by Stuart Keane
"Keep trying. He'll answer eventually."
"I hope you're right."
*****
Elegant white doves gliding across the sky like untouchable angels. A picturesque green backdrop of lush foliage and several stunning water features for the wedding photos. Joyous laughs and comfortable camaraderie with close friends and family. Intricate decorations with no set price tag and humble, homemade food, all planned and chosen by the beautiful bride. It was her day, after all.
Nicky in a sublime white dress, one that elevated her to a golden pedestal with no equal, and officially announced her as the most beautiful woman in the world. That entrance onto the wide aisle, the uncertain moment when she took that nervous, final walk from single life into marriage. Her beaming wide smile, one that never failed to melt his heart on the coldest of days. Her laugh, one that wooped and snickered, the perfect soundtrack in which to eliminate any level of sadness from his life.
You're a lucky man.
The luckiest.
She's my whole world. I don’t know what I would do without her.
Well, in that case, go to her.
How?
By living through this.
By surviving.
Alex Barrett bolted upright up with a violent gasp and immediately coughed his lungs up, the concrete dust tickling and savaging his parched throat. He rolled over, placed his grimy forehead against the cool floor, and coughed once more. Sticky drool oozed from his sore lips. He closed his eyes and felt the warm tears squeeze between the grimy lids. They pattered the floor mere seconds later. He could feel his thunderous heartbeat deep within his skull, throbbing and pulsing, racing like he'd run a million miles. One final cough cleared his throat of a million imaginary razor blades, and brought him back to the realm of the living.
"Fuck me…"
Alex flexed, pushed and rolled from the ground with his quivering palms and sat upright, his heavy head a little woozy. He stared forward and blinked away grey clouds and never-ending dust. He shook his unbalanced skull, the weight of the appendage pushing down on his tense neck, and yelped in pain, which sent a litter of concrete particles into his lap. He muffled his hair and immediately closed his eyes for protection, as concrete powder rained down on him once more.
He blinked and summarised the chaotic scene before him.
Fractured beams of oak wood were collapsed in on one another, angling high into the smoky air like positioned spears. Alex all but recognised the shattered roof of the public house that surrounded him, the building now nothing but a charred ruin. The wood was black and crisp, and the crumbling brick a huge expanse of dark charcoal, both scorched by the ferocious fire that currently raged behind them, and it was only then that he felt the blistering heat that emanated from the dancing flames. His singed skin bristled and goose fleshed as the prickly heat and its accompanying smoke caressed his flesh with its roasting touch.
Alex pushed himself to his feet. He felt as if every groaning joint and bruised bone in his body was creaking from the seemingly insurmountable exertion. Pins and needles slowly found their piercing way into his feet, and joined the multiple stabbing pains that were overwhelming his battered body. He stooped to a knee, weak and battered, but regained his composure and managed to remain upright.
He managed to sneak a glance at his body. Aside from a thick layer of dust, some minor tears to his clothing, and the stabbing pains that were now dulling in the presence of his consciousness, he couldn’t detect any major injuries. A total miracle considering the impact of the blast, one that had reduced the building to a complete wreck.
The blast.
The white van.
The beeping.
Shit.
Alex suddenly gagged and vomited onto the ground, splattering shattered shards of wood and glass with his alcohol-infused puke. The motion of the sudden regurgitation pushed him to his knees and reduced him to a trembling wreck, as it staggered his weak body and dropped him to the floor. He coughed again, in an attempt to clear his throat.
What was it?
An attack?
A terrorist attack. Another one?
Alex once again pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled forward and distanced himself from the patient, carnivorous flames, ignored their intense crackling as they fed on the remains of the public house like incendiary vultures. He reached the end of the bar and groaned in relief as he leant his head against its cool surface. After a moment of reflection, he glanced back and realised he was finally a safe distance from the fire. He turned and looked behind the bar.
And saw Stephen laying on the floor, face-down.
Shit.
"Ste … Stephen?" he spluttered. Alex attempted to stand upright, but his fragile legs quavered and almost buckled beneath his unbalanced weight. He remained rooted to the spot, and relied on the slick wooden surface for temporary support. The increasing heat behind him was slowly becoming unbearable.
He tried again, "Stephen … Stephen."
No movement, but the bar man was lying in the foetal position, alone. No debris littered the immaculate tiles beneath him, and the angled ceiling above, as confirmed by a hesitant glance and a crick in Alex's neck, yielded no severe harm or compromise. The only damage in the vicinity was a wide crack in the glass door of the fridge beside the fallen man, and Alex deduced that Stephen had been shot back by the blast of the explosion, causing the destruction. A coiling white mist leaked from the fissure and permeated into the cloying air.
"Stephen. Steph … en," he tried, for a third time.
Nothing.
Then the man's arm moved.
"Stephen. If you can hear me … I need you to get up."
The bar man rolled onto his back and let out a low, guttural groan. He coughed and spluttered, the violent action rocking his body to the side. He sat up slowly, and narrowed his eyes. A heavy bead of blood dribbled from Stephen's hairline, rolled down his face, and dripped off his chin. "Where am … I?"
"At work. A car bomb exploded outside. Took half of the pub with it."
Stephen's eyes widened in surprise, and a hand shot to the back of his injured head. The man howled in agony before dropping the appendage and staring at Alex, who nodded. "We need to get out of here, before the building falls on us."
Stephen raised his hand and stared at it. His wobbly palm dripped with rivulets of oozing red. His lips parted in surprise as he surmised the cranium bloodshed. He shook his head, ignored the injury for a moment, and pushed himself to his feet. His legs staggered him to the bar, putting him opposite Alex. Stephen lifted a burnt bar menu from the surface and tossed it aside.
"I suddenly don’t feel hungry anymore," Alex muttered.
Both men laughed weakly, and then winced as their injured bodies failed them. In unison, they surveyed the carnage that surrounded them. Wood crackled and shifted unsafely, and the searing flames licked and grew by the second. Through the coiling smog, Alex could see a number of still shapes and figures. Whether it was broken furniture or dead bodies, he wasn’t sure. And he didn’t want to find out.
Stephen wiped his forehead. "I can't … can't believe this happened. Why aren't we dead?"
"Luck, or severe misfortune, depending how you look at it."
"So, you're a bloody philosopher now, huh?"
"Maybe," Alex uttered, unsure on how to respond.
Stephen smirked. "Wise on the ways of life, but you still can't call your bloody wife."
Alex nodded as realisation dawned on him. He padded his pockets with frantic hands, sending more plumes of twirling dust to the floorboards beneath. He located his phone and lifted it before him. Sighed when he saw the cracked screen and the bent chassis. He pressed a few buttons, but nothing happened. No lights, no sound. He grunted and tossed the useless phone aside.
"I'm sorry," Stephen said, sincerely. "I really am."
"I can still call her. I just need a new phone. And some Wi Fi signal."
"That ol' chestnut. I would offer my phone, b
ut I do not possess such an item."
Alex stared at his new friend. "Really?"
"I have no need for one. My privacy is immensely valued, and a mobile phone intrudes on that to some degree. No, the home phone and an answering machine is quite enough, thank you. With a boss like mine, trust me…"
"Impressive, in this day and age."
"Thank you. But that still doesn’t solve your problem."
"No, and we won't solve it by standing here. Let's go," Alex proposed.
Stephen stumbled around the bar and they hobbled out of the burning establishment together, arm in arm. Stephen turned on one good foot, took one final look at the crumbling building, and grimaced.
"Stephen? C'mon, let's go."
The bar man nodded. Said nothing as they hobbled through a ragged hole in the wall and emerged on the empty street beyond.
TEN
Roy Knight ambled over to the large window and placed his trembling fingers on the glass. Around him, the familiar sounds of the hospital faded out as he focused on the difficult task at hand, and the pungent smell of disinfectant became less intrusive as he considered the meagre options before him.
Stay or go.
Stay.
Go.
Hurry up and decide. Before she realises and sucks you back in.
He rubbed his forehead and breathed out. The air slowly fogged the thick glass, and he wiped a slow, firm line through the condensation with his thumb. His tired eyes followed the criss-cross of structural wiring between the two panes and became lost in anonymous thought, as the contact of sweaty flesh on glass caused a miniscule squeak.
You can just walk away.
Now.
Do it.
The door's right over there.
Start over. Go somewhere new.
She won't find you.
You owe it to yourself to live a happy life.
In the room beyond, he watched as several doctors smoothly transferred Kimberley to an operating table, in preparation for the birth. The woman was a sodden mess; red-faced, panting and screaming, striking out at those who tried to help her. Most of all, she was alone and frightened. Roy watched on like a total stranger, impassive. He didn’t care anymore. No emotion pushed or nagged him to enter the room to provide any level of support to his girlfriend, and no amount of guilt would ever be able to appeal to his better nature.
Not anymore.
"Mr Knight?"
Roy snapped from his darkened reverie and turned to his left. The young paramedic from the ambulance was stood beside him. He smiled at her, and realised he was happy for the unexpected company. Or welcome distraction. "Hello."
She nodded to the window. "Squeamish?"
Roy narrowed his eyes, and finally cottoned on. "Yes, yes. A little. I just want them to get her ready. I don’t want to get in the way."
The paramedic nodded. "Never fear, all husbands go through this at some point."
"We're not married," he said quickly, a little forlorn. Before, he would have felt a pang of regret at such a notion, found quiet depression in the fact that he wasn’t good enough to be considered marriage material. Now, he felt nothing but relief that an impending child was their only emotional bind. "We … we never got that far."
"Traditional is overrated. Each to their own."
"Indeed."
Roy found his eyes roaming to the paramedic. She was a little shorter than he remembered, but then, she'd been sitting down in the ambulance for the duration of the trip. Her spiked black hairstyle was short and fashionable, well-maintained, and perfectly accentuated her slim face and cheekbones. Her bristly green eyes spoke of yearning intelligence and adventure and broad horizons. She looked like someone who did what she wanted, and wasn’t afraid to pursue it, something Roy knew little about. She continued to stare into the room, unaware of Roy's attention, comfortable in the medical chaos that was ensuing.
"You off-shift?" he asked.
"Not yet. I have to make sure she gets settled. Professional courtesy and all that."
Roy nodded, and continued his sly appraisal of the attractive woman beside him. Her green coat covered a majority of her body, and left the shape of her figure a mystery. Slim legs branched from beneath the garment, and well-manicured hands poked from the arms. He suspected a pert rump and small breasts, an athletic figure for someone who lives an active vocation.
"I wondered if you fancied getting a drink sometime?"
The words tumbled out before Roy realised what he had said. The paramedic flinched and turned to him, aghast. Her eyes widened as the impact of the highly inappropriate question took its toll. He remembered the utter look of disdain she had shot him in the ambulance, and her new reaction brought it all crashing back.
"You're joking, right?"
Roy shook his head. Too late now. "No."
"You're married."
"I'm not married –"
"And you're having a kid," she said, pointing through the glass. "Right now."
"Yes, but –"
"No, thank you. That poor woman. She deserves better. Who do you think you are?"
And with that, the woman took her leave. She walked away and disappeared around a corner, never to be seen again.
Roy turned back to the glass and groaned. "Fuck."
Which is when he noticed the doctor beckoning to him from within the mass of bright lights, surgical gowns, wide-spread legs and silver operating trays and tables. He sighed, slumped in the shoulders, pushed the left double door and finally entered the room.
"Where is he, the fucking cunt! Where's Roy? I want Roy! You there, where is –"
Roy hesitated, wiped his brow, and walked over to Kimberley. He slowly took her hand. "I'm here, Kim. I'm here."
"About fucking time, you useless piece of shit … arghhhh, you did this to me, you fuck! This is all your fauuuuuult!"
"It's fine. It's nearly over," he said, incorrectly and unwisely.
"Yeah, we'll see how nearly over it is when you squeeze a melon out of your fucking anus. Arghhh, cunt!"
The doctor looked up, his head positioned between the pregnant woman's legs. He started talking in a low tone as he prepared the baby and his mother for birth. His voice was somewhat muffled by his surgical mask. The two nurses behind Kimberley patiently awaited further instruction. "Easy now, Ms Palmer. I need you to control your breathing. Like you did in the lessons."
Kimberley staggered her breathing. "Like this … cheap cunt … paid for lessons –"
Roy took offense. "That was your choice, not mine –"
"Enough. Now is not the time for a domestic squabble. Ms Palmer, I need you to breathe. Regulate, okay. One … two. One … two. Can you do that? Lamaze breathing. Do as the nurse is instructing."
"Okay … okay," she said, suddenly submissive.
Roy clutched her hand and leaned in close. "This is it, Kim. Our baby."
Kim fought the pain and flicked Roy the briefest of smiles, one laced with joy and actual happiness. Roy felt his mind wander again, and found himself circling the emotional drain. He'd never seen that look before, or anything near as fond or intimate. Kim never showed her true feelings; years ago, he'd given up on receiving any such emotion from her. He glanced down at the doctor, watched him work, and embraced the chaos. Was she beginning to come around to the idea of parenthood, that he might be an equal in this relationship?
The doctor looked up. "Ms Palmer, I need you to be ready to push. When those contractions come, give it all you have, okay?"
Kim nodded, began to concentrate and started to whoosh her breaths, as instructed, in preparation for the contractions. Roy winced a little as she squeezed his hand with seemingly inhuman strength.
"Now, Ms Palmer, the contractions are beginning to speed up. This is it. Are you ready?"
Kim nodded as she felt the contraction grip her body. "Yes, yes!"
"Push!"
Kim nodded again, and did as instructed. Sweat rolled off her slick flesh in speeding torrents,
drenching her already soaked t-shirt. A banshee-like scream echoed around the room as the unfathomable pain quickly seized her, and pushed the woman to the outer limits.
"Very good. Now, again."
"What?" Kim spluttered, spraying her front with saliva. She could feel the doctor's palms on her inner thighs.
"Push."
Kim breathed in and pushed once more. Her cheeks blazed a deep red as she gurned, and another scream escaped her exhausted lips. Her body went slack. She flopped down, defeated. "I can't … I can't…"
"You can. You need to. Take a breath and try again."
Roy leaned in to Kim, placed his face near hers. "You can do this. I believe in you."
Kim turned her head to the side. Her needful gaze latched onto her partner's, found him, and bonded them together. In that moment, for the very first time, they were truly one, a couple bonded by love. She forced a brief smile and found her eyes flickering back and forth as she studied Roy's kind face.
"I don't deserve you," she finally uttered.
It took Roy by complete surprise, but he rode the immense wave of happiness, feigned any delirious connection to the offbeat comment. All thought of walking away and leaving were diminished in that very second. He squeezed her hand and simply nodded. Said nothing for fear of ruining a cherished moment he never expected to happen.
Kim smiled. She didn’t need words for comfort. His longing gaze was enough.
She faced front and began to push, her hand firmly in Roy's tight, loving grip.
"We have an abnormal amount of sweat, nurse. Can we get a damp towel over here?"
The second nurse turned, collected the item, and began dabbing at Kimberley's forehead and neck. Kim sighed in relief at the cool touch of the damp cloth, and closed her eyes when the sweat was wiped away. She sighed.
The doctor nodded. "Now, a few more pushes, Ms Palmer, and you can say hello to your beautiful baby. Are you ready?"
Kim nodded, and noticed that the contractions were speeding up.
"Push."
With cheeks scorched red, and sweat running off every inch of her burning flesh in heavy rivulets, Kim tensed every muscle in her body and flexed. For the first time, she felt serious movement down below, and latched onto the beautiful process that was currently developing within her body. She chuckled a little, forced a laugh. "I can … I can feel the baby."
