by Britney King
* * *
“It’s all written,” I tell him. “That’s why I’m here.” I don’t say it’s because I was only looking for a meal ticket and failed to read the fine print. Sometimes less is more.
“Ready?”
When I nod, he rattles off instructions. “Okay,” he says. “We're going to ask Mrs. Bolton a series of questions in regard to the agreement. How this works is…if she answers correctly nothing happens, and we move on to the next question. However, if she answers incorrectly, I will signal to you, and you will press the appropriate switch that will deliver a shock. Once I signal that the shock is complete, you will then offer her the correct answer and move on to the next question.”
I study his face. He thinks I am going to argue, so I give him what he wants. “This is crazy. I'm not shocking her.”
“Would you prefer to switch places, Mrs. Anderson?”
I give his question some thought briefly. Very briefly, to be honest. I haven't studied the agreement enough. I haven’t really read the book. So to offer to switch places, even if I were an altruistic person, which I am not, would be a dumb move on my part.
On the flip side, I saw Vanessa reading, so she should be okay to answer a few questions.
Also, she really should not have taken my smoothie, whether I wanted it or not.
She has to learn. You don't get in a boat with holes.
Tears stream down Vanessa’s face. I’ve administered three shocks. It’s one of the most interesting things I’ve ever seen, watching electricity course through a person like that. I’ve asked her seven questions. There are three to go. She has missed nearly half. I think she is doing this on purpose. Why, I don’t know.
“In our code of honor, Mrs. Anderson,” Dr. Mueller says. “What is law number four?”
I repeat the question into the mic for Vanessa. Her head hangs. She mumbles something. It’s inaudible. But that doesn’t make it wrong.
I finger the switch. I’m ready to get this over with. I feel like the walls are closing in on me. I feel like I could be next. “Give her a moment longer,” Dr. Mueller insists.
After several moments, he instructs me to repeat the question.
“Law number four,” I say. “What is it?”
Vanessa meets my eye. She seems to find her voice again. “I said. I. Don’t. Know.”
I wait for Dr. Mueller. When he gives the nod, I flip the switch. Vanessa shakes violently.
After several seconds that feel like forever, Dr. Mueller tells me to kill the switch. When I look up again, Vanessa is slumped over.
“Law number four,” I say, reading straight from the handbook as Dr. Mueller has instructed me to do. “Remain obedient to furthering the mission.”
The room is silent and still after that. There’s a calmness about it I’ve never felt before.
Minutes pass. It’s no time at all. I feel more alive than I’ve ever felt.
“Law number seven,” I repeat after Dr. Mueller. “Please explain it.”
I wait. And wait. Vanessa appears to have lost consciousness. “She can’t answer,” I tell him. “I think she’s had enough.”
“Please continue,” Dr. Mueller insists.
“She’s just had surgery.”
“The process requires you to continue.”
“Look at her,” I say.
His eyes watch me closely. They never leave me. “It is absolutely essential that you continue.”
I administer the shock. I hate his face. I hate his brown eyes with the hazel specks. I want to make him go away.
There are screams. I’m floating above my body. Vanessa has wet herself. That I can see.
“The answer,” Dr. Mueller says. “Read her the correct answer, please.” His voice is monotone. Succinct and clear.
I sigh and read the words that are blurred on the page. Maybe I am crying, I don’t know. I hear myself speak but is it even me? “Always remain obedient to furthering the mission.”
“Final question,” Dr. Mueller announces, pulling the mic in his direction. He nods to me.
I take a deep breath in and hold it. When I can manage, I exhale slowly. Dr. Mueller motions me forward. I lean in and speak into the mic. “State law fourteen please.”
I see Vanessa’s lips move, but nothing comes out. I will the words into her mind. I plead silently with her to say them. I feel numb. I feel on the edge of something I can’t stop.
“Go ahead with the shock please,” Dr. Mueller instructs.
“She’s too tired,” I tell him, pointing. “Look, she’s mumbling.”
“Please continue with the treatment.”
I shake my head. “She has a baby.”
“You are required to continue.”
“I don’t want to.” It’s not fun anymore.
“You have no other choice but to continue.”
“You do it,” I say.
Crossing my arms, I wait him out.
When he speaks, his voice is stern. “We are not leaving this room until you complete the task.”
I look up at Vanessa. She’s passed out. I’m hungry and I’m tired. I want out of here. “Fine,” I seethe. I flick the switch. Vanessa comes to life. I’ve never seen that much agony on a person’s face.
“Enough,” Dr. Mueller says, finally. “Now, law fourteen. Give her the answer.”
I can’t look at Vanessa. Maybe I’ve killed her. I don’t want to know. I bring the mic to my mouth, and I speak slowly, so she hears it. I speak so slowly that neither of us will ever forget it again. I make sure it is drilled into my very core. “Never fear harming another with just cause.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tom
To make a fair decision, I made a list of the things I like about my new wife. Criteria having to do with her appearance filled numbers one through fourteen. The fact that she was willing to marry me was number fifteen, and beyond that I was stumped. It’s no secret I hadn’t really known Melanie outside of between the sheets when I proposed. She was pregnant with my child, which put her in a vulnerable position. With June dead, I was without a wife. Marriage appeared to be a solution that would fit both our needs.
What I had failed to consider was the fact that I was not in love with her. I covered for this with the notion that arranged marriages have a greater success rate than do those who come by way of natural selection. This is due to many factors, including but not limited to cultural beliefs and stigma around divorce, as well as the financial status of the females in the partnership.
But I was not making the list to determine whether or not to divorce Melanie. Now that A) the pregnancy and resulting child were no longer factors in staying together and B) she had proven herself to be untrustworthy, I was determining whether or not to kill her.
To get a few things straight: I am not a murderer. While I have contemplated the act on many occasions, I have yet to act on the compulsion. And although I assume the skill involved would not be too difficult to acquire, there is one major problem: I would not be a good candidate for prison. I do not read social cues well enough to survive in that type of environment.
So, as one can imagine, given the choice between killing one person (my wife), or killing three (her previous lovers), the situation seems like a no-brainer. Killing one person is certainly less labor intensive than killing three. On the flip side, it’s easier to kill a person you haven’t had sex with. Generally speaking. Particularly, if you’re a fan of the sex, which I am, very much. My wife is incredibly cunning, and this creativity spills over, if you know what I mean.
In addition, the risk involved with killing Melanie and getting caught is far greater than killing men I have lesser or no ties to. Everyone knows when a woman is murdered, it’s always the husband. This doesn’t even take in to consideration that killing Melanie would mean having to replace her. The cost of acquiring a new wife would be substantial. Not only would I need to find a suitable candidate, which can be quite labor intensive, I’d have to find one with eq
ual or greater looks who would be willing to accept my proposal.
This makes finding a solution to the dilemma I face rather difficult. It’s important I ensure all factors are examined and analyzed before making a determination.
Which means I need more time. Time is not something Mark is particularly lenient about. He will kill Melanie—or rather, he will have her killed, just to prove a point. Problem solved. On one hand, that would make my decision easier. But who do you think the cops will come looking for when I’m presented with a second dead wife on my hands? It won’t be Mark.
As the saying goes, when you meet a swordsman, draw your sword. Do not recite poetry to one who is not a poet. In short, in order to buy time, I have to go around Mark, directly to the only source capable of stalling him. His wife.
I end up where most people go to research something when the internet isn’t safe. The library. I need to know the most efficient method to murder a person without getting caught, preferably without having to handle the clean up. As I mentioned, I do not do well where blood is concerned. I like things neat and tidy, and blood is the opposite of that.
While there is no shortage of ways to end a life, humans are quite fragile when it comes right down to it. I learn that hit and runs, strangulation, drive-by shootings, or poisoning a person fit well with what I am looking to do. The problem with hitting someone with your car and drive-by shooting them are that you need weapons, namely a car and a gun. I don’t even own a sword. I’m living on borrowed time. Plus, these items will always link you to the crime, particularly so if there are witnesses involved. Those only lead to further complications and more people to kill. As I’ve come to find, silence has a price, and often that price is murder.
The third option, to poison a person, would mean either acquiring or manufacturing the substance to handle the job. And while I know enough about chemistry that this shouldn’t be too big of an obstacle, I’d have to get close to them. I’m not sure I want to look my wife’s past in the eye. Self-awareness just so happens to be a strong suit of mine. And I know that to do so would only provide inspiration for the final method: strangulation. After all, nothing is safer than dead.
Beth hosts Book Club on Monday evenings in the garden at church, which makes it easy to schedule a run-in of sorts. Basically, this is what less intelligent people like to call coincidences.
Predictability can almost always work in one’s favor. First, you have to set things up by creating patterns. Routine makes others comfortable. The more familiar with you they become, the easier time you’ll have lulling them to sleep. Then, once you have them where you want them, you can allow preconceived notions they hold about you to act as a smoke screen, a pleasant front from behind which you can carry out your deceptions. Patterns are extremely powerful, and you can easily terrify people by disrupting them.
“Tom,” she says, her brows raised, eyes wide, proof of my success. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“I wanted to discuss something with you.”
“Oh,” she says, glancing at me sideways. “Sorry, now isn’t the best time.” She pulls out her phone, if only to prove a point. “I’m meeting Mark for a late dinner.”
“That’s perfect.” She walks, I walk. “Because I have a meeting upstairs in five minutes.” And because I understand Beth lacks intelligence, I provide clarification. “I don’t have long.”
She picks up the pace and I match her stride. “I noticed the numbers are down for incoming couples in the 20-34 age groups.”
“Yes,” she says without looking at me. “We’re working on that.”
“Well, I think I know why.”
We’ve reached the parking lot. She is searching for her car. I don’t have much time. Less than I thought. “Why?”
“People are getting married older.”
“Ok.” She’s digging for her key.
“That means unless their parents are members, people in that age range aren’t seeking out the opportunities a church community can give them.”
“That’s too bad.” She’s not even listening.
“You’re right. It is bad. Very. That demographic doesn’t join because they don’t think they’ll find a life partner here. And the truth is, it’s a catch-22. Unless we bring numbers up, they won’t.”
Finally, she is successful with the key. “You have a point.”
“So that’s what I was wondering…how are you recruiting in that age bracket?”
She turns to me then. I may not be good at reading social cues, but I have known Beth long enough to understand that she’s curious as to why I want to know. “Well…” she starts. “Same as the others. Social media. Ads in strategic places. Word of mouth…”
“What you need are influencers.”
Her face twists. Women like Beth do not appreciate it when you try to do their job for them. She’s not good at hiding it, either. It’s clear in her tone. “And where do you suggest I find those?”
“You could start with my wife.”
I know that my idea will mean releasing Melanie sooner rather than later. And in order for me to make a determination about how to move forward with Mark’s demands, frankly, I need this to happen.
Her head cocks to the side. “Melanie.”
“Yeah.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, when it’s a very big deal. If Mark makes his move before I make a final decision as to which way to go, I’ll be out a wife and a job as well, and under investigation for murder. My house is in the church’s name. I really like that house. Without time to put a proper plan in place, I’ll end up with nothing. No one wants to live like that.
She’s still looking at me quizzically. “You’ve seen her at parties,” I add, and I leave it at that. Few women like to see another woman admired.
Beth folds her arms. “We’ve considered that,” she lies. “But we’re working on the reprogramming first.”
“With the reprogramming—there’s something you aren’t taking into consideration.”
She rolls her eyes. “And what would that be?”
“The reprograming makes her like you.”
Her mouth falls open. Prior experience with her type tells me she’s offended. I have to make a quick recovery. But not too quick. “Is that so bad?”
“No. Not at all,” I promise like a confession. “Unless you’re wanting millennials to join the church.” I take a deep breath and hold it. This is going to hurt. Logic often does. “When is the last time you wanted to be like your parents?”
Her eyes narrow. “Um, never.”
“According to my research, the last thing millennials want is to be like the generation that came before. Which means we have to lure them in with something different. Melanie is different. Before we change her, we should use her.”
I watch as she does a double-take. People often first balk at solutions before they accept them. “Well, it certainly seems to have worked on you, hasn’t it?”
“Just talk to Mark about it, would you? See what he thinks.”
I know Beth will never let on that a good idea wasn’t hers.
“I will,” she promises. I open the car door for her. Once she’s in, she pauses and looks up at me. “In the meantime, you have any other grand ideas?”
“Nope,” I force a smile. “Now that we know how to increase the numbers, I’m fresh out.”
Chapter Seventeen
Melanie
Mrs. Elizabeth assures me I didn’t kill Vanessa. And yet, I haven’t seen her, so there’s really no proof. I haven’t killed anyone before, but I’ve not ruled it out either. Interestingly enough, this religion, if that’s what you want to call it, allows for it in their doctrine. Never fear harming another with just cause.
They won’t let us room together. I asked. Which is a good thing probably. I’m afraid I would rectify the situation. Given the chance, I might murder Vanessa with my own bare hands for what she made me do. In fact, I’ve been busy contemplating the ways I might go about it. In here t
here’s not much else to do but think.
If only she wouldn’t have been so self-sacrificing.
There’s pleasure in being taken beyond our limits. That’s what Mrs. Elizabeth says. Maybe Vanessa already knows this. Whatever the case, without a doubt, I know she knew the answers to those questions.
She wanted to make me suffer.
She wanted to test my limits.
Sure, I could waste my abundance of time asking myself why. But I don’t care enough for that. People do what they do. Everyone else spends so much time on the cause. They want a motive. They want answers. Pick any of the twelve billion news outlets and tune in. All they talk about is why. Name the latest tragedy and watch how much time they spend dissecting it. It’s insane. But it’s simple: sometimes people do bad things because it makes them feel good. Sometimes they do them to make themselves feel better. Sometimes they are just plain evil. It’s not rocket science. Too many people believe that just because they’re good, everyone else is.
But that’s not the way the world works. There’s too much history to prove otherwise.
People forget how good humans are at rationalizing their behavior.
I may be young by some standards, but I’ve seen enough to know. The real horrors of this world are other people.
To prove a point, after the shock therapy, I was given an assignment to write a letter to someone to show the pain I have caused. I could have chosen Tom. But he’s the one who put me in this place, and I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable where he is concerned. So, I chose my parents instead. I will be in need of a place to go once they let me out of here.
* * *
Dear Mother and Dad: Since you forced me from the nest, I have been remiss in writing, and I am sorry for my thoughtlessness in not having written sooner. I will bring you up to date now, but before you read on, please sit down. You are not to read any further unless you are sitting down, okay?
