Bones are Made to be Broken

by Anderson, Paul Michael

  She opened her eyes, cautiously. The files were still there.

  Her hand reached for the mouse, hesitated, then rested lightly. She paused the cursor over the top one.

  (might not be the same it won’t be the same)

  (oh please)

  She clicked on it and Windows Media Player opened and there was Evelyn’s heartbeat, in all of its ghost-like glory. The steady thump-thump, the sssshhh-POP as the sensor had moved and the recording had reached its end.

  “Oh shit,” Carrie breathed.

  (i just deleted it i never emptied out the recycling bin danny could’ve)

  (???BUT WHAT ABOUT THE OTHERS???)

  She X’ed out of the Player and moved to the second file. Clicked it.

  Media Player again, another heartbeat, but it sounded … stronger. More regular. Like something that’s had a chance to get some practice in and really had the whole thing down.

  Evelyn’s heartbeat. More of her heartbeat.

  (none of this is real none real NONE REAL)

  (why couldn’t it?)

  But that was a thought Carrie didn’t want to pursue, not out of an avoidance towards hope—hope that this was the hallucination, that she really was still pregnant—but out of the possibility, the probability, that she was tilting further and further into mental places no one, even the lauded but-still-unknown Dr. Morley, could pull her from.

  She X’ed out of the second file and opened the third file, “Sonogram – Week 16.”

  The Media Player dutifully opened once more, but instead of the music-note icon, the screen was black with details sketched in with strikes of white. Like one of those Magic Eye pictures, it took a moment for the vision to come together, but when it did, the bean-shaped outline of a fetus was clear.

  Evelyn.

  The file was silent, but the fetus moved, adjusting its proto-legs, stretching its forearms.

  Carrie stretched a hand towards the screen, laid her fingertips against the fetus’s head.

  During the 16th week, the fetus will begin to move and stretch. It has transparent skin, which you wouldn’t notice on a sonogram, anyway.

  This was the video from the DVD. The video Carrie had thrown out. Twice.

  “I’m sorry,” she told the screen. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  The video was a hair under three minutes, but it went by quickly, fading to black before looping back to start.

  She watched it twice more before X-ing out of the player.

  One more file. “Evie’s face!” recorded one week ago.

  During the 36th week, the fetus has been breathing for a month. It’s bigger, close to what its birthweight will be. The womb is cramped with its fullness.

  Carrie hesitated again.

  (last chance to get out of this madness)

  “Oh, it’s too late for that,” she said, her voice breaking, and clicked open the last file.

  The final file was shorter, only a moment, but recorded as a 4D ultrasound, which allowed an almost-three-dimensional image of Evelyn’s face.

  Carrie stopped breathing.

  The child’s eyes were closed, but one could see the way she practiced breathing, mouth slightly open, nostril’s

  (she got danny’s nose of course she did)

  (SHE’S GONE STOP THIS STOP THIS RIGHT NOW)

  flaring. The curve of her forehead. The roundness of her cheeks. The cleft in her chin—Danny’s. The stem of her neck.

  Carrie shook, hugged herself, shook some more. Her stomach had never been more empty.

  (this was mine this was mine this was mine)

  (but it’s GONE it’s GONE and all you’re doing is TORTURING)

  (SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY DAUGHTER)

  Carrie shoved away from the desk. The computer tower beneath the desktop came into view, the white glowing power button shining, and she lunged for it, stabbing it over and over until her finger bent back painfully. The computer cut out.

  She slouched on the floor, shivering, rubbing her shoulders as if cold. All thoughts, even the contradictory voices, had ceased. But Evelyn’s heartbeat was still thump-thumping away in there, oh yes.

  Finally, she reached out and turned the computer on.

  “You’ll be gone now,” she said. “Everything will be back to whatever the fuck passes for normal now.”

  The screen fuzzed on, went through its logo-rific start up, then opened to the desktop screen. Reaching up, Carrie moved the mouse to the file folder icon on the Systray and clicked it open, then—pausing for the briefest of moments—clicked on the Download folder.

  There were four files inside.

  Carrie fell back against the side of the bed, staring at the screen.

  (none of this is real none of this is real why is it here?)

  (that’s all i ever wanted)

  “We are alone,” she said to the download folder. She wiped her nose with her hand, felt the wetness of tears on her cheek. In her head, Evelyn’s recorded heartbeat played on and on. “Alone.”

  “You ready for tomorrow, hon?” Danny asked, pulling back the blankets on his side of the bed.

  Carrie had been staring at the same page of the Gillian Flynn novel. She blinked. “What? Yeah, I think so.”

  Danny paused as he climbed in. “You okay?”

  She offered the best possible smile she could, which wasn’t much. “As okay as the circumstances are allowing.”

  He slid into bed, pulled the covers to his waist. “You see anything else?”

  She looked away, turning down the page of the paperback and closing it. “No. You ready for bed?”

  “Christ, yes.” Danny slid further under the covers and clicked off his lamp.

  Carrie aped him and, in the dark, felt his hand on her shoulder, light and warm

  (like touching my full stomach)

  against her skin.

  She closed her eyes, and listened to Evelyn’s heartbeat, counting Mississippis.

  Week 37, Third Trimester – Day 3

  Evelyn’s heart continued to beat as Carrie crossed the parking lot to the Bennell Building. There was no shhh-POP now. The ghost of her child was close and getting closer.

  Her head throbbed with the sound, how it muffled the clack of her low heels across the asphalt, stunted the glare of the sun. The traffic of Galesburg Boulevard was a distant hum. Even the recognition that the building reminded Carrie of the Dakota building in New York was a faded, faraway thing.

  It followed her through the lobby, to the bank of elevators on the right. It grew louder, blocking out the sound of the lobby clock as it tolled the hour—eleven o’clock. Carrie couldn’t even hear the Muzak piped in from the elevator speakers.

  The elevator opened up onto a gallery with a glass railing, overlooking the lobby three storeys below. Carrie took a step out of the elevator—

  —and stomped her foot in the footwell of Danny’s Jeep.

  Carrie jerked, head spinning around. She sat in the passenger seat of Danny’s old Jeep Wrangler, parked in its spot behind the Old Main Building at Knox College.

  She heard birds call outside the crossover. She smelled the remnants of Danny’s morning coffee.

  “What?” she asked and had a moment to notice that she couldn’t hear Evelyn’s heartbeat anymore when the thud hit her lower stomach, reverberating through the rest of her nerve-endings. She squawked and coughed, hands going to her stomach, when the second thud hit her, pushing at her crotch, sending another crackling wave of pain through her body.

  She screamed, doubling over and hugging her stomach, head resting on the dash.

  (not like this the cramps weren’t like this)

  Time them! she yelled, but her mouth wasn’t moving. Goddammit, Danny, I keep losing track! Jesus, this hurts!

  And then, insanely, she heard Danny’s high-strung laugh. Holy shit, she’s not waiting any longer! Holy shit! Holy shit!

  Stop laughing and fucking COU—And then another thud slammed into her vagina. Carri
e screamed again, eyes squeezed closed, hugging her flat stomach, but her fingers felt nothing flat, felt only the fullness of pregnancy and Evelyn was coming—early, yes, but Evelyn was finally coming—

  Danny’s voice, still half-laughing, We’re gonna make it, we’re gonna make it, you two hold on because we’re gonna make it—

  Thud and it was the worst yet and Carrie screamed as the pain rocketed through her, frying her nerves, making her limbs seem distant—

  Someone knocked on the glass.

  And there was no pain. Not even a tingle. Not a hint.

  Carrie opened her eyes and stared down at her shoes, spread to each side of the footwell. She felt her silk blouse and her flat—flat—stomach. Her muscles quivered, confused and jerky with ghost-adrenaline.

  And then Danny’s voice, muffled by the glass, “Jesus Christ, Carrie, what—”

  And she heard the lock disengage and the passenger door was opened and Danny’s hands encircled her, pulled at her, and Carrie resisted for the briefest of instants—

  (i was in labor)

  —before going limp in his arms.

  Danny’s voice, over and over, “Carrie, Carrie, Jesus, Carrie—”

  He was pulling her out of the car, and she put a foot on the runner to keep from spilling the two of them onto the asphalt. She got her arms free and grabbed at the side of the Jeep’s doorframe.

  “I got it,” she said and her voice was a croak. “I got it.”

  Danny’s hands left her reluctantly and she stepped out of the car, watching her feet. She heard a rustle of people around her.

  (well this is fucking great)

  “What the hell, hon?” Danny asked.

  She couldn’t stand there, watching her feet like a kid in trouble, but it was harder to raise her head than she would’ve thought.

  Danny stood a few feet away, hands ready to catch her. He was dressed for class, but his blazer was gone, his tie askew.

  And, yes, people surrounded Danny’s Jeep—a dozen or so students, with a couple of faculty members Carrie remembered from Christmas parties thrown in.

  (jesus christ)

  She pulled her phone from her pants pocket and didn’t know whether to be surprised or not to see it was now eleven-oh-two.

  “One minute in the elevator,” she muttered, “the next here.”

  “What?” Danny asked.

  She raised her head and looked only at him. The crowd of people rustled again.

  “Take me home, Danny,” she said. “Actually, take me back to my car.”

  He blinked at her.

  “It’s still in the parking lot at the Bennell Building,” she said.

  Danny spluttered, and a faculty member said, “Go ahead, Dan. I’ll post your classes.” This earned a third rustle from the people.

  (christ they’re like birds)

  Danny and Carrie stared at each other, his gaze wide and uncomprehending and frantic, hers tired and resigned.

  And then she turned and climbed back into the Jeep, shutting the door.

  Danny stood there for a moment, looking completely unplugged, then began walking around the Jeep. As he got into the Jeep, Carrie realized she could hear Evelyn’s heartbeat again, but it sounded softer than before.

  (that’s because she’s being born)

  (somewhere else, anyway)

  Carrie leaned her against the passenger window and, with the crowd of people still watching as Danny fired up the Jeep’s engine, closed her eyes.

  Danny matched her step-for-step up the stairs, arms bent, as if he might grab her.

  She led him to the guest bedroom and the air shimmered, like a ripple across pond water, showing Evelyn’s room—crib, changing table, animal prints. The presents from the shower had been put away, she saw. She didn’t stop, but she sensed Danny hang back for the briefest of instants, enough that he wasn’t walking on the backs of her shoes.

  (you DO see this)

  (see i’m not crazy)

  She sat down in front of their desktop and nudged the mouse. The geometric screen saver disappeared and the Download file was open. She had a moment when

  (what if its gone and the files are back in my world)

  but the four files were right there, exactly as she last saw them.

  “Do you see this?” she said, without looking around.

  He stood close behind her, didn’t touch her. She noted this.

  “This is the one we had originally,” she said, moving the cursor to each file. “And these are the new ones. Look at the dates.”

  Still nothing from Danny.

  She riffled through the scraps of paper on the desk and held up the one with his handwriting—Can play the audio with the second sonogram—show Carrie. “This look familiar?”

  He took the paper. She didn’t look up at him.

  (right now somewhere else my daughter is being born)

  A tingle swept through her lower stomach.

  Finally, Danny said, “None of this makes sense.”

  “The photo on my desk,” Carrie said, “the flowers. These files. Somehow going from my therapist to your car all the way across town instantaneously. I went into work last week and the receptionist and the news editor acted like I should be on maternity leave. I rushed into the bathroom and, when I came back out, they asked how I’d snuck past them, like they hadn’t seen me come in.”

  Now she looked at Danny. His face was as tight as a drumhead, his eyes darting from the computer to the paper, to her, and then back again.

  “This is all happening,” she said. “You saw it when you came in—how the bedroom would’ve looked if Evelyn had been born.”

  He winced at the mention of her name and, Carrie realized, it had always been the pregnancy or, at its most painful, the baby to Danny. Never a name. Funny how she had never noticed it before.

  She turned and clicked the first file. “I erased this, and it’s back. And there are more. Videos, too.”

  The sound of Evelyn’s heartbeat filled the room. She watched Danny’s face. Muscles rippled like snakes under the skin and his eyes took on an unnatural shine.

  “And how could I get to your car all the way across town? When I don’t have a key? And you know how rush hour is?”

  They both heard the shhh-POP and then the recording looped.

  “Do you want to see the other files?” she asked.

  Danny’s Adam’s apple worked and he shook his head. “I … I don’t understand, any of this.”

  “Neither do I,” she said, putting as much feeling into the words as she could. She bit her lip. “I’ve heard voices, too.”

  He blinked and the air suddenly cooled between them.

  (wrong step)

  The sound of Evelyn’s heartbeat didn’t seem so loud now.

  “Conversations between you and I,” she said, speeding up, “but ones we’re not having. Like, they’re conversations we would have if I hadn’t lost Evelyn. I woke up one night and we were feeling Evelyn kick. This morning, I was yelling at you to time the contractions because Evelyn’s coming early. And I felt the pain. You were laughing, delighted, and it was agony—”

  Danny straightened. “Stop.” The last consonant came out like a soft thud. He swallowed, looked at her, then at the slip of paper still in his hand. Then, quite deliberately, he balled the paper up. Dropped it in the trash.

  He looked at the computer screen, watched the little geltab timer on Windows Media Player. “I have to go, now.”

  And with that he turned and walked out of the guest bedroom.

  Carrie sat there an instant longer, then vaulted out. “Danny?”

  He was rummaging in the bedroom and she came in to find him shoving socks, underwear, and shirts into his overnight bag.

  “What are you doing?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I can’t deal with this right now.”

  “What?”

  He stopped, hands buried in his bag. When he turned to her, his face was tight again, and he wouldn’t
meet her eyes. “I can’t explain how you got into my Jeep, that’s true, but the file you pulled from the trash folder.”

  “What?”

  He started moving again, going to their closet, yanking two button-shirts, and bringing them back to the bed to roll up. “You could’ve gotten the other files online, easy.”

  Carrie was rooted to the spot. “Do you hear yourself?”

  Danny went into the bathroom and she heard him rummaging around in there. When he came out, hands holding assorted toiletries to his stomach, he said, “Do you hear yourself, Carrie? Phantom labor pains? Ghost photos and flowers? Fucking voices? How do you think you sound, hon? Really. How?”

  Danny was vibrating—no, she was shaking so much her vision trembled.

  “That’s why I told you, you son of a bitch!”

  “No, you didn’t,” he said, unloading the toiletries into the bag. “You’re telling me now, Carrie. You didn’t say any of this before. But today, when you’re supposed to be talking with a professional, what happens? Oddly enough.”

  She couldn’t make her legs move and that was good. Good because her fists were at her sides, hard rocks she wanted to send into his face over and over and over again. “You motherfucker!”

  He zipped up the bag. “I can’t deal right now,” he said. “I’m sorry, I wish I was a bigger man, a better man, but I can’t. I need to sort what this means out.”

  “It means I need help, you bastard!”

  He looked at her and it was there in his eyes—he didn’t believe what he was saying. He didn’t know what to believe, but the look in his eyes was that of a panicked animal, caught within fight or flight. “You do,” he said, “but not the way you think, Carrie.”

  He moved towards her, but stopped when she didn’t move from the doorway.

  “Do you want to hit me?” he said, and his tone was weary. His body was off-center, as if the overnight bag weighed him down. “I can’t blame you, but it doesn’t change any of this. I need to think. I need to think away from this. I need to think of how I can actually help you.”

  Danny moved around her, into the hall, and she followed. Her teeth ground together. A scream was building, center of her chest, gaining pressure and momentum, working its way up her throat. She had hated a lot of things in her life, passionately, but nothing in that moment as much as she hated her husband Dan Finney.