The War Gate

by Chris Stevenson

  The doctor threw his hands up in the air. “None of this makes sense. I examined her two days ago. There was no evidence of a pregnancy.” He closed his eyes. “In all my years of practice I have never had anything like this happen.” He turned on the others, making eye contact with each. “This information will not leave these prison walls. Is that understood? I don’t have to tell you that the media would grind us into ground-round if this ever got out.”

  The warden stepped up close to the gurney, massaging his temples. He looked on the verge of passing out at any moment. How ironic it all seemed.

  Chubby stepped forward, his mouth cracking into a wide smile. “That’s one for the record books, Avalon. Happy New Year, honey. Way to go, babe! Yeah, way to go!”

  The digital wall clock cycled. It read a minute after midnight. The New Year had arrived.

  The sun dawned bright and beautiful the following day, chasing the storm clouds across the horizon.

  Chapter 3

  Avalon was now full term, expecting delivery. The amniocentesis had been performed immediately upon discovery. The result had come back in seven days. Avalon had to sign a release form in triplicate, clearing the prison hospital staff of all culpability prior to the test. Although the procedure held some risk to the fetus, it was still forced. Avalon suspected that her rights had been violated, but had agreed under duress, rather than face persecution and the removal of her most basic privileges.

  The North Carolina prison system had capped such a heavy lid on the incident that for a while, both the news and Avalon had been kept in solitary confinement. After the postponement of the execution, the male staff of the Women’s Correctional Facility were rounded up for DNA tests, accompanied by lengthy interrogations. The staff scrutinized her visitor roster for any potential “donors,” even though such contact would have been impossible in the first place. The warden felt convinced that one of their oversexed male staff members had slipped through the cracks to perform the deed. Yet, with the conclusion of the blood type analysis, no one, including the general workforce staff, matched the profile. Raymond Hammersmith had been eliminated from the donor list.

  The news had leaked within the walls of the prison in spite of the security blanket. The inmates found out through a slip-of-the-tongue. Wild rumors of a “ghost lover” were awash in the Women’s Correctional Facility. At least a dozen females claimed contact with a strange night visitor who came in their dreams to perform unspeakable acts of passionate fantasy rape. The prison psychologists worked double shifts recording mysterious claims that led to wild accusations. It was all a ruse by most of the inmates, one designed to throw the staff into complete turmoil. Others were convinced that a real ghost walked the cellblocks. From the day the first rumors appeared, all personal mail had been censored for any references dealing with the mysterious inmate pregnancy.

  Doctor King had taken the full brunt of blame at the Central Prison. The staff physician at the Women’s facility had also been interrogated. Neither had suspected or recorded evidence of a pregnancy. Both had given Avalon full exams more than once just prior to the execution date. King blamed his incompetence on a faulty stethoscope. The other physician claimed that had she been looking for a pregnancy she would have found one. Both accused the other of gross negligence. King avoided swinging in the breeze by the act of his discovery in the last hour. He had saved the prison system from executing a pregnant woman, which would have rained hell fire’s damnation upon them from all compass directions, notwithstanding, the governor’s office.

  Avalon hadn’t been spared the investigation. She was the investigation. She’d written out a fifty-page affidavit that included her schedule, visitations, contacts, and other general lifestyle activities for the past year. She passed three polygraph tests. Her story never changed. She denied physical contact with any male staff member at the Women’s Branch or Central Prison. Except for one. But now she couldn’t even be sure that such a thing had happened. Warden Remy did not believe that a long-haired priest had infiltrated the Central Prison under the surveillance net to impregnate a female death row inmate. He was convinced that Avalon was covering for the real guilty party, and it was just a matter of time before that name surfaced.

  Warden Remy ordered the end of the investigation a week before the expected delivery date. Not a word more would ever be said about the mysterious pregnancy or the upcoming delivery. Any inmate found guilty of spreading the tale would face solitary confinement. Any staff member belonging to either institution who was heard spreading the rumors, faced dismissal or prosecution. Careers were on the line. Worse, it had all derived from some insane mystery that had made laughing stocks out of some of the most brilliant correctional professionals in the state of North Carolina.

  The adoption proceedings ended up a hideous travesty. Avalon broke down in tears after being notified that her mother, Emily Chambers, had refused to adopt her child. Since the prison authorities could not name the father, the result was a bastard child that Emily wanted no part in raising. Emily was also convinced of her daughter’s guilt connected with her husband’s murder.

  Tom’s parents did not attend the proceedings, wanting nothing to do with the adoption. The next in line was Drake Labrador, the victim’s brother. He’d testified to Avalon’s character during the trial, stating that she might have been innocent of the crime, although he had no concrete proof. He also claimed that she’d exhibited stellar behavior, with above average morals while in his company. Drake had been written into his brother’s will as the major recipient of the family business, given seventy percent of the company while the rest of the stock had been divided between both sets of parents. There had also been a rumor that Drake had formed a new software division that had become an instant drain on the company assets.

  Drake would be the new father of Avalon’s little girl. He promised to name the girl Avy, a short version of her mother’s first name. Avalon, having little to say in the matter, had to agree to the terms. She drafted a letter to her soon-to-be daughter, explaining the unfortunate circumstances of how her life had ended, hoping her daughter would understand at least some of the heart-wrenching circumstances. The letter waxed apologetic, but ended on a bright note, wishing her daughter happiness and success throughout her life. The letter would be opened on her daughter’s eighteenth birthday.

  They had moved Avalon to the prison infirmary two days ago. If she did not give birth soon, they would induce labor. They had told her that a cesarean was not out of the question, but she knew it was a bluff to force her to comply. The contractions had come abruptly, with the exam that showed she was fully dilated. Yet, if they were serious about the operation, she would not permit the last insult to be that of her child being forced to enter the world by being cut from her like some dangerous growth. Her bond with her daughter was holy, a sweet connection that Avalon cherished. She would not permit that link to be sullied.

  Though her feet were in the stirrups, she vowed to smack the first individual who approached her with a scalpel or needle. She had insisted on a natural birth, and so far had found the experience almost spiritual in spite of the pain. She had one last legacy to fulfill. Little Avy would be her last, but greatest accomplishment.

  “I don’t even think you’re pushing,” the nurse declared. “We haven’t got all day. We’ll have to provide assistance if you are not willing to cooperate.”

  “Don’t come near me,” warned Avalon. “You might be the first one to lay your hands on my daughter to take her away, but you won’t dictate to me how she comes into this world.”

  Doctor King and Warden Remy stood by looking like two bobble heads. The delivery room door had been locked to any staff who might have been tempted to enter with the purpose of satiating their curiosity. In spite of the threats of reprisal for speaking about the subject, news of the arrival of a “bastard death row kid” had consumed the prison like a firestorm, which meant the warden would be in full damage control mode for weeks.

>   Doctor King held a syringe up to the light, depressing the plunger to remove the air. “We’re just saying that if you need a little help we’re equipped to assist,” he said. “Please concentrate. Let’s see if we can make this an easy delivery.”

  Avalon had held off long enough. She had enjoyed the moment—the kicking life of a baby beneath her heart as well as the frustration she had caused these three. Their single priority concerned getting the child off the premises, then carrying out her sentence. That way their slate would be wiped clean, their reputations restored.

  She leaned forward, bearing down. She fisted the sides of the bed until her knuckles blanched white. She felt the head crown. She gave a slight laugh, watching the nurse stare at her with a grave face. Doctor King set his syringe down, then picked up a pair of scissors.

  Warden Remy turned his back on the delivery. The man may have never witnessed a birth before, or maybe he found the entire act distasteful.

  Avalon relaxed, took several breaths, then kinked forward again. She felt a sudden movement coinciding with the collapse of her stomach. At that very moment, she saw an image flash before her face. The strange vision took on a human form. It was a masculine face shrouded in a misty aspen glow. He had haunting, strange eyes that seemed to glow with their own inner light. The sudden vision stirred something in her that came in revelation. Now she could plainly see that this was Father Geminus and what part he had played in the scheme of her life. It was nothing like she had thought at all. He hadn’t come to cause problems, but to solve them. Everything was crystal clear now.

  She heard the familiar voice, rich and smooth like a river of molasses. He spoke to her—words she had heard before.

  “So it was found. So it was confessed. So it is forgiven. From the past, into the new beginning, and beyond into the days that have not yet been seen. I take thee from the old Gate into another of the same for the deserved chance to correct the great wrong. Abide in the final peace that has been earned. Are you prepared to enter the new Gate, Avalon Labrador?”

  She found herself answering, “Yes, I am.”

  “The baby’s not breathing,” said the nurse.

  Doctor King used the bulb suction to clear the mucus from the nose. He flipped the baby upside down, grasped the ankles, and delivered a buttock smack.

  “The Gate is open now,” said the voice. “You’re welcome to cross. There is nothing more that needs to be done here. Don’t be afraid.”

  I am not afraid anymore, Avalon answered in her mind. Toasty warmth enveloped her body. She took one step forward into the dream world. She could see it now—rolling knolls of daffodils amongst clumps of spongy heather wet with dew. Tall, rose-colored clouds swooned in a windy sky. A spine of mountains rolled away in a blaze of purple, gray, and white snowcaps. She recognized this place, she’d seen this panorama before. She knew this is where she had to go.

  Avalon sucked in the sweet air, holding her breath. It felt like she’d just swallowed paradise. The taste of this life was beyond grand.

  The doctor shock-slapped the baby again. “We’re losing her.”

  Avalon let out the breath she had been holding with a huge whoosh. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, and then she collapsed backward onto the gurney with a last wheeze.

  ###

  The baby drew its first lungful of air, then pushed out a loud squawk.

  Doctor King looked at the monitor. “Wait a minute. Now we’re losing the mother. She’s flat-lined!”

  The nurse scurried to unsnap the defibrillator kit and yank out the paddles.

  But it was too late. After working on her for twenty minutes, they could not bring her back. The last vestige left of Avalon Labrador was an eerie smile frozen across her face. One could have almost said it looked like paradise.

  Chapter 4

  Seventeen Years Later

  One group of girls approached from the head of the dining room table while a smaller contingent came around from the other end. Realizing she had been outflanked, Avy backed up against the wall, clapping her hands over her eyes. She gave a frightful squeal just to make it look good.

  The party poppers exploded with the sound of crackling corn, sending out a tornado of confetti. Silly String arched through the air, landing on her in sticky webs. One of the girls even threw a handful of rice, but Avy ducked just in time to let it spray against the wall.

  “That’s not fair,” said Avy, stomping her foot. “You guys have all the ammo!”

  “Happy Birthday!” they chorused, pressing forward.

  Avy could see mischief in their eyes. “Okay, what gives? The presents were opened an hour ago. You already sneak attacked me.”

  In the next instant, the girls cocked their arms back, fists loaded. Avy reared back, catching a glimpse of sock-like objects hurtling through the air. The objects pelted off her harmlessly, except for a few that hung up in her hair. When she chanced a look down, her eyes widened in surprise. A blush came to her cheeks.

  A dozen jockstraps lay strewn on the floor.

  Avy pulled one off the top her head, noting that it was an extra large. “Are you guys trying to tell me something?”

  “Yeah,” said Lindsey, her best friend. “All that bling shit doesn’t count. You need the real gift—the one that keeps on giving—we can’t help you out with that one.”

  “Yeah,” said another. “You need a side order of beefcake.”

  “Major way,” agreed a third. “Who do you think you are, Princess Bride? Dude, you gotta get gigged, stuck like a frog in an Alabama creek. The last guy we saw you with was a cardboard cutout of Johnny Depp at the theater.”

  “Okay, okay.” Avy could see her mother, Lizzy, standing at the kitchen door, shaking her head, eyeing the mess on the floor. Yet her mother had a crooked smile on her face.

  Avy spoke loud enough for her mother to hear. “I’m just looking for something a little more stable than a good ‘gigging.’ But I promise if I find a good looking cabana boy, I’ll go right for his ‘on’ switch.”

  The girls burst out in shrieking laughter. Avy took a seat at the dining room table and began to appraise the gifts once again. Lindsey stood behind her, picking some of the stringy goop from her hair. One of the girls flipped a switch on a CD boom blaster. It began to emit a thumping techno tune. Avy looked up when she saw her uncle-stepfather emerge from the foyer hallway into the dining room. His face had the expression of someone sitting on a toilet trying to pass a rock-hard turd.

  Drake made a beeline for the blaster, pushing buttons, flipping switches. After killing the music, he waved his arms for attention, a useless gesture since he'd had all eyes on him the moment he’d stomped into the room.

  “All right now, girls,” he announced. “We have to chop-chop this for now. Sorry, but everybody has to go. We’ll see you out. Can’t thank you enough for showing up for the party.”

  Avy looked at her watch. “It’s four-forty in the afternoon, Uncle Drake. We haven’t finished our cake yet. I thought we could listen to some music for a bit.”

  “No can do. I’m expecting a very important business call any minute. Your mother can fix up some doggie bags to give to your guests.”

  Avy’s mouth dropped. “Can’t you take your call upstairs? We’re not going to bother you there.”

  Drake set his jaw. The tone of his next words came out restrained. “I need absolute concentration for this call, which means peace and quiet. I’m asking that you respect my wishes.”

  “They’re not hurting anything,” Lizzy tried.

  He glared at his wife, making a swishing motion with his hand. Lizzy rolled her eyes, then stepped back into the kitchen.

  Avy stood up, a thread of Silly String hanging from her ear. She tried to mask the embarrassment on her face when she said, “I’m sorry, guys. We can make it another time and pick up where we left off. You’ve all been awesome.”

  There were no more words. She escorted her friends to the front door, hugging each one before they le
ft. There was no way to describe the awkwardness of the moment. When the last one had gone, Avy shut the door and walked back into the dining room to sit down in her decorated chair. It had been just an hour ago that she had blown out the eighteen candles. A thick carpet of wrapping paper and confetti lay thick on the floor.

  Her mother began to run a portable sweeper, managing to shove small piles into larger clumps. It seemed a shovel would have done a better job than the little sweeper. There was no housekeeper to take care of the mess, since she had the day off. Besides, it was her mother’s feeble attempt to show her domestic side, which she didn’t do often.

  Avy watched Drake standing at the end of the hallway, rubbing his temples with nervous agitation. He’d used the old conference-in-the-afternoon excuse to get the party-goers out early, but a real appointment was doubtful. A moment passed. His cellphone rang. It was disgusting the way he jumped on it so fast. Probably dialed himself, thought Avy.

  She picked at a square of angel food cake, watching her stepfather cup his mouth. Drake turned to her every so often, flashing a forced smile, the good ole daddy smile that had an edge of Wile E. Coyote crossed with the Grinch. His face would grow grave while he addressed his caller, until his eyes landed on her again, and then he’d plaster on an instant grin. He wasn’t fooling her.

  Avy knew Drake felt uncomfortable around her. This wasn’t the first time he’d pulled such a stunt. The man played Halloween all year round. He had three masks—sorry, I have to go, I’m late, and we’ll talk again later. Avy and Lizzy came second to Cyberflow in the Labrador household. Where Lizzy pushed small piles around the floor, Drake shoved larger ones around at Cyberflow Electronics, Security and Software.

  Avy knew her mother well, having experienced eighteen years of observation from the sidelines. She remembered the time when Drake told his wife, “You’re the shiniest bulb on my tree.” At least the woman had been the shiniest bulb on his tree in the beginning. In those days, the limelight of fame had shined down upon her. The press never tired of Miss Fitness USA, the runner up in the Miss Universe contest. Strong, athletic, with perfect muscle tone, she’d been coveted by every eligible bachelor on the east coast. Her mother had spent endless hours showing Avy all the clippings from her past, itemizing her accomplishments in great detail. But a sorry transformation evolved. The years had faded her like junkyard paint.