by Aria Johnson
In pain or not, I would have forced myself to remain standing. No one could have paid me to sit in such filth and grime.
Searching for Ava’s apartment, I headed down a hallway with lighting that flickered off and on. Surprisingly, two-fifteen had a welcome mat in front of the door and an attractive wreath hung above the apartment numbers.
Ava’s apartment was small and sparsely furnished but neat as a pin. I spotted her phone on the coffee table, picked it up, and stuck it in my purse. Moving swiftly, I dashed to the hall closet and grabbed her coat.
Instead of rushing back to the elevator, I sat on the small couch that looked like it came from Ikea. My hands were shaking and I needed a moment to gather myself and think. It was paramount that I stop flying by the seat of my pants and come up with a definitive plan. Slumped over, I held my head in my trembling hands.
I wasn’t sure if Ava was actually in labor or simply experiencing false contractions. From what I knew, premature rupture of the membranes didn’t necessarily mean that contractions would follow. In some cases, women had their water break before their bodies were ready to start the labor process.
But how long did I have before Ava went into labor, if she hadn’t already started?
She needed to get checked out by a doctor, for sure. But I couldn’t take her to the hospital. If Walter was part of a clandestine organization, I couldn’t let him get anywhere near Ava and the precious child she carried inside her womb.
Jesus, I was really losing it. My imagination was out of control. Walter was in his sixties. A retired senior citizen who enjoyed donating his time to worthy causes. Besides, he was too kind and giving to participate in a black market baby ring. Only the most vile and corrupt people were in the business of selling children.
Still, it would be foolish to underestimate him. If it turned out that he was actually involved in something sinister, I’d never forgive myself for being so naïve. I thought about the warning bells that went off in my head on the day I met him. I sensed that something wasn’t right with him, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. And I still couldn’t.
Just in case my suspicions were true, it was imperative that I stay two steps ahead of him.
But how?
Suddenly aware that Ava might find the strength to flee the elevator, I jumped to my feet and raced out of the apartment.
Panting, I rushed inside the elevator and luckily, she was exactly where I’d left her—a heap in the corner, on the floor.
“I’m back,” I said breathlessly. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Not really. The cramping stopped, but now my back is killing me.”
“Don’t worry, I can get you to the hospital in ten minutes.” I helped her to her feet and draped her coat over her shoulders. I restarted the elevator and placed my arm around her in a way that appeared protective, but I was actually keeping her close to me—just in case she became suspicious of my intentions and tried to break away.
In the parking lot, I looked around to see if there were any cameras. I didn’t see any and doubted if such a rundown place had any cameras that operated properly. Carefully escorting Ava to the car, I hit the keypad, unlocking the doors. I helped her into the backseat and urged her to lie down.
“It’s so cold,” she muttered as she tried to curl up.
“Oh, what was I thinking? I should have picked up a dry pair of pants for you when I was in your apartment. If you’d like, I can go back up.”
“No, that’s okay. Just get me to the hospital.” Using her coat as a makeshift blanket, she covered her torso area.
Remembering that I had something that would cover Ava’s whole body, I popped open the trunk and retrieved the blanket that Jeff and I had used when we went on a picnic in the park last summer.
Oh, Jeff! I had so many sweet memories of him. He’d given me so much joy. How could my life have gone from such blissful rapture to a complete, living Hell? It suddenly hit me, how much I missed him. How much I yearned for the feeling of his strong arm enfolding me.
“Hurry up, let’s go,” Ava called from the car. I pushed thoughts of Jeff out of my mind. There was no time for sweet reminiscing when I had to deal with the wretchedness of my current reality.
I gingerly placed the chilled blanket over Ava’s waist, covering up the wetness that soaked her tights.
“This blanket is freezing,” she complained.
“I know. I’m sorry. It’ll warm up soon.” I closed the back door of the car and hurriedly got behind the wheel. I started the engine and turned the heat on full blast.
“Oh, the heat feels good,” Ava said with a contented moan. It was the first agreeable comment I’d ever heard her speak.
I pulled out of the lot and began driving in the opposite direction of the hospital, hoping Ava wouldn’t notice. She didn’t utter a word of complaint, and after a few minutes of uncharacteristic silence, I peeked in the rearview mirror to check on her. To my surprise, she was huddled in a ball, fast asleep.
I let out a long breath of relief.
Trying to figure out what to do with her, I drove aimlessly for a few miles. Basically, I was kidnapping Ava, and it was the craziest thing I’d ever done. So crazy, it felt surreal. I kept checking the rearview mirror to make sure she was still asleep. I had no idea how I would respond if she woke up and became confrontational.
I was panicked by the idea that if I got caught, I could do hard time in prison. The very thought of being behind bars sent a chill up my spine.
As I drove in circles, I got an idea. I could take Ava to my cabin in the mountains. I hadn’t visited the cabin in over a year, and for all I knew, the place could be overrun with squirrels, raccoons, and other forest creatures. But I didn’t have a choice. The cabin was in a remote area. Secluded. The perfect place to hide out.
It was a two-hour trip and with only a quarter tank of gas, I had to pull into the first service station I saw. While filling the tank, I peered through the window, keeping a watchful eye on Ava.
Back in the car, I feared the sound of the engine turning would awaken her, but she didn’t budge from her curled position. I would have loved to listen to the radio during the long drive, but I feared the sound might disturb her.
With only the hum of the engine keeping me company, I headed for the highway.
As I sped along the open road of the highway, my anxiety began to ease up. I was no longer concerned about Ava waking up. What could she do at this point—scream, cry, curse at me? She was officially my captive. Once we arrived in the mountains, I’d probably have to drag her kicking and screaming into the cabin.
Then a sudden, farfetched idea occurred to me. I could force her into the cabin at gunpoint. The police had returned Brandon’s murder weapon to Howard, the rightful owner, so I didn’t actually have access to a gun. But I was sure I could trick her into believing that the stun gun inside the console was a real one.
I was going to get her in that cabin by any means necessary. Even if my suspicions were wrong and she didn’t plan on selling the baby . . .even if she had the good intention of raising it herself, I still refused to allow a sociopath like Ava the opportunity to ruin an innocent life.
It concerned me that her water had broken. She’d probably go into labor within the next forty-eight hours. I was grateful that the baby wouldn’t need to be placed in an incubator since it was determined at the last ultrasound that he already weighed four pounds.
I’d done a lot of research on childbirth when I was carrying Brandon and I’d learned that a preterm, low-birthweight infant required an incubator until it was able to maintain a stable body temperature, typically at three pounds. My grandson was out of the woods in that regard.
Although I wasn’t qualified to deliver a baby, desperate times called for desperate measures. You could find anything on the Internet, and there was no doubt in my mind that someone had posted childbirth instructions online. Unfortunately, I’d shut off the cable and Wi-Fi at the cabin. Instead of using my lap
top to go online, I’d have to rely on the smaller cell phone screen.
Hopefully, I’d be able to get a signal on my phone.
Trying not to focus on the sheer lunacy of my plan, I directed my attention to the road ahead.
“Where’re we going?” Ava’s voice, scratchy from sleep, cut into the quiet.
“We’re on our way to the hospital,” I said, injecting warmth into my tone.
“Why’re we on the turnpike?” she asked, propping herself up and looking out the window.
“Uh . . .” My mind raced, searching for a plausible answer. Unable to come up with anything, I accelerated.
Ava leaned forward, squeezing between the two front seats as she stared warily through the windshield. “What’s going on, Claire? Where’re you taking me?”
“I’m taking you to the hospital.” I’d tried to sound as sincere as possible, but my tone rang false.
“Where’s my phone?” she demanded, patting her pockets.
“It’s in your coat pocket.”
She scooted back and rifled through the pockets of her coat. “I can’t find it.” Her voice was shrill with panic. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I want to get out of this car. I’m not kidding,” she shouted.
“You’re getting yourself worked up over nothing; now relax, hon,” I said soothingly.
“Listen, you crazy bitch, get off at the next exit and take me home! Or call nine-one-one and let an ambulance take me to a hospital. I should have known better than to get in this car with you.”
As Ava ranted and raved, my eyes darted back and forth from the highway to the rearview mirror, monitoring her and bracing myself for any sudden moves on her part. I was prepared to elbow her, hard, if she tried anything crazy.
She jiggled the door handle. “Fuck!” She cursed bitterly when she realized the child lock was engaged. She didn’t strike me as someone with a death wish, but in case I was wrong, I picked up speed in an attempt to deter her from reaching for the steering wheel and deliberately trying to cause us to crash.
She went into an angry rage and began screaming and accusing me of confiscating her phone. When I ignored her, she became frustrated and began punching the back of the empty passenger’s seat.
“Ava, I’m asking you nicely to stop acting like a child. Please stop yelling in my ear; sit back, and relax.”
“How do you expect me to relax when you’ve got me in the middle of nowhere? Do you think I want to have this baby in the backseat of your freakin’ car?” she hollered, her voice bordering on hysterical.
“You’re not going to have the baby in the car. You’re not even in labor,” I said reasonably. And although I was an emotional wreck, too, I managed to keep my voice steady and calm.
“You’re a nutcase, lady. You’re fucking crazy—just like your son!”
Suddenly, I flipped open the center console and retrieved the stun gun. Ava gasped and recoiled.
“I’ll show you crazy. If you dare to open your mouth and speak disparagingly of my son, again, I will put a twenty-two in your thigh. It won’t kill you, but it’ll hurt like hell. Cutting it out of your flesh will hurt even worse. So, if I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut for the rest of the trip.”
For a moment, she looked as if she might say something else, but then thought better of it and sank back in her seat. Watching her in the rearview mirror, I could see her eyes glistening with tears.
I was in control now, and the feeling of power was exhilarating.
Chapter 20
Ava alternately stared through the side window for a while, and then would switch her gaze to the rear window, looking longingly at the highway signs that we passed in a flash. We’d been riding in silence for about forty minutes when it dawned on me that I could turn on the radio now that she was fully awake.
Music had always been a comfort to me and I found a station playing a tribute to Prince. I hummed along to “Little Red Corvette” as I sped down the highway.
“I have to go to the bathroom.” Ava’s voice was meek and quiet.
“You’ll have to hold it until we get there.”
“Get where?”
“That’s none of your business!”
“I have a right to know where you’re taking me,” she said sharply. Her ability to be quiet and humble had been short-lived and she was back to being mean and feisty.
“Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?” She went quiet briefly and then her eyes widened with incredulity. “Oh, my God . . .you want my baby?”
“Someone has to raise him right. And that someone is not you, Ava. You’re not fit to be a mother, and we both are keenly aware of that fact.”
“I’m not trying to be a mother. He’s already set to go to a good home. I met the parents and they seem like really nice people.”
“Ah! Now the truth comes out,” I said, shaking my head. “What’s in it for you, Ava? How much are you getting paid?”
“Nothing,” she said indignantly. “The agency only pays my expenses—they don’t give me anything extra.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that you deliberately got pregnant so you could help a childless couple?” I asked, my voice warbled and high. “Give me a break,” I spat. “I should have known when Brandon told me about your sudden desire to have a child, that it was nothing more than a money scheme.” I grunted in disgust. “You are the most despicable human being I’ve ever known.”
“Whatever. But I still have to pee,” she said defiantly. “And I need to get out these wet pants before I get sick.”
For a brief moment, I felt compelled to find her a dry pair of pants. I checked the time, and although it was getting late, stores like Walmart or Target were likely to be open until around ten. I dug my phone out of my bag to search for the location of the nearest Walmart, but changed my mind. Ava didn’t deserve any kindness from me. Not after the way she’d mistreated Brandon and used him for stud service. He’d been nothing more than a sperm donor and a source of income for her. She’d coldheartedly driven a deeply troubled young man over the edge, yet she expected me to turn the other cheek and be compassionate.
“You don’t get it, Ava,” I said with steel in my voice.
“I don’t get what?” she asked irritably.
“You want me to care about your wet pants and your health, but what you need to understand is that your comfort and well-being don’t concern me.”
The weeks that I’d had to pretend to like Ava had taken a toll on my psyche. Being able to finally speak my truth was liberating.
“Are you saying you don’t care if I piss all over this nice leather seat back here?” she inquired, smirking as she ran a hand over the seat.
She had me. I cared about my car seat being soaked with urine and having to inhale the stench for the duration of the drive. I slowed down, then pulled over to the shoulder that ran along the side of dense woods. “Get out.”
Ava looked around warily at the pitch-blackness. “This isn’t a rest stop. I’m not peeing out there in the dark, freezing cold.”
I unlocked the doors and got out of the car. I yanked open the rear door. “Get out,” I repeated through clenched teeth, pointing the stun gun at her.
“Crazy, fucking bitch,” she muttered scornfully as she put her coat on and reluctantly climbed out.
I stood guard as she tussled with her coat and wet pants, cursing as she tried to pull the pants down while holding the coat up around her waist. After struggling to position herself in a wide-leg squat, she urinated for what seemed like a full ten minutes.
“I need tissue paper,” she said crossly.
“Our ancestors used leaves,” I informed her with a snide smile.
“This is so fucked up. It’s so fucking fucked up!”
“And how do you suppose Brandon felt?” I asked in a monotone. “You can’t begin to imagine how hopeless he must have felt when he put that gun to his head.”
“I didn’t have anything to d
o with what he did. He was a messed-up person.”
I shot her a look.
“I’m sorry that I can’t speak of your son in glowing terms, but the way he offed himself—over an argument—was stupid.”
I looked at her contemptuously.
She shrugged. “All I’m saying is what he did to himself is proof that he was a head case,” she said, her vicious words emerging without emotion.
Clearly, Ava had no empathy for others and took no responsibility for Brandon’s tragic death. She preyed on weakness and that was all the more reason to get a helpless baby away from her.
“Sounds to me like you handpicked Brandon for your scheme. You carefully chose someone with self-esteem issues to father your child—a fragile soul that could be easily manipulated. Sure, Brandon had his faults, but he was innocent. No match for a conniving street-smart girl like you. No doubt, he was devastated to learn that you’d only kept him around until you got a positive pregnancy test. Am I right?”
She didn’t respond. Instead she stepped out of her slippers. She gasped when her bare feet touched the frosted ground.
I rolled my eyes in annoyance. “What are you doing?”
“I have to get out of these wet pants. I’m not catching pneumonia for you or anyone else.”
“Wet clothes don’t cause pneumonia, you moron!”
“What are you, a doctor or something?”
She had a lot of balls to keep getting sarcastic with me while I was holding what she believed to be a gun. “I’m not going to tell you again . . .get back in the car.”
Defiant, she flung the sweat pants into the snow-covered bushes.
“Pick them up,” I said with authority. “You can’t go out in public without any pants on.”
“Are we going to a public place?” She sounded hopeful.
I ignored the question. “Just get the damn pants.”
Sulking like an ornery preschooler, Ava stomped over to the bushes and retrieved the sweats. I tossed them in the trunk, figuring I’d wash and dry them when we arrived at the cabin. There were old clothes of mine and Brandon’s there, but nothing that would fit a pregnant person.
