by Amy Cross
Before he can finish, I reach up and wrap the chain around his neck before pulling him down onto the bed. He lets out a gasp, but I pull the chain tighter before he can call for help. Crossing my arms, I try to cut off his air supply completely, and although it's difficult to stay in the right position, I manage to straddle him and pull tighter and tighter. I'd hoped to just knock him out, but I know I can't risk letting him recover so I figure I'll just pull and pull, and if that means I take his goddamn head off, I guess I'll just have to -
Suddenly I'm grabbed from behind and pulled away from him. I land hard on the floor as a woman grabs my arms and pulls them apart, freeing Dagwood from the chain. As he gasps for breath, I try to get back up, but the woman is holding me down. I struggle to get free, but she's holding me down too firmly. Just as I think I might be able to break loose, she leans close and I realize with a sense of horror that I've seen her before.
"It's okay, sweetheart," she says with a faint, sad smile. "Almost there. Don't fight it."
"Mom?" I reply, barely able to believe what I'm seeing.
"We're so close now," she replies. There are tears in her eyes as she reaches down and brushes the hair from across my face. "This is what you were always destined to do, Kate. It's your reason for living."
I want to tell her to go fuck herself, but I can't get the words out. All I can do is stare at her with a sense of mounting horror in my chest as, slowly, something starts twisting and turning deep in my gut.
Twenty-one years ago
"Stop fussing," I say as Mark places a steaming cup of tea next to me. "I'm fine."
"Forgive me," he replies with a smile. "The doctors said you need to rest -"
"And I am resting," I tell him, watching as he hurries back to the kitchen. I guess it's kind of cute, in a way, that Mark is so keen to look after me now that I'm home from the hospital. Still, I'm used to taking care of myself, and it feels wrong to have someone running around after me, fetching things and carrying things and asking me every five minutes if there's something I need.
"You've never tried my homemade tomato soup, have you?" he calls from the kitchen. "I'll bet you a hundred dollars you can't guess the secret ingredient."
Sighing, I try to get up from the sofa. Although I escaped from the accident with very few injuries, I still had to have a few metal plates inserted to deal with broken ribs, and I'm constantly sore. Every time Mark asks how I'm feeling, I tell him I'm fine, but that's not quite true. I will be fine, eventually, but right now I feel like a goddamn cripple.
"I need to call the insurance company," I tell him as I limp over to the desk. "I got a message. They want me to fill in more forms before they can release the first payment."
"Hey," he says, hurrying through and rushing over to me. "Don't push yourself."
"I'm not an idiot," I reply, pushing him away. "I don't need people waiting on me."
"The doctors said -"
"I know what the doctors said," I point out. "I was there, remember? Hell, it was me they were talking to, not you. I didn't even need to let you in the room."
"Have you called your mother?" he asks. "She wants you to -"
"I'll deal with that when I have time," I say firmly, feeling as if I'm about to explode if he doesn't give me some space. "I need to call the insurance people."
"I'm fussing too much, aren't I?" he replies.
"What tipped you off?" I ask.
"Fine," he says with a sigh. "I'll try to back off. Just promise you won't love me any less if I let you carry your own stuff."
"Who says I love you at all?" I reply, reaching down to sort through some papers. After a moment, I glance at him and see the stunned look on his face.
"I didn't mean it like that," he says. "You know what I meant."
"Sure," I reply, feeling my heart hardening. "And you know what I meant." I pause for a moment. "I don't want to have this conversation right now," I tell him eventually. "Don't you have soup to make?"
As he heads back to the kitchen, I start searching through my various folders, looking for the form that has the number I'm supposed to call. After a moment, however, I stop and turn toward the kitchen. Dealing with my injuries is hard enough, but I don't think I can do it with Mark around, especially when he starts saying dumb things about loving me. I'm not the kind of person who can deal with a proper relationship, and I'm starting to think that I'd rather just be alone. Other people just cause complications.
Today
"There's no point fighting it," my mother says as I'm led in chains along the narrow stone corridor. "Please, Kate, it pains me to see you struggling when you should just accept the inevitable."
Barely even able to walk, I try to stay calm. Three men in robes are holding the chains that remain wrapped around my arms, and some more men are behind me. I know there's no way I can get free, at least not yet, and I'm still struggling to cope with the fact that my mother is part of this. She seems ethereally confident, as if somehow this all makes sense to her, but I keep expecting the whole thing to be nothing more than a dream. At the same time, my mind seems to have frozen, as if I can no longer accept the things that are happening around me.
Up ahead, I can hear voices.
Chanting.
"This is going to be much harder if you remain resistant," my mother continues. "I know you can feel it in your body, Kate. You know deep down that everything we've told you is true, even if you don't want to admit it." As she reaches a large wooden door, she stops and turns to me. "I just want you to know that your father and I are so proud of you. All through your illnesses, you were so brave and strong. Your body was fighting back, trying to destroy itself, but we knew you'd be able to resist."
"I should have let it win," I reply. "I should have let the cancer take me."
"You were selected specifically for your fighting spirit," she replies. "Please, Kate, just be happy that you did such a good job. Future generations will look back on your sacrifices and know that you were so strong and brave. There will always be a special place for you in the prayers of our order, and that order will in turn only grow stronger once our master is in our midst."
"You're out of your mind," I tell her.
"No," she says, turning and pushing the wooden door open. "It just seems that way because our order has been pushed to the margins for so long."
As I'm dragged after her, I find myself being taken into the main hall of the church. There are thousands of candles burning all around the room, and hundreds of robed figures stand watching as I'm led to the altar, where my chains are attached to thick metal hoops that jut out from the stone surface. I try to pull free, but there are too many people around me, and after a moment I turn to stare at the chanting figures who seem to be waiting for something.
"Give me a moment with her," my mother says to the other figures, who quickly move away.
"You're not my mother," I say firmly as she steps closer.
"I am," she whispers softly. "Please try to understand, Kate. For centuries, our people have been castigated and persecuted because of our beliefs. We've been pushed to the margins and forced to live in the shadows, but some of us eventually decided that enough is enough. Our generation chose to be the ones who push back, and for that we needed to make some sacrifices." She reaches out and brushes her hand against the side of my face, and although I flinch at her touch, the chains are holding me in place. "Do you think your father and I wanted to lose our only child? Do you think we were happy to watch you suffer?"
"Go fuck yourself," I spit back at her.
"We sacrificed a part of our lives," she continues, "so that our master could be born into a human body. There were other candidates, of course, but we knew we needed a strong girl, and you were always so strong as a child. Eventually we accepted that you were the best option, so we performed the ceremony that invited our master to enter your body. He accepted that invitation gladly and ever since then, for most of your life, he's been sleeping inside your soul. Now that
you're carrying a child, he has entered that child and now he waits to be born in a body of his own."
"I'm not pregnant," I tell her.
"You are," she replies. "The child is yours and Dagwood's. He was chosen for his physical perfection, and the child is now almost a month old. If we left it inside your belly for nine months, it would rip you apart, but fortunately it needs nothing more from you. We have to remove it, and your sacrifice will be over."
"Please," I continue, hoping to persuade her to recognize that this whole situation is madness. "Don't do this..."
"I wish you could live to see the result of your hard work," she replies, as tears start to run down her cheeks, "but there's just no way to sustain your life once the master has been removed. We've looked into ways, and Dr. Mammone has carried out experiments, but it was hard enough keeping you alive all these years. Now, we have to accept that it's time for you to leave us. I just want you to know that we're so proud of you, and that your contribution to our order will never be forgotten. I love you, Kate -"
Before she can finish, I spit on her face.
"I'm sure you'll understand," she replies, wiping her cheek clean. "At the final moment, when death is upon you and the child is emerging, you'll realize. It might only be for a fraction of the last second of your life, but truth and knowledge will be your ultimate reward, and you'll die happy." Reaching out, she places a hand against my belly; deep inside my gut, something seems to be moving. "It's ready," my mother adds, before turning to the nearby figures. "Prepare her."
"No!" I shout, as she steps away and the robed figures approach. I try to get free, but there's nothing I can do to stop them as they start removing my clothes. Finally, once I'm completely naked and my scarred chest is exposed for the whole congregation to see, I stop struggling. Candlelight light flickers over my flesh, exposing every cut and dent, every scar. I've been through so many operations over the years, so many procedures designed to combat my cancer, I look awful. Looking down at my naked body, I feel all the anger start to fade away, and tears begin to gather in my eyes.
I'm a monster.
"Look upon her," my mother says, turning to the congregation as the chanting stops. "When God sent his son down to walk the earth, he chose a virgin mother. When our master chose to come down and walk among us, he cared not for purity or chastity. He sought a strong woman, someone who could contain him while he waited to be born. Her body fought back, trying to destroy itself in the process, but she fought bravely and now she has reached the point at which we must remove the child from her belly."
Nearby, several robed figures approach and set several large knives on the altar. One of the figures removes his hood, revealing himself as Dr. Mammone.
"Stop!" I shout, pulling at the chains.
"Try to stay calm," Dr. Mammone replies. "None of this would be happening if it were not strictly necessary."
"If you come any closer," I reply, "I'll kill you. I don't know how, but I'll find a way."
"There's no need for threats," says a voice nearby.
Turning, I find that Dagwood is approaching.
"You've put up with so much pain and suffering," he continues. "You're right at the end now, Kate. There are just minutes to go, and you need to stay strong. He's coming."
Feeling something warm against the inside of my thighs, I look down and see that blood has started to leak from between my legs. There's no pain, but something seems to be stirring in my chest, moving further down my body. I close my eyes as I try to force it back, but finally I realize that I can feel small nails scratching against the inside of my belly, as if it's trying to claw its way out.
"You can feel him, can't you?" Dagwood says after a moment. "He's ready to leave you."
As the pain starts to build, I try not to cry out. Whatever's inside me, it's clearly desperate to get out, but after a moment I feel cold hands being placed on my belly. Looking down, I see that my skin is being stretched by several of the hooded figures, while Dr. Mammone comes closer with a scalpel in his hand. All I can do is struggle and try to kick out at him, but I'm being held down and finally the scalpel presses against my belly.
"It's okay," my mother says, reaching out and brushing her fingers against the side of my face. "Don't fight it, Kate. This is how it always had to end."
Twenty-one years ago
"You're not in the right frame of mind to be making big decisions," Mark says, with a hint of desperation in his voice. "Kate, please -"
"I need to be alone," I reply, forcing the rest of my clothes into the bag and then struggling to get it zipped shut.
"Then take a few days and -"
"Not a few days," I hiss, finally getting the zip to close before putting the bag over my shoulder. "I can't be in a relationship, Mark. Not now, and maybe not ever."
"I'm willing to work on things with you," he replies, trying to stay calm.
"And what happens when you want children?" I ask, hurrying to the door before turning back to him. "I know that's what you want, but I can't give it to you."
"Can't or won't?" he asks, staring at me from the other side of the room.
"Both," I say firmly. "I can't explain it, but I just know deep down that I should never have a child. With my genes, and my history, it'd be cruel to bring a life into the world."
"But that doesn't mean -"
"Yeah," I say, interrupting him. "It does. I have to go, Mark. I'm sorry." Opening the door, I heard toward the elevator. Moments later, I hear Mark running after me. I'm just about to tell him to leave me alone when he grabs my arm and pulls me back.
"Kate -" he starts to say, before stepping back in horror.
"What?" I ask, trying to stay calm. "Can't you just let me go?" I wait for him to answer, but there's a look of absolute terror in his eyes. "What are you staring at?" I ask.
"Your face," he replies, taking a step back. "Just for a second, just... for a fraction of a second when you turned around..."
I wait, but he seems to be in total shock.
"What?" I ask impatiently.
"Never mind," he continues, turning and hurrying back to his apartment.
As the elevator doors slide open, I'm left wondering what the hell just happened. Mark has always been a level-headed kind of guy, but something clearly spooked him. I step into the chamber and hit the button for the lobby, before turning to look at my reflection in the metal panel that runs along the back of the wall. I look perfectly normal, but I can't help wondering what Mark saw.
Sometimes, I feel like there's another voice in my head.
Today
I've never heard myself scream before.
Not properly.
Not like this.
I sound like a wild animal. My throat is burning as I desperately try to call out for help. It's hard to believe that no-one outside can hear me, but as tears flow down my face I feel a fresh wave of pain start pulsating through my body, spreading out from my belly.
And I can feel his hands reaching inside.
I don't know how much time has passed. Drenched in sweat, and with my wrists and ankles held down firmly by a combination of chains and robed figures, I try to break free, but it's hopeless. Dr. Mammone's fingers are gently easing something out of my belly, and I feel a moment of tension before the umbilical cord is sliced. To my surprise, I feel a series of small stabbing pains a moment later, and when I look down at my blood-soaked body I realize that they've started to sew me up again. I assumed they'd just leave me to bleed out, but they're actually trying to keep me alive.
"You've done so well," my mother's voice whispers in my ear.
Somewhere nearby, there's the sound of a baby crying, except it sounds more like it's screaming. I turn and look over at Dr. Mammone, and for a moment I can't make out the small dark shape in his hands. It's barely bigger than a finger, but finally I realize that it's the baby: only one month after conception, it has already grown so fast, but it's clearly not ready to be out yet. Through blurry, tear-staine
d eyes, I stare in horror at the blackened husk as it wriggles, and I swear to God it looks as if its whole body has been burned to a crisp.
"The hard part's over," my mother says calmly, as one of the nurses continues to sew my belly closed. "You can hold it in a -"
"Something's wrong," Dr. Mammone says suddenly, placing the baby on the altar. "It's dying!"
"It can't be," my mother replies. "It's too strong to -"
"It's not breathing," Dr. Mammone continues, grabbing a surgical bag and pulling out various pieces of equipment. The baby, which I can barely see, is making a kind of rasping, gurgling sound, like some kind of wild creature, and I watch in horror as Dr. Mammone prepares another scalpel.
"What are you doing?" I gasp, fighting through the pain. I know it's insane, but even though the creature looks horrific, I can't help but feel defensive. It grew in my body; it's a part of me, and I don't want it to suffer.
"It can't die," my mother says firmly, hurrying over to Dr. Mammone as he works on the baby. "It should be strong. You said you'd know what to do once it was born!"
"I don't understand," Dr. Mammone continues as he examines the child. "Everything was going perfectly until this moment. I consulted all the texts, but none of them mentioned anything like this. The birth should have been straightforward once we'd made the first incision, but it's almost as if..." He pauses for a moment, and it's clear that he doesn't really know what to do next. "It's almost as if we've been tricked," he continues eventually. "It just doesn't make sense!"
"Do something!" my mother shouts, clearly starting to panic. "We've waited too long to have it all fall apart now! Maybe we cut it out too soon! Is there any way we can put it back inside her? Cut her open again, put the child back, and then let her carry it to term! It's worth a try, isn't it?"
Dr. Mammone looks over at me, and for a moment he actually seems to be considering the idea.
