Ted was daydreaming…an industry award was not out of the question if he handled this one right…if he could deliver the killer question to his next studio guest. He just needed to stay on top of his game. Another hour or so should do it, and then he could hand over the foetus, wall and all to others who would follow…take the story on. By then it wouldn’t matter, he will have stamped his mark all over it like a dog’s territorial pissing. Whoever followed, everyone would remember it was Ted Hallder who, a few hours ago, broke this one to the world…
“Good…morning…” The amphetamines in his bloodstream were beginning to wane. Hold it together! This is your moment. “Welcome back to Eurostate Today.” Time to shine, literally; gleaming teeth and an assured twinkle in the eyes. “As we try to get our heads around that awful headline…” He gestures to the screen behind him and the stark foetal image superimposed with the words ‘Man finds foetus on wall’. “…we will ask the questions that really matter. How…and why…did this happen? I’m joined in the studio now by Weston Hagues, spokesman for the Eurostate operations of Global Chemical Industries, manufacturer of the Endterm Six home abortion kit that was used by Jennifer Myers to terminate her pregnancy before she nailed the 24-week-old male foetus to her lover’s bedroom wall last night.” He turned to his guest. “Mr Hagues…is it now time your company withdrew this product from pharmacy shelves?”
*
“What happened after that?” asked Carol, homing in on the details that would really matter if her client’s case should make it to the courtroom. Most of what she’d heard until now was largely contextual. “You said she went upstairs…after she’d broken the news to you? Did she have anything with her? Did you see…”
“No…I didn’t…see…” Gino lifted his head from his hands and stared at her. “I mean…I can’t be sure. I was in shock. She had her handbag…I think…yes…the designer one…a checked pattern…like a very pale tartan. She asked if she could use the toilet…before she left. I was just sat there…opposite…speechless. I wanted to…to scream and rage…but nothing…hollow…empty…like she said.”
“She took the bag with her…the checked pattern one? Upstairs?”
“Yes…I think so…she must have. It didn’t strike me at the time…why she would use the upstairs toilet. She’d been to the house many times before…with me…and knew there was a toilet just through there, off the hallway. It only occurred to me later…after I found it…him…the…”
“You’re sure? Absolutely sure she went upstairs?”
“I’m not absolutely sure…of anything…if I’m honest. How can I be? My world…” Gino gasped and shook his head. “Nothing makes sense. But yes, she went upstairs…had to. How else…? I think I remember hearing the flush…”
“Did you hear footsteps…perhaps as she moved around upstairs, made her way into your room?”
“No…I didn’t hear anything like that…just the flush…I’m fairly sure about that…and then the door…the front door slamming. I’m totally sure about that. It broke the spell…I was…how can I describe it…like…in a trance…my head full of questions…questions I wanted to ask her…but she didn’t give me the chance. The door slammed…I jumped to my feet…but she was gone. I went to the door and opened it…called out her name.”
“You didn’t chase after her?”
“No…I should have…I really should have…gone…after her. But my mind…I just felt…so numb.”
Carol, too, suddenly felt numb.
She worked through the sequence of events in her mind’s eye, trying to imagine what on earth could have been going through Jennifer’s head as she climbed the stairs and stole her way quietly to his bedroom; as she carefully produced the still moist foetus from her handbag; as she reached over his bed; as she pinned its tiny, fragile body to the wall…slipping the metal pins through its flesh, watching the amniotic fluid trickle down the wall…
What on earth could possess someone to do such things…what state of mind would you have to be in? ‘Do you believe in God?’ he’d asked her when she arrived. What God would allow such horrors as this?
*
“Absolutely not!” Weston Hagues began immediately on the defensive, his practiced smile fading as quickly as it had appeared. So this was how it was going to play out, he mused, bracing himself for several minutes of intense verbal fencing with what was sure to be an ill-informed and simplistically sensationalist opponent. “Why on earth should we withdraw a product that has been proven, time and again, to be perfectly safe?”
“What can possibly be safe about a woman, who is prepared to commit such an extreme act, having unsupervised access to…” Parry and thrust, thought Weston.
“I can assure you that Endterm Six was put through a rigorous and comprehensive programme of clinical trials before it was licensed and introduced to the market. In the three months it has been available in Eurostate pharmacies…not to mention many other parts of the world…fifty-three countries to date…nearly a quarter-of-a-million sales…we have not had a single report of any…issues or concerns. Yes, of course this is a terrible and tragic – and thankfully isolated – incident but I’m sure your viewers understand that our product was not culpable in any way for this poor woman’s state of mind when she carried out this…unspeakable act.”
“Nobody is suggesting your product led to this woman’s state of mind, Mr Hagues, but questions have to be raised about whether or not your company…and indeed the pharmaceutical regulatory authorities…have been entirely responsible in allowing such a product to be so…freely accessible! I mean we’re not talking about a headache pill here, or even contraception…we’re talking about something that, until a few short weeks ago, you had to rely on highly trained and experienced medical professionals to undertake!”
“Mr Hallder…” Don’t let your frustration show…it will be like the sniff of fresh blood to this shark! “…Global Chemical Industries takes its responsibilities extremely seriously as a world-leading provider of healthcare products. Endterm Six is as safe as it possibly can be…over 94% of users throughout the extensive clinical trials and subsequent sales report no significant side effects and the small number of reported issues relate to individuals who suffer allergic reactions to our product, which is well below the expected intolerance levels you would normally expect…”
“What about these reports of burning and blistering…”
“The cases you refer to, and we are only talking about a handful, were fully investigated and found to be the result of improper use of the waste canister that comes with the kit. Obviously it contains chemicals, both for hygiene reasons and also biodegradable waste disposal purposes. The compound can have a dermatological impact if the unit isn’t used as per our very clear instructions and contact is made with the skin. Even then, as long as it’s washed off quickly, and our instructions…”
“Was Jennifer Myers in any state of mind to be following your instructions, Mr Hagues? Should a woman who went on to crucify her unborn child to her lover’s bedroom wall even have had access to your product, with it’s instructions and its acidic tin-it-and-bin-it disposal unit?” Ted savoured the visible flinch.
“Mr Hallder, I don’t think resorting to histrionic language is at all helpful in what should be a serious discussion about the issues here. This individual, isolated case has more to do with the well-documented failings of the health system to adequately identify and address mental and emotional health needs of the population than it does with a debate about abortion. This woman could equally have obtained any number of pharmaceutical products that, if misused, will cause harm of some kind. Let’s look at the facts here…woman who, for whatever reason, have been unable or unwilling to seek professional medical support in terminating their pregnancies have been resorting to a variety of frankly very unsafe and unsuitable methods, often relying on myth and old wives tales and putting themselves at significant risk of harm or even death in the process. Partly supervised home abortion kits,
and by that I mean prescription and some over-the-counter advice, have been licensed and available on the market for some time now…again with very few issues or concerns…”
“Isn’t the Irish Eurostate petitioning for…”
“Mr Hallder, I’m sure your viewers are well aware of the particular issues at work in the Irish Eurostate region that have more to do with a religious position on abortion than a clinical standpoint. Sticking with facts rather than fiction, our product is extremely safe, it reduces the likelihood of women coming to serious harm as a result of trying other archaic DIY methods or unscrupulous back-street clinics and cowboys and it forms an important part of the global drive for population control, alongside contraception and government sterilization schemes. Furthermore it also releases highly skilled medical professionals and medical facilities to cope with more critical and life-threatening issues.”
“But…”
“I did not come onto your programme to get embroiled in some sensationalist and, frankly, pointless argument about the morality and ethics of whether or not abortion…in any shape or form…should be legal. It is, and that’s that. Global Chemical Industries is simply responding to consumer demand in a responsible, carefully controlled, regulated and licensed way, supporting women’s rights to…”
“Mr Hagues! If I can just stop you there! I put it to you that your company’s record on responsibility is hardly anything to be proud of! What about the compensation claim currently going through the European Court from the group of 20 who allege they contracted AIDS as a result of coming into contact with hazardous waste on a beach close to your Cornish research centre…or the U.S. government inquiry into claims you have been helping several Middle Eastern regimes to develop bio-weaponry?”
Weston Hagues sighed loudly. He knew it was pointless to continue with this verbal sparring. Those INB viewers who wanted to believe his employer was some kind of dark conspiratorial organisation operating outside and above the law without a moral compass probably already believed that. The rest, well they would see this interview for what it was…and they would enjoy the abject apology that INB would eventually broadcast once the GCI lawyers had finished with them.
“Mr Hallder, I’m sorry…but I came here to participate in a serious news programme and you are, quite frankly, becoming nothing short of hysterical and I will not be indulging your fictional fantasies any longer. Good day to you!”
Ted wanted to shout ‘Gotcha!’. It was all he could do to resist the urge.
*
It was raining when Carol Rigg left the house where it all began just a few short hours ago. She stood for a moment on the garden path to offer her brief prepared statement, agreed with her client, to the waiting journalists, blinking amid the camera flashes and zoning out from their shouted questions and interjections. She read the text firmly and without emotion, having none to spare after the hours she’d spent with him.
“My client, Mr Gino Dereloni, wishes to inform you that he is extremely disappointed at the news that South Wales Police will not be pursuing criminal charges against Miss Jennifer Myers or against Global Chemical Industries, who he feels is ultimately responsible together with the Department of Health and the pharmaceutical licensing authorities, for his shocking and extremely traumatic experience. In light of this news, he is now considering taking a private civil action against Miss Myers and GCI, and potentially others, to seek some form of recompense and apology from those he holds responsible for the severe psychological and emotional impacts he has suffered as a result. As there is likely to be impending court action and he does not wish to prejudice his case, he therefore has nothing further to say at this time and, on behalf of my client, I would respectfully ask that you leave him in peace to recover from his terrible ordeal and to get on with his life as best he can. That is all. Thank you.”
She brushed aside their questions and demands and trudged back toward the Community Monorail Shuttle station in Canton precinct in the rain, a thousand questions of her own filling her troubled thoughts.
Gino watched her go. He was alone. His mother and father had decided to stay with relatives in Italian Eurostate, unable to cope with what had happened. He told them it was for the best and that things would calm down. He unplugged the vidiphone and the television, preferring no contact with the hostile world beyond his walls. He flicked on the holophonic player with the remote and scrolled through his digital library, stopping at Mozart, his favourite, and choosing his Requiem. It started to play.
Sombre horns and melancholy strings filled the room, dragging out the long dead composer’s sorrowful lament. As the choir joined the mournful swell, his personal torment was enveloped in a sense of shared anguish within their voices. He walked back to the window and reached out to draw the heavy curtains. He saw the cameras flash, stinging his tired eyes. Gino wept.
Millions watched. The powerful lenses captured it all, intruding into every detail. The man in the window, weeping for his lost son as he clutched the twin veils. Behind him they could see the painting he’d called Self Portrait in Gethsemane, weeping with him as though it had been some kind of abstract expressionist prophecy. He pulled the drapes tightly together to eclipse his unspeakable, hollow misery.
*
Jennifer stared into the mirror. She wondered if it could be someone else staring back.
There were dark lines beneath her cold grey eyes and her skin was taut across her sharp features, pale with the promise of eternal winter. He lips, once full and red, were now dull with an unhealthy hue, as if old age had crept like a premonition across her tender years. Only her auburn hair, which framed her face, gave colour to the almost funereal vision that filled her mirror.
Jennifer wanted to feel something. But instead of feeling…anything…there was nothing…no feeling. There was a crack, like the night, in her broken life…a crack that leaked fear like blood. There was blood all around her.
Her bloodied hands clutched a sliver of paper, freshly ripped from the book at her feet. She focused on the words, reading them softly to herself:
‘Green fields and trees you’ll never see;
Mountain air, sea breeze you’ll never breathe.
The taste of the cold wind, a bird on the wing.
Life rich in mystery. But no life within.’
Jennifer reached into her Burberry bag and took out her cigarette lighter. Placing it carefully beneath the shred of paper she flicked her bloodied thumb over the roller. The flint sparked, the gas caught and flamed, and the paper flared. It cast a warm glow in the mirror, giving colour to her pallor. She saw herself smile, and with the smell of blood and paraffin filling her nostrils, she allowed the burning page of poetry to fall.
Moments later her bedroom had erupted in a ball of flame. The glass of her window shattered instantly and the blaze took hold. Timbers cracked and splintered. Outside came the excited shouts that she did not hear, as the cameras whirred into life to capture the spectacle of thick black smoke belching through the empty window frame. Soon after, in the distance, sirens wailed for her, too late.
*
Part 6
Eat Your Fruit, But Don’t Take Roots
XVI
“COME away boy!” His tired voice ruffled the stillness. The boy paid no attention. “Come away, I warn you! They’ll be here soon with their dogs!” The old man stooped to collect his ragged plastic bag. Still the boy gave no heed.
Malcolm peered into the dark sky, struggling to balance the bag over his worn shoulder. A tear, drawn by the bitter wind, traced the lines of age down his hollow cheek. He groaned aloud in the empty market place. The sound of his voice echoed through the rows of abandoned stalls and he immediately wished he’d contained his weariness in silence. He tried to hold his laboured breath. He listened to the whispers of paper drifting across the square and the guttural cough of his lookout, stationed in the doorway of a Gothic-looking bank. He listened intently but there were no sirens, no heavy booted steps and no dogs.
“Come now boy! Come…or I’ll leave you to their dogs and their sticks.” His free arm beckoned beneath a stained, heavy coat. “Leave their machine alone. Messin’ with them will only get you in trouble.” But the boy ignored him, or was no longer aware of him. Malcolm saw the glow of the television reflected in the boy’s enraptured face. He cursed beneath his wheezing breath then lurched forward in his filthy boots. “Damn you boy! Why’d I ever take you in?” He shuffled through the debris of last night’s trading, now picked clean of all that was edible or useful. A few steps more and it was as though he’d shaken off the burdens of age and perpetual ill health. He trudged through the maze of deserted stalls until he reached the alley. There, he turned to see if the boy had followed. He had not. Despairing of his attempts to warn the boy away, he switched his attention to the lookout.
Three taps of a bent penny against a rusting drainpipe brought movement and Malcolm’s eyes warmed to the sight of his watcher emerge from the shadows to limp toward him across the empty street. The figure vanished momentarily among the stalls then reappeared on the edge of the market place. He held out his hand and the girl almost danced to greet him, despite her twisted limb. She offered a toothless smile between her grubby cheeks and reached out, grabbing his stiff, bony fingers, giving them a squeeze. Malcolm beamed down at her, this bundle of rags was barely a teenager but she was the size of someone much younger…the effects of poor nutrition rather than genetic heritage…yet with the hard expression and weather-worn features of someone much older. Life in the wastelands was harsh. But the fear of this night seemed to lose its grasp as he revelled in her tenderness. She released his partially gloved hand and poked the plastic bag like a playful kitten.
Experiment With Destiny Page 23