Leila: Goddess The Second Coming

by R. J. Castille

  As promised, several hours later, Gordon was accompanying me as I slowly walked the hallways of the post-partum unit. I passed several doors whose mothers all held their babies in their arms, cooing and kissing their foreheads. A tinge of jealously reared its head as we inched our way toward the double-doors of the unit that specialized in the care of premature infants. Distracted by the sadness I suddenly felt, I dismissed any thoughts but those of my poor babies, wired and tubed in a house of glass.

  Gordon pressed the button on the right of the doors and waited for the static to clear and a human being to inquire through the speaker. He held his wrist bracelet up toward the camera that was mounted above the button and waited. A distinct click sounded and the door cracked, allowing him to push it inward. We cleared the doorway, Gordon assisted me with the tubing that still had me wired to the portable IV machine I was strapped to, and ushered me toward the nurses’ station around the corner. One of the nurses looked up as we approached, recognized Gordon and nodded in his direction as we continued past their desk without a word. My heard raced faster with each step we took deeper into the NICU, the anxiety threatening to take control once again.

  1…2…3…

  I needed to make it through this, for them, my babies. For Gordon, my new-found love. For my future. I was having difficulty pushing forward, luckily no one noticed as I was still pulling the IV with me everywhere I went. He did not push me, he simply gestured in their direction once we reached their resting point. My heart pounded so hard in my chest, I could feel it in my throat. An agonizing sensation as the adrenaline coursed through my veins.

  4…5…6…

  Two incubators sat side-by-side in the corner of the NICU. Identification cards on them read, King-Roth Boy 1, and King-Roth Boy 2. I was touched that Gordon had given them a name already, staking claim to his new family publicly. He stood his ground, and allowed me to approach them on my own. My eyes welled up, blurring my vision, as I looked from baby to baby. Gordon was right, they were perfect. Tiny, but perfect .

  I stood there with one hand on either incubator for some time before anyone bothered me. Finally, Gordon walked slowly up behind me, putting his arm around my waist, allowing me to sink into his shoulder. Turning my head into his embrace, I cried, sobbing loudly as my tears wet his shirt. The nurses glanced up at us for a brief moment, before carrying on their business, checking each tiny infant as they made their rounds throughout the space.

  Overwhelmed and exhausted, Gordon guided me back to my room. I argued at first, stating that I would not leave their side until they were in my arms, but he insisted that I needed my rest to recover. Without me at my fullest capacity, they could never do well. His arguments were undeniable and I finally acquiesced to his request. He helped me into my bed once we found our way back through the maze of hallways to my room, pulling the warmed blanket he had requested from the nurses’ station on our way past up to my neck, tucking in the sides firmly as he pulled one hand back and placed it on my forehead.

  Amber returned with a needle in her hand and nodded in Gordon’s direction. He moved to the side and allowed her access to the tubing that made its way toward my arm and injected another dose of pain medicine. She took her usual notes, scribbling information quickly onto her pad before exiting the room as swiftly as she had appeared. Gordon left his hand planted on my forehead, stroking gently with his thumb as I allowed the drugs to take their hold and sank downward into a heavy sleep.

  Leaving the hospital several days later, without my babies, was the hardest thing I ever did. I visited them in the NICU every day that I was there and was assured by the nursing staff I could come every single day and see them. That was the only thing that convinced me to leave the post-partum unit, the fact that I would have unlimited access to my twins.

  Before I was discharged, I was bombarded by a short, quick-tempered woman who shoved paperwork in my face, demanding that I name both babies before I left. I regarded Gordon from across the room, raising both eyebrows in a silent question. He had become very accustomed to my gestures and required no words to respond.

  “Gordon Roth, Jr.,” he stated matter-of-fact, “for the elder twin. What are your thoughts on the other?” I was surprised at his gesture, but quickly remembered his sentiments before all the chaos had begun. He was willing to accept them, no matter what the outcome. I could only hope that would hold true in the end.

  I looked at him. I was at a loss, having thought we had plenty of time to discuss that over the next two months. Unfortunately, fate had other plans, and I was lying in a hospital bed, discussing the name of our younger twin son.

  “I have no idea, Gordon. Honestly, I had not even begun to think of names, I was so wrapped up in the court drama,” I was trying to be honest and hoped he did not take my comment as a jab. He smiled, fortunately he appeared not to notice my comment, his eyes wandering off.

  “I would love to name the other after my late Father, Gregory,” he met my eyes, eyebrows raised high questioning my opinion.

  “Gregory, I like that. Gregory is good. Daddy,” I winked at him, the biggest smile that had ever graced his face was what I received in return. Every ounce of Gordon’s happiness emitted from his face as he practically skipped across the room after filling out the blank spaces, and handed it to the woman who was lurking just outside the door, not-so-patiently waiting for us to finish. I watched her practically snatch the paperwork from his hand, as if we had intruded on her day, and stomp off in the opposite direction. I was relieved to see her go.

  We drove in silence for some time before Gordon reached forward to the dashboard of my Jaguar and turned the radio on. He knew how much music relaxed me and was attempting to appease me as well as break the uncomfortable silence. Gordon, Jr. and Gregory would remain in the NICU for some time and visiting them in the hospital through gloved hands would have to suffice. I was reeling with the gravity of my life, it was sweet of him to refrain from speaking until I was prepared to respond. When we pulled into the penthouse parking lot and Gordon pulled the car carefully into a space, I still had not found it in me to speak.

  Gordon insisted I wait in the car as he retrieved a wheel chair from the reception area of the penthouse. Once he emerged from the building and neared the car, I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door, allowing him to circle around the vehicle and gain access to where I was seated. I used the handle of the door to pull myself out of the door before dropping myself carefully into the seat of the chair. He pulled me back slightly, cleared the door and started pushing me toward the sidewalk before swinging his arm back and closing my door. I heard the alarm beep as he pressed the remote inside his pocket and moved me closer to the entrance.

  The air was cool inside the lobby, a blast of which was pushed down into our faces as we crossed the threshold into the building. Gordon nodded at the receptionist as we passed and pressed the button to summon the elevator. He pushed me inside once the doors slid open and pressed the code to allow us access to the top floor. Gliding upward, I barely noticed the sun setting on the ocean, lighting the waves on fire in its wake. I was focusing on the floor, my heart and mind far away, at the NICU where my helpless babies lay without me.

  I was helped out of my hospital gear and into a cotton pajama set that I had not seen before. Gordon had done some shopping in my absence, choosing what he considered the most comfortable things he could find. He offered his arm when we reached the side of the bed, pulling back on me as I used him to pull myself from the wheelchair. Practically picking me up off the floor and placing me on the mattress himself, Gordon lowered me carefully onto the bed before pulling the wheelchair out of the way and ensuring I was securely in place .

  “I am going to get your things, Leila. Relax, I will be back soon,” his voice sounded far away as I zoned out on the waves sparkling in the rays of the sun, a burning globe swiftly sinking into the ocean on the horizon. He nodded silently to himself, convinced I would be fine during a brief trip to the parking lot an
d back. I hardly noticed he was gone when he returned, I felt him shuffling about behind me, the bag of my belongings carefully set aside as he neared my side again.

  Gordon slowly lowered himself onto the bed, careful not to disrupt my position with his weight, and grasped my hand in his. I turned my head finally and locked my eyes on his. Misty-eyed, he stared down at me, I could tell he was struggling with what to say. Finally, after several moments, he was able to utter something meaningful and hopeful.

  “Remember, my Leila, my Goddess, I am eternally yours. I would give up my riches for you, if only to bask in your glory. I love you, Leila, I am sorry all of this has happened to you,” he sniffled, forcing back the tears that had formed in his eyes. I looked at him, silent, processing his words carefully. On one hand, I was thankful he was still around, and had accepted both babies, regardless of the outcome of DNA results that were still yet to come. I was relieved he was at my side and I was not facing such a horrible situation alone. Most of all, I was happy. Happy that he wanted me in his life and was willing to do whatever it took to keep me there.

  -32-

  Weeks slid by, Gordon Jr. and Gregory still housed at the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, my arms still empty. I visited them daily, spending hours talking, singing and even reading to them. Finally, able to touch them with my bare hand nearly four weeks after they were born, I was overjoyed to finally have real contact with my babies. Gordon was patient and kind, allowing me all the time at the hospital I needed without so much as a word in protest. Tumultuous feelings flooded through me when the nurses told me that they were sure I would be able to take them home shortly. They assured me time and again that, typically babies born at that period of gestation, once stabilized, were released to go home after a month or two. That thought was comforting and frightening simultaneously.

  I had done my best to prepare the penthouse for their arrival. Most of my time was spent with them in the NICU, I had given myself very little extra to get ready for them. In a panic, that evening, I scurried about, cleaning, dusting and preparing the nursery to welcome them. I had not had a chance to buy much, as the twins were born quite early and I had since been focused on watching them grow stronger inside their incubators. Now that it was almost time for them to occupy the nursery, it was still fairly empty.

  Gordon fixed that with several phone calls. The following day, before I had a chance to get out the door to the hospital, I was greeted by numerous delivery men and women who rushed past me into the nursery once I showed them where it was and set about transforming the room into a habitable space. Two men erected matching cribs, finishing it off with adorable bedding with monkeys and elephants scattered across the fabric. A changing table was placed next to the cribs, fully stocked with diapers, wipes, practically every supply possible for cleaning a baby’s soiled rear-end. In a flash, they were finished and scurried about, picking up any trace of their presence there on their way toward the exit. I signed my name on the line indicated when one of the gentlemen stopped long enough to ask my opinion and obtain proof that they had been there and delivered, as promised. Scrawling my name across the line, the man looked at it carefully, nodded his head curtly and disappeared into the elevator with his coworkers.

  By the end of the week, I was anxiously awaiting the doctors at the NICU to give me the same indication as the nurses had. They were not as easy to get information from. One specialist nodded in agreement, stating that they could be released in a day or two, while the other simply murmured to himself, stupid nurses should know when to keep their mouths shut. I presumed he did not want me to get my hopes up that the twins would be coming home sooner rather than later.

  To my surprise, when I arrived on Saturday morning for my routine visit and day with the twins, I was told by Dr. Mumbles himself that Gordon Jr. and Gregory would be released that afternoon. He assured me that they had made excellent progress and that he and his associate neonatologists believe that both twins would thrive. I could not have been more relieved. As soon as he left the room, I immediately grabbed my cell phone from my purse, pressed the screen and searched quickly through my contacts. When I located Gordon’s number, I pressed the screen and held the phone to my ear.

  “Leila, what is it, is everything ok?” Gordon had become so anxious about the entire ordeal that he did not even give me a chance to greet him, nor did he greet me before firing a barrage of questions at me. I breathed in deeply, attempting to maintain a calm persona as I started to speak. Honestly, I was trying to surprise him with the news, and hoped that the tone in my voice did not give it away.

  “Everything is fine Gordon. In fact, everything is wonderful, our boys are coming home,” I could not control the quiver in my voice as tears forced their way from my eyes, spilling down my cheek, leaving a trail of moisture down my face. At least for once this time, they were tears of joy.

  “Really? I am so happy! I will leave work right now, meet you at the hospital in time for their release,” Gordon was speaking fast, an obvious sign he was excited. Our babies were finally coming home and we could move on into the future together, as a family. He forgot to say goodbye and simply hung up on me. Old habits, die hard I thought to myself as I approached the incubators where my twins waited for me.

  By the time Gordon reached the hospital, both babies were securely strapped into their infant seats. Gordon had pulled the Jaguar into the U-Shaped pick-up area and ran back up the stairs to help me carry them out. We thanked everyone at the NICU as we were handed several stacks of papers and ushered toward the exit. The nurses were all smiles of hope and merriment. I was nervous but happy that we were leaving the false lighting and recirculated air of the hospital and finally taking them home. It was a load off my mind, at least one load, and I felt like a ton of bricks had been lifted from off my chest.

  Both car seats were fastened in to either side of the backseat of the car, I was firmly planted between them, not wanting to take my eyes off of them, for even a second. Before he closed the door, Gordon made sure we were all fine, settled in. I nodded in agreement when he asked to which he responded by closing the door and sinking in behind the wheel of my car. He drove slowly through the surface streets, humming along with the music that played as he drove. His eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror and he smiled, his lips stretching so far, I was sure his face would tear with the effort. I returned the sentiment and he turned his attention back to the cars in front of him.

  The penthouse no longer seemed that large, when we stepped off the elevator, two car seats and several bags in tow. I dropped the bags I was carrying from my left hand and hoisted Gregory up onto the bed, setting the infant seat far back from the edge. Gordon followed suit with Gordon Jr. placing them side-by-side on top of the mattress. We stepped back and stared down at them, sleeping motionless, tiny specks in the center of the expansive surface of the car seat. I stepped toward Gordon Jr., carefully unfastening his restraints and eased him from the seat, supporting his head with one hand as I pulled him toward me. Turning toward Gordon, I gestured for him to take his new son.

  Gordon’s eyes widened and he took a half step backward. I could see fear behind his eyes, coupled with curiosity and wonder. His large hands reached forward and carefully took the tiny being into his arms. Cradled in the crook of his elbow, Gordon Jr. continued to sleep, stirring briefly before settling into Gordon’s arms and falling quickly back into his slumber. The look on his face was priceless as I repeated the process with Gregory. He sat, frozen in time, one baby resting in either arm, staring from face to face. He had not yet touched them with his bare hands, nor had he held them in the NICU. It was Gordon’s first time holding the life that he had helped me to create and I saw a deep love behind his eyes as he held them in his arms.

  -33-

  Considering the unusual circumstance that I faced when I was at the courtroom preparing to give my testimony in Matthew’s case, the judge was kind enough to allow me to make my statement off-site. Instead of having to drag m
yself back to the courthouse, I was permitted to use my laptop and built-in webcam to use the Skype feature to video conference in. I was accosted by a barrage of questions from both the Defense and the District Attorney. Both sides were trying equally hard to make their case. Still under oath, as I was reminded, I answered their questions to the best of my ability.

  Within two weeks, the decision had been made: guilty of attempted manslaughter. Matthew was sentenced to five years plus time served, taking his total time down to four-and-a-half years. When Master Jason texted, and gave me the news I was both relieved and devastated simultaneously. My heart went out to him, knowing that he was a good soul and undeserving of jail time, despite Gordon’s insistence that he almost killed him and justice needed to be done. I had a hard time grasping that concept.

  A huge weight was lifted off of my shoulders. At least I knew the outcome, it was accepting it that I was having difficulty with. On the other hand, there was still one matter as of yet unresolved. Gordon and I had visited the office he had chosen to do the DNA testing on the twins. I sat in front of the glove-clad woman who used long cotton swabs to take cells from inside my cheeks followed by each twin. She carefully placed each swab into a clear, plastic, biohazard bag. After each sample, she labeled the bag carefully with the name of the subject and moved on to the next, completing her task in a robotic fashion. The last samples came from Gordon, who looked on nervously as each swab was sealed. We were assured that Matthew’s sample would be retrieved, based on a court order Gordon had worked with his associates at the District Attorney’s office to obtain. In one short week, we would all finally know the answer to the huge question mark that still hung in the balance.