Chloe hugged her. “You’ll be fine. There’s no sign of complications. The doctor has said so and I can tell. Remember, I’ve had much experience.”
There were pink-tinged tears in Jeanette’s eyes as she hugged Carol. And Carol found herself crying. The crystal wand lay on the table beside the bed and throughout the night, off and on, she had held it just because it reminded her of Jeanette. She picked it up now.
The others left so that she and André could be alone. He cupped her chin in his hand. “I’d be here if I could. We all would.”
“I know,” she cried.
He kissed her face all over and then her lips. Carol threw her arms around his neck, wanting him to stay. “Hold me,” she sobbed, and he did, until light that must have been from the sun broke through the tinted window in a pencil thin opening between the drapes. He removed her arms and backed towards the door, blowing her kisses.
Carol was alone for half a minute before Julien came in.
Immediately he sealed the opening in the heavy drapes. His movements were stilted and very slow. He turned off all lights except for the one near the bed and sat in a chair in the darkest corner of the room. “The doctor will attend you shortly.”
“Thanks for staying with me,” she said.
“I have never witnessed a birth. It will be an experience, for both of us,” he told her.
Another contraction hit and she tried to remember to breathe. She grabbed onto the top bar at the foot of the bed, groaning and panting in short breaths until the pain passed.
By three in the afternoon Carol was on the point of collapse, almost hoping that the child would simply die or she would die or preferably both of them, and quickly. But just as she was ready to throw in the towel, he came into the world.
He was tiny, red and shriveled, covered in mucus. The doctor cleaned him off, cleared his nose and mouth and, once the placenta was released, placed him on Carol’s stomach. He did not put drops in the closed eyes nor sever the cord right away, as per Chloe’s instructions.
The infant’s dark hair curled in wisps, more the color of André’s than her own. His little hands bunched into tiny fists as he lay still, sleeping off the trauma of birth, comfortable on top of her.
She couldn’t keep from touching him, marveling at him, hardly believing he had come from her body. His skin felt soft, warm, a little moist, and he was so fragile and helpless there was no question of her not loving him. Without thinking, she put him to her breast. She noticed Julien watching her silently but he said nothing about the pre-milk. The baby’s little lips puckered automatically and he sucked in the nourishment with a look of total contentment on his face. More than ever she knew she couldn’t part with him.
At sunset the others filtered into the room. They washed and dressed her and congratulated her. Everyone wanted to hold him.
“Has he had any blood yet?” Chloe asked.
“No, not yet,” Carol said. She didn’t mention the colostrum.
Chloe fed him the warm blood and he swallowed it as eagerly as he’d drunk from Carol, which both alarmed and confused her.
When André came in he was mute. He held the child, staring at him in much the same way Carol had. And when he glanced at Carol she could tell he too was in awe of how he could have had a part in creating such a tiny perfect being.
The baby, now wrapped in warm cotton clothes, was placed in Carol’s arms and she drifted off to sleep. When she awoke, André was lying beside her and the baby was gone. “Where is he?”
“Gerlinde’s got him downstairs.”
“I want him!”
“Later. You’re exhausted. You need to recover. They’ll take good care of him.”
“You’ll give him back?”
“Tonight, yes. And tomorrow night. But after that...”
“After that what?”
“After that you’ve got to decide if you want to stay or go.”
“I just want my baby. I want to be with him. I won’t give him up.”
“Then you’ll have to go through the change. I’ve decided I’ll do it.”
“No, I don’t want that!”
He sat up abruptly. “Carol, I told you, it’s the only way. We can’t let you raise him as a mortal. He stays here with us. If you want to stay you have to change. Otherwise, you’ll have to leave.”
She started to get out of bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” As he pulled her back she struggled.
“I want my baby! Nobody’s going to stop me!”
“Stay here. I told you, Gerlinde will bring him back in an hour or so. Turn over. I’ll rub your back.”
“You’re lying to me! You won’t give him back.” Her voice rose; she felt out of control.
André snapped, “I don’t lie. I don’t have to. I said you’ll get him back later and you will. I’ve been straight with you all along. You’re the one who’s been deceptive.”
She struggled against him but he was a wall. Finally he just pressed her down firmly against the mattress, his face over hers. “Stop it! Now!”
Carol wailed. Chloe hurried into the room.
“What’s going on?”
“She’s hysterical.”
Chloe gave her an injection of something and within a minute Carol felt calmer, duller, as though things didn’t matter so much.
“Gerlinde will bring the baby soon,” Chloe assured her. “But you get some more sleep first, all right?”
André said nothing, just watched her, his eyes laced with distrust.
She nodded. Her words slurred, “And can I have him tomorrow? Please. Just tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Chloe answered. “Then we’ll see.”
Carol closed her eyes. You’ll be the ones to see, she thought as she drifted off, because I’m not going to part with my baby or let myself be turned into a vampire.
Chapter Eighteen
They gave Carol the baby that night and the next, as promised. Just after sunrise the following day, when the two of them were alone, Carol reached beneath the mattress for the dinner fork she’d hidden there. She went to one of the windows and began hacking at the putty holding the Plexiglas into the window frame, a job she’d started two days before. In her condition the work went slowly and was tiring; she pulled up a chair so she could sit while chipping along the bottom and sides. The old putty flaked. Rotting wood allowed her to pry the frame away in spots.
She slammed the chair against the slightly curved Plexiglas. The inner window had been inserted concave, so that it could not be popped in from outside, for security. Likely it hadn’t occurred to the installers that someone would want to pop it from the inside out. She bashed the Plexiglas again and again until it smashed against the outer tinted glass, which finally shattered. Cool air streamed into the room. If an alarm had been triggered, it was silent.
She fed the baby then dressed him warmly and bound him tightly to her body. She dressed herself in all the clothes she could find and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.
By sheets tied together Carol lowered herself and the baby out the window and to the ground. Quietly she skirted the garage, not wanting to alert the driver or the maid, either of whom might be peering out a window. Inside she found four cars but couldn’t see any keys. She gave up that idea and headed quickly down the gravel driveway on foot, immediately regretting that she only had two pairs of socks and her flat summer shoes to wear. Eventually she came to the highway.
It was January and cold out. A thin layer of snow, the first she’d seen in Bordeaux, covered the ground and the Pine trees which had been planted to counteract the sandy soil. Dense air created fog off the Atlantic that shrouded the vineyards. Another pair of socks doubled as gloves but her hands were cold too. Very few cars came by but whenever one did she stuck out her thumb. Because of the fog, they didn’t see her until they were long past. And she knew she looked ragged and strange, no coat, dressed in layers of summer and fall clothing and a blanket; the baby was completely hidden. No one stop
ped.
At a service station she used the bathroom and fed the baby—her body was now producing milk. She washed out his soiled diaper and put it on the radiator to dry. There had only been one spare in the room, the rest were elsewhere in the house; she had to make do.
They rested for over an hour in the warmth. Carol was chilly but the baby seemed to be okay. She had to take care of herself or she wouldn’t be able to take care of him.
She finally got a ride, almost to Bordeaux and, about noon, as she approached the city, she got a short lift past the downtown to the outskirts. She wasn’t sure where to go. She didn’t want to head for Paris again because they would think of that right away. But where else? She decided to try for the ferry to England at Le Havre and got directions at a gas station. She would keep out of London so they’d have a harder time finding her. She didn’t want to think too far into the future.
Carol got two long rides. She felt like a waif standing by the road, baby in arms. By late in the afternoon it began to snow, forcing her into another service station. Even though the owner didn’t speak English, he took pity on her. He gave her coffee to drink and half a stick of bread with a piece of meat in it and let her sit in the office. She fed the baby, changed him again, tried to warm up and worried about the sky, which was growing darker.
Reluctant to leave the security she’d found, Carol pulled herself up and got back on the highway. She saw a sign ahead: Rouen. Further along another—Le Havre—150 KM. She was almost at the ferry. She had no idea how she’d pay the fare without money, but refused to worry about it. There were too many other things to think of.
The baby didn’t cry. She kept him well covered and warm, close to her heart. He seemed content. She peeked at him often, each time knowing he was more than worth the risk she was taking and that no sacrifice was too great. “We’re together,” she told him. “That’s all that matters.”
As darkness took the sky, snow fell heavily. She knew she must have looked like a bag-lady because traffic was heavy but cars refused to stop.
She was just 50 kilometres from the ferry but had to rest once more. The birth had exhausted her. Her legs ached and her feet and her hands had numbed. And the baby needed to be fed and changed again.
She took an exit, one of the ones with a service station half a mile from the highway, the only building on the road. But when she neared the building she almost cried. The side facing the road looked okay, but the rest had been boarded up and the exterior had blackened from fire. She didn’t know what to do, keep on this road and try to make it to the closest town or go on to the ferry. She needed to stop but didn’t know how she could. Suddenly the baby began to whimper.
“Hush, my little darling,” she whispered. “I’ll figure this out, somehow.” She rocked him gently and sang him a little song her mother had sung to her about all the pretty little horses.
It occurred to her that if she could pry one of the boards away from the garage they could at least get out of the cold and snow for a while. She pulled on the two by four but it wouldn’t budge. She thought she just might manage to squeeze through one window. She pulled the remaining shards of broken glass away and struggled through the opening.
Inside, the place smelled charred. Carol walked carefully among the debris in the blackness. Something scurried past her foot, then she banged her shin and yelled out. The baby whimpered again.
She felt along the wall and finally came to a counter of some kind. Below that she touched a metal box on the floor.
She tested it with the weight of her leg, reasonably sure it would hold her.
She sat down, exhausted. It was cold in here too, but not like outside. Her toes and fingers had lost feeling and she recognized that as a bad sign. She rubbed them, trying to bring back the circulation. Eventually they began to hurt, pins and needles, and she felt pretty sure she’d be okay.
Carol opened her many shirts and guided the baby’s lips to her breast. He drank with a lot of energy, apparently hungry.
She was hungry herself, weak, depleted, afraid she was bleeding a little too. But she didn’t want to stay here in this dark, dirty place with little warmth. And it wasn’t safe. She didn’t know if any place was safe, but getting out of France would be a major step towards feeling secure. “Just a rest, that’s all we can afford,” she told her baby. “We’ll be in Le Havre soon.” If luck was on her side, which so far she felt it hadn’t been, they would get a ride right to the ferry. And then? She directed her attention to rubbing her feet.
She pulled the dirty diaper off the baby and put the clean dry one on, all in darkness, by touch. She tossed the soiled one away; she couldn’t wash it and didn’t want to carry it. And then she picked herself up and crawled out through the window, heading back to the highway.
She had almost reached the ramp when a car screeched off the exit and raced towards her—it was the silver limo!
Carol ran for the entrance ramp, stumbling in the snow, but the car was on her. André jumped out.
She tried to run in the other direction but he caught her.
“Let me go,” she screamed. “I’ll kill you if you try to take him!”
She fought him as he pushed her into the backseat.
Gerlinde and Karl were there, both looking pale and upset.
Tears of frustration poured from Carol’s eyes. She clutched the baby to her. “You’ll have to kill me to get him because I don’t want to live without him.”
No one said anything while she sobbed. Finally she wiped her eyes. “How did you find me this time?”
“A man at the service station. You asked him how far to Le Havre.” Karl said. Red eyed and hostile, she glared first at him, then Gerlinde. Finally she turned to André. His mask-like face hid emotion.
“Let us go, please!” she cried to him. “I’m begging you, even though I know you hate being begged. I’ll get on my knees if I have to. Please, if you’re capable of mercy, show me some.”
“I can’t do that,” he said, his voice even, compressed.
“Then make me into a vampire. I won’t leave him. I’ll do anything to be with him.”
“I can’t do that either.”
She felt shocked to her bones. “But why? You said you would, I just had to make a choice. I’m choosing.”
“We can’t trust you. I can’t trust you. You’ve let me down too many times.”
“I’ve let you down. What are you talking about?”
“Your lies make you dangerous.”
“Gerlinde, help me!” Carol pleaded with the redhead.
“Kiddo, I would if I could. Everybody agreed, you’d put us in danger.” She looked away.
André picked up the phone and spoke in French to the driver. They were on the highway again, heading towards the ferry.
“Where are you taking me?”
“We’ll put you on the early boat, give you some money, you can go where you like,” Karl said.
“No! I won’t leave him. I’ll kill him before I hand him over to you.”
“Karl!” André nodded at him. The two held Carol. She struggled ferociously, screaming, trying to bite them, but André held her head back by the hair. Gerlinde unwrapped the baby and took him away from her.
The baby whimpered and Carol screamed.
At the dock, Karl got out to purchase a one-way ticket and Gerlinde took the baby into the washroom to feed and change him.
Carol sat alone in the car with André. She couldn’t stop sobbing. “I promise I won’t do anything to hurt any of you. Please, don’t do this to me. Make me into one of you so I can stay. I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Please!”
“It’s out of my hands,” he told her. “The others have a say now too. We have to protect ourselves and the child. But even if they said yes, I wouldn’t agree. I couldn’t,” he added.
“How can you be so heartless? How can you face yourself?”
He said nothing, just took a large wad of money from his wallet and tucked it into her
shirt pocket then handed her a short jacket. “Put this on.” She didn’t move so he stuffed her arms into it. “Karl’s taken your suitcase on already. Your purse is inside with your passport. I’ll give you an injection so you’ll stay calm.”
She looked at him in horror. “You’re going to kill me with an overdose of drugs so you can steal my baby!”
“It’s only a simple tranquilizer, to relax you.”
They struggled but he soon forced her face down onto the seat and held her tightly while he injected the valium into a vein in her neck. It took effect almost immediately. Her breathing grew heavy. She became incoherent. He turned her head and made her meet his eyes. And where the drug stopped, André’s power began; he eliminated a slice of her memory.
They walked her onto the ferry, the red-headed woman charming the ticket taker, flirting in French. Carol was propped up in a corner. She saw and heard all that was happening but could not move or speak. Silent tears poured down her cheeks; she had no idea why.
“Good luck, kiddo,” the woman said, almost crying herself.
“I’ll take real good care of him, I promise. We all will.”
Take care of who? Carol wondered.
The woman and a man left but the man with grey eyes stayed until the whistle blew. He stood and looked at her one last time, almost reluctant to leave, as if he wanted to say or do something. But then he too was gone.
The drug began to wear off as the boat reached Portsmouth. Disoriented, Carol disembarked and presented her passport to the customs official. A red-faced man asked, “Reason for visiting England?”
“I... I don’t have a reason,” she said. She did not know what she was doing here or why she had come.
“Are you on holiday, then?”
“Yes,” she said automatically.
Passport returned, she found the nearest bench and sat down to think. She felt as if she had been in a car accident and shock had set in. She was stunned without understanding why. She tried to calm herself and clear her mind so she could think about how she got here.
Obviously, I just passed through the arrival gate from France, she thought. She had no memory of ever being in France and yet she had just stepped off the boat from Le Harve. And her ticket said so. She looked down—she was dressed strangely, old summer shoes, a hunting jacket, and underneath layers of clothing, none of which she could recall owning. This must be a dream, she thought. What else could it be?
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