Tears in a Bottle

by Sylvia Bambola

  “Naturally. I don’t want to hurt her any more than you do.”

  Thor Emerson hung up the pay phone, then removed the four large gumdrops from his mouth. He had been facing the corner with his back to the other phones and turned around to see if anyone might have overheard. The phone stall next to him was empty, and the few people he saw were scrambling to catch their buses. He glanced at the yellow lockers bunched together in groups of six. He had already rented one, using a phony ID, compliments of Louie.

  Thor adjusted his sunglasses while trying not to dislodge his wig. That was a stroke of genius on his part about using Maggie. It would be nice if Thor could tie the two together in this. Strike a blow against the Life Center. Yes, this was going to be a real win-win situation. And it was only going to cost him twenty thousand. He had expected to pay ten times that much. Would wonders never cease? His luck was definitely changing. He could feel it, like a warm sliver of joy, slicing through his body. Soon all his problems were going to be over—Newly, the pro-lifers, Louie. And once that happened, maybe, just maybe, he’d try to get Teresa back.

  Thor sat behind the mahogany desk in his command center. For the first time in a long while, he actually felt in command. He watched his pair of Clowns swimming contently round and round in the seventy-eight-degree water. The bloated female swam vigorously past the seaweed and looked in good health. She was larger than his hand now. Any day the tank population would increase, defying the maxim that Clowns don’t breed in captivity. It just proved that with the right stimulation—the proper manipulation—anything was possible.

  He tapped his fingers on the desk, then looked at the number in front of him. He had to play it cool. Sound natural. He rehearsed again what he would say, then cleared his throat before dialing the phone.

  “Hello, Adam. Carl tells me you’re not feeling well.”

  “To tell you the truth, Dr. Emerson, your Solutions Clinic in Brockston leaves a lot to be desired. I’m…finding it increasingly difficult to work with Dr. Newly. Every day, it’s something else. The man defies all protocol. He contaminates my specimens by using unsterilized dilators. He’s unbelievable. I’ve seen him use the same dilators on half a dozen girls! I don’t know how he gets away with it, how he calls himself a doctor. I can’t work like this. I can’t do my job. Our clients will not pay for contaminated samples. It’s all so counterproductive. I’ve told Mr. Langley about it. Quite frankly, I’m frustrated.”

  Thor smiled. “I understand, Adam. That’s why I’m calling.” It was amazing how everything was working out to his advantage; how things were just falling into place without that much effort on his part. “I think it’s best you stay away from the Brockston clinic for…for the next few weeks anyway. Concentrate on my other clinics. I’ve begun interviewing doctors to replace Newly. I feel confident that in a short time, things at Brockston will be under control. Just give me a few weeks.”

  “All right. Anything is better than what’s going on now. Should I send my assistant to Brockston to see if we can salvage anything in the meantime?”

  “No. Like you said, it’s counterproductive. Let me get Newly’s replacement, then when everything’s under control, you can come back.” Thor could hear Adam sigh.

  “A sound plan, I think. I’ll explain everything to Mr. Langley.”

  “Feel free, but I’ve already discussed it with him.”

  There was a brief pause. “Of course, this’ll make it impossible to satisfy all the POs we’ve gotten. None of your other clinics are nearly as productive as Brockston. But maybe I can partial fill. Sort of spread the wealth by filling only part of the orders with a promise the balance is coming. I can’t guarantee it’ll work. It’s worth a try, though.”

  “Okay, Adam, do your best. But don’t worry about it too much. If everything goes well, pretty soon you’ll be able to fill all the purchase orders you can get.”

  After he hung up, Thor pulled from his drawer a sheet of lined paper that had been torn from a three-ring notebook. In poorly written, almost childlike penmanship, the word liar had been written four times in large lettering and filled the page. Stapled to it was the envelope it had been mailed in. Thor folded the paper and envelope, then slipped them into his pocket. Could things get any simpler? Now, just the right stimulation—the proper manipulation—that’s all that was needed.

  Thor walked up the gray concrete steps of the Brockston Police Station and pulled open the ornately carved maple door. Inside, a four-and-a-half-foot-high wooden desk stretched wall to wall and separated the large entrance room from the metal file cabinets, half-wall partitioned offices, and angular corridors that led to private offices in the back. The entrance room, the room where civilians entered, was at least two feet lower than the rooms behind the desk barrier, so when people came in, they had to look up at the officer behind the desk.

  An officer, looking very close to retirement age, smiled when he saw Thor. “Can I help you?”

  “I need to see Lieutenant Tooley.”

  “And you are?”

  “Dr. Emerson. Thor Emerson.”

  The officer nodded. Almost everyone in Brockston knew Thor Emerson, at least by name. The officer dialed a three-digit extension, and within minutes Thor found himself on the second floor, standing in front of Lieutenant Tooley’s desk.

  “Hello, Dr. Emerson. No trouble I hope?” It was Tooley who had apprehended Canon Edwards after he had bombed Thor’s Brockston clinic six years ago.

  “Not yet, but that’s not to say there won’t be.” Thor noticed there was a lot more gray in Tooley’s hair now.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Lieutenant Tooley indicated that Thor should take the empty seat beside the desk.

  “Canon Edwards. He’s back in town. Did you know?”

  “Yes, sir. Very little we don’t know around here.”

  “I’d like some protection.”

  “Has he threatened you?”

  Thor pulled a paper from his pocket. “Does someone always have to get hurt before you can do anything?” He handed the officer the paper and watched as Tooley unfolded it, then scanned the page.

  “What’s this?”

  “An anonymous note—I think from Edwards. Who else could it be? I mean—the man was just released from jail and I just got this—you figure it out.”

  “Okay, maybe it’s from him, but it doesn’t say anything threatening, so what makes you think you need protection?”

  “Because Edwards doesn’t like my kind of business. Because he has a screw loose and you know what he’s capable of. And because he’s done it before and no telling if he’s planning to do it again.”

  Tooley shook his head. “Dr. Emerson, I understand your concern, but unless you have some concrete evidence that you or your clinic is in danger from Canon, there’s nothing we can do.”

  “I don’t have any evidence. Not the kind you want.”

  “What kind have you?”

  Thor hesitated, then shrugged. “Only a gut feeling, an uneasiness.”

  “Can’t say I blame you. Tell you what. Suppose I ask the boys to cruise by your clinic from time to time. Can’t help you with your other clinics, out of our jurisdiction, but maybe we can keep an eye on your Brockston place, unofficially of course.”

  “How about a plainclothesman staked outside the building?” He tried to sound desperate.

  Tooley shook his head. “No can do. It’s a swing-by in a squad car or nothing.”

  “All right. Just try not to intimidate my customers. They might get nervous if police cars start circling the clinic.”

  Lieutenant Tooley laughed. “Nobody’s going to circle your clinic. Just a casual—and not too often, either—look-see. I’d be grateful for what you can get, if I were you.”

  Thor nodded and extended his hand, which Tooley took. “I feel better already. I know you’ll do your best to keep my clients and staff safe.”

  “Now don’t go off half-cocked. I didn’t promise anything. Just a drive-
by every once in a while. I can’t promise anything more. You understand?”

  “Come fund-raising time, there’ll be a big check in the mail.”

  Tooley’s face reddened. “Now we don’t look kindly at people trying to bribe us. We try to do our best for everyone—no matter who they are—no strings attached.”

  “I just wanted to show my appreciation, that’s all. No harm intended.”

  Lieutenant Tooley mumbled something and shook his head. Thor turned and walked out the door, feeling fairly confident that Tooley would not be sending any squad cars to his clinic.

  Becky had cried all morning. She had screamed and argued with both her parents, but they had held fast. She was to have an abortion at the Brockston clinic at two o’clock. The closer it came to two, the more dread Becky felt, and the more she realized she didn’t want to have an abortion.

  She had gone over all the arguments in her head, then replayed them for her parents. Nothing worked. The fact remained: She was unmarried and unable to support a baby on her own, and her parents as well as Skip had driven that fact home. If she had this baby, she would be on her own.

  She kept hoping and praying that somehow some miracle would stop these wheels from rolling over her and grinding her onto this path not of her choosing. She didn’t know why she felt so strongly. It was almost irrational, this feeling of panic and dread. Everyone was telling her this was the solution to her problems, yet all she wanted to do was run the other way.

  Could she be mad? Had she plunged over the edge? Why was she so out of step with everyone else? Why couldn’t she feel the way they all felt about this abortion? See the need for it? Want it?

  All she knew was that a life was growing inside her and she was about to kill it. They kept telling her it was a blob, a pink blob, nothing more. She wanted to believe them. She wanted to embrace this act of murder and call it by another name, but she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t let her. Neither would her mind, her emotions. Already, she had begun to think about what the baby looked like. Would it be a boy or a girl? What color were the eyes, the hair? These were dangerous thoughts for an assassin.

  She looked at the clock on her nightstand and winced as the minute hand jerked to 1:15. Slowly, she pulled off her tank top and replaced it with a clean white Oxford shirt. She didn’t bother tucking it in. Then she went to her dresser, found the jar of cream under a headband, and began creaming off her makeup. Her eyes caught sight of Raggedy Ann slumped against the mirror’s edge. She should throw it out. It was dirty and torn and worn—a worn-out child’s toy and she was no longer a child. Children didn’t have babies and children didn’t have abortions. Did they?

  She tied back her hair with a rubber band. When she looked at herself, she appeared so young, so antiseptic, even virginal and pure, that she had to laugh. What a joke! What a cruel joke it was to be a woman and get caught.

  She thought of Skip and wondered if he had cried this morning. She doubted it. He hadn’t even called her. He had called her last night when it was safe. He had avoided mentioning anything about what she was going to do today, only spoke to her for a few minutes, just long enough to ask her if she still wanted to go to the prom next week, because if she did, he needed to rent his tux. The prom? She could hardly believe it. Was she going mad? Or was it everyone else?

  “Becky? Becky, we have to leave now or we’ll be late.” Her mother was at the door, and after one sharp tap, opened it. Her mouth was taut, like a soldier who had been shot in battle but was somehow mustering the strength to go on.

  Becky wished she didn’t look like that, so wounded. She began to cry, and her mother came over and gently cradled her in her arms.

  “I’m so sorry, Mommy. I’m so sorry. I just wish…I just—”

  Nancy Taylor’s mouth tightened even more. “I know, darling. I know.”

  Classical-sounding music piped softly through the stereo system and was the only thing heard in the otherwise silent waiting room. Becky sat next to her mother but refused to look at her. From time to time Becky stole timid glances at the handful of women waiting with her. Girls, most of them, like herself. But there were a few older ones, in their twenties and thirties; one actually looked forty. Many waited alone. Some, like Becky, had a companion. But nobody looked at anyone else or spoke a single word.

  Becky’s throat felt like it was closing, and she kept wiping her palms on her jeans. She thought about running out the front door and into the small crowd that held pictures of dead babies in one hand and packs of literature in the other. She had seen another small group huddled together praying. At least that’s what it sounded like.

  These strangers were the only people in the world who seemed to want Becky to keep her baby. She had tried to reach for one of their flyers, but her mother had blocked her hand and forced her up the three concrete steps and through those awful brown unmarked doors. She wondered if the strangers outside were praying for her now. She hoped so. Maybe a miracle would happen and something, someone would stop her from doing this. Maybe someone would tell her there was another way.

  She heard muffled sobs. A young girl sat shivering alone in a corner chair. Becky wanted to scream, “We can’t let them do this to us!” But no words would come out. She felt almost faint from terror. One of the staff had given her a sedative when she first signed in, but it didn’t seem to be doing any good. She had never been so frightened in all her life. When an attendant called her number, Becky was unable to respond.

  Her mother nudged her. “That’s you. That’s your number.”

  Becky looked confused. “What?”

  The attendant walked over and Becky grabbed for her mother’s hand. “Come with me!”

  The attendant shook her head and pulled Becky from her mother, then down the hall. “I’m sorry, your mother can’t come. It’s against the rules.”

  Becky felt her knees go weak and clung to the stranger. “What are they going to do to me in there? What…what are they going to do to my baby?”

  “I’m sure this has all been discussed with you beforehand, dear. Now is not the time. Just don’t think about it. It’ll all be over soon.”

  Becky didn’t have the strength to tell the attendant that she knew nothing about what was going to happen in that room, that she knew nothing about what was going to happen to her baby. It was taking all the strength she could muster just to put one foot in front of the other, to keep herself from keeling over.

  The attendant had a strong grip on Becky’s arm and led her gently but firmly toward a closed door. She opened it and ushered Becky inside.

  “Everything off. Put on the gown, opening in back, then get on the table.”

  Becky nodded and began undressing even before the attendant closed the door.

  Within minutes, Dr. Newly appeared. He grinned broadly when he saw her.

  “Don’t be nervous. It’ll all be over soon. Six minutes. I can do these in six minutes flat. So lie down and relax.”

  Becky sat on the edge of the table, trying to keep the blue gown from flying open in back. Dr. Newly’s grin widened as he watched her. He patted the end of the narrow table. “Come on, rump down here and spread your legs. We both know you’ve had practice with that.”

  Becky’s face reddened and she tried to maneuver to the table edge without the gown riding up, then suddenly felt herself being yanked and her feet jammed into stirrups. Dr. Newly stood over her and began running his hands up and down her body.

  “What…what are you doing?”

  “Examining you. I like to do quick pre-procedure checkups.”

  “I don’t want to be examined. Stop…stop that!”

  Dr. Newly laughed. “You’re not going to be one of those screamers, are you?”

  The door opened and in came another attendant. This one was younger than the one who had taken Becky down the hall, and she looked very angry.

  “You should’ve waited for me, Doctor!”

  “It’s your job to keep up. I don’t wait.” />
  “I’m sorry, but I was helping clean the other room. You left a…I know how you insist that the patient and room be ready before you enter. It’s very difficult to maintain three rooms at the pace you keep.”

  Dr. Newly laughed. “I don’t think our little patient here wants to hear your problems, do you?” He looked down at Becky, winked, then moved to the end of the table.

  Becky could feel him prep the area with a cold antiseptic solution. Then she felt an excruciating pain as the doctor inserted something hard and cold into her cervix.

  “You didn’t sound the uterus, Doctor.”

  “No need. I did a pre-exam.”

  “But doctor—”

  “You want to do this procedure?”

  The attendant took Becky’s hand and began rubbing it. “This part may hurt a little, but your cervix must be dilated so the doctor can insert the suction tube.”

  Becky blinked back her tears. She had never felt so much pain. It was like he was tearing her body apart. She felt horror, dread, fear. She couldn’t speak or even look at the attendant.

  “It’s okay now,” the attendant said finally, letting go of Becky’s hand. “The tube’s in. Soon it will be over.” Then the attendant flipped on the suction machine.

  A noise like the sound of a vacuum cleaner filled the room, and Becky gasped. A short time later, Doctor Newly began swooshing the tube around inside her uterus. Becky felt her insides being torn from her and began to scream.

  Dr. Newly cursed loudly. “I knew she’d be a screamer.”

  “Stop! Stop it…please stop it!” Becky yelled.

  “Shut up! You’ll scare the other patients.” Dr. Newly’s hand began moving faster.

  Becky couldn’t believe the pain. It felt as if her entire insides were being ripped apart then sucked out of her body. Her arms flailed in all directions, and her hands grasped for something solid. She struggled to sit up. That’s when she saw it. From the tube leading out of her came fluid and tissue, all being pumped into a glass cylinder. She could clearly see the contents. Floating among the pulpy flesh was a tiny arm and a miniature hand with perfectly formed fingers. How could this be? She was only ten weeks pregnant. She began screaming again and tried to get off the table, but the attendant restrained her.