even the lawyers in the courtroom, but there was an obvious tender care to it. Mr. Wrightworth was not dressed blandly, nor was he dressed to impress the richer folk. He was simply dressed for his status.
I think, in a way, Mr. Wrightworth wearing that suit—even though he could have afforded a custom made, perfectly tailored one—was a little like how I went about naked. It was a control mechanism. He made other people follow his commands, even when he wasn't dressed as well as they were.
There was nothing about Mr. Wrightworth that could have been found at fault, however. His hair was groomed, jaw shaved perfectly, and even his shoes had been shined. His hazel eyes focused on whoever was speaking to him, while swinging over the courtroom whenever he spoke.
In short, he was a nearly perfect public speaker.
“Mr. Wrightworth," he stated blandly as if trying to keep an even tone to prevent from giving away his true emotion.
“Your full name,” the bailiff said sternly.
“That is my full name," Mr. Wrightwroth said, turning his attention to the bailiff. "I have identification if you'd like to see it, to confirm."
“I'd like to see the identification that states your name is legally 'Mr. Wrightworth,'" the defense said, standing with a smug tone.
I couldn't see the man's face, but very early into the trial I had decided he was evil incarnate. He wasn't just doing his job. I understood that someone would have to defend Albert, but I thought the man would at least have a soul.
The man was Albert's go-to lawyer. He was lead on a team of lawyers, but in a criminal case, a defendant may only have one lawyer and one aide, just as the prosecution had the same. The other lawyers on Albert's team had to do their work from outside of the courtroom, researching and drawing up lists of questions for witnesses.
“I'll allow it,” the judge said, motioning to the bailiff.
Mr. Wrightworth reached into his suit and produced a small card, which he handed to the bailiff. The bailiff, in turn, took the card to the judge, who read it while his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.
“Your middle name is a period,” the judge said.
Mr. Wrightworth grinned wickedly. “It is, yes.”
Last I had been told, Mr. Wrightworth still had the same given name. He didn't let anyone use it, didn't even like hearing his first name said out loud. After learning his real name, I had witnessed him become irritable on three occasions because someone at the Program building shared his name.
I like to think that he became accustomed to hearing the name after a time, but, in reality, he probably had the young man transferred to another building without warning.
That his legal name had changed to 'Mr. Wrightworth' was surprising to me. When I dared to glance at Nathaniel, the man's head was lowered, shoulders shaking slightly.
I'm glad he finds it funny.
Susanne, sitting besid
e me that day, leaned towards me as if she had heard me say something. I turned to her and her eyebrows raised slightly. She was wondering if I wanted to talk about that tidbit of information, but I knew better.
The last time Mr. Wrightworth's name had come out of my mouth, I had ended up raw and all sorts of damaged in a fun way, but I wasn't ready to relive that sensation so soon.
“So, do you prefer to be called Mr, or Period?" the defense asked.
“You know how I like to be referred to," Mr. Wrightworth said. "But for the sake of the record, I'd like to be heard as saying that I prefer to be called Mr. Wrightworth, which is exactly how this court would refer to me were I any other witness. Nathaniel Edwards was called Mr. Edwards, not as Nathaniel."
“But Mr. Wrightworth isn't your birth name," the defense said.
“I don't understand,” Mr. Wrightworth said.
“I'm saying that you were born to, and signed a contract under, a different name.”
“That I did, as my identification states, I was emancipated seven years ago,” Mr. Wrightworth responded with a motion to the judge, who still had his card. “It was a condition of the contract I signed.”
“Those who are emancipated didn't need to change their names until recently. That's not a condition of the emancipation granted to you. So why did you change your name? Are you hiding from something?"
“I don't understand how that pertains to the trial at hand.”
“All right, let's phrase that as a question. Why did you change your name after my client, Mr. Edwards Senior, granted you emancipation?”
“The government granted me emancipation, Albert Edwards simply paid for it,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “Your question is based on the idea that Albert chose to grant me emancipation out of the kindness of his heart. That's not true in the least. It was Nathaniel Edwards' idea that my emancipation be a part of the contract, rather than a lump sum paid to my family upon completion of the contract.
“We both knew that Albert had no intention to allow the man who I once was to survive and return to my slum. I knew too much. I was becoming a part of the twisted thing he called a family. Emancipated poor people typically don't return home, which meant that no one questioned my decision to do the same. I cut all ties, many in my slum likely believe me to be dead. My decision to change my name was based entirely on the idea that I had to protect myself and my family from Albert Edwards."
“That's not the picture that Nathaniel Edwards painted when he was on the stand."
“Nathaniel and I are bound to speak nothing negative about Albert Edwards. What Nathaniel said was the truth, but only a part of it. If he did anything else, according to the contract which the prosecution submitted as evidence, he forfeits my life. If I break the contract, I forfeit his life. As well as the lives of my family.”
And jeopardized the safety of anyone who knew about the contract or was involved in their lives. Nathaniel and Mr. Wrightworth technically didn't have the right to sign away the lives of other people as they did their own. However, neither of them believed that the legality that the Program had brought down to protect the poor people would protect them. They believed, probably rightly so, that Albert would hold them to that original contract no matter which way the law turned.
“You aren't concerned that you may be betraying that contract even as you testify?”
“No,” Mr. Wrightworth said with a frown. “An addendum was added to me in the second year. Albert discovered I was using the no negativity clause as an extension to not tell him about Nathaniel's progress. He then applied the truth clause. I must tell the truth, the whole truth or so help my flesh, any time he is in the same room as me.”
“You aren't afraid that he might view what you're saying as a betrayal of the contract?”
“I am, but of all Albert Edwards is, he is a man who follows a contract to the letter. I'm well within the bounds of the terms which he forced me to sign.”
“So, you'd say he has honour.”
“Objection, your honour,” the prosecution stood. “Leading the witness.”
“Sustained.”
“Let me try another route, then. Would you say that Albert Edwards has honour?”
“One can be honourable and still a monster,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “Albert will obey any written contract. He had no written contract for himself, any of the women that were found on his estate, or for Isabella Martin. I would have denied any contract he attempted to place through the Program.”
“And why is that? Why deny someone the right to purchase a contract? You could have opened the door to him, which removed all question as to the legitimacy of his actions, but you denied him. Why?"
“For starters, fulfilling death or torture contracts is nearly impossible,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “I have one on the books, which has been on the books for the past four years. It also is no secret that these contracts make employees of the Program highly uncomfortable. We fulfil few death contracts because of our views of those who come through our doors. We are here, after all, to protect and serve debtees, not the twisted fantasies of every rich man who walks through our doors.
“Secondly, most death contracts are fulfilled by the infirm, those who are ready to die, and, in the very rare circumstance, those who are aiming to commit suicide and are set on the idea. It is our job at the Program to sort those who are suicidal from those who simply need a new place, a new start.”
“Isabella Martin entered the Program building looking for a death contract. She's one that you might have provided a contract to, one that might have been able to provide Albert Edwards with the legal means to do as he might.”
“Miss Martin did fit the qualifications for a death contract, but I had a nagging suspicion about her. The moment I set eyes on her, I knew for certain that she didn't want to die. I also knew that she wouldn't accept a simple maid contract—as I've offered to several others who simply needed to escape.
“She passed the tests that our councillors lay out. If I hadn't happened to be in that slum conducting an audit, yes, she would have signed a death contract. She didn't even appear all that interested in the contract that I did offer her. Until I mentioned the fact that she could never return to her family while still under contract with Nathaniel Edwards.”
“But what she signed was a blank contract, as you called it. How could there be terms to it?”
“The contract was meant to keep Albert Edwards from doing what he pleased. The terms that were written in were clear, and all contracts need to have terms of some sort. No rape, no torture. If she passed with Nathaniel, there'd be no murder, but telling her that she'd be murdered if she didn't pass was also a part of the contract. The other two that Nathaniel didn't pass were found contracts elsewhere and are happily serving out their terms.”
“No rape, so she would have to consent to sexual activities?”
“That's correct.”
“Albert Edwards always follows a contract to the letter, that's what you said, correct?”
“That is correct, but—”
“So Miss Martin must have agreed to sex with Albert Edwards.”
“Miss Martin's contract was never written down,” Mr. Wrightworth said.
“How can you sign a contract without signing?”
“How can half the people we take on sign a contract when they can't even read?" Mr. Wrightworth demanded in response. "Miss Martin was a test, yes, of a new system of video contracting. Where we explain the terms—fully explain—on camera to her. A system that, yes, is under review now, but one that was conceived as a betterment for all poor folk. Not everyone can read, not everyone will even admit to whether they actually can read.”
“You just said that Albert Edwards follows contracts to the letter.”
“Written contracts, he follows written contracts. Ask any of the business partners he's had, as to how closely he follows verbal contracts. You'll be surprised by their answers.”
“None of them are on the witness lis
t. They have nothing to do with the trial."
“Maybe you should call them, then.”
Mr. Wrightworth was a Master being publicly harassed by a man that we, behind the scenes, called 'the dumbass.' Their back and forth ended in a shouting match, which only ended then because I managed to make eye contact with Mr. Wrightworth across the courtroom.
He had to shut up. I knew that. On some level, he knew that.
Master needs to learn to swallow his pride.
The judge called a recess, giving Mr. Wrightworth time to calm down. I watched the man pace the steps of the courthouse, back and forth, into a crowd of smokers and back out again. He made the smokers move out of his way with a look alone, teeth gritted, hands in his pockets.
I've never seen him so worked up before.
“You need to calm down,” I said to him idly.
I sat on the uppermost step. The stone under me was cold despite the warm sun overhead. My thin sundress didn't protect much from the heat or cold of whatever I sat on. Sitting there, I tried to appear like I was sitting for a need to do so, not because I felt relaxed.
There were reporters and camera men around the courthouse all the time, hoping to get pictures of those involved in the trial. The videos of the trial weren't to be released until after it concluded. Some bits were given to news stations each day, to keep them up to date on how it was going, but any images had to be gotten the old fashioned way,
which meant camping out in a bush with a telescopic lens and hoping that someone walked by and did something newsworthy.
The master's lip turned up, he snarled loudly at me, causing the smokers to flee. The moment the smokers left, Mr. Wrightworth stopped pacing. He looked even more annoyed as he glowered up at the sky.
That look was very much the frustrated reaction of a man who was silently asking God, 'why me?' Though I wasn't certain why the smokers leaving would bring out that reaction.