Embryo 3: Raney & Levine

by JA Schneider

Head bowed, the figure moved into a pew several rows behind the man. Placed a battered black purse on the floor, and next to it, a brown paper bag and a Macy’s shopping bag. She kept her coat and gloves on, her chin down and her hands clasped, as if in prayer.

  The kerchief was pulled forward, which hid most of the face. Still, the figure was careful not to look up. These days, they might even have security cameras in a chapel. Which makes it a fake chapel, right? Another modern trick of the devil.

  Only God watches in a truly sanctified place. So what I’m about to do will be alright.

  After ten minutes, the weeping man in front rose from his pew. Moved to the altar and knelt before it on both knees, crossing himself, then re-clasping his hands, weeping more.

  The figure kept her head bowed but raised her eyes; watched through narrowed slits. Hurry up, fool. You’re wasting your time. Satan’s probably laughing his head off.

  The praying man was overweight. Groaned and cried and had a hard time hauling himself back to a standing position. Finally crossed himself again, and turned.

  The figure hunched further forward, as if in more intense prayer. Watched sideways as the man’s old shoes moved past, and waited till he was out the door.

  Now, quick. Nighttime’s full of weepers in hospitals.

  The figure picked up her purse, Macy’s bag, and brown paper bag. Both bulged.

  Moving slowly, head still bowed, the figure carried her bags to the altar. Then hesitated. If they had security cameras, there’d probably be one behind the altar, aimed out at the pews.

  That was okay. Precautions had been taken for that, too. Makeup could do the most amazing things.

  Sounds in the hall. Someone approaching or just passing by?

  Suddenly quick, the figure put the brown paper bag on the altar. Turned and moved back out a bit faster, head still down, body bent as if in pain.

  Moved like that through the hospital lobby, too. It was almost as busy as daytime. Patients coming in looking for the emergency room, crying relatives, doctors and nurses coming on or going off shift.

  Nice that the chapel was just off the lobby. Not so nice that security cameras would be out here for sure.

  Head down, the figure moved bent and stiffly to the street. Did not straighten until reaching two blocks away, and even then kept the kerchief pulled forward.

  Three blocks away, a trash can beckoned. Lose the black purse? No, keep it. It was an old plastic thing, bought in a thrift store like the coat, which would stay on for now. It was a moonless, gusty night with a cold rain starting.

  Good. Extra cover to get the next one! And this time REALLY kill. I have spoken with God. He said it was okay if they’ve relinquished their souls.

  Yesss! On such a perfect night with such a perfect getup? Give ‘em two! She’ll be sleeping, but I have my lock pick!

  The figure pressed her Macy’s bag to her and hurried to the downtown subway, thinking, Oh so busy I am! God’s chosen warrior, and tomorrow the world will be forced to confront its sins!

  Inside the hospital chapel, the brown paper bag sat on the altar. It bulged.

  And then moved. Not enough to fall off, but it moved again.

  Poked at some air holes punched in the bag.

  14

  Jesse was sleeping. Didn’t wake when Jill took him out of his isolette and held him, hugged him to her.

  “I so needed this,” she whispered, drawing a deep breath. “Can’t tell you how much.”

  “Ditto,” David said tiredly, taking a picture of her hugging the baby, then taking several more. Jill kissing Jesse’s little cheek, his tiny hand.

  “Okay, my turn.”

  She handed the baby to David. He sat in the rocker, put Jesse sleeping on his chest, lay his head back for a second and – just like that – he fell asleep. He was so exhausted.

  Jesse’s head was on his shoulder, and both of them, sleeping, were facing her. What a picture. Jill got out her phone and snapped it. David moved a little and Jesse moved a little too, as if sensing their closeness. Jill snapped that picture too.

  A nurse just passing grinned and said, “Aww…”

  Jill smiled back, then gently lifted Jesse from David’s arms and put him, still sleeping, back into his isolette.

  David woke.

  “Huh?”

  “Just putting him back,” Jill whispered.

  “Gee, he sleeps like a baby.”

  “We’ve gotta get to bed too.”

  David rose, looking foggy-headed. Came awake watching Jill download a baby monitor app to her phone, then did the same with his. “Be in two places at once!” he mimicked the online ad. “Watch your baby when you’re away, out on date night! Hey, how ‘bout a date night?”

  “Two-way communication.” Jill was reading the ad too. “You can hear your baby and s/he can hear you.”

  “Amazing,” David mumbled. He turned away and saw Jesse’s picture come onto his phone screen.

  Jill leaned over the isolette. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  He peered at his screen. “Three.”

  Then she stuck out different fingers. “How many now?”

  “Two. You made a peace sign.”

  “Awesome.” Jill grinned. “This thing really works.”

  Another nurse checking other babies smiled. “A mother’s dream. My sister just got hers.”

  The security guard seated nearby smiled too. “That’s what my wife says.”

  Such good feelings, just coming here. The newborn nursery was a warming, quiet, protected place, full of love and caring. Every new little life was so precious.

  David was back to muttering sleepily, reading the app’s directions. “We have to leave the Wi-Fi on. Use of the camera requires internet access.”

  “We’ll keep our phones charged.”

  “You can snap a photo or video while away. Sing to him. Play music for him.”

  Jill took another picture of Jesse sleeping, then turned her back to him and watched him on her phone’s new monitor.

  “Oh, he yawned in his sleep!”

  “Yep.” David had seen Jesse do it and was grinning goofily with one eye closed. “Speaking of sleeping…”

  “Yes. Bed, bed…”

  A bad feeling suddenly chilled. It was time to leave. Go back out to the world where evil lived too…and lay in wait. Jill felt it and knew it. David saw her expression change and her fists suddenly clench.

  He put his arm around her. “Feeling nervous again?”

  “Big time.”

  He exhaled. “Psycho’s had a busy day. He’s probably tired and fast asleep now, to terrorize another day. Let’s go to my place, sleep in the big bed.”

  They practically leaned on each other, heading out.

  Minutes later they were on the sidewalk, David in a navy parka, Jill in her old pea coat with a long blue scarf drooping. A cold wind gusted, and she pulled the scarf up over her head. Neither spoke as they hurried the long block to his apartment, in a square building of 60s featureless architecture upgraded with surveillance cameras in the lobby, the elevators, and hallways.

  Getting off the elevator, Jill commented on the surveillance.

  “There’s always been drawbridges,” David muttered as he unlocked his door and flicked on a light. “Moats, forts, sentries…”

  It was a one bedroom, with a good-sized, sparsely furnished central area and a long thin kitchen. They peered tiredly into the fridge, knowing there was nothing there but leftover Chinese and some still-marinating beef. Four nights ago, Jill had tried to make shish kebob, make a lovely dinner…but they’d been called, and hadn’t seen the apartment again until last night, when they’d argued and were in no mood to cook.

  “A few more days and we can donate that beef to science,” David said.

  Jill groaned and went into the bedroom. Pulled her jacket and scrubs off and was in bed naked a minute later with her head under the bunched pillow. David stripped and followed, lifting the pillow to peek for h
er. She raised her arms to him, and they made love in the nightglow of the near hospital’s windows, seemingly closer than a block, its towers rising over smaller, closer buildings.

  He was asleep soon after with his arm around her. Jill lay on her side, unable to sleep. They’d been too blitzed to remember to close the blinds, and the hospital lights glowed, brought back the awful day. That sign threatening tiny, innocent Jesse and the hospital, and…oh, poor Jenna Walsh. That attack was so hideously cruel. Jill saw the snake slither from Jenna’s sweater again, and jerked cringing in the bed.

  David mumbled something in his sleep and moved onto his back. Jill did too; now lay staring at the ceiling, its shifting lights and shadows. Sirens wailed in the street below, more sirens sounded from the ambulance bay. She closed her eyes. Snakes and hateful signs gave way to thinking about her life, her not-terrific past. Parents divorced when she was seven. High-profile, absentee mother, a prosecutor. Father seen just a few times before his death. So busy in L.A. with his brand new life and family, though he’d sent a few birthday cards. Big deal. The cards had made her cry.

  She was still crying, holding Jesse, in the middle of a cobbled, crowded square, thatched roofs on smaller houses. “Last birthday card,” her father said. “It’s the Inquisition, I’m so sorry.” She clutched Jesse harder as a crowd dragged them both to a wooden stake with high-piled sticks beneath it. Burn? They were going to burn them? Galileo was tied to a stake next to her, his old eyes wide on Jesse. “This is fascinating,” he said. “Quick, explain.” Someone lit the kindling below her and Galileo. Flames shot up, licking the bottom of her long dress. Jesse screamed and she hugged him to her, rising up in an acrid cloud, the hospital electric lights blinking below.

  15

  Dawn angled through the stained glass, sending soft reds and blues and golds across the pews. A shaft of gold lit a weeping woman’s clasped hands and her rosary. Her hands stilled, and she looked up, blinking through stinging tears. Had God just spoken to her? Her breath caught. Real, or nervous breakdown? Wait…real! She felt it! The gold light was now strong on the altar. It called to her!

  Joy replaced exhaustion. God had heard her hours of desperate prayer, and was telling her that Frankie Junior would be okay. She actually felt the Holy Spirit lift her from her seat and carry her, trembling and arthritic, to kneel painfully before the altar.

  Prayers tumbled from her lips:

  “Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee…Blessed are you, Lord God, h-holy is your name…”

  In her rapture she was stammering… “Blessed are you for ever, great is your mercy…”

  She raised a hand to touch the altar. “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, we praise you…”

  And lost her balance.

  Then righted herself, catching the altar edge. “…we bless you for calling us to be…”

  Heard something thump to the floor. “…your holy people…”

  Her voice wavered. The gold light shaft had moved on; a rustling sound drew her attention to a brown paper bag on the floor. Bulging.

  Moving…? Poking at moist places.

  Something long and black slithered out and shot across to the front pew. The woman’s vision blurred in terror. Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

  Then another snake shot out, and then more, writhing near her, crawling over each other…

  Later, the woman would not remember how she struggled to her feet, and managed to run out screaming. She wouldn’t even recall security guards and a cop running to her.

  It was all a blur…

  They were going to be late for rounds. It was almost seven and the other interns would be waiting. David came, wet-haired from the shower, to read over Jill’s shoulder. She was hunched into his laptop, madly scrolling and reading.

  “Galileo?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” She kept reading, didn’t look up.

  “Your hands are shaking.”

  “I had another nightmare.”

  He made a pained sound and kissed her brow. She still didn’t look up.

  “1633.” she said, tapping the screen. “Galileo was old and sick during the Inquisition, but they interrogated him for eighteen days, and finally made him confess that he may have had it wrong, and the Church was right in saying that the sun revolved around the earth, not the other way around.” Jill scrolled. “He was still declared a heretic, and died under house arrest.”

  She frowned, fast-skimming more, then looked up. “The Church finally accepted that he may have been right…in 1983.”

  “What was the rush? Speaking of rush - please? Rounds and interns await.”

  Waiting, indeed, they were. By the nurses’ desk, Ramu Chitkara had a bag of bagels he was passing out to Tricia, Charlie Ortega, and Gary Phipps, who was munching with one hand while his other hand stuffed an extra bagel into his scrub pants pocket.

  Stuffed-face grins broke out as David and Jill approached. “Fresh!” Ramu held up the bagels. “I ran to the bakery.”

  “Don’t you guys ever eat real breakfasts?” David flipped through patient charts, put them back in the chart rack, and gave it a shove. The interns followed, Ramu bitching in his lilting British accent about runny scrambled eggs and dreadful coffee, Ortega extolling twenty minutes’ extra sleep and having cold pizza in your room. The two had a tendency to yak simultaneously.

  Tricia dropped back to tell Jill she’d had a snakes nightmare, and Jill described her getting burned at the stake dream. Both groaned and hugged each other as Gary Phipps, up front, told David about a breech he’d helped Sam and George Mackey deliver during the night. “Talk about ass backwards!” he said. “And this kid was big!”

  The night had been slow, with just four new babies born. Healthy babies and healthy moms, who still had to be visited and checked. Outside the first patient’s room, David stopped for a moment and looked up at the ceiling.

  “What?” Phipps asked, peering up too. “Falling ceiling tiles?”

  Jill edged closer. David glanced at her and said, “I’d really like to go up to see Jenna Walsh first.”

  Ortega winced. “Oh jeez, the snake.”

  Jill said, “The neurosurgery bunch must be with her now.”

  David nodded. “Two rounds groups is a crowd. I want to check her incision, make sure there’s no infection.”

  “We’ll go after this.”

  “Yeah.”

  Chart in hand, David led the way into the first patient’s room where he greeted new mom Kim Withers. Asked her how she felt. Did the physical, checked the pulse and blood pressure, and felt the belly to make sure the uterus was contracting on schedule. It wasn’t.

  “So?” he asked the interns. “What do we do about that?”

  “Ergotrate intramuscular,” chorused five voices.

  “Oh, such smart interns I have,” David said, smiling at Withers, writing an order for the nurse and clamping it to the outside of the chart.

  “Stat,” Tricia and Charlie said simultaneously. David grinned. “Already done,” he said, red-flagging the note with a red stickie.

  Kim Withers had turned down the sound of her TV when they entered. It still burbled.

  Suddenly: “Oh look!” Her eyes darted from David to Jill and back to the TV. “Omigod, you’re them!” She turned the sound up.

  Tired gazes went to the TV. The same footage as yesterday. Last July, Jill and David somberly approaching the hospital after three days off to recover from the roof trauma. Then footage of the smiling nurse holding “the miracle baby, who our sources say staff for now have been calling Jesse…”

  Withers fluffed her hair and got emotional. “Jesse! I love that name!”

  Ramu turned the TV sound back down, but Withers didn’t notice. Was emoting higher-voiced about how tough her pregnancy had been.

  “Morning sickness when I had to be in court, I almost threw up on a client, and the delivery -omigod, the pain...and I’d like to have another child. Uhh…”

  They must have all realized what was
coming.

  “Would it be possible for me to have my next baby that way?” She pointed to the TV, now soundless, showing yesterday’s Willard Simpson, Bill Rosenberg, and the other white coats before mikes trying to answer reporters’ questions.

  David shrugged. Repeated what he remembered Rosenberg saying.

  “We really don’t know how this was done. The hospital’s studying the notes of the deceased doctor who did this-”

  “Arnett!” Withers said. “Clifford Arnett. I’ve so been following this.”

  “Right. His notes are incomplete.”

  The interns shifted impatiently.

  Withers got impatient too. “Well, if it was done once…how long before they figure out how to do it again? Science, right? Who ever thought we’d have people walking on the moon? Scooping soil samples from Mars? Surely you can…”

  As gracefully as possible, David got them out of there. Time was important; diversions from teaching the interns had to be ducked.

  The second patient didn’t ask, but the third one did. “Just wondering, that’s all,” she said defensively. “I mean, I loved my pregnancy, feeling my baby grow and move inside me, but that delivery was hell, and it’s just kinda fascinating that now there’s a choice.”

  “Not in the near future,” David said. “Now about your stitches…”

  When they left the fourth patient’s room, he called and got a nurse on seventh floor surgery. Yes, she said, neurosurgery interns and residents were with Jenna. He asked her to check Jenna’s night chart. She came back to the phone to report that Jenna’s vital signs were okay, ditto her abdominal incision, and there was no sign of infection or vaginal bleeding.

  “They’re concerned about her neuro signs, though.”

  “The Babinski?”

  “Right foot not reacting. No response.”

  “Pupillary assessment?”

  “Both pupils sluggish response to light.”

  He hung up and looked grimly at his interns, who’d been listening grimly.

  “So sad,” Tricia said softly. Ortega stared sorrowfully at David’s phone.

  Which rang again in his hand.