Under His Rule (Dark Romance Suspense)

by Clarissa Wild

  I stand there for a second, taking in my surroundings and trying to get used to a different space. I’m no longer confined to the darkness, no longer naked and in pain.

  But this is still a cage. An upgraded cage, but a cage nonetheless.

  Still, I can’t help making use of the amenities, as I turn open the faucet and immediately stick my entire face under it. The cold water rushing over my cheeks and into my mouth is riveting and revitalizing, and I gobble up every last drop until my thirst is quenched.

  I wipe my mouth on the white dress and walk toward the closet. Let’s see if there’s something else I can wear in here. I open it up and stare in disbelief. Only more of the same of what I’m already wearing; all white dresses and caps and black booties to match.

  I sigh and shut the doors again, and I open each closet and cabinet I can find until I find something. An apple sits in the back of the kitchen cabinet, red and shiny. I have to stand on my toes to take it out. It looks so appetizing in my hands, and it makes my mouth water.

  So I take a big, hearty bite.

  The sourness and sweetness combine into an explosion of tastes that I’ve craved for so long.

  In the cell, I was fed only bread and water, and now that I’ve finally had something else, I feel like I could cry. What one apple can do for a girl.

  I swallow down the piece and stare at the markings on the apple, the shape of my teeth sunken into its flesh, and I suddenly wonder why there was a single apple lying in the top shelf.

  If it was put there on purpose … another test.

  My eyes widen. The apple falls out of my hand, drops onto the floor, and rolls underneath the table.

  Right then, someone pries at the locked door again. In a panic, I grab a small tablecloth and throw it over the apple. I don’t know why I’m so desperate for them not to find out. Why I’m so afraid of punishment. Maybe I’ve already been trained to submit without me realizing it.

  The same woman from before, Gertrude, opens the door and steps inside. She takes a look at the room and narrows her eyes at the cloth, then at me. I swallow hard.

  She walks to me and stares me down before bending over to grab the apple hiding underneath the cloth. She inspects it in a way that almost makes me feel violated just for taking a bite.

  A tepid smile forms on her lips, and she tucks the apple into a bag that’s strapped to the side of her dress. “Come with me now.”

  She turns around and walks off, but my eyes can’t help but land on the Taser right beside her bag and how it’s always a reminder that I’m not doing any of this because I want to, but because I have no choice.

  I’m still their prisoner, whether they dress me or feed me, and I shouldn’t ever forget that.

  We walk down the stone path to another building right in the middle of the camp. I don’t know if this is a camp or not, or what else to call it. The Holy Land, perhaps?

  The people here flock around me, checking me out as though I’m livestock going on sale soon. It creeps me out and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  Gertrude abruptly stops. “No dawdling.” She eyes me down and then points at a building up ahead. “Over there.”

  I wait, but she does too, so I take a step and another one until I’m the one walking in front. The threat of her weapon is always looming in the background, reminding me of the fact that it’s impossible to get away.

  As I get close to the door, it opens without me having to even touch it. A woman stands in the door opening, dressed in the same clothes as I am, and she says, “Welcome to school.”

  School?

  I haven’t been to school in ages, and I wasn’t planning to go back.

  Gertrude pokes me in the back with a stick. “Go on.”

  I reluctantly walk inside. There are benches everywhere, and in the back of the room, there’s a white cloth hanging from the wall, and an old projector sits in front of it.

  Gertrude stops at the door and talks with the other woman. “This one is a handful, so take measures. But be gentle. Patriarch’s orders.”

  “Of course, elder sister,” the woman says, and they nod at each other and then give each other two kisses on each cheek and a bow. Strange.

  Another woman enters, and behind her is a girl with that same frown I saw before. I bet she’s like me.

  A captured.

  The women talk with each other, and then they direct their attention toward me. “Sit down,” one of them says.

  I figure it’s easier to do what she says than to fight. Because through the window blinds, I can see several men standing guard outside the building. They’re prepared, of course. We’re a flight risk … and the more we try, the more skilled we get at trying to escape. Because a fawn desperate to get out will try any means necessary, any exit she can find, even the unconventional ones. And they want to nip that in the bud before I even try. Smart.

  “Sit,” barks the elder sister who’s left.

  I sit down on one of the benches as instructed, and so does the other captured.

  The elder sister turns on the slideshow and holds out a long stick which she uses to point at the screen.

  “Education time,” she says. “For the purpose of assimilation, we will now explain the customs in our commune.”

  Commune. Another word for cult, but of course she won’t ever use that word.

  “You are now in the Holy Land, property of the Family. You will abide by our rules, set forth by the president. He is the anointed one, chosen by God to continue His Legacy.”

  I don’t know what the heck she’s talking about, and I’m not sure I really want to know … but I have no other choice than to sit here, listen, and hope there’s an explanation for why they took me.

  “You will be staying in huts. All houses are called huts here. Each family unit has their own hut. The one you’ve been staying at”—she eyes me now—“is the one you will be living in, so get used to it.”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat. The question is not where … but how long?

  “Do not under any circumstance try to enter any other hut except your own without explicit permission from an elder or his wife. Understand?”

  When we don’t speak, she slaps my table with her stick so hard it almost snaps into two. I jolt up and down in my seat from the sharp sound.

  “Answer me.”

  “Yes …”

  “Yes, what?” she sneers.

  “Yes, sister?” I lift my shoulders, hoping it’s the right choice because I don’t want to get punished.

  “Good.” A petty smile forms on her lips, and the mixed emotions it gives me makes me feel ill.

  “First, the hierarchy. The patriarchs are our leaders, of whom the highest is our president. Patriarchs are not to be bothered with trivial matters, as they are watching over and caring for the entire family here at the commune.”

  “What do they do?” the other girl asks.

  The elder sister rubs her lips together, probably annoyed that she asked a question. “Raise your hand, captured.”

  The girl slightly lifts her hand.

  “They pray and offer blessings, and they watch over our rituals so that we may give the Lord more children. Furthermore, there are elders who look over our people. They make sure everyone abides by the rules set forth by the patriarchs.”

  So they’re soldiers. Henchmen of the ones who trapped me here. Great.

  “Helpers are those who do most of the working labor at this community. Our women here are our sisters, and our men are our brothers. A man will always look over his wife. A wife will always listen to her husband and do what she’s told.”

  What kind of sexist shit is this?

  “A husband can have multiple wives, but a wife can never have more than one husband. Wives are here to bear children for God. Husbands give the wives children to make them happy. A wife will care for the children while a husband toils and works during the day, and his efforts will always be rewarded with his wife’s atte
ntion.”

  What the …?

  “You must be wondering why I’m telling you all this,” the woman says with a smirk.

  I sink back into my chair and watch her lips move slowly.

  “Once you are finished with your initiation, you will become wives.”

  Chapter 6

  Natalie

  “What?” I say before I realize it.

  The elder sister slaps my desk again so hard the stick now snaps in half. But it doesn’t bother her even the slightest. She just stares at me point-blank.

  “Do not raise your voice at me, captured. I am your teacher, and you will respect that position. Just as you must respect any other position here in the commune.”

  “Not mine,” I rebuke, folding my arms. The other girl throws me a scared look, almost as if she’s trying to warn me for what’s to come if I continue resisting. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Why I have this sudden urge to fight back. But it’s probably her story that did it.

  The elder sister leans over my desk, her face creeping closer and closer until I can smell the fishy breath that makes me want to lean back. But I don’t. I stay put, solid as a rock in this chair.

  “You’ve met the elders already, haven’t you? The ones that guarded your small, concrete suffering hut?”

  The mere mention of the concrete makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “They are keen to keep troublemakers such as you in check. They’d gladly throw you back into that suffering hut. So will you choose to behave, or are you going to be difficult?” she asks with a threatening undertone.

  I nod a few times. I can’t even say a word. That’s how scared I am of the prospect of being back in that cage.

  “Good,” she says, adding a dirty smile. “Now, where was I?”

  She returns to the slides, pointing out all the things she thinks are important, like where all the huts are on a map, the important community buildings such as the dining hut, the clothing creation hut, and the showers. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any sort of shower in my own hut. So I raise my hand.

  “Yes?” the elders sister says.

  “Are we … allowed to shower in our own huts?”

  “No, dear, there’s no shower in your hut,” she says, laughing a bit as if the question is funny. “The shower hut is where you will clean yourself.”

  Odd.

  “This here is where everyone will eat,” she says, pointing at the dining hut. “You will not eat without permission. Those are the rules.” She eyes me down specifically as she reaches for her bag and fishes out an apple with a bite taken out. “This is a sin. Sins are to be punished. Do you want to sin?”

  “No,” I say condescendingly.

  “I hope we’re clear then.”

  “Very,” I reply with a brazen voice, and she throws me another.

  “Over here is the prayers hut”—she points at the screen again—“which is where you will offer your prayers twice each day. Now should you come across any elder or even helpers who needs your assistance, you will offer it, as you are an initiate and you stand in service to those around you.”

  “Until I become a wife,” I taunt, cocking my head.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Yes. The ritual of the wife will eventually be bestowed on you. Once you have familiarized yourselves with our customs and the Holy Land.”

  “And then we make babies …” I mutter.

  She eyes me down again but doesn’t say another word, which makes me feel like I’m pushing it again, so I shut up for now and stare at the other girl instead, whose dread manages to spill over to me just with one single look. We’re alone in our misery, alone … but together. And for some reason, right now, I want nothing more than to hold her hand and squeeze it tight.

  But I can’t. She’s across the room, on purpose, because that elder sister did not want us to sit together, probably to prevent us from supporting each other. Because support means taking back power. It means survival instead of breaking down.

  It means a revolt. And they will do anything to nip that in the bud.

  I’ll remember every single inch of this place, every tiny rule they have, and every person I meet here … so that when I escape, I know exactly who to blame for my gruesome trial.

  I raise my hand. The elder sister points at me, and I ask, “Are we the first captured here?”

  She shakes her head. “No, dear, so don’t try anything.”

  Guess they’ve got this going like one oiled machine.

  “Why did you take us?” I ask. “Aren’t your people enough?”

  She gives me that disingenuous smile again. “In order to function as a commune, our family needs fresh blood. Fresh wombs.”

  I shiver. She makes it sound as though we’re being thrown to the wolves … or used as incubators.

  “To prevent the children from getting sick, of course.”

  To prevent them from being inbred bastards. Got it.

  “Why us? Why not any other woman?” I continue.

  “Because you are special,” she answers, which is not really an answer to anything. “And because a patriarch has shown a special interest in you.”

  My eyes widen. It’s him. She’s talking about him.

  “Who? What’s his name? Can I see him?” I ask, leaning over my bench.

  She cocks her head. “No, girl, and don’t you get any ideas in that tiny head of yours.” She taps the top of my head with half of the broken stick. “You are special but not that special. The patriarch will let elders and their wives know when the time comes what he wishes to do with you. Until then, you will follow the Family’s rules and schedules.”

  She turns around to face the screen again.

  “Let’s talk about sins. Sins are not allowed. What are sins? Violence, trying to escape.” She throws me a stern look. “Gluttony, not doing your share of the workload, envying your brothers and sisters for their hut or their love, and defying the Lord’s will.”

  I’m sure she means those arbitrary rules and rituals.

  “And above all … do not ever defy a patriarch or the president. Oh, and before I forget, you are never to enter the temple without their explicit approval.”

  “The temple?” the other girl mutters, raising her hand slightly.

  “It is the Holy Place where the president and the patriarchs live. It is off-limits to anyone but the patriarchs’ most trusted elders.”

  What a bunch of bullshit.

  “Now, off you go. Back to your huts. An elder sister will escort you back.”

  We get up, but I can’t stop to wonder whether the reason the women are picking us up is because the men can’t be trusted. I mean, they’re responsible for guarding the whole area, yet they don’t come anywhere near us. It’s as if they’re afraid … afraid they might commit sin. I’m pretty sure they’re not allowed to touch us … yet.

  I’m not exactly sure what to expect, except that I’m to become someone’s wife. But what does the ritual entail? And what does it mean to be a wife?

  I have so many questions that I’m too afraid to ask … because I honestly don’t want to know the answer. I just want to go home. But that’s not an option. Maybe I’ll be stuck here forever.

  “Go on.” The elder sister pushes me out the door.

  Out here, it’s survival mode for me. All I have is the other girl, the captured who’s walking right beside me. She’s the only person here who understands what I’m going through, who’s probably also questioning what the heck is going on here and what strange community we’ve ended up in. This girl is my only tether to the real world, the world I belong in, the world we were both snatched away from.

  I glance at her, and she glances back. A look says more than a thousand words ever will, and when I reach for her fingers, she reaches for mine. No hand-holding, just touching, hoping no one will notice, hoping no one will care enough to correct us.

  I just want this one physical connection with someone who knows how I
feel. Just this one thing … it means the world to me, and I know she can tell because her eyes well up with tears every time she takes a small glance.

  We both continue walking in the same direction, following an elder sister who guides our way. I’m waiting, pacing my steps, wondering when the time will come when the elder sister will tell us to stop and change roads. The moment that I’ll lose this small connection to reality.

  But it never comes.

  Instead, we’re both waiting in front of the same hut as the elder sister unlocks it and opens the door.

  “In you go. A map of the Holy Land is in your drawers, should you need it. We’ll come and get you when it’s time.”

  We both go inside, and she closes the door on us, locking it too.

  I stare at the girl, and she stares at me.

  The moment seems to last forever.

  I’m afraid to say a word, to even open my mouth. Are they watching? Will they punish us if we do? I have so many questions, so many things I want to say to her. So I ask the one, single thing that’s been on my mind since the moment I saw her.

  “Was it you? In that dark, concrete cell?” My teeth clatter as I speak the words.

  She licks her lips, tears running down her cheeks. And when she nods, the whole façade of this place seems to drop off my shoulders.

  I run toward her and hug her tight. It’s what I’ve wanted to do since we both came here, but I never had the chance, and when they took her, I never thought I’d see her again.

  “You’re alive,” I mutter.

  “I’m surprised too,” she replies, wiping away her tears with her sleeve.

  “I’m sorry, I should’ve done something to stop them,” I say.

  “It’s not your fault,” she replies. “Besides, it’s not as if you could escape them either.”

  That’s true, though I don’t like that it is.

  I lean back and look her in the eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “April.”

  I smile. It’s a beautiful name. “I’m Natalie.”

  “Natalie … I wish I asked before, but I just … forgot.” She shrugs.