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by Sharon Webb


  She won­de­red la­ter why she had run so uner­ringly to that ro­om-to the ro­om of the only pe­di­at­ric pa­ti­ent on Med-Surg West.

  * * *

  The se­cu­rity chi­ef ag­re­ed with the po­li­ce. It co­uld ha­ve be­en any­body. Kitty sta­red in shock at the she­et co­ve­ring the body and fa­ce of Ant­hony Her­re­ra. Ri­de­o­ut had gi­ven Tony's mot­her a se­da­ti­ve and led her away.

  Only fo­ur ye­ars old, she tho­ught. Only fo­ur. A swe­et lit­tle kid. She felt sick. She to­ok a few de­ep bre­aths and clo­sed her eyes, but still the ima­ge wo­uldn't go away-Tony's dark eyes sta­ring up at her, di­la­ted and gla­zed. His thro­at had be­en cut with sur­gi­cal pre­ci­si­on.

  She bent over sud­denly and clutc­hed her belly. The baby was kic­king aga­in.

  Chapter 3

  On the next night, Kurt's birth­day sup­per was in­ter­rup­ted by a sho­oting down the hall. The two lit­tle Go­mez girls lay de­ad, vic­tim of an unc­le who was baby-sit­ting whi­le his sis­ter la­bo­red in Wo­men's Hos­pi­tal with her third child. For re­asons of his own, he had first kil­led the child­ren's cat, strang­ling it slowly with his belt.

  As po­li­ce led the man away down the long hall punc­tu­ated with half-ope­ned do­ors and start­led fa­ces, the man lo­oked at Kurt. The­re was a half-smi­le on his fa­ce and a lo­ok in his eyes that the boy wo­uld ne­ver for­get-a lo­ok that sug­ges­ted tri­umph.

  When the po­li­ce had go­ne, the pe­op­le slip­ped in­to the halls, each just out­si­de his own do­or, to talk in low shoc­ked whis­pers whi­le the lit­tle ca­ke with its fif­te­en cand­les sto­od for­got­ten in the kitc­hen.

  The in­ci­dent was men­ti­oned on the la­te news, but the le­ad story con­cer­ned the fi­re-bom­bing of the Temp­le Ter­ra­ce rec­re­ati­on de­part­ment du­ring a pup­pet show. Se­ven­te­en child­ren we­re de­ad, forty-se­ven inj­ured.

  Men­ti­on of the fi­re-bom­bing ma­de the la­te na­ti­onal news, but the story was ec­lip­sed by two ot­her fi­re-bomb epi­so­des, one in a sum­mer camp ne­ar As­pen, the ot­her in a child­ren's hos­pi­tal in Memp­his. The­re we­re si­mi­lar in­ci­dents in Bu­da­pest, Ko­be, and Christc­hurch.

  Wit­hin the we­ek, na­ti­onal news had ce­ased cal­ling the in­ci­dents mur­der. A new eup­he­mism had en­te­red the lan­gu­age-dep­ro­ces­sing.

  By the tenth day, one hund­red ni­nety-two child­ren had be­en dep­ro­ces­sed in the Tam­pa Bay area.

  Chapter 4

  Kitty Ta­ran­ti­no sta­red at the no­ti­ce the three-to-ele­ven Med-Surg su­per­vi­sor had tac­ked up:

  NOTICE

  No vi­si­tors are al­lo­wed in any hos­pi­tal area whe­re the­re are pa­ti­ents un­der eigh­te­en ye­ars of age.

  In the event that pe­di­at­ric pa­ti­ents overf­low to adult flo­ors, per­son­nel will im­me­di­ately re­mo­ve all vi­si­tors from the area pri­or to ac­cep­ting the pa­ti­ent. Se­cu­rity is to be no­ti­fi­ed at on­ce. Nur­sing per­son­nel will stand by ele­va­tors and all ot­her ent­ran­ces un­til a se­cu­rity gu­ard re­li­eves them. No one wit­ho­ut va­lid hos­pi­tal ID is to be al­lo­wed in the­se are­as.

  Rudy Mar­ti­nez, Ad­mi­nis­t­ra­tor

  ALL EMP­LO­YE­ES TO SIGN UPON RE­ADING

  She tho­ught abo­ut the lit­tle Her­re­ra boy and shi­ve­red. And what go­od did it do any­way when they let sli­me li­ke P.G. cre­ep aro­und on the flo­or? She had no pro­of, of co­ur­se, but who el­se co­uld it ha­ve be­en? When the po­li­ce qu­es­ti­oned the staff in the has­tily set-up in­ter­ro­ga­ti­on ro­om in the nur­ses' lo­un­ge, she had be­en su­re that the or­derly wo­uld emer­ge un­der gu­ard as the mur­de­rer. But, no. He was still he­re- lur­king aro­und li­ke a fu­gi­ti­ve from a men­tal ward. He ma­de her sick.

  The­re had be­en three at­tacks on pa­ti­ents in Pe­die and two mo­re in OB. New­borns! Thank God she didn't work the­re. How do you tell a new mot­her that her baby was fi­ne, per­fectly fi­ne, un­til so­me sli­me ca­me by with a plas­tic bag off a ho­use­ke­eping cart?

  She tri­ed not to think abo­ut the ba­bi­es. She hadn't ac­tu­al­ly se­en them, of co­ur­se. Her ima­gi­na­ti­on, fu­eled by the hos­pi­tal gra­pe­vi­ne, had be­en bad eno­ugh. The night it hap­pe­ned she dre­amed abo­ut them-enca­sed in pa­le yel­low plas­tic, cle­ar eno­ugh so you co­uld see in­si­de, cle­ar eno­ugh so you co­uld see the lit­tle fa­ces.

  The next day she had felt cont­rac­ti­ons. One of the RNs, Con­nie Da­vis, told her it wasn't re­al la­bor, but just pre­li­mi­na­ri­es. "Brax­ton-Hicks cont­rac­ti­ons. They go on all thro­ugh preg­nancy, but you just don't no­ti­ce them un­til you get ne­ar term."

  To­night, they felt stron­ger. She had tri­ed to eat sup­per, but she had felt a lit­tle na­use­ated. Pro­bably be­ca­use of the mess they'd ser­ved in the ca­fe­te­ria-Chic­ken Ar­ca­ne, the staff cal­led it. Pu-oo-oo-trid.

  She didn't want to think abo­ut go­ing in­to la­bor, didn't want to think abo­ut her baby be­ing ta­ken in­to the nur­sery. She wo­uld de­al with that la­ter, when the ti­me ca­me. Right now, the ti­me had co­me to prep Hol­lis for her gal­lblad­der sur­gery. She pic­ked up a prep kit and two to­wels and he­aded down to 27. When she wal­ked in­to the ro­om, a pa­in in her belly do­ub­led her up.

  The pa­ti­ent's thin eyeb­rows qu­ir­ked in alarm, "What's the mat­ter? You all right?"

  She ca­ught her bre­ath, "Su­re. I'm fi­ne."

  The pa­ti­ent's eyes nar­ro­wed and she lo­oked Kitty up and down. "You don't lo­ok fi­ne."

  Kitty fil­led the ba­sin with wa­ter and be­gan to sha­ve the wo­man's belly. "Just so­met­hing I ate, I gu­ess. I'm all right."

  "You sho­uldn't be wor­king, you know. As far along as you are. Let yo­ur hus­band carry the lo­ad for a whi­le." Her eyes fell on Kitty's so­apy hands. Kitty fol­lo­wed her ga­ze, then cur­led her fin­gers in­to her palm.

  "I don't we­ar rings whi­le I'm wor­king. They get ca­ught on things," she sa­id de­fen­si­vely. She wasn't qu­ite su­re why she bot­he­red to lie. Lots of girls had ba­bi­es the­se days wit­ho­ut be­ing mar­ri­ed. She wasn't as­ha­med. But the­re was so­met­hing in the wo­man's sharp fa­ce that re­min­ded her of her mot­her.

  She was to­we­ling the wo­man dry when the next cont­rac­ti­on ca­me. This ti­me it be­gan in her back li­ke hot tug­ging fin­gers pul­ling on eit­her si­de of her spi­ne. Her belly felt tight as a drum­he­ad.

  She dum­ped the prep kit in­to the trash and got out of the ro­om. She le­aned aga­inst the do­orj­amb for a few se­conds un­til the pa­in pas­sed, then he­aded for the bath­ro­om.

  She ca­me out a few mi­nu­tes la­ter, sha­ken. The­re had be­en a pink-tin­ged spot on her pan­ti­es. She didn't know much abo­ut OB, but she knew what it was that she had se­en. It was what they cal­led blo­ody show. She was in la­bor. She didn't want to think abo­ut it. Not now. She brus­hed a lock of ha­ir from her eyes and lo­oked up and down the hall. Jani­ce. She ne­eded to talk to her. She'd know what to do.

  She spot­ted Jani­ce's ro­und, ho­mely fa­ce in an ex­ci­ted knot of pe­op­le at the nur­ses' desk. "Who wo­uld ha­ve be­li­eved it?" sa­id the ward sec­re­tary, lo­oking from one to anot­her. "Of all the pe­op­le aro­und he­re, I'd ne­ver ha­ve pic­ked him."

  "It just go­es to show you can't tell abo­ut pe­op­le," so­me­one sa­id.

  "You can't tell abo­ut who?" as­ked Kitty.

  "Abo­ut any­body. Not any­mo­re."

  "What are you tal­king abo­ut?"

  "Abo­ut Jim Bo­han­non."

  "Who?" She sho­ok her he­ad. She didn't fe­el that she was thin­king very cle­arly at all. "You know. Jim-the se­cu­rity gu­ard," Jani­ce's pa­le eyes we­re ro­un­der than usu­al. "They just p
ic­ked him up for kil­ling the Her­re­ra kid."

  Kitty blin­ked. Jim? The guy who al­ways had a big hel­lo for her whe­ne­ver they pas­sed. Every­body li­ked him. It wasn't pos­sib­le. She to­uc­hed Jani­ce's arm. "Are you su­re?"

  "That's what I sa­id. No­ne of us can be­li­eve it. I tho­ught- What's the mat­ter?" Jani­ce re­ac­hed out and ste­adi­ed her. "Are you all right?"

  Hunc­hed a lit­tle from the pa­in in her back, Kitty to­ok a bre­ath, then sa­id, "I think I'd bet­ter go sit down."

  Jani­ce ste­ered her to the nur­ses' lo­un­ge, de­po­si­ted her in a cha­ir, and lo­oked at her sharply. "Ha­ve yo­ur pa­ins star­ted?"

  Kitty nod­ded and le­aned for­ward, hands clutc­hing her belly.

  "I'd bet­ter call Ri­de­o­ut."

  "No."

  "Da­vis, then. You ne­ed to ha­ve a nur­se lo­ok at you."

  She sho­ok her he­ad. No­body el­se co­uld know. No­body. She co­uld see Jim stan­ding over the Her­re­ra kid. Jim-with a kni­fe. A ni­ce nor­mal guy li­ke Jim. She co­uld ha­ve co­ped with the idea of P.G. kil­ling the boy. P.G. the cre­ep. But Jim-

  "Lo­ok. I got­ta call so­me­body. You're in la­bor. You ne­ed to go up to OB."

  To OB-whe­re ba­bi­es ca­me in shiny plas­tic pac­ka­ges. Na­usea rip­pled in her sto­mach and be­ca­me a wa­ve. She ran in­to the bath­ro­om and be­gan to vo­mit, clutc­hing the si­de of the to­ilet bowl to ke­ep her ba­lan­ce. Then she tot­te­red back to the cha­ir and sank, ex­ha­us­ted.

  Jani­ce ran wa­ter on a washc­loth and pat­ted it on Kitty's fo­re­he­ad. "I'm cal­ling Ri­de­o­ut."

  "No. Ple­ase. You've got to help me," she beg­ged. "I can't ha­ve the baby he­re. I've got to get ho­me."

  Jani­ce's eyes ro­un­ded, then nar­ro­wed in sympathy. "I know you're sca­red. But you've got to ha­ve a doc­tor or a nur­se."

  "You can help me."

  Jani­ce sho­ok her he­ad in ama­ze­ment. "Ho­ney, I know we're fri­ends, but you've got too much fa­ith. I'm just an aide li­ke you, re­mem­ber?"

  "Ple­ase. I don't ca­re. I've got to get ho­me. You can help me."

  "You can't ta­ke that kind of a chan­ce. You ne­ed a doc­tor."

  Shiny yel­low plas­tic stretc­hed over lit­tle fa­ces. It co­uld be any­body. Any­body at all. So­me­body who smi­led and ga­ve you a wink on the ele­va­tor. Any­body. She be­gan to mo­an, clutc­hing her belly, roc­king back and forth at the sud­den cont­rac­ti­on. "Oh ple­ase. Oh ple­ase, oh God, oh ple­ase."

  Jani­ce tur­ned away. She sta­red at the flo­or and rub­bed her arms, then she lo­oked back at the hunc­hed fi­gu­re who whim­pe­red in pa­in and fright. She to­ok a bre­ath, then tur­ning, re­ac­hed out and hug­ged the girl to her. "All right, Kitty. I'll help you." She glan­ced at the wall clock. "It's ne­arly ele­ven. We'd bet­ter le­ave so­on."

  * * *

  Jani­ce sta­red at Kitty's sto­ve. It was old and it had be­en mo­di­fi­ed for me­te­red gas. She fin­ge­red knobs that wo­uldn't turn and lo­oked in va­in for so­me kind of switch that wo­uld start the flow of fu­el. "Kitty, I can't get the sto­ve to turn on." She step­ped in­to the bed­ro­om.

  Kitty lay cur­led on her si­de on the un­ma­de bed, clutc­hing a thin pil­low, mo­aning softly. Jani­ce sta­red un­cer­ta­inly at the girl. How had she ma­na­ged to let her­self get tal­ked in­to this? "Kitty, the sto­ve. I ne­ed to turn on the sto­ve."

  Kitty lo­oked at her, "Huh?"

  "The sto­ve. I ne­ed to bo­il wa­ter."

  Kitty drew up her fe­et and tri­ed to sit up. "It's on the back. The switch. It's off to one si­de. I'll do it." She tri­ed to get up, when anot­her cont­rac­ti­on be­gan. This one was har­der. Her mo­uth fell open with the surp­ri­se of it. She gas­ped, grab­bed the pil­low, stuf­fed the end in­to her mo­uth, and bit down.

  Jani­ce twis­ted her hand aga­inst her mo­uth, star­ted to mo­ve to­ward Kitty, than ran to the sto­ve ins­te­ad. She'd ha­ve to ha­ve so­met­hing to tie the cord with. She knew that much, any­way. And she ne­eded to bo­il wa­ter to ste­ri­li­ze the ta­pe and the scis­sors. Scis­sors. She ne­eded a pa­ir of scis­sors. Damn! She didn't know if Kitty even had any scis­sors. Then she re­mem­be­red. Su­re. She'd had a pa­ir at work. They'd be in the poc­ket of her uni­form. She ran back in­to the bed­ro­om and pic­ked up the clot­hes from the he­ap on the flo­or whe­re Kitty had drop­ped them. The scis­sors we­re the­re and she scur­ri­ed back to the lit­tle kitc­hen.

  She ran her fin­gers be­hind the back ed­ge of the sto­ve ne­ar the top. The­re was a ho­le the­re and in­si­de-the switch. She snap­ped it on. The pi­lot light fla­med.

  She fo­und a pot and ran wa­ter, dum­ped in the scis­sors, and set it on a bur­ner tur­ned to high. Now… Ta­pe. She ne­eded ta­pe or string. So­met­hing.

  She fo­und a cle­an to­wel, rag­ged with age, rip­ped a nar­row length from the end of it, and tos­sed it in­to the pot.

  Whi­le the wa­ter bo­iled, she went back to check on Kitty. Swe­at li­ned the girl's fo­re­he­ad. She lay on her back, arc­hing her body, ri­ding with the for­ce of the cont­rac­ti­on. When it sub­si­ded, her eyes gla­zed and she do­zed.

  Jani­ce pul­led down the she­et. God. She was get­ting the bed in a mess. The­re had to be so­met­hing in this ro­om to put un­der Kitty's hips. She went to the dres­ser and pul­led open a dra­wer. A jumb­le of un­der­we­ar. The next one held a pat­he­tic lit­tle pi­le of baby clot­hes, a tiny pink dress, a pink gown, two lit­tle un­ders­hirts and a whi­te blan­ket. The bot­tom dra­wer held a box of dis­po­sab­le di­apers. She star­ted to rip it open, but stop­ped. She'd ha­ve to find so­met­hing el­se. The baby wo­uld ne­ed the di­apers. She sta­red at the box and sud­denly it hit ho­me-the­re was go­ing to be a baby, and she was go­ing to ha­ve to de­li­ver it.

  The sum-to­tal of her obs­tet­ri­cal ex­pe­ri­en­ce had be­en pre­si­ding at the birth of her dachs­hund's lit­ter. She ra­ced in­to the kitc­hen aga­in. The wa­ter bub­bled on the sto­ve, clan­king the scis­sors in a ticky-tacky lit­tle rhythm aga­inst the si­de of the pot. She fo­und a co­oking fork and fis­hed the length of to­wel and the scis­sors out and plop­ped them, drip­ping, on a fol­ded cle­an dish to­wel. It wasn't al­to­get­her ste­ri­le, she tho­ught, but it wo­uld ha­ve to do.

  She la­id the to­wel on the tab­le, then to­ok it up aga­in. The tab­le cloth was plas­tic. It wo­uld do for a bed pad. She put the dish to­wel and scis­sors on the co­un­ter and pul­led the cloth off the tab­le. In the bath­ro­om, she pic­ked up what to­wels she co­uld find. As she did, a cry from the bed­ro­om start­led her. She ran in as Kitty arc­hed her back aga­in. In hor­ror, she saw a gush of flu­id spurt from the girl. She ca­ught most of it with a to­wel and ma­na­ged to tuck the plas­tic cloth and anot­her to­wel un­der her. Kitty clutc­hed at her arm as anot­her cont­rac­ti­on rac­ked her, "Help me-e-e-e." It en­ded in a strang­led scre­ech.

  "I'm he­re. I'm he­re. It's all right." She pra­yed that it was. As she pul­led away from Kitty's grip, a row of red cres­cent scratc­hes li­ned her arm.

  At the next pa­in, Kitty be­gan to bul­ge and Jani­ce re­ali­zed with a start that she was se­e­ing the baby's he­ad. De­ar God. It was ne­arly he­re. She ne­eded to wash her hands.

  She ran in­to the bath­ro­om and was­hed with a sli­ver of so­ap she fo­und the­re. With drip­ping hands, she re­mem­be­red that she had ta­ken all the to­wels to the bed­ro­om.

  A scre­am sent her ra­cing back to Kitty. "It's co­ming! Oh, God. It's co­ming!" the girl yel­led. And then it was too la­te to think abo­ut to­wels or anyt­hing ex­cept the baby. Its he­ad was fully born. She gras­ped it, and felt it turn in her hands. A sho­ul­der slid out, then the rest of its body-a tiny, slip­pery boy on a blo­ody to­wel.

>   "It's a boy. You've got a boy."

  Kitty ra­ised up on her el­bows, "A boy? Is it re­al­ly he­re?" Her bre­ath ca­me in short pants. "Is it all right?"

  Jani­ce sto­od up we­arily and brus­hed a strand of ha­ir from her fa­ce with a fo­re­arm. "He's he­re all right." The baby ga­ve a fret­ful cry. Then anot­her.

  So­me of the fa­ti­gue went out of Kitty's fa­ce when she he­ard him. "Is he all right? Let me hold him."

  Jani­ce re­ac­hed for the slip­pery baby, then stop­ped. The um­bi­li­cal cord pul­sed. "Oh, Christ. I for­got abo­ut the cord." And she scam­pe­red to the kitc­hen for her scis­sors.

  She snatc­hed up the dish to­wel that held the scis­sors, star­ted back to­ward the bed­ro­om, then stop­ped. The pla­cen­ta was go­ing to co­me. What co­uld she do with it? She fumb­led thro­ugh the ca­bi­nets, fo­und a small pac­ka­ge of plas­tic gar­ba­ge bags, and pul­led one out.

  Kitty ope­ned half-clo­sed eyes and sta­red at her as she ca­me up to the bed. "I'm go­ing to cut him lo­ose," sa­id Jani­ce with fal­se bra­va­do. She didn't know how to pro­ce­ed. Sho­uld she do it now, or wa­it un­til the pla­cen­ta ca­me?

  Kitty ga­ve a short gasp, then clutc­hed at her baby with a wa­il of an­gu­ish. Jani­ce stop­ped short, "What is it?"

  Kitty was sta­ring in hor­ror at Jani­ce's hands, and as she sta­red, the wa­il be­ca­me a pi­er­cing ke­en.

  "What? What is it?" Jani­ce lo­oked, be­wil­de­red, at Kitty, then down at her own hands, at the to­wel, the scis­sors, the plas­tic bag… Oh, God. The bag! The ba­bi­es from the nur­sery… "Oh, Kit­ty-No." She tur­ned away from the scre­aming girl and ran from the ro­om. Her fa­ce twis­ted with the pa­in of it. They we­re fri­ends. Fri­ends, damn it. Didn't that me­an anyt­hing? Jani­ce's fa­ce be­gan to work. She le­aned aga­inst the wall in ex­ha­us­ti­on as te­ars stre­amed down her fa­ce. How co­uld Kitty think it? How co­uld she?

 

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