Christ Clone

by McLeod, David

  She let out a small scream as a big contraction hit her; immediately, she forgot her breathing techniques and started to cry. Beverly calmed her, saying the doctors were on their way, and she breathed with Mary to help centre her.

  'Breathe with me, Mary; they'll give you the epidural soon, honey,' Beverly said, stroking her arm. She'd already told Mary that the epidural would numb her from the waist down, and right now that was all Mary could think about.

  The doctor arrived to do another cervical exam; she was now four to five centimetres dilated. The anaesthesiologist came in a few minutes later and told her to sit on the side of the bed with her feet on the seat of the chair and curl herself forward. She was told not to move at all, even if a contraction wave came. He injected the numbing medicine through a catheter inserted into her lower back. The pain was almost unbearable, and she felt like her lungs were going to collapse from the pressure. She was scared, and started crying and screaming. Beverly was right next to her, talking to her and stroking her hand. The epidural kicked in and suddenly Mary felt light-headed. The pain had gone; in fact, she couldn't feel anything below her waist. Once her pain had gone, so was the desire to cry and scream — there was peace in the room again.

  She was connected to an IV to prevent dehydration, and the leads from the NST machine kicked it back into life. Graph paper spewed from the machine with numbers printed on it. It registered contractions from zero to a hundred and fifty; without contractions, the line would be at zero, and as the wave peaked, the line would hit over the one hundred mark. The epidural was definitely doing its job; Mary watched the graph with a smile on her face. The room was beginning to fill up, doctors, nurses, and suits. Mary felt like the star of the show.

  The next exam hit seven centimetres and she wondered how big the gap had to get. Her insides started to burn as she dilated to eight centimetres; the doctor turned to one of the nurses who immediately noted the result.

  'What's wrong? What's happening?' Mary gasped.

  'You're doing great, Mary, everything's fine,' said Beverly.

  Mary started to get feeling back below her waist and she knew the epidural was beginning to wear off. Between her deep breaths, she pointed this out to the doctor, who in turn called for the anaesthesiologist. He returned and topped up the medication. Beverly went over the delivery process again with her — particularly the pushing and the breathing parts.

  With the additional drugs not kicking in yet, the pain had returned and Mary was almost at breaking point. Another cervical exam showed ten centimetres dilated and a hundred per cent effaced; time to go.

  'How about if you try to push,' the doctor said.

  Mary looked at Beverly who stood at her side, while two other nurses bent her legs up in the air. Beverly positioned Mary's hands to the backs of her thighs, and told her to push. The pushing felt awkward, like forcing out wind and just getting red-faced. She kept up a sequence of attempts to push between bursts of fast, shallow breaths. Then a really big wave hit her, bringing with it the reflex pushing action. Her eyes closed tightly, and loud grunts joined the choir of her breathing. It seemed like all the people in the room were panting in time with her. As she pushed, Beverly counted to ten; the count was to help Mary focus on holding her breath.

  Mary looked up at the TV, and she could see what everyone was looking at. A camera was picking up the whole event and relaying it to the screen. The image shocked her at first, but shortly became her point of focus.

  She was approaching exhaustion, and with each contraction she was getting more and more nauseous. Beverly wiped a wet washcloth over her forehead to help cool her in the hope that would ease her nausea. The doctor told her the baby was in the birth canal and they were almost there. He told her to push harder, but the process seemed to have stopped; no matter how hard she pushed, the baby wouldn't budge. The baby was crowning, but wouldn't or couldn't go further. Mary's pain was excruciating, and her screams were deafening. The baby just had to get past the last few bands of muscle, so the doctor made the decision to deliver using forceps.

  All the lights in the room were turned on and trays of instruments were wheeled in, next to the bed. The end of the bed was removed so the doctor could gain easy access to her. A newborns' scale and warming machine were wheeled in and two nurses stood ready to handle the baby. The doctor performed an episiotomy and Mary felt all three snips. She watched on the screen as the doctor inserted the right forceps and then the left forceps into the birth canal. He connected the two pieces together and told her to push on the next contraction.

  With the next wave, Mary pushed with what little strength she had left. The pain overtook her, and she almost fainted as her baby boy came into the world. The two nurses, working as a team, suctioned his nose and mouth, and everyone waited for his first breath. The wait seemed like an age. Everyone in the room held their breath until, finally, he let out a loud cry.

  A round of applause and sighs of relief swept around the room. The baby was taken to the scale where his birth measurements were recorded as eleven pounds four ounces, and twenty-two inches long.

  Beverly told Mary that they would give him an APGAR Test, which evaluated his heart rate, breathing, muscle tone, reflexes, and skin colour.

  'Each trait is scored zero to two. A total of seven or higher means the baby is in good condition,' she explained. And then, 'Congratulations,' she announced. 'He's a ten out of ten!'

  The torment wasn't over for Mary yet. Due to the way the forceps were used, she'd received a fourth-degree tear from front to back. It took just under an hour to stitch her up. She watched her baby being taken away as she finally drifted off to sleep.

  18

  LOS ANGELES

  They'd arranged to meet at Denny's, a diner close to the police station. Malone actually liked the menu, and always asked to sit in a booth. He'd arrived early and ordered himself a Super Bird sandwich, fries, and a coffee; he asked for the coffee now, and the sandwich to be delivered when his friend joined him. Opening a file, he started to review his own investigation. Whichever way he looked at it, he had nothing.

  Logan arrived a little late as usual. 'Traffic was bad,' he said flippantly as he sat down opposite.

  Malone looked up at him and smiled. The men shook hands, and Logan called the waitress over and ordered a coffee.

  'So what have you got there, Malone? Looks like you've been very busy.'

  Malone shook his head. 'I've got nothing, really nothing. I was hoping you'd have something for me.'

  The waitress returned with the coffee and the food, and asked Logan if he wanted anything to eat. He declined.

  'Stomach still acting up?' Malone asked

  'Burns like an inferno. Where were we?'

  'Like I said, I've followed up on everything I can, and I've come up with zip. I wanted to see you today, just to get some form of update — literally anything for me to go forward with.' Malone's eyes looked red and tired.

  Taking a sip of his coffee, Logan looked solemn. 'I don't know what to tell you. I've assisted on the Salinas case; the officers are doing the best they can. Word on the street is that you've been busy visiting plumbers.'

  Malone looked embarrassed.

  'We're pretty sure the guy isn't a plumber.'

  'Yeah I know, but I had to do something. The Salinases — did you get anything else from them?'

  'No. The thing is, Malone, they know nothing. We dug into their past and they're clean. They even offered to take a polygraph; I guessed that was something you told them to do. Truth is, they were very cooperative. I wish you went to see all the families of recent abductions.' He quickly retracted the last statement. 'Sorry man, I wasn't thinking.'

  Malone waved it away. 'I'm glad to be of service.'

  'The neighbours, relatives and friends, all came up negative. The plumbing truck was a dead end. She's disappeared without a trace. There seems to be no logical reason, nothing to link her to anything or anyone we know. She seems to be another unsolved sta
tistic and I'm sorry I can't dress this up any nicer.'

  'What about the brooch?' Malone had an idea that it was going to be nothing, but he thought he'd ask anyway.

  'There's a good one. One of the stores in the mall called Aviary's runs a promotion as part of their sale week. They give them away free, a gift with purchase deal, a choice of three different designs. We spent a couple of days on that one,' Logan smiled.

  Malone leaned back in his seat, pushing his plate away.

  'So it seems like it's another Malone wild-goose chase then.'

  'Don't be like that, you couldn't have known; you followed your instincts, and I have to tell you, you've given me renewed enthusiasm for my job. I even managed to get a lead on a case that's been all but . . .' Looking over at Malone, Logan decided not to continue.

  Malone was quiet for a moment, and then took a deep breath. 'To be honest, Logan, I'm strangely okay about all of this; my daughter's gone, and I need to move on.'

  The men stood and shook hands again. Logan made a move to leave, then turned back to Malone. 'By the way, are you still on the wagon?'

  'We made a pact didn't we?' He smiled and walked out.

  Malone finished up his coffee and decided to take a trip around to the Salinases, he felt the need to bring them up to speed about the brooch and see if he could be of any help, even if it was just being another person for them to talk to.

  19

  LOS ANGELES

  Standing outside the Los Angeles Missing Persons' Office, Malone used his reflection in the window to straighten his tie. For the past week he'd been going over Logan's comment about him being helpful to the Salinases, and had finally decided to act on it. He'd spent a lot of time here at Missing Persons in the past, and their information and advice had helped to keep him on track — in the first year of his daughter's disappearance anyway.

  The appointment was set for ten o'clock. He checked his watch and went in. The office was smaller than he remembered, and its open-plan layout meant he was in the thick of things from the moment he entered. There was a lot of activity for such an early hour, and he wondered if this was the case every day. At the far end of the room a woman was printing and copying posters; almost everyone else was on the phone, either listening or giving advice.

  'Are you Michael Malone?' a woman called.

  Malone nodded.

  She was a buxom woman and looked to Malone like a hospital matron. She wore a frumpy floral dress, and judging by her looks, Malone figured she didn't spend much time on herself — certainly not on her makeup. But he felt immediately she had a warm look about her.

  'I'll be right with you, take a seat.' She pointed towards some office chairs against the wall, and continued her conversation on the phone.

  Malone dutifully sat down.

  'Veronica Nash!' she announced as she approached Malone with her hand extended.

  'Bit of a madhouse today,' Malone said as he shook her hand.

  'Bit of a madhouse every day!' she replied with a smile.

  This statement pretty much answered Malone's earlier question.

  'There's a small office out the back, or we can go across the road to Starbucks, away from the madness.'

  It wasn't a difficult choice for either of them so Malone waited while Veronica picked up some forms and a notepad, and they left the office.

  They ordered their drinks and took seats in the café's comfortable armchairs. Veronica let out a big sigh, put the forms down on the table and slumped back in her chair.

  'Well, Mr Malone, I've done some background checking on you, and I must say you seem like the perfect volunteer. A priest with firsthand experience in child loss, and according to the Salinases, you've already been a great help to them.'

  Malone blushed a little before answering. 'I need to correct you on a couple of things there. First, my current occupation can be summed up as between jobs, and as for the Salinases, I think they've helped me more than the other way around. Which, I guess, is why I'm here.'

  Veronica laughed at his modesty.

  Their drinks were called and Malone went to get them.

  When he returned, Veronica continued, 'Mr Malone, I won't beat around the bush, you'd be a welcome asset to the team. I'd love to have you on board. All you have to do is fill out these forms and say goodbye to your sanity.' She smiled as she offered him the forms and a pen.

  Malone paused a moment, then took the pen from her.

  Back in the office, Malone was introduced to everyone. He knew he wouldn't be able to remember all their names. Veronica handed him a pile of pamphlets and told him to take them to a desk and review them. He sat down and started to read.

  The first pamphlet was the charity's mission statement. It was simple — to offer practical help and advice to the families of missing people. Another pamphlet opened with some appalling facts about the number of people who were reported missing in America in one year. It wasn't far off the one million mark. Of that number, the FBI estimated, approximately eight hundred thousand were juveniles. Malone did the math in his head — over two thousand kids a day. His heart sank.

  He flicked quickly through the rest of the information. It wasn't that it didn't interest him, or even the fact he already knew the majority of it. It was just that he wanted to do something, rather than just read about it. The charity focused on missing children, in particular the ones who had been taken, rather than the ones who had left. The headings ranged from Non-Family Abductions and Family Abductions to a twenty-five-step checklist of what to do if you were looking for someone who had gone missing.

  The main message coming through in all the literature was that the first forty-eight hours were the most important.

  Veronica came over and patted Malone on the back. 'How's the information sinking in?' she asked.

  'More of a refresher course really . . .' Malone tried not to sound bored, but Veronica picked up on it.

  'Okay Action Man, I think we need to get you onto a project as soon as possible. We need to train you up before we let you loose on client counselling, so in the meantime, what are you like at fundraising?'

  'Well, it's been a while, but I'm sure it'll come back to me.' Malone wasn't going to give up the opportunity to get started, and was willing to do anything to keep occupied.

  The job was simple but repetitive. The older lady Veronica passed him on to went to great lengths to explain their system, an explanation that should have taken anyone under the age of a hundred less than five minutes.

  'This box contains the cards with the blue stickers on them. The blue stickers mean they are companies. You take the card out and review the details on it. The details are company name, address, and most importantly, the telephone number. Under the telephone number is the contact that we have for the company . . .'

  Her voice was a low-pitched monotone, and Malone's interest had started to drift. Every now and then he would nod or grunt to give her the feeling he was interested and listening.

  Malone didn't even notice when she finally finished.

  'I said, are there any questions?' she repeated.

  So basically, you take the company list, call the companies, speak to the Personnel or Marketing Department, and ask for a donation. Not exactly rocket science! It was perhaps just as well Malone said this in his head. 'No, I think you've managed to cover it all, and in such great detail. Thanks for your help,' he said aloud, and smiled at her. If she noticed his sarcasm she didn't show it.

  There were a few legal requirements Malone needed to be aware of, and as these were the things the old woman had struggled with, he was passed back to Veronica. Once these were covered, Malone started on the phone and quickly got into the swing of things. The list of companies in the LA area was endless, and the donations were few and far between, but he didn't care. He was doing something.

  Six o'clock came around very quickly. Malone didn't know where the time had gone.

  Veronica sat down next to him and let out a big sigh. 'How's y
our day been?' she asked.

  Malone's sigh was the equal of Veronica's. 'Seems like that's the first breath I've taken all day.'

  'I don't feel like rushing home. Do you feel like grabbing a spot of dinner?' Veronica's invitation sounded good, and as if on cue, Malone's tummy rumbled.

  'I guess we all agree,' he laughed.

  They went down the block to a small Italian restaurant and were seated near the window. The aroma of roasted garlic mixed with rosemary and oregano made Malone's mouth water. They ordered quickly and waited in silence until the drinks appeared. Veronica asked for a glass of Chianti and Malone had a sparkling mineral water; they toasted Malone's first day and started on some on the house garlic bread.

  'So how long have you been with the charity, Veronica?'

  'It will be ten years next month,' she announced with a sense of pride.

  'Wow, you're a lifer!' Malone hid his astonishment behind a joke.

  Veronica took a breath, preparing herself to give Malone the condensed version of her story; she could add in the details over time. 'Something like that. Like most of the volunteers here, I lost my child a long time ago . . .'

  Malone was about to say he was sorry to hear about her loss when Veronica continued, ' . . . but mine is a story with a happy ending — I got her back.'