New Birth

by Orrin Jason Bradford

  As they walked back into the living room, Flip carried the bottle of champagne by its neck. "Flip honey, come into the bedroom. I want to show you something." He strolled into the spacious bedroom that adjoined the living area. As Flip walked through the doorway, his eyes lost their focus for a moment, and he stumbled.

  "Boy, this champagne packs a wallop. Must have been a very good year." He slurred with difficulty. "You said a moment ago that one thing to celebrate was the promotion. Was there something else for us to celebrate?"

  He staggered against one of the high posts of Liz's Victorian bed. His eyes refused to focus as he stared at the bed. He tried to count the posts but lost count at six.

  "As a matter of fact, there is something else to celebrate, Flip. Let's just say this is your farewell party." Liz pushed him onto the bed. His feet slid out from under him, and he sprawled, spread eagle on the bed. He found himself staring at the ceiling as it slowly revolved around him.

  "Beddie-bye time, Flip. Just for a little while," Liz said as she straddled his chest. In her hands, Flip thought he saw a mass of writhing snakes, then realized they were thick strands of leather. It was the last he remembered before blacking out.

  "Denise, the tests confirm that you are three months pregnant." Lionel looked up from the report and studied the frail woman that sat across from his desk. How much she'd changed in the last couple of weeks. Where had that air of confidence and self-assurance gone? She looked more like a little girl that's being reprimanded by her dad for staying out too late.

  "Anything else?"

  "Yes, I'm afraid there is. It appears that the fetus is growing at an alarming rate. It's placing a tremendous strain on your system. A fetus is much like a parasite. It takes what it needs from the mother, even if it jeopardizes the mother's health. I think we ought to place you in the infirmary for a few days and help build up your strength. We have some of the finest medical staff in the world here. I'd like to suggest you consider Dr. Chickowski. His research is closely related to mine, and I happen to know he's an excellent physician."

  "Is that why I feel so drained all the time?"

  "That, and the fact that you're running a low-grade fever. There's no indication in your blood work that there's any infection. I think the fever is coming from the high metabolism of the fetus."

  "Can you tell whether it's a boy or a girl?"

  "We haven't done an ultrasound yet, but it's no problem to do one. So far, there's no indication that it's not a normal healthy baby. It just seems unusually impatient to grow up." Lionel smiled weakly. ''I'll have Nan escort you down to the infirmary and get you checked in. We'll have someone pick up some things for you from your apartment."

  "Is it that serious? I can go get my things."

  "I don't know if it's that serious or not, but I don't want to take any chances. You're carrying precious cargo now. Besides, what would Flip say if I let you go running around in your condition?"

  Denise smiled briefly at the remark. "I’m not ready for you to track him down yet, but if you do happen to hear from him, would you ask him to call me? But don't tell him about the baby. I'd like to be the one he hears it from. Maybe you could transfer the call to the infirmary."

  "Sure, Denise, no problem. Now, don't worry. You couldn't be in better hands if you were at Duke Hospital. Hell, we've taken most of their best doctors." He buzzed his assistant across the hall. "I'll check in on you later and be sure you're comfortable."

  He helped her out of the chair and was surprised at how light she was. He guessed she had lost close to ten pounds. Denise smiled warmly at him. "Thanks, Lionel. You're a real friend. I can see why Flip has stayed in touch with you all these years."

  After she had left, Lionel picked up the phone and called his boss, Franklin Pruitt. As usual, his secretary didn't want to get him to the phone, but Lionel insisted.

  "Good morning, Lionel. What exciting breakthroughs do you have for us today?" It was Franklin's perpetual question, and he used it as his standard line whenever Lionel called.

  "No breakthrough today, Franklin, but we may have a problem. I don't want to alarm you, but there's the possibility that we've had leakage of biogenetically active recombinant DNA."

  "What the hell does that mean?" Franklin asked. "Tell me in administration terms, not that scientific mumbo-jumbo."

  "I better come up and explain,” Lionel replied. It could mean my job, he thought as he placed the receiver back in its cradle.

  Falling through space, tumbling head over heels, crystal clear water loomed into view from a dizzying height. Then loomed larger, the cold air slapping against the naked face. Instinctively, he held his breath as the water enveloped him. He licked his lips and was surprised to taste, not salt water but, champagne. From a distance, he heard a woman's voice.

  "It's time to rise and shine, Flip. Whoa, Flip, wake up." His eyes flickered open in time to see the second glass of champagne splash into his face.

  "There you are doll baby. It's time to play." Liz tossed the glass against the wall with a flare as Flip coughed and sputtered awake. He started to wipe his face dry but found his arms and legs immobilized by the leather throngs. In a panic, he stared at his naked body and gasped in horror at the crimson stains across his chest before realizing it was only painted.

  "Do you like my decorating? It's body paint. I thought if we were going to celebrate, you ought to be decked out for the occasion." Liz sat on the bed next to him and stroked his face with the brush. "Do you like my new outfit? I bought it especially for this evening." She stood and spun on the high heels she wore.

  Despite himself and his predicament, Flip found himself admiring the black silk body stocking with matching nylons and garter belt. The stocking clung to her figure and lifted her breasts invitingly. She laughed gaily at his expression and jumped onto the bed, landing on her knees. As she sat there gazing intently at him, he noticed the body stocking had the added feature of an open crotch.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Flip asked as he shook his head to clear it.

  "Doing? Why my dear Flip, we're celebrating, don't you remember? We're celebrating your last night with the Harem."

  The words sent icy fingers along his spine. "You didn't think you could skip from city to city visiting each of us without us figuring out what you were doing? As soon as it was apparent you were planning to retire, we planned this little party. We didn't know who the lucky lady would be, but that made it all the more fun. I'm so glad you saved me for last. I feel like I won the lottery. And I promise you won't be disappointed."

  "What are you going to do?" Flip asked between clenched teeth.

  "Anything I damn well please," Liz replied with a sneer.

  With those words, a stream of anger and fear coursed through Flip's body that responded with spasms of despair. He pulled the leather thongs, shaking the bed from side to side. Liz lost her balance and fell to the floor. For a moment, she sat there stunned, then looked at the struggling Flip and laughed.

  "Bad boy, Flip. You mustn't do that. You know, bad boys get spanked when they don't behave." She reached into the pile of clothes that lay next to the bed and removed his belt. She stood next to the bed, her legs wide apart for support and swung the belt over her head, laughing as she did.

  "Mama said to behave yourself." She whipped the belt in a downward arch across his naked chest.

  "Jesus H—you're crazy!" Flip swore, struggling harder against his bindings.

  Liz swung the belt over her head again. "You must learn to behave yourself when Mama tells you."

  Again the belt flashed against Flip's chest, an immediate red welt blistered through the paint. Again the belt started its circular orbit around Liz's head. Flip stopped struggling and lay motionlessly on the bed. Liz slowly lowered the belt, finally dropping it at her feet. She walked over to the night table and lit a cigarette and picked up her drink. She had switched back to scotch and soda. She held the cigarette between her lips and continued to puff
on it as she walked around the bed. Flip glared his hatred at her but said nothing. After a few moments, she stopped pacing and flicked her ashes on his chest. The hot embers scorched the chest hairs, sending an acrid odor into the air.

  "Now, we're going to have fun. Who says men can't be raped?" She placed the cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed and took a final sip of her drink.

  "I'd advise you to lie back and enjoy this as much as possible. I don't get turned on with that whip and chain stuff, but I'm not adverse to it if you'd prefer."

  She sat the drink next to him on the bed. "If it spills, it'll be belt time." She crawled between his legs and kneeling there, began to massage his organ with her mouth. Flip closed his eyes and tried to will his body not to respond, but Liz's expert lips were too much for him. Within a couple of minutes, he was hard and erect. When he opened his eyes, he saw Liz watching him intently.

  She stopped her oral massage and took a sip of her drink. "It's nice to be able to smoke and drink during sex instead of waiting until afterward. You should try it sometime.” She pulled an ice cube from her glass and rubbed it gently across his manhood. To Flip's distress, his organ grew larger from the stimulation. Liz was raping him, and there was nothing he could do to turn his body off.

  After another minute of massaging with the ice cube, Liz placed it in her mouth and eased herself onto Flip's erection. Supporting herself with her hands on his chest, she raised and lowered herself like a slow piston of some gigantic machine. Flip prayed that he would come quickly and spoil her fun, but Liz would have none of it. Each time she felt him reaching a climax she would slow or stop her motion. A couple of times she diverted his attention by pinching his nipples or slapping him unexpectedly across the face.

  The ordeal seemed to last for hours. Finally, Liz's passion got the better of her, and she increased her pace as she approached her climax. Flip closed his eyes and pumped his hips to come before she was aware of his intention. She didn't seem to mind this time but allowed him to empty himself into her. As he did so, he felt the familiar nausea returning, this time much worse.

  He tried to force it down, but the nausea was too much, and he began to retch. Lying on his back, he was in danger of asphyxiating himself. He fought against the urge to vomit, but when it was evident he was going to lose the battle, he turned his head, soiling the bed sheets beside him.

  "You're a real shit, Flip MacDougal," Liz said when she finally caught her breath. "Everything was just fine as long as you thought it was you that was using us. But when you found out that it was the other way around, your damn male ego couldn't handle it. We treated you well, and you had to go and kill the goose with the golden eggs. A real dumb shit."

  She eased herself off of his partially erect penis and walked over to the night table. She opened the drawer and pulled out a needle and syringe.

  "My street connection promised me this would be just enough dope to knock you on your ass without killing you. But what would a stupid drug pusher know?"

  She jabbed the needle into his thigh and pushed the plunger. Within a few seconds, Flip felt a warm haze radiate out from the point of the injection. He could just make out Liz's final warning as he faded into darkness.

  "Don't try to repay us for this night, Flip. Just consider it on the house—from the Harem."

  Bad News

  The nurse stuck her head into Denise's room and cut Lionel's laughter short with her stern look. Denise seemed to be her old self again. Since starting on the I. V. of glucose and electrolytes, her color had returned to normal, as had her sense of humor.

  "Mr. Adams, you have a call at the front desk. Would you like to take it there or shall we transfer it?" The nurse and Lionel had a running feud going, fueled by the fact that her boss, the head nurse of the infirmary, was a friend of his.

  "Just patch it down here will be fine." He smiled pleasantly at the old battle-ax. "And thank you, Nurse Jenkins." Lionel and Denise maintained stern looks on their faces until Nurse Jenkins left. Then they burst out with laughter.

  "She's going to smile once before I leave this damn infirmary, or I'll give my 'Clown of the Sixth Grade Award' back to the teacher," Denise said between giggles.

  Within a few minutes, the phone next to Denise's bed rang. It was a small princess phone and fit well into the informal appearance of the infirmary. The pastel walls and colorful prints added to the pleasant atmosphere.

  Lionel picked up the receiver and listened to the operator. "You've got a phone call from a Ms. Rachael Phillips in Atlanta. I wouldn't have bothered you, but she appears quite irate. She says she knows a friend of yours, a Mr. Flip MacDougal."

  Immediately, the thought that something might have happened to Flip came to mind. "I'll take it, operator." He frowned, realizing that with Denise in the room, it probably would have been better to take the call at the desk.

  He heard the connection being made. "Good afternoon, this is Dr. Lionel Adams. How may I..."

  "This is Rachael Phillips from Atlanta!" The voice was close to hysterics. "I want to know where that son-of-a-bitching friend of yours is. I'm going to turn him into a gelding when I find his sweet ass."

  Lionel held the phone a few inches from his ear to cushion the blast. "Ms. Phillips, I'm afraid I won't be much help to you. As you said, he is a friend of mine, so I ask you to keep your personal judgments to yourself." He glanced at Denise hoping she hadn't guessed to whom he was referring.

  After a moment, Rachael replied in a calmer voice. ''I'm sorry, Dr. Adams, but I've just heard some terrible news, and it's imperative that I reach the son of...that I reach Flip."

  "I'm afraid I don't know where he is. He visited me a couple of weeks ago, but since then I've not heard from him. Would it be too personal for me to ask what the news is?"

  There was a long pause on the other end. "I'm pregnant, and your friend is the father."

  Lionel could feel the color drain from his face and turned away from Denise to hide his shocked look. "When did this happen, Ms. Phillips? Are you sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure. I just came from the doctor an hour ago, and he confirmed the home pregnancy test. He's mixed up about the time, but there's no question I'm pregnant. Morning sickness and all."

  Lionel felt the sweat trickle down the inside of his arms. "Ah, Ms. Phillips, let me have your number in case I hear from him. You said you are in Atlanta?"

  "That's right. You can reach me at (512) 786-8877. That's my ad agency."

  "Thanks. Try not to take any rash action until you hear from me. I'll be back in touch in just a couple of days."

  "Thank you, Dr. Adams." Rachael broke the connection. Lionel stood there holding the phone in his hand for several seconds.

  Finally, Denise touched his hand, breaking the spell. "What's wrong, Li? Bad news?"

  Lionel shook his head. "No, not really, just a family matter. Nothing I can't handle." He glanced down at his watch.

  "My goodness, I must get back to work. I'll never cure the common cold sitting here." As soon as he returned to his office, Lionel called Franklin Pruitt, again playing cat and mouse with his secretary. "Franklin, I've got more bad news. I've just had confirmation that there's a leak. I think it's time to call in the FDA."

  The stench was that of an ancient tomb being opened after hundreds of years. As Flip slowly recovered consciousness, it was his sense of smell that returned first. Based on the odor that met him, he figured he must have died from an overdose, and his spirit was merely slow to escape his putrefying body.

  After a few moments, during which he felt he would start retching again, he finally found the muscle control to open, first his left, then, his right eyelid. There before him, only inches away, was the face of Satan, grossly distorted by the position in which it lay. Flip closed his eyes and tried again. The same image met him, the stubble chin vibrating slightly as Satan snored. As he exhaled, the smell of rotting rats threatened to overcome Flip. With great effort, assisted by the pungent smell, Flip moved his hea
d back a few inches to bring the face before him into focus.

  After a few blinks and squints, Flip finally concluded that Satan was, in fact, a wino sharing the same ditch with Flip. Flip rolled to one side away from the bum and paused for a moment to enjoy the light show that took place behind his eyelids. After the lights had dimmed, he managed to focus on his surroundings. At best, he could determine he was still in Chicago, and he had been dumped somewhere in the ghetto.

  He was surprised to find that Liz had redressed him in his Yuppy evening wear, which made his chances of surviving in this section of Chicago far less likely. He gingerly reached into his pant’s pocket and was relieved and amazed to find his wallet was still in his possession. He was even more surprised when he found his cash and credit cards still in the wallet. He must not have been in the gutter very long, and suspected he had intruded on his roommate; not the other way around.

  With blinding lights of fireworks discharging inside his skull, he managed to raise himself on his hands and knees. He remained in that position for several moments waiting for the nausea and dizziness to pass. He reached up to wipe the sweat away from his brow and was startled to find his hand came away bloody, then remembered the red paint. He must be a pretty sight, he thought. Probably his gutter buddy would have mistaken Flip as Satan if he had awoken first. After a few more minutes, he stumbled to his feet and dug around in his pockets until he found his cell phone.

  Several hours later, Flip decided he was going to survive his ordeal in Chicago. He made that decision as he drove the rented Mustang down Interstate 65 on his way to Indianapolis. It had been close to a year since he had driven a car but found the sensation soothing to his frazzled nerves. He knew no one in Indianapolis but planned to stop at a motel for the night on the way to his final destination—Snowshoe, West Virginia and the home of Madame Sarrah.