Sowing Season

by Brian Patrick Edwards

  “Sorry!” He began rubbing her gently, smiling as he did so.

  She finally stood up and he handed her a wad of toilet paper to wipe her mouth and nose clean. She removed most of her make-up in a single swipe and he saw her face for the first time. Mascara ran along her eyes and cheeks, turning her face into a scene from a bad horror flick, yet she still looked absolutely beautiful anyway.

  “You poor thing. Did you eat something bad?” he asked in an innocent tone, pretending he was oblivious to the implications of her sudden illness.

  “I haven’t had my period in a while…thought it was just missed or late…that’s happened before.”

  “You think you’re pregnant?”

  She nodded her head answering in a weak voice, “I just don’t want to jinx it.” The idea was insane to both of them. Despite their growing excitement and gratitude for the blessing, the craziest thing was that the two of them desired something so highly illegal -- even deadly.

  “I understand, me neither. Maybe we could get the doc to take a peek.”

  “We don’t have time. We’re leaving in an hour and heading to the meeting place,” she reminded him, still cleaning her face and spitting out whatever else remained trapped in her throat.

  “Is she okay?” Maria asked from beyond the door, her voice muted.

  “She’s perfect,” Michael answered, in awe of the woman before him. The experience was unreal to him. It felt like a dream. Something beyond this world was happening before his very eyes. “She’s absolutely perfect.”

  “Did you eat something bad?” Maria cracked the door open. “Was it the casserole?”

  “Don’t talk about food right now!” Amelia scolded.

  “She may be pregnant…,” Michael beamed.

  “I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! I just didn’t want to say anything.”

  “What? How would you know?” Michael asked, opening the door wide.

  “Her milkers have gotten huge! Surely you, of all people, have noticed. Look at those things!” Maria laughed as she pointed to Amelia’s swollen breasts.

  “I mean, I thought it was my imagination,” Michael laughed, glancing over at them. “Is that a pregnancy thing?”

  “Duh! She’s getting ready to feed a baby with them. What else would it be?” Then looking past Michael, “Oh, Amelia, I’m so excited to not be alone in this anymore! Good thing you guys decided to come with us!”

  “I’m not excited about the trip down. I’m spinning right now.”

  “Oh, well, that’s going to be a challenge. Maybe you can try to sleep most of the way down?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep. I’m already nervous enough about getting caught.”

  “Me too, but maybe if we close our eyes, it’ll be easier than we imagine. Pregnancy is exhausting, trust me. We’ll probably pass right out.”

  “Nothing will happen to either of you.” Michael had already committed himself to the possibility of getting caught and how to handle it. John and he will neutralize anyone standing in their way. He felt stronger than ever about this now that Amelia was pregnant. Now they had two women and two babies to protect. Not a thing or person could stand in their way, even if it cost him his life. The men would do anything they had to so the mother of his child and his sister could escape.

  His fists clenched as he imagined the possibilities. He had never felt surer of anything in his life. It was his duty to protect the innocents -- and his legacy -- even if it meant he lost his own life to do it. It was an instinctual, primal feeling that seemingly remapped his entire brain in an instant as the passion emerged from some deep spiritual and animal place in his being. I am a father, a brother, an uncle, a friend and I will do whatever I must, even die, to protect what is mine, he thought with an uncommon clarity.

  The family gathered in the living room once more, after they turned off every light and closed every door. The house, all empty and barren, seemed sad in a way. Its farewell hummed in the air through the emptied rooms as if it knew they were leaving. Cole sat in the corner, with his bag and suitcase, not speaking. John and Michael had just arrived from ensuring everything was locked up and ready to go, something Maria had already done, but they insisted on double-checking. Amelia sat with her on the couch, speaking to Dr. Renda, who had arrived only moments before. They were all waiting for the priest to come by in a rented van to transport them to the rendezvous location.

  “We’ll take a look at you, as soon as we get south. I’ve already shipped some equipment down there, including my ultrasound machine,” the doctor assured Amelia, patting her shoulder.

  “How far along do you think I am?”

  "Not sure, but I'll be able to measure the peanut with my equipment. That will give us a very clear estimate. Maria, you're due for another look too. We should be able to see the sex by now, if you'd like to know."

  “Absolutely!” She laughed with excitement, “I can’t wait!”

  A car horn sounded from the street and Michael peeked through the curtains, spying the priest sitting in the front of the vehicle. “He’s here.”

  …

  Everyone stood at once, donning their coats and shoes, before making their way out of the house. Michael, last in line, looked around as he walked over to the doorway, “Bye old friend.” He caught sight of the black markings on the doorway. They marked Maria’s and his changing heights as they grew. The newer marks recorded the growth of Cole and Stone. He could even see the ancient marks his grandparents made as their kids grew. It was a lot to leave behind -- the history and memories, especially given the very real chance he wouldn’t return. He pulled the familiar door to and placed the key into its slot, noticing for the first time ever that the top and bottom lock didn’t match in color. One was black, the other golden and much older. The deadbolt rolled into place and the door settled.

  He carried both his and Amelia’s suitcase with him down the stairs to the van where the others were already busily storing their things and boarding. Michael loaded their luggage into the back and closed the van doors, looking up at the house and to its emptiness once more. It looked just as dark as the other houses that night. It’s windows dark and covered. “You’ll have a new tenant soon, friend,” he whispered, looking up at the house’s face and its weeping weathered siding.

  The rendezvous was behind the old mall in Irondale, beyond the sight of anyone. It was a dirty old place with debris tumbling in the wind and decay devouring the carcasses of poisoned rodents. The large semi truck’s back door was opened and a cabin light illuminated the cases of beer and other things retrieved by the Smuggler. The deepest part of the cabin held what appeared to be a massive stack of boxes, but the Smuggler opened the side of it, exposing two benches that within. There was nothing comfortable about the sight of them, their cushions torn and filthy. As Amelia climbed into the trailer, she immediately detected the odor of beer, some cans of which had burst open and become putrid. She knew instantly that this trip would not be an easy one, but did see a clean trash bin sitting in the Smuggler’s cabin, which eased her mind a bit.

  They stowed their items beneath the benches and sat awkwardly, crammed against each other. The Smuggler made sure everyone was in place, notified them of the travel time, and assured them they were in good hands before closing the façade door to hide them. He then proceeded to stack real boxes of cargo in front of the door, until it was impossible to detect.

  The priest said a prayer for the success of their journey and over the women, focusing his intentions on the unborn babies growing within them. The truck growled and shook once he finished the requests he offered to Heaven, and it rolled forward, on its way south.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Susan’s body hadn’t stirred in days and except for the movement of her assisted breathing apparatus, the room lay still. Only the movement of her chest raising and lowering along with the mechanical cadence of the breathing support device indicate the presence of life. The injuries she suff
ered in the STORK clinic bombing have rendered her unrecognizable -- her milky white skin now red and swollen from the removal of her burnt flesh. Bandages, changed almost constantly by medical staff, cover much of her face and body. After much discussion, the doctors on her medical team agreed to place her in an induced coma and she had existed in that deep unconscious realm since the day of the attack. The doctors watched her closely after finding evidence of infection, fearing she may develop sepsis.

  The medical staff allowed Isaac to visit Susan in the hospital, despite his outburst in the ambulance, as long as he was under the direct supervision of another officer. His captain took the opportunity to visit Susan, whose condition disturbed him greatly. He hadn’t expected that she was in such a horrible state, hardly any more alive than the ventilator pumping air into her.

  Aside from the glowing monitors and beeping status lights surrounding the bed, no other lights illuminated the room. The curtains were drawn and a darkness hung within -- an absence of light that seemed unnecessary. The captain attempted to discreetly cover his nose, when able, to block out the odor of her wounds and the topical medications applied to them. Despite the other scents mingled in, he could detect the unmistakable odor of death.

  Intensive care patients, even those not on the verge of death, are usually associated with a certain common odor that seems foreign to those who haven’t spent much time around them. Unable to care for themselves, these patients rely on the attending nurses to bathe them. Frequency and manner of bathing, of course, depends upon the particular circumstances of each patient’s condition.

  As a burn victim, Susan’s medical team did not write orders that included the typical bathing protocols. Instead, her burnt, dead skin was debrided in a tub room especially for severe burn patients. Some of the skin underneath the scrubbed burnt flesh had become infected and it released an intensely foul stench. It was an inescapable odor, which left an unpleasant taste in the mouth of those exposed to it.

  “Do they know when she’ll wake?”

  “They’ve put her in an induced coma. Apparently, something in the explosion, maybe a projectile, caused trauma to her head,” Isaac answered, his voice sounding hollow and empty, his emotions entirely spent over the last few days of ceaseless grieving. He exhausted himself, weeping until one could say there were no tears left to shed.

  “It’s damn horrible,” the captain remarked, covering the edge of his nose with his hand. “Susan’s such a light to this world. You just gotta put your faith in medicine, son. Soon as this battle is won, they’ll fix her up real nice. I’ve seen it plenty of times before.”

  “We’ve just been approved for a baby.” Isaac’s face became sour as tearless emotion once again found him, “The child of her dreams…our dreams...I just…I hope she gets to…”

  “That’s amazing news, Isaac! You know, they can hear us in there.” Then he thought of how he could comfort his subordinate, saying, “Susan would love to hear good news, it’s the currency by which people in her shoes use to get well.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes, get close to her and tell her something, something to encourage her. I’ll even step out and give you some privacy.”

  “I’ll give it a shot. Thank you, Captain.” Isaac noisily drug his chair over to the right side of Susan’s bed, the side that displayed her less serious burns. The captain stood quickly and exited the room, secretly filled with joy that he’d no longer smell her.

  …

  Isaac waited, searching for words to say to his wife. He sat beside her for several minutes before opening his mouth. The only sound within the room was that of the beeps and the forced breathing through her mask. When she breathed, he heard a gurgling noise and, occasionally, it sounded as if she were about to gag and choke.

  “Susan,” Isaac began awkwardly, staring into her face, hoping to see a sign that she was aware of his presence or voice, but her heartbeat carried on unchanged. “Babe, it’s Isaac, I’m here with you.”

  He was afraid to touch any part of her, so he kept his hands tightly held against the rails along her side. He studied her face as he searched his mind for the right things to say. He tried desperately to recall a list of great things about their life together -- things that might cheer her or give her some kind of hope. Other than the baby, he drew a blank, so he started there.

  “Our Isabelle is on her way, dear,” he raised the pitch in his voice, emphasizing the happy nature of the news. “We’re going to have a beautiful little girl, who looks just like you. She’s going to love her mama, love dress-up parties with you, and enjoy all life has to offer. One day, she’ll come to you, wanting you to apply your makeup to her face and carry a baby doll around. She’s going to want to try lots of things like horseback riding, dance, and art. She’ll be just as you were as a child, but even better.” Susan’s heart rate sped up slightly, just enough for Isaac to notice.

  “Yes, babe, that’s right, she’s going to have a wonderful life with the two of us raising her. She’s going to make the house so much cozier. In the winter, we’ll curl up by the fire with her between us and read books all about fairies and other mythical creatures of the wood. We’ll tell her about the beautiful redheaded princess that changed the world, whose face shimmers in the sunlight. Oh yes, babe, Isabelle will prefer that you to read and re-read the parts about the princess in your wonderful, comforting voice. She’s going to grow up just like that -- with every night of her life ending mystically and joyfully until she becomes a woman.”

  Isaac longed the relief he knew tears would bring, almost purposely working for them to come. Sobbing from deep within with tears falling in great salty waves was the only thing that could ease the weight he felt in his chest.

  “And she’s going to be a beautifully striking woman, yes, even more stunning than she was as a child. Everyone will envy her as loveliness incarnate. Every single person who beholds her, even once, will crave the opportunity to look at her again.” Susan’s heart rate began to jump and skip rapidly and her monitors began to emit a much more urgent beeping. “Susan?”

  Two nurses immediately blew past the captain, still waiting outside, and entered the room, “Sir, please give us some space.”

  “What’s going on? Is something wrong?” His eyebrows rose in terror. Isaac continued holding onto the bed rails as the nurses began scrutinizing the monitors and the patient.

  Neither of the attending caregivers offered him a single word of reassurance. As their hurried movements became more intense, one of the nurses forced him aside exiting the room, “Doctor Slaughter, we need you in here now! The patient’s coding!” A man in green scrubs jogged from down the hall, breaking past Isaac to enter Susan’s room.

  “Susan!” Isaac shouted from beyond the doors to the room as his captain pulled him back.

  “Sir, you’re going to have to return to the lobby and wait,” ordered the shorter nurse as she began implementing the doctor’s newest orders. Isaac didn’t clearly understand the meaning of their clipped medical jargon and terminology, so he strained to peer at the monitors behind her for clues. The doctor used the defibrillator to apply a shock to her chest. Each time he shouted ‘clear’ and pressed the paddles to her torso, her body jerked violently into the air.

  “Come with me, Isaac,” the captain insisted, tugging at his arm.

  “Is she dying?” Isaac questioned to no one in particular, resisting his boss by jerking his arm away. “Unity, please…please don’t let her die. Work some miracles or something. You’ve got to do something!”

  “Isaac, what the heck are you doing?” the captain asked upon hearing his words, his prayer to Unity. It was similar to the people who offered prayers to Unity in the old Christian churches, but this sounded much more sincere, much more direct and certain. It gave the captain pause.

  “Sir, you cannot be in here!” shouted the doctor, while gesturing for the captain to forcefully remove Isaac. “We can’t work efficiently with you here. Please, officer, t
ake this man outside.”

  "Unity! My Susan needs you! Please!" Isaac repeated, the nurses looked at him as if he were a lunatic that had wandered in off the streets.

  Then, in a hushed tone, the captain warned, “Isaac, please don’t make me wrestle you out of here.”

  “Blood pressure is dropping -- bradycardia coming on,” the short nurse alerted the doctor. “Her heart rhythm is all over the place.”

  Despite the best efforts of the medical team, Susan’s organ systems began shutting down one by one. Her severe burns left her skin surface area extremely prone to opportunistic infections, which quickly spread to her already badly injured brain and her other systems during the short time that had passed since the bombing. Sepsis, essentially the medical version of the Angel of Death, stretched its fingers over every corner of her body, seducing her into the grave. After long days of fighting for survival, Susan surrendered quickly to the beckoning of her reaper.

  A sort of darkness descended upon the room -- a dim shade that seemed to hang in the air like a cloak of shadow. Still the team worked.

  “There isn’t anything I can do.”

  “What are you saying, Unity?” Isaac immediately perked up.

  “If you hadn’t been so reluctant to do as I said, this may never have happened.”

  “Save sermon. Help my wife, please Unity!”

  The captain speculated deeply about what he believed amounted to Isaac’s descent into madness. What else could it be? Sane, well-adjusted people simply do not converse with the invisible. The captain became lost in his interior thoughts on the matter. This is much different than the prayers those others offer to Unity. No, Isaac’s ravings have the sound of dialogue -- the dialogue of the delusional mind. “What do you expect me to do?”

  Isaac once again threw the captain backward, forcing himself inside to stand along his wife’s bedside. “Time, doctor?” the short nurse asked in a tone that somehow seemed trite.

  “Time of death…six-forty-seven AM," Dr. Slaughter announced just before he and the nurses stepped back from the bed. The shade that had shrouded the very air within the room seemed to withdraw. Everyone felt it, but no one acknowledged it. The effect is similar to what one would observe if the lights in a room momentarily experienced a noticeable decrease in lumens only to quickly pop back into their full brightness. Only, this had nothing at all to do with the lights and wavering power supplies.