"Come on honey, show Officer Jake what you can do."
"Gladly, officer," Liz replied. She grasped him on either side of his buttocks and slowly brought her face closer. Ready aim, fire, she thought. At the last second, she flung her head back and then forward with all her force, striking Jake in his maleness with her forehead.
"Oh, God," he groaned as he fell like a large oak. Liz scurried to one side, grabbing the gun and holster as she did. She unsnapped the safety strap from the revolver and removed it from the holster that she tossed to one side. As Jake lay on the dirty floor of the storage room, Liz walked over to him and smiled.
"Quite a weapon you have, Officer—both of them." She brought the butt of the revolver down hard on his head. Once, twice, then a third time, until all movement had stopped.
"Bastard," she spat at him. Then, hiding the revolver among the clothes in her basket, she picked the basket up and left, closing the door securely behind her.
The swoosh-swoosh of the milk striking the side of the bucket, blending with the pattering of the rain on the rooftop, produced a hypnotic trance on Sarrah. Bossy, too, had settled down with relief. She was quietly chewing her cud in her own trance when the lightning struck the oak tree beside the barn.
The instantaneous flash of light and thunderous crash shook both of them from their trance. Bossy kicked out in fright, throwing Sarrah off balance from the stool. She sprawled backward, landing harshly on her rump. The fall jarred her to her teeth. She sat there for several seconds trying to remember how she had landed in such a position. Deciding nothing was broken, she began to rise when a sharp pain forced her back to the floor. She lay on the hard-packed dirt floor, a tingling sensation running down her leg. It took only a second for her to realize her water had broken.
"Oh no, it can't be. Not now, not here." She struggled to rise but had only managed to get to her hands and knees when the next wave of paralyzing contractions hit. She crawled a few feet away from the still anxious cow and fell onto a pile of moldy hay.
"Breathe, dummy," she commanded herself between clenched teeth. She breathed her way through the pain then tried again to rise to her feet. She was a few feet away from the door when the next spasm struck her down. After it had passed, she crawled back to the hay and collapsed.
"It's here or nowhere I guess," she said as the next wave of nausea and pain sent her into her rapid breathing.
"Can I speak to you for a moment, Dr. Adams?" Bridgette asked as the door to the lab opened.
"Sure Bridgette, but the name is Lionel. No need to use the title, "doctor" and Mr. Adams is my father."
"Thanks, I'll remember that. I'm sorry to disturb you but something happened at dinner tonight, I thought you should know about, and I'm afraid I was the culprit."
Lionel cleared a chair for her and helped her into it. "Tell me what happened."
"Well, it started when I ran into Flip this evening."
Lionel grimaced. "You saw him?"
"Well, just for a second, but I knew it was him. I made the mistake of telling the others at dinner time. After I said it aloud, I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, but..."
"How did they take it?"
"Fine. All except Liz. She went berserk. Made some threats no-one took seriously at the time, but after thinking about it for a while, I thought I should tell you. I know you're a good friend of his, and I was hoping you could...well, warn him."
"Warn him of what?" Lionel asked.
"Liz. You haven't seen her lately. She's having a tough time with this pregnancy. I'm afraid she might do something stupid. She blames Flip for everything."
Lionel caught himself staring at the delicate features of Bridgette's face. "Huh yeah, I'll pass it along to him. I'm having breakfast with him in the morning."
Bridgette looked relieved. "Thanks, I appreciate it. I know I might be overreacting, but Liz worries me. She's so sure she's going to lose her job, and if she does, I don't know what she'll do."
"I'll see if I can't get someone to look in on her as well," Lionel offered. "How are you handling it?"
Bridgette smiled. "Oh fine. I'm looking forward to it. It's all happening so fast. Nine-week pregnancies could catch on. They fit the lifestyle of the busy yuppie."
Lionel laughed. "I know what you mean, but if it's all the same to you, I don't think we'll market them just yet. Can I walk you back to your room?"
"No thanks. I've taken up enough of your time. I'll be fine."
He helped her out of her chair and walked her to the door. "Don't worry about anything. I'll talk to Flip in the morning and see if we can't get Liz some more help. It'll be fine."
At the door, Bridgette turned and gave Lionel a soft kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Lionel. You're a real friend. Flip's lucky to have you."
Lionel blushed at the warm flutters her closeness created in him. A pleasant girl, he thought after she left. She's much nicer than the others and so pretty; too pretty. She'd never have anything to do with the likes of me. He walked back to his desk and jotted down a note to remind himself to talk to the staff psychologist. In his calendar next to "Flip-breakfast," he penciled in, "Liz-caution."
Liz had just finished checking the third room of the east hall when the first contraction rippled through her body. She thought it merely a bad case of indigestion stemming from the terrible food and stress of the last several days. After it had passed, she continued her search for Flip.
She stuck her head into the next room. It was dark, and she could just make out a shadowed form in the bed. Could it be Flip? She hesitated to turn on a light, and then thought, what the hell difference does it make? She found the switch and flipped it on.
A startled woman struggled to sit up in bed. The two pregnant women stared at each other for several seconds. Finally, Liz spoke. "Sorry, I thought this was the laundry. Didn't mean to disturb you." She flipped the light back off and closed the door behind her.
She found Flip's room two doors down. At first, it appeared to be just another empty room. She was about to close the door when she noticed the bottle of Crown Royal on the night table next to the ruffled bed. Only then did she notice the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. She entered the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She tiptoed across to the bed and, laying the clothes basket on the bed; she poured herself a drink. She sat on the bed and waited.
Delivery
Madame Sarrah, her hair plastered against her face with sweat, breathed a sigh of relief as, with a final contraction, the head of her first-born popped into its new world. From there the rest of the delivery was easy. Sarrah reached down and helped the small infant out. She was amazed at the thick blonde hair that framed the angelic face. The small blue eyes opened and looked at Sarrah. There were no tears, no screams as the baby came into the world. Just a little smile.
Sarrah crushed the umbilical cord between her fingers and wrapped the child in her long dress. She rested for a few moments and studied the delicate features of the baby girl. Blonde hair—how strange, she thought. My entire family has jet-black hair and Flip's hair color was almost as dark. Where would such a pale color come from, and so thick yet soft? She had never seen a baby with such a head of hair, especially not at such an early age.
She separated the skirt and examined the rest of her baby, counting the tiny fingers and toes. Everything seemed fine until she pulled her skirt away from the pudgy legs, exposing several long deep scratches. As though someone had been trying to keep the baby inside during the delivery, Sarrah thought. She examined the wounds closely and was relieved to find none of them were serious, but she still needed to be sure to clean them. A mild contraction reminded her this was only a brief intermission before the second act.
Although weak from the efforts of the first delivery, she managed to make her way slowly back to the cabin. As she opened the door, the embers in the fireplace flickered then burst into flame. She walked to the crib in the corner of the room. She had purchased it only a few weeks
before from a used furniture store in Marlington. As she placed her first child in it, she could still remember the strange stares she had received. It had been her only journey away from home since her pregnancy. She'd chosen the store to keep her pregnancy as quiet as possible. People loved to gossip in the small town, and Sarrah knew she was one of their favorite topics.
Instead of walking over to her bed, she was drawn to the fire. She stood for a few moments enjoying the warmth, then laid down on the thick rug in front of it. I’ll have my second child here, she thought, as the next wave of contractions, this one much stronger, forced her back to her breathing exercise.
With each contraction, the fire flickered with renewed energy. By the time the small head bulged from the birth canal, the fire had reached its long fingers high into the chimney. Strange, she thought between her labor pains; it's been hours since I last stoked the fire.
After the birthing, Sarrah continued to lie on the rug to regain her strength. She quietly cleaned the baby and examined it thoroughly. A boy, she thought with a smile. One of each—how perfect. His hair was as black as the charcoal left in the bottom of an old fire; as long and thick as his sister's hair. At first, his fingers appeared abnormally long to Sarrah; then she noticed it was only an illusion created by his long fingernails. She looked closer at his hands. Sure enough, bedded under the nails were small samples of his sister's skin and blood.
"Feisty little one, aren't you?" Sarrah said with a laugh, but the sight of those tiny fingers with the curved nails sent a cold shudder along her spine. After a bit, she picked her son up and carried him over to the crib where his sister lay quietly resting. She held both of them in her arms and retired to her bed.
"God does provide even for twins," she said as she uncovered her supple milk-laden breasts. "You won't lack for nourishment; that's for sure."
She lay back and watched as the two babies suckled. The little girl lay in the crook of her arm and quietly nursed while the boy continually squirmed and butted the breast with his mouth.
"Stop that," Sarrah scolded him as he scratched her breast with his long nails: He looked at her with eyes of wisdom. When he resumed his nursing, he did so more calmly and did not scratch her again.
Flip fumbled to shut off the water with his eyes closed, and then reached for the towel. With his eyes still closed he stumbled into the next room, wiping his face with it.
"Can I freshen your drink, dear heart?"
Flip stopped in his tracks and lowered the towel. The tiny droplets of water on his chest seemed suddenly to turn to ice crystals. Flip stared at Liz for several seconds, fighting to compose himself. He tried to smile but knew he looked more like someone who had just eaten a bad oyster.
"Why, it's you, Liz. I must say, I didn't expect to see you here." The words stumbled out awkwardly. "You're sure looking good these days. Ah, I mean, pregnancy seems to agree with you." He groaned to himself. That's the dumbest thing I could tell her, he thought.
"Pregnancy sure as hell doesn't agree with me!" Liz screamed. "But then, I didn't have any say in it."
She took a deep gulp of her drink. Flip thought for a moment about reminding her of the bizarre evening that had led to her pregnancy and who had orchestrated it. But as he studied her eyes and the unsteady hand that held the drink, he thought better of it. Try the direct, sympathetic approach, he thought. Still holding the damp towel in his hand, he took a couple of steps towards her.
With as much concern as he could muster, he said, "I guess it's been pretty rough on you, hasn't it?"
Liz slid back on the bed away from him and screamed again. "Stay away from me, you bastard." She dug into the clothes basket beside her and pulled out the gun. Pointing it at him, she said in a strained, but calmer, voice, "Your sweet talk won't get you out of trouble this time, Flip."
Flip stopped a few feet from Liz and stared at the huge cannon pointed at his chest. As much as he tried, he couldn't pull his eyes away from the black hole of the muzzle. Deep within that abyss lived a couple of ounces of lead. Behind the lead, sat a fraction of an ounce of gunpowder and behind that, a small metal hammer. His mind traced through the mechanism of the gun until he reached the trigger. Resting on the trigger was the unsteady finger of a mad woman—mad both by the definition of being mentally deranged, and being irrationally angry with him.
I'm in deep shit, he thought.
After the strange late-night intrusion, Denise continued to lie in bed for several seconds, her heart pounding against her rib cage. Who in the hell was that, she wondered, the image of the woman firmly imprinted on her mind. As she reconstructed the brief scene, the pounding in her chest increased. The woman had been pregnant. That much was apparent even with the brief glimpse she'd had. But that wasn't what troubled Denise. Something else about the woman nagged at her.
She continued to lie with her eyes closed. She went over the mental picture again. Yes, the woman had been carrying something in her hands—a clothes hamper. So? Nothing particularly surprising there. She had said something about looking for the laundry. But the laundry wasn't anywhere close to Denise's room. Okay, a little strange, but there was something more.
Then it hit her. The eyes. The woman's eyes had a hunted, almost feral, look about them. They had flashed an intense hatred. More than hate—a madness. A look one might expect to see from a cornered animal; an animal struggling for its survival.
Denise flipped on the light next to her bed. She hesitated for a moment, then, picked up the phone. She dialed Lionel's number. When he answered, Denise felt silly for calling.
"Lionel, this is Denise. I'm sorry to call you so late..."
"No problem. I was just sitting here wondering what I'm doing here so late. I'm not getting anything done. What's up?"
Denise hesitated. She felt so foolish about the call, but the memory of those eyes wouldn't let her rest.
"I had the strangest visitor a few minutes ago. It had to have been one of Flip's women. She was paunched out, just like me. Said she was looking for the laundry. I didn't think too much about it, but..."
"Go on, Denise. What's wrong?"
"Well," Denise plodded on. "It was her eyes. I only caught a glimpse of them, but they were, well, they reminded me of a cornered animal. It seems silly now, but it unnerved me. Besides, the laundry is at the other end of the building. It doesn't make sense."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "You were right to call, Denise. I'll be right down to see what's going on. You stay in your room, do you hear?"
Denise agreed and hung up the phone. Lionel's tone only added kindling to her fire of worry. What was this all about?
"I'll never die of old age." He had told his college friends many times. "I'll probably get shot by some jealous woman, or something romantic like that." Now, as Flip stared at the gun muzzle, he wondered how he had ever seen anything romantic about such a situation.
"You don't really want to use that thing, do you, Liz?"
"Yes, I think I do. You've wrecked my life, you bastard. Now it's time you paid for it."
With a great deal of effort, Flip pulled his eyes away from the gun and looked down at the towel in his hands. He found he had knotted it into a tight ball.
"How did I wreck your life, Liz?"
"It's your fault I'm pregnant, and that cost me my job—my entire career. I'm ruined, not only with Interdigital but with any company worth its salt. No one will be interested in me now."
Flip looked up from the towel and into Liz's eyes, calculating his chances. "Shooting me won't improve your resume, and it won't get your job back. Why don't you put down the gun and let's talk about it? Let's look at your options."
"No! No more talk. This is my option, my only option. But go ahead, try to sweet talk me out of it. Let's hear you beg, just once more for old times sake. You might try crawling too. It won't work, but I'd find it entertaining. I've always found you entertaining, Flip."
Flip’s eyes strayed to the wavering muzzle o
f the gun. He watched it, waiting for it to stray away from his chest, but Liz's aim was not that unsteady yet.
"No begging, no crawling," he said. He decided to try a different slant.
"If you won't think about your own life, think about your child. What kind of life will your baby have if you're in jail?"
Liz laughed with a trace of hysteria. "I don't give a damn about this parasite within me. I don't want it. I don't like it, and I don't like what it's doing to me. In fact, I hate it because it's a part of you." Her hands shook worse as she sloughed a few drops of Crown Royal onto the floor.
She's on edge, Flip thought. If I can only send her over without her shooting me first, I'll have a chance. He continued to scratch the wound he had opened. "You can't ignore the facts, Liz. You're carrying my child, and that makes us connected. Even if you shoot me, it won't break the bond." He studied her eyes, watching for them to break away from him.
Liz took another sip of her drink. Slowly she began to cry, the tears leaving dark tracks of mascara down her face. "I don't want it. I don't want my baby..." her shoulders shook, and the muzzle strayed from Flip's chest.
Now! Flip thought and threw the towel with all his might at Liz's face. It struck her hard, but she was quicker than he expected. She pulled the trigger, and the gun exploded, shattering the fluorescent light above them. As he jumped at her, she tried to dodge to the side but the bed blocked her way.. Flip grabbed her wrists and felt the scotch spill across his hand. They grappled for several seconds. He felt her tight belly against his own and imagined he could feel the baby kicking at him. He had just about gained controlled of Liz's arms when he felt a searing pain in his groin where Liz had kicked him.
He fell to his knees and felt her wrists pull out of his grasp. Then his head threatened to explode as Liz struck him with the revolver. He lost his balance and fell backward. Dazed by the blow, he tried to struggle to his feet to continue the attack. He was almost steady when he heard the gun explode again, and felt lifted off his feet and flung backward against the wall. Blood flowed down the other side of his face from where she had struck him with the gun. As he crashed to the floor, the dull realization, he'd been shot, waded through his dazed mind.
New Birth Page 10
