Children of Hope

by Michael Fine

  “Ready?” Hope paused as if to wait for their responses. Their gags muffled their pleas. “Great. Good to hear. Here we go.”

  She turned the handles on the tanks of anesthesia.

  Chapter Forty

  Sunday, March 11 (the next day)

  4 days before vote on the Sanctity of Life bill

  It was well past midnight by the time Hope completed her surgeries. It took another hour for her to haul all of her equipment back to her rental car and another to dispose of it. Along the way, she called the Nassau County police from a prepaid phone and told them that Senator Royce Carrington and Reverend Porter Brooks were in need of medical attention at Senator Carrington’s home.

  By 4:00 a.m., she was back in her motel room and slept like the dead until her alarm woke her four hours later. She packed and drove to the airport.

  At the airport, Hope nervously waited to go through security. She didn’t think it was likely, but it was possible they would whisk her out of line and into some detention cell somewhere. The TSA agent spent considerably more time with her than normal, but perhaps it was because she couldn’t stop fidgeting. Once through security, she headed straight to a bank of television sets in one of the gate areas. None of the major news networks were reporting anything about an attack on Senator Carrington’s home. She found a bookstore-newsstand place and checked the papers, but then sheepishly realized that these would have been printed the previous day. She did her best to control her hyperventilation. She had a cup of coffee and a muffin for breakfast and immediately afterward rushed into a women’s bathroom and vomited.

  Hope boarded the plane without incident and took her cross-country flight back to California. She was too keyed up to sleep on the flight, and by the time she arrived back at her apartment in Redwood City by mid-evening, she was exhausted. She slept soundly through the night.

  When Hope woke the next morning, she felt a strange calm. She’d done what she’d done. It was time for what came next and she was willing to pay the price. She only hoped her actions weren’t in vain. She’d find out sometime in the next four days.

  Hope had done something illegal. Something wrong. Something monstrous. Yet she felt like her actions were justified, and that feeling scared her.

  Hope walked to the kitchen, drank a glass of water, and sat at her table. She thought about the detailed instructions she’d left behind for Carrington and Brooks.

  She hadn’t had time to figure out how to make a self-sustaining womb, with enough nutrients for the fetuses throughout their maturation. In any event, she figured it would require too many calories, which would take too much space within the men’s bodies. Instead, she’d rigged up a feeding tube to each artificial womb, letting them protrude slightly from the men’s bodies. The Senator and Reverend could “feed” their babies through the tubes. She left clear directions on how to use the tubes and keep them clean, and provided information about the types of nutrients to provide, and on what schedule. She was confident that if the men followed her instructions, the fetuses would remain healthy and grow normally.

  Hope was worried about the men’s bodies rejecting the artificial wombs. Rejection was a fact of life in these kinds of surgeries, but while in school she’d learned about some cutting-edge work being done on anti-inflammatory polymers. It was now possible to coat medical devices with a biomaterial made from a family of polymers found to reduce inflammation, specifically when it interacts with white blood cells. The coating calms the body’s immune response, reducing or eliminating the risk of implant failure. She’d coated the artificial wombs she implanted in the men with one of these polymers. Hopefully, that would keep rejection at bay. Of course, unlike, say, a heart transplant recipient, these men would only have her devices inside of their bodies for a limited time, by design. No more than nine months. The two rich and powerful men should be able to receive adequate medical care during that time. As well, in her instructions, she spelled out a specific regimen of anti-rejection medication.

  Hope was careful not to include anything in her letters about the explosives and sensors. No need for there to be any physical evidence of her bluff.

  Hope made herself a sandwich with the last can of tuna in her cupboard and mixed herself a cup of peach iced tea from her favorite powdered mix. She sat at her table and picked at her food until she finally decided to give up. She tossed the uneaten half of her sandwich down the garbage disposal, gulped down her tea, rinsed her glass, and put it into her dishwasher.

  Hope brushed her teeth and brushed her hair, and laughed at her vanity. Well, if they play the video on the nightly news, I might as well look presentable, she thought. She got her small tripod from her drawer of electronics, mounted her cell phone on it, and set it across from her on her kitchen table. She set her prepared remarks in front of her and pressed the RECORD button on her phone’s camera application. She took a deep breath and began.

  “Hello. My name is Hope Hunter. Yesterday, I impregnated Senator Royce Carrington and Reverend Porter Brooks. That’s right; the two men are now pregnant—‘with child’ as they say. Let me try to explain why I took the extraordinary steps I’ve taken.

  “Almost ten years ago, my sister, Angel Hunter, was raped. She was only fourteen years old. As fate would have it, she was raped on the very day that Roe v. Wade was overturned. Because of Louisiana’s trigger law, all abortion became illegal in the state that day. Angel was forced to carry the baby and give birth, against her will. A little less than eight months later, my sister died from complications during childbirth. This was a travesty of monumental proportions.

  “But overturning Roe was apparently not enough for these right-wing extremists. Both Senator Carrington and Reverend Brooks are personally responsible for the so-called ‘Sanctity of Life’ bill that is coming up for a vote at the end of the week. This law, if passed, will outlaw all abortion in the United States. All abortion, period. Even in the case of rape or incest. That outrages me. It should outrage every single person in this country.

  “My only regret is that Julian Kingsley, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, was not present at the time, as I believe his ruling to overturn Roe was done for personal and political reasons. And, of course, I wish that I could have somehow held President President Brock Owens, who admits to having a hand in crafting this terrible legislation, to account as well.

  “Behind my actions is one simple belief: If men had to deal with the possibility of being pregnant and of being forced to carry unwanted pregnancies to term, the laws of this country would be radically different. Misogyny is real. It permeates our government at the highest levels. If our laws—written and passed almost exclusively by men—also applied to men, things would be different. I believe that with all my heart. And so I decided to test my faith, as it were.

  “I am not asking for mercy. I am not bragging. I am explaining my actions, in the simplest terms I can think of. My hope is that they have the desired effect. And soon. Thanks for listening.”

  Hope got up and pressed the STOP button. Sadness permeated her recorded video, she knew, but that was an honest, raw emotion that now almost overwhelmed her.

  Satisfied with her recording, she closed her camera app. She rubbed her eyes and tried to shake away her melancholy. After calming herself, she opened her texting app and quickly texted everyone on the staff at the Pancake Shack and asked them to meet her at the restaurant the following morning at ten. It was time to open the restaurant for Charlie, she told them. She didn’t say that she would not be with them when they did.

  Hope spent the remainder of the day curled up on her couch binge watching “The Handmaid’s Tale,” a TV series from years earlier that dramatized a society in which women are brutally subjugated, and by law are not allowed to work, own property, handle money, or read. She figured she might not have access to Netflix wherever she was going, and she’d always wanted to watch the award-winning series that sadly seemed less and less like fiction every year.

  By m
idnight, Hope was sound asleep. She dreamed that after flying while being tied to an enormous bundle of helium balloons, she landed gently in a meadow filled with orange poppies and purple geraniums as the knots slowly, magically loosened. She lay perfectly still in the long, cool grass, and the balloons drifted away.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Monday, March 12 (the next day)

  Hope’s Apartment

  Redwood City, California

  3 days before vote on the Sanctity of Life bill

  A hummingbird chirped in the large oak tree behind Hope’s apartment. It sounded like an over-eager kid playing laser tag. God, how Hope normally hated that sound, despite how cute the tiny busybodies were. Yet this morning she somehow didn’t mind.

  Hope put on a pot of coffee, showered, and changed. She texted the waitstaff and cookstaff at the Pancake Shack to confirm they would meet her at the restaurant at ten. As she scoured the Internet for news of her activities at Senator Carrington’s house, everyone responded that they would meet her as scheduled. She was not surprised; Charlie was the kind of man who hired high-character people and instilled loyalty. Hang on, Charlie, I’m comin’.

  After an hour failing to find a single article about her activities two nights earlier, Hope closed her laptop, rinsed out the coffee pot and her mug, and grabbed her keys. She thought about taking Angel with her but settled for an awkward hug of the urn. It might be the last time she would be with her sister, she realized. Would they let her keep the urn with her in prison?

  Ten minutes later, she opened the door to the restaurant for the first time in over three weeks. She left the “Sorry, We’re Closed” sign on the door; they would open the restaurant tomorrow if all went well. She was sorry she wouldn’t be there to see it.

  Hope made her way into the kitchen. Except for a thin layer of dust, the place was spotless, just as Charlie always left it. His fastidiousness was one of the many things she liked and admired about him. That he was willing to die or go to jail for her was, of course, another. God, how she loved that crazy old man.

  As Hope was scrubbing the grill and countertops in the prep area, she heard the bells on the door. It was only 9:30 and she wondered who had arrived early; perhaps it was a team member expecting her to be here and willing to help her get a head start.

  She was about halfway through the opening that led from the kitchen to the public area of the restaurant when she saw who had arrived. It was that creep Norman Underhill, the guy hired by Derek, who had grabbed her ass here in the restaurant and then attacked her in the parking garage. She reached out with her left arm, which was still on the kitchen side of the opening and slowly explored the countertop with her left hand until she found what she was looking for: a cleaver. She quickly moved it to her right hand and stepped fully out of the kitchen. She was behind the counter, about twenty feet from the man.

  Norman Underhill saw the cleaver in Hope’s hand and the look on her face. He quickly raised his arms in a “I’m putting up my hands officer, don’t shoot” motion and said, “No, no, no. Wait. Wait. I came here to apologize.”

  Hope lowered the cleaver, but only a little. “Go on.”

  “I really, truly do apologize. For the garage, of course, but also for fondling you here at the restaurant. I should never have listened to Derek, that asshole.”

  Hope was shocked by Underhill’s changed demeanor. She was happy to hear the apology of course, but found herself wondering.

  “Why the sudden change of heart?”

  “I realized I was wrong, that’s all.”

  Hope decided to push. “I don’t believe you, Norman. Come on, you can tell me. Why the change of heart?”

  “Honestly?”

  “No… lie to me,” Hope said sarcastically. Softening, she said, “Yes, honestly. I think you owe me at least that much.”

  “Well, I, uh… there was, uh, this blog post I read about some men who were forced into being pregnant. It, uh, you know, made me rethink a lot of things, ya know?”

  She’d searched for over an hour and hadn’t found anything. But it appeared that the story was out, at least in some form. Maybe one of the EMTs talked to someone who talked to someone…

  “I appreciate the apology, Norman. I really do. I wish you would have come to that conclusion on your own, but I guess I’ll take what I can get,” Hope said.

  “Well, that’s it. That’s all I wanted to say. I won’t bother you again.” Underhill turned to leave.

  “Hey, Norman. Where’d you find that article? What website?”

  Norman spun around and answered her. He gave her the name of a right-wing conspiracy website she had never heard of.

  After Underhill left, Hope returned to the kitchen and put the cleaver down. She noticed that her hand wasn’t shaking at all. She wasn’t sure she liked what that meant.

  The crew arrived a few minutes after Underhill’s visit, which Hope did not mention. There were hugs all around, as the crew was a family in many ways. Certainly Charlie always treated them that way. Hope assigned jobs to everyone, and they got to work.

  José, one of the line cooks, made lunch for everyone, then wiped the griddle down again. The group sat and told stories about how they’d spent the few weeks since they’d last been at the restaurant. Hope lied and told everyone she was still busy at the hospital and at work. Nobody questioned her; it’s what they expected of her.

  By three, the restaurant was spic and span. Hope made a work schedule for the next two weeks, being sure not to schedule herself. When one of the other waitresses noticed and asked her about it, she demurred and said something about the fact that she might not be able to make any shifts for a while.

  Hope locked up the restaurant. Standing just outside the door, she pressed her hand against the cool glass of the door. I’m coming, Charlie. I just hope it helps.

  She swiped her phone and opened her email app. A few taps later, her confessional video was en route to CNN. She hopped on her bike and rode to the nearby Caltrain station and boarded a train to San Francisco. She’d thought about driving but couldn’t contemplate the astronomical parking fee she would owe if she had to leave her car parked in some $20-a-minute lot in the City while she served twenty years in prison.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Monday, March 12 (later the same day)

  FBI Office

  San Francisco, California

  3 days before vote on the Sanctity of Life bill

  The FBI office in San Francisco was a modern, glass building a block and a half east of Van Ness Avenue and about four blocks north of Market Street. The office was just to the southwest of the Tenderloin area, a gritty place Hope tried hard to avoid whenever she visited the City. She had never before seen the building, let alone needed to visit it. Let alone turn herself in at it.

  Hope left her bike in a bike rack off of Golden Gate Avenue, the street on which the office was located. She opened the door to the building and walked in.

  The office was quiet. She noticed a few agents sitting at desks in a bullpen area on the other side of a high counter that ran the length of the main room. Most were heads-down at their computers, while a few stood talking quietly. A fluorescent light flickered in the far corner.

  “May I help you,” asked a woman at the front desk who seemed interested in anything but helping people.

  “I’d like to talk to an FBI agent.”

  “What about?”

  “I’d like to confess to a crime. Several, actually.”

  The woman, a twenty-year veteran of the FBI, had seen her share of cranks and crazy people. This woman didn’t look crazy, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t.

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes. Really,” Hope said, returning the woman’s sarcasm. Given what was about to happen to her, what did she care if some woman with an attitude didn’t like her?

  “Take a seat over there,” the woman said, motioning with her arm to a waiting area.

  “Thanks so much for your help,�
� Hope said, not meaning it, and not hiding the fact. The woman didn’t even bother to look up; she simply went back to the stack of paperwork on the desk in front of her.

  Hope walked over to the waiting area and sat in one of the bright orange molded plastic chairs which, while hideous, were actually pretty comfortable. She looked up at the bank of muted TVs on the wall.

  The TV airing CNN showed a handsome news anchor talking in an overly animated way. The chyron on screen read “Is it possible for men to get pregnant?” So, her video had made it into the right hands and had been considered credible enough to report on, even if they did not include the names of Senator Carrington and Reverend Brooks, and weren’t airing her confessional video yet. Hope wished she could hear what was being said.

  The TV airing MSNBC also appeared to be showing coverage of the story, while Fox News was airing footage from the 2012 Benghazi attack and a chyron that stated, “New evidence Hillary Clinton prevented rescue.” Hope moaned. The story was the gift that kept on giving for Fox, even after all these years.

  Hope was looking up at the TVs when a lanky Hispanic man with a completely bald head approached.

  “I’m told you would like to speak to an FBI agent? And that you’d like to confess to a crime?”

  Hope stood and shook the man’s hand. “Yes, that’s right. My name is Hope Hunter and that”— she pointed to the TV set airing CNN—“is me. It’s true. It’s real,” Hope said. “It happened. And I did it.”

  The agent had CNN on in his office at all times and had seen the breaking news.

  “Tell me more.”

  “Until very recently, I was a resident in medical school. And a few days ago, I impregnated Senator Royce Carrington and Reverend Porter Brooks at Senator Carrington’s home in New York.”