An Everlasting Pursuit (PURSUIT, #3)

by Liv Bennett

  Taylor is right. I can scream and punch the walls ’til the sun goes down, but it won’t help a bit with the problem.

  “We have to freeze all the bank accounts, as well as the email accounts,” I say, with a somewhat calmer voice.

  “Sounds like a good step to begin with,” Taylor says, folding her hands on the table. “Bree, do you still have the phone number and the email address of the store, or anything about them that can help us locate them?”

  “I think I have. Let me check.” Bree grabs her phone, and I don’t miss the tremble in her hand, immediately regretting having poured out my anger on her. Minutes pass while she fumbles with her phone, trying to find that goddamn number. She doesn’t dare to look at me when she says with a quivering voice, “I don’t know what’s gone wrong, but I don’t have the number, neither the emails, although I’m sure I saved the number on my phonebook.”

  “All right. I’m calling the police. This’s more than we can handle internally,” Taylor says and produces her phone in a flash. I don’t hear a sound from Bree, not even breathing, as we both watch Taylor while she’s reciting our situation on the phone, without holding back a detail, including the information about the outrages messages that came close to shattering our marriage from the mysterious woman who claimed to be pregnant with my child.

  Jesus, can the two things be related? What kind of shit are we dealing with here?

  It dawns on me at that point. This is not just related to money or the new project, as I initially suspected. It’s deeper than that. It’s personal, and another truth hits me like a blow on the chest. Everything points to that. How I could miss that glaring fact is beyond me. The scheme with the phony pregnant woman. The hindrances of both signing the contract, then starting the project. The stolen money.

  They are all aimed to destroy... Taylor.

  11 – ADAM: When it rains…

  Two detectives from LAPD take over our case, and I hire an external audit to go through all the electronic and paper files to catch the rat among us. It seems the rat is more of a fox, because he has wiped away his traces so cleverly that nothing comes out of a week-long intensive investigation.

  The bank account that the company money was wired to turns out to be owned by a seventy-five-year-old veteran from Illinois. It’s clear he wasn’t the one behind the scam. He must have been victim of identity theft, as scammers usually prey on vulnerable victims, like elderly people. And, since the money was withdrawn on the same day of the transfer, it’s going to be damned near impossible to track it down, much less get it back.

  I have easy access to a half-million cash in my account, but Taylor declines any financial involvement from my side, and asks her financial advisor to sell stocks from her personal account to provide the lacking money and some more for the company. Although I’m frustrated by not being able to identify the thief, Taylor acts as if everything is back to normal when the audit consultants explain the results. Basically their failure to find the criminal.

  Taylor is talking on the phone to her adviser at the bank about the money she’s going to deposit to the company’s account, while I’m behind the wheel on our way to the clinic. I can’t be mad at her for not taking the case seriously. Right now, the missing three-hundred grand is the farthest thing from my own mind, for today is the day we’ll finally find out the gender of our baby.

  I’m almost sure it’s a boy, since Taylor threw up maybe once or twice in the entire twenty-week pregnancy. My older sister, Adriana, had violent first trimesters with morning sicknesses during all three of her pregnancies with my nieces. Eleanor, on the other hand, had a week or two where morning sicknesses took her down while pregnant with my only nephew, but she was symptom-free for the rest of the time.

  As much as I wish to have a daughter, who’ll adore me just like Taylor does, I can’t deny the pride I’ll have for a son who’ll continue my last name. I avoid voicing my thoughts to keep Taylor from seeing my chauvinist side. She’s most likely aware of it by now, but I’d rather not give her more material to mess with me.

  She disconnects the phone and turns to me, her beautiful face shining with another gorgeous smile. “I’ll go to the bank to sign papers for them to wire the money tomorrow morning. We should have it in the company’s account by the afternoon, the bank consultant says.”

  “Sounds good.” I keep my hands tight on the wheel, or they’ll find a way to land on Taylor’s pretty face.

  “You haven’t told me yet if you want a girl or a boy.”

  She’s a witch, to be able to read my mind like that, to be able to spellbind me to her. “If I had a say in it, I’d prefer a twin. A boy and a girl.”

  “You said a boy first, so you want a son?”

  “I didn’t mean that. You’re just twisting my words against me.” I shake my head. “How about you?”

  “I guess I’m more fitted to be a boy mom. I can easily picture myself playing with dirt and going to soccer games. Besides—” she stops to give me one of her dangerously seductive glances, making me consider pulling up so I can devour her. “I want a boy who looks just like you, with your confidence and fearlessness.”

  I’m definitely not fearless and, since I’ve been with Taylor, my fears have doubled, mostly revolving around losing her along with the happiness I have with her, having her hurt, or worse causing her hurt, not being able to provide her with what she needs, and so many other fears that I have to consciously stop my mind from thinking so I can calm down.

  After the last red light, I drive into the parking lot of the tall structure that hosts many medical offices, including the clinic Taylor’s doctor works in. Dr. Fowler hasn’t disappointed me up to now. She’s not greedy with giving information and also doesn’t judge when we prefer alternative options, as we did for Taylor’s infertility problems in the past.

  Taylor inhales a deep breath before grabbing the car handle, and I can’t help but smile at the image appearing in my mind, of Taylor and our son playing soccer in the backyard of my dream house. The size of the backyard seems to be a significant factor in choosing the right house. I can’t wait for those days to come. Not with just one child, but hopefully more than two, optimally half dozen.

  I circle the car and help Taylor get out, watching the expanse of her thighs as the hem of her skirt rides up. “We have another fifteen minutes until the appointment.” She arches an eyebrow at the sudden lust that must be apparent on my face.

  “I’d like to make sweet love to you afterwards when we have no time limitations. Maybe as a celebration to knowing the gender of our son.”

  She raises her hand, pointing her finger toward my face, her mouth open, lips curved up. “You said son.”

  Shit. I can’t hide it even if I try. “I want a son, but also a daughter, and several of them. But the oldest should be a son so he doesn’t have to deal with a nosy older sister, like I did.”

  “Oh, I see. But, then he’ll be way too overprotective to his sisters and scare away any potential boyfriends.”

  “Believe me, he won’t have a chance to do it as long as I’m around to do exactly that. If it’s a girl, I’ll be shopping around for a good, long-range rifle.”

  She punches me on the shoulder with her free hand, her eyebrows frowning. “Oh, shit. You’ll be a nightmare of a father. Now I really want sons only.”

  “If my girls look anything like their mother, we’ll have to invest big bucks for their protections.”

  She can’t get annoyed with me, when I mention her beauty. But seriously, if my daughters will be at least half as beautiful as their mother, a lot of sleepless nights are ahead of me once they turn teenagers. I avoid looking at her side to hide the seriousness of my face, but the tightness of my grip around her small hand will probably give away my anxiety.

  Becoming a father won’t be the garden of roses as I’ve been dreaming up until now. And the potential boyfriends of my girls are just a part of the issues Taylor and I might and will have to face.

&nbs
p; “Easy, darling.” Taylor pats on my chest in the elevator, looking up at me with her big, blue eyes. “We’re a good team. We’ll survive it together.”

  I grab her hand and bring it to my mouth, nodding with an uncomfortable smile.

  The girl at the front desk welcomes us and collects Taylor’s insurance card, before motioning us toward the waiting room. Another pregnant woman, possibly in her last weeks of pregnancy, leaves Dr. Fowler’s office, saying something about the birth plan.

  Oh, the birth plan. Taylor and I will have to start preparing one soon. The weeks are passing by so quickly. It feels like just yesterday that we learned about her pregnancy. Now we’re already half way through, and that not considering the possibility of an early birth. I might have my son in my arms in just two months, and we haven’t bought a home for us yet, let alone prepare the baby’s room.

  “Taylor, Adam.” Dr. Fowler offers us her hand, a genuine smile warming up her face. “Big day, isn’t it?”

  Taylor gets to her feet, taking her hand to shake, and I follow suit. Dr. Fowler asks a few questions about Taylor’s health, then shows us to the room of the ultrasound. My knees go weak as we step into the room. I won’t be able to wait the imminent seconds to find out what the baby’s gender is.

  I hold Taylor’s handbag as she takes her position on the exam table. A tingling of jealousy hits me when the male technician spreads a blue gel across Taylor’s wide belly, and I wonder if Taylor feels any differently toward him than she’d feel toward a female technician. My hand finds hers instinctively.

  “Already placed your bets on the baby’s gender?” he asks, looking at Taylor.

  “It’s gonna be a boy,” I say, not caring about appearing as a caveman.

  The technician places a pad against Taylor’s abdomen. “We might not identify it if the baby isn’t in the right position.”

  “That’d suck,” I say, staring at the black-and-white screen. The technician moves the pad up and down, left and right. My heartbeats increase by the second, but rather than telling us the gender, the technician only stares at the screen. Our baby seems to be too shy to show its sunny side today.

  “There’s a...” The technician doesn’t finish his sentence and just keeps on examining the screen. I notice his expression isn’t cheerful anymore, and his eyebrows are knitted together. “Let me call Dr. Fowler,” he says and excuses himself, leaving Taylor and me gaping after him.

  Taylor’s hand tightens around mine, and I smile at her warily. “Where did Dr. Fowler find him? I’d be able to find out about the gender fifteen minutes ago,” I joke to ease Taylor’s evident tension.

  “What if something’s wrong with the baby?” she asks.

  “What can be wrong? This’s your third ultrasound. If something was wrong, they’d have detected it earlier.” I wish it’s true what I say.

  Dr. Fowler enters the dark room, and I notice the cautious note in her voice when she says, “Let me take a look at it, too.”

  I shoot an angry glance at the technician, for worrying Taylor over nonsense with his inability to read the screen.

  “What is it, Doctor?” Taylor asks.

  Dr. Fowler swirls the pad around Taylor’s belly, ignoring Taylor’s question for a moment, before turning to us with a serious face that can only mean bad news. “We’ll have to do some tests to fully confirm it, but your baby...” She pauses. Goddammit.

  “What is with our baby?” Taylor asks.

  She glances at Taylor, then at me, and her eyes lands back at Taylor. “There’s no easy way to say this, but your baby might have a birth defect.”

  “What?” both Taylor and I yell.

  “That can’t be true.” Four goddamn months have passed, and she detects it now?

  “Please, calm down and take a look at the screen. Here—” She points at the middle of the screen where, I assume, is the baby’s head. But I could be wrong, since it’s not very clear. “Her head isn’t developing the way it should.”

  “What does that mean?” I glare at the screen and bite my lips to stifle the curse that’s about to come, when I notice the strange shape that barely resembles a circle.

  “The top of the baby’s skull isn’t forming. Its technical term is Anencephaly, where the neural tube fails to close early in the pregnancy and causes the malformation of the vault of the cranium and brain,” Dr. Fowler explains.

  “Jesus Christ. Does that mean our baby will be special needs,” I ask. The words burn my tongue.

  Dr. Fowler shakes her head, her face, though controlled, softens with an irritating twitch of pity around her lips. “She’ll die as soon as she’s born.” My arms go loose with her words. “Only in rare cases do the babies survive, but not longer than a few days. If your baby indeed survives, she’ll be blind, and deaf, and won’t feel anything. She won’t be able to suck and will suffer respiratory problems.”

  “Is it a girl?” Taylor’s voice trembles, and I see tears welled up in her eyes.

  Dr. Fowler nods. Forget about having a son to continue my name, I’d kill for a chance at having my girl be born healthy.

  “Normally, the female body takes care of such birth defects with miscarriage, but sometimes as in your case, it doesn’t react to it the way it should and skips the miscarriage process.”

  I get up, unable to look at Taylor as she’s crying, and rub my face harshly with my hands. My little girl, my flesh and blood, won’t see the light of the day or feel how much we love her. Her best bet is only a couple of days in complete darkness, and I can do absolutely nothing about it.

  “What are we supposed to do?” I hear Taylor asking between sobs.

  “Since she won’t be able to survive, and the pregnancy is a physical and emotional burden on your body with or without a malformed baby, we usually suggest abortion to the expectant mothers. However, an abortion is dangerous at this stage. That’s why the usual procedure is to induce labor artificially.”

  “Is this diagnosis absolute?” I ask, finally breaking my silence. “Can’t it be a mistake of the machine?”

  “You can of course see another doctor to be hundred-percent sure about it. I’ll order blood tests, which usually detects any kind of irregularities regarding the birth defects.”

  “Then, why the fuck didn’t you order that test before?” I yell, then spin around on my heels to hide my face as sobs take over. “I’m sorry for my outburst,” I murmur, but I’m sure the doctor hasn’t heard or understood any of my words.

  How many stressful hours the stealing of the company money cost me... It was all nonsense. All the pondering and worrying I sacrificed was for nothing. Those were actually some very happy hours of my life in comparison to the hell I’m burning in right now.

  A little girl without half of her head is awaiting her last day. Jesus. Couldn’t it have been a malformation of an arm or leg? Why does it have to be a vital organ? What’s wrong with this world? Who’s holding the reins up there in the Heavens? Apparently the devil itself, for causing yet another pain to Taylor.

  Hasn’t she suffered enough, first losing her parents at a young age, then the trauma about her cousin? Not to mention Jack’s death and Valerie’s vicious attacks. The miscarriage only months ago. How many more ordeals does she have to face?

  I hear Taylor cry and the door close, but I can’t turn to face her. This must be the single most crucial moment that she needs me at her side, holding her hand, but the raging anger inside me is stopping me from moving.

  The fuck with my husband qualities and my eternal love for Taylor. I’m just a pathetic sham of a man, crying like a baby while she’s going through the trauma of her life just two feet away from me.

  What caused this? Why didn’t the doctor explain it better? Is it genetics, exposure to x-rays, malnutrition?

  Oh, shit. As if my distance isn’t annoying enough, my stomach is revolting and I taste puke in my mouth. If I don’t locate a bathroom immediately, I’ll mess up the room. My hand covering my mouth, I rush out and he
ad to the bathroom. The violent vomit doesn’t even take away a tenth of the rage coiling through in my body. It shouldn’t have been us. We’re not murderers or abusers. We’re good people, especially Taylor. Generous with both her money and emotions. She doesn’t deserve it.

  Why? If only I knew why our girl had to die. Is it me? Is it our relationship? Aren’t Taylor and I meant for each other as I like to believe? Is it Jack’s curse on me for stealing his wife? Or because of the way I left Pat? Was my years-long pursuit of Taylor nothing but a depraved act that had to be punished? Is that why Taylor and I can’t have a healthy child and instead have to find out about one of the most lethal disorders through first-hand experience?

  Anencephaly. Jesus fucking Christ. Just an hour ago, I wouldn’t able to guess what it meant even if it was to save my life.

  We won’t even be able keep her with us for a few days or feel the joy of being a parent. I cried for days if not weeks after my mother’s death, but I could stand up and get my life back in order. Having found out about the decree of my baby’s imminent death, however, is way more painful than every other pain I suffered added together. I’d give absolutely everything I have, including my limbs, for the health of that little girl whose face I’ll probably never get to see.

  When I go back to the ultrasound room, Taylor is already gone. No wonder, since I spent nearly half an hour in the men’s room. She’s not in the car either, which can only mean she called a cab. I get behind the wheel and punch it with anger, feeling like an asshole for letting her suffer through this pain alone. I should call her, or at least drive directly home, where she must be, to share the pain and tell her this, too, will go away. But, how can I do that and more when I, myself, am far from believing that crap?

  This will never go away, even when our child is officially dead, her presence, together with the absence of her head, will stay with us, between us, like an impenetrable wall. It’ll eat both of us from inside out.