The Trinity

by Daelynn Quinn

  “Get the hell out of here, Glenn!” Drake shouts. As he does, Glenn makes a quick and silent retreat, slamming the door behind him.

  “Marcus, I know what you’re feeling, believe me. Just lay off Glenn for a while until you get your memories back.”

  I stomp into the bedroom, where Pollen is lying on the bed. Our bed. In our bedroom with her ex-fiancé Glenn. Glenn, the father of that baby that I thought was mine. Her eyes are bloodshot and trails of tears stream down her cheeks. I’d almost feel sorry for her if I hadn’t walked in to see him here.

  I haven’t been this angry since Siera left me that text saying she’d moved out and filed for divorce. My insides burn and I barely even recognize my own voice.

  “Get. Out.”

  Chapter 12

  (Pollen)

  The door squeals as it opens and I can hear footsteps come in. It sounds like more than one set, but I can’t be sure. Glenn must have forgotten to lock it when he carried me in.

  “What do you want me to do?” Glenn whispers. He had just placed the pillow under my back before we heard the door open and he punches the sides in to fluff it up.

  “Nothing. Stay here.”

  “But what if it’s Marcus?”

  “He’ll understand when I tell him about the contractions. Anyway, if he finds you hiding he’ll think the worst.” Glenn nods, but his face looks torn.

  “Marcus? Is that you?” I call out. “Glenn, go open the door so he knows I’m in here.”

  “Okay,” he replies, still not sounding convinced.

  Drake calls out, muffled behind the wall, “Yeah, Marcus is back.”

  As Glenn opens the door, Marcus instantly slams into him, driving him to the floor.

  “No Marcus, don’t!” The muscles deep within my belly knot up painfully and I vigorously rub it trying to loosen them. Calm down Pollen.

  Drake grabs Marcus from behind, dragging him back into the living room and Glenn dashes off, casting one last worried glance at me before he leaves. I think Drake said something to Glenn, or maybe Marcus, but I’m too preoccupied with the pain in my belly to really hear it.

  But I do hear Marcus as he glowers at me, nothing but rage in his darkened eyes.

  “Get. Out.”

  That look in his eyes. No! The same look he gave me after our broken wedding. The same sharp redness in his face. Those hollow eyes. How did he find out so soon?

  “Marcus, wait,” I gasp as I try to sit up, but the tightness in my belly keeps me down.

  “I know about you and Glenn. I said get out,” he growls.

  “Marcus, hold on man,” Drake says as he grabs his arm. Marcus tears himself away and tromps into the room. Each step he takes closer to me pounds a stake further and further into my heart. I don’t know what it is, but I’m terrified of him. This is different from our wedding day. Something is different about this anger. He’s forgotten his feelings for me, all those months we spent getting to know each other, the time we spent falling in love. It’s all gone now. He really doesn’t care how badly he hurts me.

  “Get out!” he shouts, looming over me, no more than a foot away from my face. Drake grabs him from behind with both arms and jerks him back. “I don’t want you in my life anymore! Get the hell out!”

  Suddenly the pain in my belly intensifies as if I’m being crushed. I scream out and hunch over on my side. My hands quiver as they try to rub the pain away, but it stays. I breathe. In, out, in, out. I haven’t even learned the method yet; just saw it in movies.

  “Pollen, what’s going on?” Drake demands while Marcus still writhes in his arms.

  “I . . . can’t.” The words don’t come out. The pain is so strong I can’t even speak.

  A wild groaning fills the air, growing louder and more intense. Then I realize it’s coming from me. I clamp my eyes shut, trying to visualize the pain going away. It doesn’t work. I can feel the warm tears gushing down my cheeks and settling into the sheets, pulled taut by my own clenched fist. After a period of time—I don’t know how long—the pain eases and the muscles relax. When I open my eyes again, Marcus is gone.

  Drake lifts me up and carries me outside where Glenn is waiting. Even though the physical pain in my belly has softened, I can’t stop crying. The emotional turmoil is too much. I just don’t have control over my bodily functions anymore.

  “I told you to go,” Drake barks as he hurriedly carries me down the corridor. Glenn follows.

  “There’s no way I was going to leave her with Marcus in that state. I knew this would happen.”

  “I’ve got her. Go back to training.”

  “Like hell, that could be my baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The pain strikes again and I hold my breath, preparing myself for the worst.

  ***

  The contractions keep coming. The nurses have tried everything they could to hold them off, but Dr. Yipolis says it’s too late. I’m having the baby now. It’s too late even for an epidural.

  I’ve never had any sympathy for a voodoo doll until this moment. Now I am a human pincushion, with needles, tubes and catheters stuck in me. Drake stands to one side of my hospital bed, holding my hand firmly, and wiping the sweat and tears from my face with a wet rag. On the other side, Glenn supports my back and talks to me, though most of what he says is just background noise to my own screams.

  Timber is one of the attending nurses, along with Orla, the short, heavyset nurse with a less than sparkling personality. Timber looks worried, more so than the doctor, who is taking his time washing his hands. She’s afraid I’m going to lose the baby. But she holds herself together, for her own sake as much as mine.

  “One, two, three, push!” she cries out. Glenn cups his hand under my left knee and arches it toward me while pushing my back forward. The striking pain causes me to cry out again. Glenn counts rhythmically to ten before releasing me.

  I lean back, panting as Drake wipes my brow again. I barely get a chance to catch my breath when the contraction starts again. This time the doctor has taken a seat between my legs.

  “Push!” Timber calls out and we repeat the motion. I’m exhausted. Running miles in high school track has nothing on this. My body is spent. But Glenn urges me on.

  “Come on, Pollen. We’re almost there. Give it all you got!” I gather every last ounce of energy I can muster and push with every conscious muscle in my body while Glenn supports me and counts. The pain and pressure in my pelvis are so intense I scream out once again, causing a ringing in my ears that drowns out the other noise.

  “Here he is,” Dr. Yipolis says. “Keep it up Pollen. He’s almost out. Keep pushing.”

  I give it one last go and then I collapse on my back. The lights disappear and everything goes silent.

  ***

  When I awaken I’m in a different room. The lights are dim. I think it’s the same room I woke up in when I was brought back from Crimson. The beeping of the heart monitor and loud snoring break the eerie silence. Glenn is sitting in what looks to be a very uncomfortable metal chair against the wall, his head slumped over while he sleeps.

  My cheeks and hair are still sticky with sweat and tears, but my cotton hospital gown is clean. I lay my head back down and allow the tears run wild. But nothing happens. It’s like I’ve run dry. I can’t cry. I’ve lost Evie. I’ve lost Marcus. Now I might have lost my baby. How could things get any worse? Let the Trinity attack us. Let them destroy the planet. I just don’t care anymore.

  Wait, Pollen, you can’t give up yet. My baby may still be alive. I have to find out.

  “Glenn,” I say with my raspy, just woke up from a deep sleep voice. I clear my throat.

  “Glenn,” I call out louder. He stirs. “Glenn, wake up.”

  “Polly? How are you feeling?” Glenn jumps out of the chair and drags it over beside the bed where he can sit next to me.

  “Where is he? Is he okay?” I ask.

  “He’s in the NICU. Or whatever their version of a NICU is here. They’v
e got him on a ventilator. We don’t know for sure if he’s going to make it, but he is alive.”

  The relief that engulfs me is almost enough to make me forget my troubles with Marcus. Almost.

  “Do we know who’s—”

  “Not yet. Let’s just get through this first before worrying about a DNA test. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Glenn wipes the sweaty hair from my face and I reach up to take his hand in mine, tangling some of the I.V. tubes that are attached to it. He lifts it to his mouth and gently kisses my fingers.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I just got dumped by the love of my life and had a stress-induced labor, resulting in the birth of a watermelon, which may or may not have survived. How do you think I feel?”

  “I’m sorry, I mean . . . I was worried about you after you passed out.”

  “I’m glad you’re here Glenn. Thank you.”

  “I’m always here for you, Polly. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  “Hey, I’m going to let Timber know you’re awake. She’s been wanting to see you.”

  “Thanks, Glenn.”

  He smiles sadly as he leaves the room. A few minutes later, Timber comes in somberly.

  “Hey girl,” she says sadly.

  “What’s wrong? Is he—”

  “No, he’s fine. I mean, as well as he can be for being so premature.” Timber begins checking my vitals.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “You could have lost him. We had to resuscitate him. God, Pollen, I thought he wasn’t going to make it.” She’s really upset. I remember several months ago, when I first found out I was pregnant, she mentioned miscarriage and instantly became very distant—like she is now.

  “Timber, this isn’t the first time you looked so upset about losing a baby.”

  “You’re right,” she says as she wraps a blood pressure cuff around my bicep. She doesn’t meet my eyes. “But it’s nothing. Your baby is hanging on by a thread; the last thing you need is to hear about my problems.” The cuff squeezes my arm as Timber pumps the bulb.

  “Timber, you’re my best friend. And I have enough of my own problems right now. I know this sounds really insensitive, but it may make me feel a little better to hear about yours.” The cuff releases pressure and Timber releases it as she sits in the chair that Glenn placed next to my bed.

  “I gave birth to a stillborn.” She doesn’t look at me, but even in the dim light I can see the puffiness in her reddened eyes. “It was a few years ago. My boyfriend and I were living together; planning a future. We were having a boy. I carried him to term. I thought it was going to be the happiest day in my life, you know? But when they placed the monitor, they couldn’t find his heartbeat. They rushed me into the OR and gave me a C-section. After all the drama, they couldn’t revive him.”

  “Oh, Timber, I’m so sorry.” A laugh escapes through her tears and then she finally meets my eyes.

  “It was a long time ago. Your pregnancy just brought back those old emotions. Anyway, it’s you I’m worried about. Drake told me about Marcus. How are you holding up?” Timber steps to the counter to collect two tissues; one for herself and one for me.

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of numb now. I really don’t feel anything.”

  “Well, maybe it’s better that way; to not hurt.”

  “Is it? I don’t know. I should feel something, you know? If not for Marcus, then for the baby. But I’m just . . . empty. Like the emotional burden was just too much and collapsed.”

  Timber combs her fingers through my matted hair. “It’ll come back. And so will Marcus. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I suppose,” I say unconvincingly.

  “He will. He’ll get his memories back. It’s only a matter of time. Just hang in there, babe. I’m here for you.”

  “Thanks, Timber.”

  Chapter 13

  His tiny, bony fingers vary in shades of purple, pink, and white. They clasp tightly around the clear plastic tube protruding from his miniature button nose. I’ve only seen babies this small in television campaigns for nonprofits aiding third world countries. My baby boy is sleeping soundly in the clear plastic of his incubator, but to me he looks like a bad science experiment. Tubes are coming out of his mouth, nose and arms. Two round pads are pressed against his chest, monitoring his heart. A miniature blood pressure cuff loosely swallows his narrow thigh. He wasn’t ready to be born yet. Yet here he is, barely breathing and dangling by his tiny fingertips.

  I should be crying. I should be grief-stricken and falling to pieces, begging for someone to pick me up and carry me away to my bed where I can bury myself under my blanket and will myself to die. But even a week after giving birth I still feel nothing; and I’ve come to peace with it. I don’t want to feel anything. Not anymore.

  “Are you ready to go, Pollen?”

  Drake stands beside me and rubs my shoulder gently, while he looks through the fingerprint dotted glass at my little boy. He doesn’t have a name yet. I’m not ready to give him one. I wonder if Drake is thinking about Evie. Of course he is. What else would he be thinking about?

  “Yes.” My voice is flat, monotone, as unfeeling as the rest of me.

  I’m moving in with Drake today. While I was recovering from premature childbirth, Marcus took it upon himself to pack my belongings and get them out of our apartment. Drake tried reasoning with him but he wouldn’t have it. He doesn’t know or trust Drake any more than anyone else in this facility. And as far as he is concerned, our relationship never happened.

  I guess I should be grateful that Drake is letting me move in with him. With the influx of new refugees a few weeks ago, there aren’t many rooms left to offer. The ones that are available are all in the underground levels, where I have no intention of staying until next summer.

  Drake’s apartment is one level up from my, or Marcus’s, apartment. It’s cold and empty. You could barely tell anyone lives here except for the toothbrush and half-used roll toilet paper in the bathroom. I shiver the moment I step in, feeling more like I’m in an empty dormitory than a bedroom.

  “Go ahead and take the bed,” Drake says.

  “Where will you sleep?”

  “The couch.”

  “No, Drake. I won’t put you out. I’ll take the couch. I don’t think I’ll be here that long anyway.”

  Drake laughs. “Pollen, men were built to sleep on couches. It’s no big deal. And you’re still recovering anyway. There’s a blanket in the closet.” He nods toward the closed accordion doors on the left, the only break in the monotony of the bare gray walls in this room. “Get some rest.”

  I shuffle into the bedroom, dropping the bag of wrinkled clothes Marcus hastily packed on the floor at the foot of the bed. I open the closet door. On the shelf stacked neatly are a thin blue blanket and an extra pillow. I take them both and spread the blanket over the bed. Then I turn the light out and crawl in, hugging the pillow as if it were Marcus’s warm body beside mine.

  ***

  Fire. Marcus in flames. The boy with the candle. Evie and the snake. Suffocating heat. The sneering faces of the Trinity etched in the flames.

  “Pollen!”

  My eyes shoot open and I see Drake standing over me shaking my shoulders violently. The lights are on behind him and they burn my eyes as I try to focus. Sweat has drenched the pillow beneath my head and my body shivers as the air from the overhead fan cools the moisture from my body. Or maybe it’s fear that has caused the tremors.

  “Pollen, you were screaming. Are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” I sit up and prop the pillow behind my back. Drake is dressed only in a pair of plaid boxers and a white tee shirt, which looks two sizes too small stretched across his chest. His hair is disheveled and deep bags weigh down his eyes, indicating he has not had a good night’s sleep on the lumpy couch.

  “Yeah, and this half of the floor from the sound of it. Must have been a pretty bad n
ightmare.”

  “You could say that,” I mumble.

  “Want to talk about it?” Drake asks, as he sits on the bed by my feet.

  I’ve only told Marcus about the dreams. I don’t know, it feels kind of weird opening up to my brother like this, but right now I don’t really have anyone else to talk to.

  “I’ve had these dreams since I was a kid. Mom was always there for me when we were growing up, but they never really went away. I’m always in some enclosed area; like the Web or a bunker or something. There’s a raging fire that’s grown out of control and it feels like the flames are reaching out to grab me. Lately I’ve been seeing Evie in them. Marcus is always there, but the flames usually swallow him up. And recently I’ve been seeing a little boy with a candle. Then he drops it and disappears. I think he may be my son, but I don’t know. Then tonight there was the Trinity . . .”

  Drake stares at the wall in front of him and shakes his head knowingly. “I can’t believe you remember that. You were so young.”

  “Huh?”

  “The fire. In the bunker.”

  “Drake, what are you talking about?”

  “When I was nine years old—you were about four—we were down in the bunker. It was nearing the end of summer and mom and dad had already gone to bed. I couldn’t sleep. I got up for a snack but I didn’t want to wake anyone by turning the lights on. So I found a candle and some matches in the bureau and lit it. Unfortunately, I was clumsy and didn’t watch where I was walking. I dropped the candle and the wax splattered all over the chair with Grandma’s afghan on the back. Within seconds the whole thing went up in flames.

  “You must have wandered out of our room while I was getting mom and dad because when we came out, you were huddled on the bottom step of the stairs screaming. You were trapped, surrounded by flames on all sides, except on the stairs. The fire had spread so quickly. Dad had to run through the flames to get to you. That’s how he got those scars on his legs. We spent the rest of the summer at grandma’s while our bunker was being repaired.”