9 Months Trilogy: A Novel of Horror and Suspense

by Matt Shaw

  Again with the fucking tears.

  I pulled against the restraints, making them rattle against the bed - hoping the noise would remind her that what she was doing was unnatural.

  “No, you’re not,” she spat.

  I froze.

  5.

  “I’m sorry,” said Bryan. Does he mean it, though? A lack of empathy in his voice. His expression - eyes especially - seem dead. Has he just buried it? Like he buried everything else.

  “We could try....” I said.

  He shook his head, “You heard what the Doctor said.”

  “They could be wrong.”

  He shook his head again.

  “A second opinion?”

  “That was the second opinion.”

  There was silence.

  “We could try, though - give it another go - in time,” I pushed.

  Again, he shook his head, “No.”

  There was silence again.

  I shifted uneasily in the hospital bed.

  “Never?”

  He took hold of my hand and gave it a squeeze - as though that was going to fix everything. Who knew - when your World caves in, all you need is a hand squeeze. I pulled my hand away.

  For as long as I could remember - all I wanted was my own family. A husband whom I loved and kids. Two of them, preferably. Ideally a boy and a girl. And now... now I’m told I the chances of getting pregnant again are impossible.

  I remember the first time we got pregnant. We were so happy. Two become three. The Doctor warned of complications but - we thought that was at the start.... the first few months. We thought, after the first three months.... we thought everything was fine. Everything was okay. We thought there was nothing left to stop us from becoming a family.

  Complications, they said.

  The baby was starved of oxygen.

  Bryan picked up a leaflet, from where the Doctor put it, and looked at it - as though he was trying to find the right words to say to me. There are no ‘right words’. I’ve carried the baby for nine months - it doesn’t seem right to be leaving the hospital without it.

  It?

  Him.

  There aren’t enough leaflets in the world that can offer me the right words.

  He must have sensed what I was thinking, as he put the leaflet down and pushed it to one side.

  * * * * *

  I’m fed up with Doctors’ offices now.

  I’ve seen enough of them to last a life-time. And they all look the same. Same cheap furniture. Same clock hanging on the wall. Ticking. Ticking your life away as the various specialists try and help you get through this difficult stage in your life - most of the time pretending to lend a sympathetic ear whilst they just wait for the perfect time to hand over the prescription of brain numbing medications.

  “I want to increase the dosage,” said the Doctor.

  No surprise. It’s the second increase of this particular tablet. The previous pill, the size of a small mint, the dosage of that one increased a couple of times too before he tried me on this new tablet.

  The tablets themselves are a waste of time. They just make me feel irritable and sick. I don’t want to take them but Bryan insists - he says he has noticed a change in me but there’s been no change. No real change. Only what I pretend to show him.

  We’re drifting apart.

  I can feel it.

  He must be able to feel it too.

  He walks around looking vacant, most of the time when he is home. Whereas before he used to be quite outgoing - he seems to have changed. Gone quiet. It’s as though he’s burying everything; our dead son.... and everything else which he experiences - no matter if it’s good or bad - it gets buried. He rarely shares anything with me now - probably fearful of accidentally letting something slip which brings everything else crashing out of his soul.

  I half expect him to snap, one day. The way we’re going - I’m not sure if I’ll be there if he does.

  I’ve changed. Walking around the house crying at the slightest little thing. Yesterday I cried because I couldn’t get a lid off a jar, in the kitchen. The slightest little thing. The loss making me a slave to my emotions.

  The tablets are supposed to help me but they don’t.

  It’s nearly been a year now.

  How much longer am I going to feel like this?

  The doctor leant across to the printer, which sat on his desk, next to his computer. He took hold of a freshly printed prescription and handed it to me.

  I pretend to show an interest by scanning what it says.

  Same tablet.

  Higher dosage.

  I doubt I’ll even bother taking this to the pharmacy, “Thank you.”

  “I’d like you to make an appointment to see me in a couple of weeks,” he said.

  Same old, same old.

  When they think you’re ‘stable’ they leave you be for a month. As soon as they change your dosage - it’s back to fortnightly visits.

  “Okay.”

  Such a good little patient.

  “Thank you,” I repeated as I stood up.

  He stood up with me, like he normally did at the end of an appointment - he’d stand up, give me his best ‘sympathetic’ smile and open the door for me.

  I think this was just his way of making sure his patients left.

  I gave him a fake smile and left via the door he held open.

  Another wasted appointment.

  “How’d it go?” Bryan asked as I met him in the waiting room. He always came. Showing his support or making sure I kept the appointment - I can’t decide.

  “Fine,” I lied.

  “Good talk?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  Another lie.

  “Good,” he smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  Never before have I had a kiss which felt so empty.

  “I picked this up,” he said - holding up a leaflet.

  Another leaflet. Every time we went to the doctors he managed to find another leaflet he thought might be of interest to me. Another leaflet which might hold the cure for getting over what happened.

  It’s not just grieving for the baby which is causing me unrest. It’s the fact I can never have another child. He was my one shot and we failed to seize it. We failed to become parents. We failed to bring our son into the world. We failed. And, as though to make it more final - we can never have another chance of doing it.

  Never.

  So final.

  I went through the motions of taking the leaflet. Ready to feign interest, I looked down...

  Child adoption...

  “I know it’s not the same,” he whispered as we walked past the other patients - all waiting their turn to see their doctors.

  It’s not the same.

  I want my son.

  But...

  I can’t have my son.

  Is this the answer?

  Will they even let us adopt after what we’ve been through and the fact I’m on medication? Won’t hurt to look through the leaflet, I suppose.

  I smiled at him.

  This smile felt strange.

  This smile felt real.

  6.

  Listening at the cellar door, I could still hear Jessica crying downstairs.

  She took that worse than I expected. I thought she may have at least taken some comfort in the fact she didn’t actually kill her real dad. Maybe that hasn’t sunk in yet.

  I turned away from the door and went back to the kitchen work-top where I was in the middle of preparing her a sandwich. For what it’s worth. She isn’t exactly eating much at the moment.

  Part of me thinks it may be worthwhile taking some supplies from the hospital - put her on a drip to ensure she gets the necessary fluids... even if the hospital find out it was me who took the equipment - it’s not as though I’m ever going back there.

  I’ll do that.

  Steal some supplies, if she doesn’t eat soon.

  She needs to keep her strength up. For the sake of
my baby.

  I slice through the bread, using the same knife she sliced through my husband. There’s no point taking it downstairs yet - not until she has finished crying. After all, she’s hardly going to want to eat whilst in such a state. She’ll only choke on it.

  All this upset; I need to think of a way to make things easier. Easier for her and easier for me. I can’t be sure how far gone she is but I do know she isn’t ready to drop yet. I definitely need to find a way to make things easier or the baby will never survive.

  Could be tricky.

  Bryan tried to make things easier for her. That didn’t end very well. I looked to the side at his body; still laying in the same position. His eyes - cloudy in colour, mouth ajar and tongue poking out ever so slightly.

  Death isn’t the most flattering of looks.

  What’s happening to me? I can’t believe I don’t feel anything. Has this whole experience stolen the last bit of humanity I had?

  It doesn’t matter.

  Go with the flow.

  Get it done.

  See it through.

  I’m sure, when I have my baby cuddled into my arms, I’ll start to gain some humanity back again.

  Speaking of seeing it through - I can’t hear her crying anymore. Good. The constant tears and whimpering is starting to get on the last of my nerves.

  I put the knife down and moved the sandwiches onto a plate.

  When this baby comes along, I’m going to be the best mother ever.

  I can’t wait. I just wish I knew how much longer it was going to be.

  * * * * *

  A crossword half completed. A tinge of sadness washes over me. Not enough to get teary-eyed over. Looking at the puzzle, Bryan hadn’t managed to finish - it does make you question your own mortality. What will I leave behind unfinished?

  What a morbid thought.

  I wonder if she’s eaten the sandwich yet. She didn’t look to be that interested in it when I went down to see her - just kept asking for me to let her out. Asking to be allowed to roam the house, at least. Telling me she’d behave and how killing him... how she had to do it for her own safety and the safety of the baby.

  What a load of rubbish.

  Bryan wouldn’t have done anything to hurt the baby.

  He loved the idea of the baby. Why would he have risked hurting it? Especially after going to all of this trouble to keep it. Even if he had completely lost control of his senses - he would never have risked the baby. For her to even pretend otherwise - just goes to show she can’t be trusted.

  Does she really think I’m that stupid?

  He always was the soft one.

  She can’t leave the room. That’s obvious now. She’s there for the rest of her life.

  I can’t leave her on the bed, though.

  It’s not healthy and her muscles will start to waste.

  I picked up the puzzle and glanced at the missing words. The puzzle in the book seems far easier than the puzzle of what to do with Jessica for the remainder of her pregnancy. I wonder why Bryan was struggling so much with finishing it.

  I throw the book to one side.

  I’ll give her the freedom she craves so much but in one room only. That could work. The cellar door has a lock on it. I could unbind her and let her roam the room as much as she wants. That could definitely work.

  No natural light, though.

  Not exactly healthy living.

  And then I still have the question of what to do with Bryan.

  A light-bulb moment as another thought flashes into my mind.

  Bryan can have the cellar and Jessica can have one of the bedrooms. I can always pop to the D.I.Y store to buy a lock for the door. Locks for the window too - if they need them. Not sure whether Bryan would have considered her trying to climb from them.

  Yes. That sounds better.

  Still confined to one room with nothing she can hurt me with and no way out. Drill a hole in the door, perhaps - a little spy-hole so I can occasionally see what she is doing.

  The more I think about it, the fairer this sounds.

  She can have a comfier bed, free roam of the room and I could even put the little television in there - give her something to do.

  With Jessica out of the way, I can move Bryan too. Get him out of the way. Out of sight, out of mind. All I need to do is roll him towards the cellar stairs and give him a final push - gravity will do the rest.

  And then there’s Darren too. Darren can join him. Get them both out of the way before they potentially ruin anything. Get them both in the cellar and lock the door. I could always board it up too - board it up and wallpaper over it as though the room never existed.

  Definitely - the more I think about this - the better it sounds.

  I need to go to the store.

  And I need to fetch Darren.

  7.

  “What are you doing here?” Bryan said, from the hallway.

  I walked through to see who he was talking to. Visitors were rare here - not because we were antisocial and didn’t like entertaining. It’s just, sometimes it’s nice to get home and close the door on the world. Get some peace and quiet before you have to start another full day of work.

  “I thought I made it clear?”

  Darren was stood in the doorway - Bryan stopping from letting him come in. My heart races. Does he know? Does he know what we’ve done? I knew we’d get caught.

  No.

  Stop it.

  Stop panicking. If he suspected anything, he would have shown up with the police. He doesn’t know anything. He’s just come round uninvited. Nothing more to it than that.

  “I need to talk to her...”

  “She doesn’t want to see you. And she won’t want to see you either if you keep harassing her. I told you...”

  They’ve already spoken?

  Darren pushed himself in.

  “Jessica!” he called up the stairs. “Please, I need to talk to you!”

  “She isn’t here,” Bryan hissed.

  “You’re lying!”

  Darren didn’t wait for Bryan to say anything else, instead he just ran up the stairs towards her bedroom - closely followed by Bryan and myself.

  “She’s not here!” shouted Bryan.

  Tonight was probably the worst night Darren could have visited. Tempers between myself and Bryan are already high - after he popped home to talk about what he’d done. What he’d done to my daughter.

  “Jess -” Darren opened the bedroom door. Empty. “Where is she?” he said as he turned to Bryan.

  “I’ve already said, she isn’t here.”

  “Then where?”

  “Take the hint, boy, she doesn’t want to see you....”

  “What have you said to her - what lies have you told her?”

  “I haven’t said anything - you heard her yourself, last week. She said she didn’t want to see you anymore....”

  “I can fix this.”

  Tempers are starting to rise between the two of them. Darren, clearly playing with fire. I feel like I should say something but what?

  “You’ve pushed her away! I told you to back off, I told you I’d talk to her.... but, no, the silent calls to the home - hoping I wouldn’t answer? I knew it was you! You’ve pushed her away and now you need to move on.”

  “No! Not all the time she’s carrying my baby!” yelled Darren.

  “She isn’t.”

  Instantly Darren calmed. That one simple sentence, muttered by Bryan, seemingly destroying Darren’s already fragile world.

  “What?”

  “She went to the clinic at the start of the week. She had a termination. I’m sorry.” Bryan’s mannerisms changed too - as though he calmed down the moment he saw Darren back down.

  Darren started to cry, “You said you’d sort it. You said you’d make everything okay.”

  “She’s gone to stay with her cousin for a while, in the country. I’m sure you’ll understand how upset she is...”