"What a big gun you have there.”
“Not so big, but it’ll get the job done. It was my service revolver when I was on the police force. I know they’re not that popular these days. Most cops prefer a Beretta; sixteen rounds versus six, but well, this one got me out of a lot of jams.”
“Well, you know what they say about men with big guns strapped to their hips?"
"No ma’am, I don't. Why don't you tell me?" Jake's chest pushed out as he pulled in his gut a little further.
"I don't know if I have it exactly right, but I've always heard it's a sign of the size of the male weapon they have between their legs." Her hand slowly traced a pattern from the gun up Jake's side and arm.
"Well, Ms. Liz, if you weren't in such a motherly condition, we'd just have to test your theory out."
Liz moved in a little closer. As she did, she caught a whiff of cheap aftershave and liquor. She brushed her lips against his ear and said, "There's more than one way for a woman to give pleasure to a man. That is if you wouldn't be embarrassed to test my theory."
Jake looked around to see if anyone else was around. Seeing the hall was quiet, he started to reach out for Liz, but she stepped deftly away. "Not here, silly boy. Isn't there somewhere we won't be disturbed?"
"Sure," Jake said. "Come with me."
Liz allowed him to take her hand and lead her to a storage room down the hall. Still carrying the clothes baskets, she waited for Jake to unlock the door and then, walked in. The room was small and dark and smelled of medical supplies. I wonder how often nurses and doctors have used the room for their own quickies, Liz thought. She turned to Jake as he groped along the wall for a light switch.
"No light, Jake. Just leave the door cracked a few inches. No one will notice. Besides, it's more romantic."
"You sure you'll be able to see well enough to test your theory?"
Liz pushed herself against him. "I won't have to see. I'll let my lips do the judging."
She reached down to his waist and undid the two belt buckles. Jake helped her remove the holster and laid it on the floor. As he did so, Liz stooped to her knees and unzipped his pants, feeling the hard swelling on the other side of the fabric growing larger.
Interesting, she thought. My theory might have some credence after all. If he wasn't so damn ugly and didn’t smell so bad, I might actually enjoy this. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could make out the outline of Jake's leering face as he undid the clasp of his pants and pushed them over the love handles of his waist. Liz pulled his underpants down and studied Jake's manhood.
"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; B-sideoth 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 could only manage 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 of 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 with 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 pa
ssed, 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 small 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 in an effort 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. She'd have her 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 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 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 it
s 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.
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