The Wife Pact_Emerson

by Charlie Hart

  One look at me though, and she knows something is wrong. I wouldn’t be back here if there wasn’t a good reason.

  “My goodness, child. What on earth are you doing here?” Her eyes go wide when they land on the three burly men behind me and her hand goes to her chest. “Good gracious.”

  “It’s okay, sister. They’re my husbands.”

  “Husbands?” She fans herself and I know this was the last thing she expected. Me, at her door, with my mountain men.

  “Well, three of my six.” I can’t help but chuckle at her reaction. “The other three are back in Alaska. But if you let us in, I can tell you everything.”

  “Of course. Forgive my rudeness. Come in.” She takes a step back, running her hands over her apron. She’s probably close to eighty now, but her eyes are still clear. I just hope her mind is as well. At least, enough to help give us some answers.

  As we walk into the home, we pass a few men, some of her brothers that I have met before, and their sons. I don’t catch sight of any other females and I remember how alone women are now.

  I nod hello to greet them, but dip my face, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself. I swear Huxley is zeroing in on each the guys as if memorizing their faces in case one of them decides to rat us out. At this moment, I am grateful that he is able to read situations so well.

  Sister Teresa puts a kettle on the stove after she ushers us into the homey kitchen. She closes a sliding door dividing the kitchen from the rest of the house and I am grateful for her discretion. Part of me wonders if she had done this before, helped other women escape like she helped me.

  But as I sit down at the round table and watch her scurry around, clearly flustered at my unexpected arrival, I don’t think she has. At the very least, I doubt any of the women ever came back.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea coming here. My presence alone puts her and the people she lives with at risk.

  If my father heard I was here, there’s no accounting for what he would do to them.

  But I have to think about my babies. Once she hears my predicament, she will help. I know she will.

  Fallon stands stoically by the doorway, a scowl on his face, while Em and Huxley sit down at the table with me. Em sets a hand on my knee, and my fingers find his. Grounded in his presence, I explain my situation to Sister Teresa.

  Outside the weather is grey and cloudy, just like most springs in Seattle are, but right now the sky feels ominous and I want to curl in on myself when I look out the window.

  She offers me tea and I lift it to my nose, inhaling the sweet jasmine aroma. Deep worry lines etch across her face as she sits down beside me, and I reach for her bony hand across the table. She spent her entire life serving others, maybe it is selfish to ask her to help me again.

  But then she asks what has brought us here, and I know she needs the story. After all, she was the one who helped me find a cargo boat to sneak away on. My shoulders fall. It feels like a lifetime ago. So much has happened since I left with only hope to guide me.

  The hope of freedom.

  Now all I want is life. For me, for my husbands, and for my unborn children.

  Exhaling, I begin by explaining The Wife Lottery so my three husbands make more sense to her. Then I tell her how I arrived in Alaska, barely holding on by a thread, telling her how it was Fallon who found me and watched over me at the hospital. At that, I look over at Fal, his arms are crossed and his ego bruised, but the memories seem to soften him. Our eyes meet and I see him swallow hard.

  He came here to find me because he made a solemn vow to protect me. His intentions are pure, but so are mine.

  I tell Sister Teresa my story over two cups of tea and finally get to the real reason I’m here.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes go wide. “That’s wonderful.”

  My thoughts darken. Wonderful isn’t exactly the word I would use. But maybe she sees things differently than others, believing God’s work is at hand.

  I force a smile. “With six babies.”

  She crosses herself. “Dear Lord in heaven.”

  “That’s why I’ve come. I need your help.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you, sweet child. But I’m not sure what I can do.”

  I squeeze her hand. “I hate to ask this of you. After you have already done so much, but I have nowhere else to turn.”

  “Ask what you need,” she says, her voice soothing and gentle. “And let’s see if I can help.”

  My gut turns at the idea of requesting a woman of God to compromise her ethics, but Emerson and Huxley nod, urging me to go on. “Sister Teresa, do you still remember the code for my father’s office safe?”

  “Of course. In the years I worked for him, he never changed it. It was your mother’s birthday.”

  Emotion twists in my chest.

  “Despite all the things that man did, I will always believe that he loved your mother. It wasn’t until after she was gone that he became... well, the man he is today.”

  “A monster,” Huxley says harshly.

  Sister Teresa doesn’t deny the words, but they are still so hard for me to hear. My father used to be my hero. But now that I know more and can see everything clearly, I understand who he really was. A mad scientist. A villain after one thing, glory for himself.

  “We have to go to his lab,” I explain. “He’s out of town right now, and it’s our one shot.”

  “What is it you need in his safe so badly?” Sister Teresa asks.

  “My files. I need to understand what he did to me so I can figure out how to save all my children.”

  “And yourself,” Fallon says protectively.

  “Right. And myself.” Sitting back in the chair, I rest a hand on my still slight belly. “It’s an anomaly to carry sextuplets. I need to know what kind of testing he did on me if I have any hope of surviving.”

  Sister Teresa nods. “If anyone is going to survive this pregnancy, it’s going to be you, Tia.”

  “You think?” I ask, holding onto any thread of hope I can find.

  She stands and pulls me into a hug. “You’re different. You always have been. My brave girl.” Pulling back, her gaze locks on mine. “I hope the code to the safe helps.” She gives a pointed look between my husbands. “Whatever it takes, don’t leave the mainland without answers. Not just for Tia, but for all the women desperate for a cure.”

  Chapter 16

  Emerson

  The wind whips around us in the parking lot. The day is already turning into night. It took forever to drive here after leaving Sister Teresa’s and I know there are still so many steps to take before we can leave this godforsaken city.

  It’s unnatural, this place. Grey sidewalks stretch for miles, up hills, all empty. No one leaves home anymore. It was once a concrete jungle, a technological metropolis. But now it looks more like a ghost town.

  I knew we were lucky to live in Alaska, but right now I fucking love the place I was born and raised. The idea of my children growing up in a city like this makes my skin crawl. I can’t wait to get my wife home where we all belong.

  “There’s no reason for her to go in,” Fallon growls as he paces in front of the vehicle outside Saint Augustine's.

  “I’m the only one who knows the way around the building,” she insists.

  “Not true,” Huxley speaks up. “I’ve studied the floor plan. And we know the codes. Emerson and I go in alone. You stay out here with Fallon.”

  Tia looks up at me, hazel eyes pleading. “You know I’m right, Em. Tell them.”

  I shake my head, agreeing with the others. “You’ve done enough. Leave this part to me and Huxley. If anything happened to you...” I can’t even finish, the mere thought of it gets me choked up.

  She crosses her arms over her chest but thankfully doesn’t continue to argue. She must have heard the way my voice cracked. I can’t lose her.

  Besides, our plan is better. Fallon can stay out here with her and
make sure she is protected. Knowing he is with her, actually helps alleviate my worry.

  I kiss her hard on the lips. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she says as I begin to walk away.

  “I won’t let you down.” Her words were light but mine are filled with fervor. I have to be the man she needs.

  Then I follow Huxley to the white maintenance van that just happened to be waiting for us, along with two pairs of coveralls. We’re going in under the guise of electricians.

  I’ll never understand all that Huxley is capable of.

  Truth be told, I probably don’t want to know.

  But after a few calls, he was able to have the power turned off in the building, and all outgoing calls directed to his phone.

  Within minutes there had been a call placed by one of the nuns, to Frankhurt Electric, which he intercepted.

  As we drive through the gates, I adjust the baseball cap low on my forehead. The cameras should be turned off, but I don’t want to take any chances of our identities being noted, and our presence being traced back to Tia.

  Inside, I realize that Huxley wasn’t lying when he said he memorized the floorplan. After we’re lead down to the basement by an older nun, Huxley is quick to take action. As soon as she disappears back upstairs, Hux whistles for me to follow him through a metal door and down a long corridor that’s illuminated by the dusky yellow lights run by the generator.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” I mumble.

  Cool fingers of a breeze brush against my skin making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  A moaning from behind one of the closed doors does little to help my unease.

  “What the fuck was that?” I whisper.

  Huxley looks over his shoulder and glares at me. “Just focus on the task at hand.”

  I try to until I catch a glance through one of the doors that’s slightly open, and the chill I’d felt turns to ice that trickles down my spine.

  “Fuck.” I stop, and so does Huxley. But all I can focus on is the frail form lying, strapped to a metal hospital bed, tubes and wires attached everywhere: her nose, one large one down her throat, several in her arm and chest.

  But what really disturbs me is the roundness of her stomach.

  She’s pregnant. Heavily so.

  “Let’s go--” The words stop in his throat when he sees what I’m looking at. “Shit.”

  There are more than a dozen doors in this hallways alone, and I wonder how similar the scene is behind each one.

  “We have to help her.”

  He shakes his head, but his eyes are haunted, tormented. “There’s nothing we can do. Not now.”

  “But--”

  “Don’t be a fool. Even if we could carry her out of here without anyone seeing us, by the looks of her, she’s not long for this world. Hell, that breathing apparatus is probably the only thing keeping her alive.”

  I know he’s right. But guilt eats at me as we walk away.

  My God, what was Warren Thorne doing here? And what exactly had he done to my wife?

  Icy spikes shudder through me, but I’m even more determined to get Tia’s file.

  Thankfully, for once on this damn trip, we get a bit of good luck. Slipping into Warren’s office, Huxley punches in the code Sister Teresa gave us, and the safe opens.

  At first, my heart sinks. Because inside is nothing but a single manila envelope with Tia’s name scribbled in dark ink.

  Huxley takes it out and dumps the contents into his palm.

  A USB key.

  “Is that it?” I ask.

  “Let’s hope so.” He shuts the safe and hands me the USB. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I nod, but as we weave back through the halls, more moaning and cries fill my ears, and I wonder if Tia knows the true horrors that lie in this place. And what savagery Banks will find when he unlocks the contents of the USB I clutch in my hand.

  Chapter 17

  Tia

  Silence surrounds us on the plane ride home. Even though the mission was a success, I can tell something is bothering Emerson. He hasn’t talked about what happened inside Saint Augustine's. Neither has Huxley, and I know they’re trying to protect me. I just don’t know from what.

  “Did seeing your old home make you miss it?” Huxley asks, his fingers finding mine as I lean against him in the small four-person plane that Fallon is flying.

  “No,” I tell him honestly. “It’s more like I miss what I never had.”

  Huxley’s eyes darken. “What’s that?”

  “A childhood.”

  My words fade into the night as Fallon flies us through thick stretches of black. Maybe Huxley didn’t have a childhood either.

  I know Fallon and Emerson certainly can’t relate to me in that. Idyllic is the word I would use to describe Fallon’s summers at the lake and Emerson’s family farmhouse.

  I want to ask Huxley what growing up was like for him, but before I can, I look up and see that his eyes are closed. He sleeps the flight away, and so I close my eyes too, trying to dream of something other than the past.

  Finally, we get home in the earliest morning hours. Fallon is spent, having had a more exhausting twenty-four hours than anyone else. Flying to Seattle and back again, getting into a fist fight with Emerson and making sure I was safe.

  We get out of the car and I let Emerson and Huxley walk ahead to the house. I take Fallon’s hand in mine, longing for him to know I never wanted to hurt him by leaving the way I did.

  “Thank you for coming to get us,” I tell him. “I don’t know how we would have gotten home without a boat.”

  “I’m just glad I found you,” he says, pulling me to him.

  “Do you hate me?” I ask, the question more genuine than I’d like to admit.

  “No, never.” He looks down at me. “Truth is I’m the one who should apologize. I should never have walked out on you the other night. You were just wanting to do the brave, strong thing. And I was acting like a fucking coward.”

  “No. You were being the protector you vowed to be. Thank you for always looking out for me. But Fal, now I need you to look after our babies too. Vow to protect them too.” Tears fill my eyes as I take his hand and press it to my belly. “You’re more than a husband now. You’re a father.”

  His shoulders fall, and he looks up to the sky.

  I press my hands to his cheeks and pull his face down. “If you’re gonna cry, you need to look at me, not the heavens.”

  He laughs, blinking away tears.

  I brush them away with my thumbs, our hearts beating as one.

  “I love you, Tia.”

  “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

  Banks and Salinger are waiting for us in the living room when we walk inside the compound.

  After dealing with Banks’ frustration about us not telling him the truth about where we were going, he seems somewhat pacified when Emerson hands him the USB key.

  “You got it?” Dark brows rise and hope flares in his eyes.

  “We don’t know what’s on there, but it was in the safe with Tia’s name marked on the envelope.”

  Banks gives a hard nod, and I can see this eagerness to dive into whatever information is on there.

  “Don’t forget about your promise,” Em says, jaw set.

  “I haven’t. I’ve already done a few preliminary tests on the flower.”

  “And?” I ask, curious.

  “It’s safe.” Banks’ mouth twists. “And it shows signs of helping stabilize fluctuating hormones among other things.”

  Instead of gloating, Em just nods, then looks at me. “Will you take it daily, like my mom suggested?”

  “I didn’t say it was a cure,” Banks says flatly.

  “Neither did I. But you just said yourself that it has healing properties.”

  I glance at Banks, trusting his judgment, but also knowing I’ll grasp at straws right now to save my babies and myself. “If it’s not harmful--”

  “I’l
l start you on a low dose.” Banks’ jaw twitches when he glances at Em. “Have your mother send more flowers, as well as some seeds, and seedlings. If it is helpful, then we should start growing it to distribute to others.”

  After kissing me hard, Banks turns to retreat back into his study.

  The slightest hint of a smile tugs at Em’s mouth, a trickle of pride forming in his eyes. But more than that, some of the fear that’s tightened his features since he found out about my pregnancy, lessens. And I know it’s because he thinks this flower will protect me.

  My sweet lion.

  How I wish I could have that kind of faith.

  He reaches for my hand, pulling me into the hall. “See, baby? Told you I would take care of you.” He runs his hand over my hair, settling his palm on the base of my neck, drawing my mouth to his.

  “I never doubted you,” I tell him, looking into his bright eyes. It’s like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Before our lips meet again, I can’t help but say one thing. “Hey, Em, you know, I’m not expecting you to save me. I know you’re not--”

  A frown forms on his lips. “I’m not what?”

  I press my hands on his chest. “No, I mean, I know you haven’t spent time researching--”

  He pulls my hands away. “It’s not all about fucking research, Tia.” He runs a hand over his thick beard. “Just tell me, am I enough for you?”

  “What?” I pull back, shocked at his words, at the fervor and insecurities in them. “Of course you are. Why would you say that?”

  He raises his hands in defeat. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if you’d have chosen me.”

  “Does it matter? I choose you now.”

  He lifts his eyes, and I can’t help compare myself to his past. Before me, someone did choose him. Sought him. Wanted him. No lottery, no strings -- him alone.

  “I didn’t think it mattered. But so many times I try to take care of you, you remind me what I’m not. What you don’t need me to be. So, what do you need from me?” he asks.