Unlocked

by Barnes, Rebecca

  “What’d you tell them?”

  “I said of course, we are! How could we pass up this opportunity? Listen, Mel, Karen should be there shortly to pick you up. She’s bringing you here to get started. Now. Today. Can you believe it?”

  She couldn’t.

  “Pack extra clothes just in case. I know they keep some of the candidates overnight. And when you get here, we’ll have a ton of paperwork. They suggested we bring a lawyer, so that’s why I’m sending Karen to get you. She’s just as excited as we are, and she can decipher all that legal mumbo jumbo for us. Win, win, right?”

  “Is this real life?” Melanie asked again, frozen.

  “Yeah, Mel. It’s happening. One more chance,” Mark convinced, “Mel, I gotta get back to it. See you soon.”

  “See you soon.” Melanie replied and clicked the receiver into its place. She stood there staring at the phone for several minutes, still not entirely sure she believed what had just transpired. She began to let the information wash over her in gentle waves, taking it all in little by little. The trial, she thought, I’m in. Could it be possible? Could the trial work? Could I actually conceive, carry, and deliver a healthy baby? As she said these things in her mind, her right hand moved across her flat stomach and rested just below her navel. She smiled dreamily. Eventually, Melanie was startled out of this dream by a loud knock at the door.

  “Karen, is that you?” Melanie called as she crossed to the front entrance.

  “Yeah, Momma! It’s me! Let me in so we can go get you a baby!”

  Melanie liked the way that sounded. Momma. She unlocked the deadbolt and ushered Karen in. They weren’t usually the hugging type, but this situation called for an embrace. The women squealed for a moment and even bounced up and down in the threshold like teenagers, which was also a little out of character for them, but celebrate, they must.

  “Is this real life?” Melanie asked wide-eyed for the third time since hearing the news. “Karen, is this for real?”

  “Of course it is! Let’s get you packed. C’mon.” The women made their way down the hall to the master bedroom. Karen flung open Melanie’s closet doors and started grabbing clothes.

  “Karen, I only need a change of clothes. Mark didn’t tell me to pack for the whole pregnancy. Slow down!” Melanie laughed.

  “Well, just in case. Better to over prepare rather than under prepare, right?” Karen retorted as she pulled another shirt off its hanger and stuffed it into the bag. “You’re going to need comfy clothes too.” Melanie opened her dresser drawer, pulled out two pairs of sweat pants, two t-shirts, two sets of intimates and four pairs of socks. Melanie loved clean socks. Sometimes she’d change her socks two or three times in one day. She neatly refolded her clothing and rearranged it in the bag Karen had stuffed. She packed her toiletries, and the friends set out for BioTech Medical Research Facility.

  #

  “PUSH!” screamed the nurse again. This time, Melanie bore down and her miracle emerged.

  “It’s a girl!” announced the obstetrician who had stepped into the room only moments before Melanie’s daughter was born. He cut the cord and left as hastily as he had entered. The team of nurses tended to the rest.

  The room became a buzz of excitement and activity. Melanie only saw her infant daughter for a fraction of a second before they whisked her away to the incubator and wheeled her out of the room.

  “What’s happening? What are you doing with my baby? I want to hold her. I want to see her.”

  “Mrs. Marcel, please relax,” a nurse instructed.

  “I just want to see my baby! Is something wrong with her? Why won’t you let me see her?” the new mother pleaded in desperation. She had waited nine long months to hold this precious child in her arms. Actually, she had waited four long years. Fertility treatment after fertility treatment. Shot after shot. Prayer after prayer. And finally…finally…she had a child. A child no one would let her see. “Mark, where is our baby? Go find her.”

  “I can’t leave you, Mel.” He responded, unsure which of the women in his life he needed to care for at this moment in time.

  “Mark. I’m fine. Go. Find our Clara. Make sure she’s okay.”

  Mark kissed his wife’s forehead and did as he was told, still feeling torn. Melanie was able to fend off the sobs that had been threatening her until after Mark had slung the privacy curtain to the delivery room closed and set out for the nursery.

  “Ma’am, I assure you that your baby is fine. But, because of the trial, we’ll need to run tests and observe her for a period of time before you can hold her. Remember? This was all discussed with you when you and Mr. Marcel agreed to be a part of this study,” a young nurse explained. She was kind but lacked sympathy in her tone. Melanie guessed she was not a mother herself. Hell, Melanie thought, I’ve only been a mother myself for five minutes.

  “I don’t ever remember discussing that my baby would be taken away from me upon birth!” Melanie screamed. At this point, Melanie was hysterical. “Bring me my baby!”

  “Mrs. Marcel, Melanie,” the nurse softly attempted to pacify her patient, “Melanie, remember all those papers you signed?”

  Melanie remembered: stack upon stack of medical and legal jargon. She had signed at every X, initialed every box, and scribbled her name across every dotted line, only thinking baby, baby, baby.

  “Yes.” Melanie sobbed, defeated.

  “It was all in there. Upon birth, it was explained that the baby would be removed from the parents for a period of time so that the proper tests could be administered. We need data for our trial. You are helping future mothers just like yourself, Melanie. That should bring you some relief.”

  It did, but just a bit. Melanie was exhausted, emotional, and just wanted to hold her beloved and long-awaited daughter in her weary arms.

  “What kinds of tests?” Melanie asked, calming slightly and wishing she had read all the fine print when she had signed those papers last year.

  “She’ll be fine, Melanie. I promise. You’ll be holding her in no time.”

  “I just want to know what they’re doing to my baby.” Melanie pleaded.

  “Well, they will be doing all the routine testing that we do on all newborn babies. This includes drawing blood; the Apgar assessment which will evaluate your baby's heart rate, breathing, muscle tone, reflex response, and color; in addition, they will run an MRI to check for any abnormalities in the brain or body; echocardiogram to ensure a healthy heart, and of course a hearing and vision test.” The young nurse explained all of this as if she was reading the menu selections to an elderly patron at IHOP. She acted as if this was an everyday run-of-the-mill delivery. For her, it probably was. She probably delivered many babies who had been a part of this fertility trial, but as far as Melanie was concerned, she was the only mother of the only baby that mattered. This was her first experience with any of this and she didn’t like it one bit. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into your room, hon.”

  “Hon,” Melanie privately scoffed. She hated when perky little things much younger than she called her “hon”. Insult to injury, she thought. Insult to injury.

  An hour after delivery, Melanie Marcel still had not seen her newborn daughter, other than the brief glimpse before they stole her away in the delivery room. Her long-time friend, Karen, had joined her and set to work calming the new mother.

  “She’s fine, and you know it, Mel-Bel,” Karen assured. “If something was wrong, you’d know it, they would have told you.”

  “I know, but…she should be here. With me. In my room. In my arms.” Melanie argued, feebly of course. She had yet, in all their years of friendship, to win an argument with Karen.

  “Listen, hon…”

  While it didn’t infuriate Melanie the way it had when the nurse had called her “hon”, she still found herself mildly annoyed by the moniker, as if it inherently held condescension within its three short letters. Who knew two consonants and a vowel could automatically make someone sound like
a know-it-all asshole? Melanie thought.

  “I was with you when you and Mark filled out the paperwork for this fertility trial. We pored over papers for hours. As your lawyer, I explained all of this in explicit detail. You said you understood what you were signing up for, but all I saw were babies in your eyes. You would have signed away your soul if it meant getting a baby in return, wouldn’t you?”

  Melanie let out a short laugh, but inside, she wasn’t amused at all. Karen didn’t have children. She couldn’t understand what this felt like. What it felt like to have your very heart ripped out of your chest.

  “Besides, you’re going to have to get used to it, hon. She’ll be involved in this study until she’s eighteen: Weekly checkups and blood draws for the first year, monthly tests and wellness checks until age five, and quarterly medical and fitness evaluations until adulthood. This is what you signed on for, Mel-Bel, but you have a baby now! Enjoy it.”

  Melanie remembered most of this, but the reality of her empty arms made it all hit home in a heavy and unexpected way.

  “And don’t worry. I’m sure Mark’s with her.”

  This reminder eased Melanie’s troubled mind somewhat. “Have you heard from him? Did you see him on your way in?”

  “No, but if you want, I’ll go check. I can see what’s—”

  As if on cue, Melanie’s phone chimed. It was muffled, having been packed in the side pocket of her overnight bag, but both women heard it. Karen, who was the more able-bodied of the two, crossed to the tall thin locker-style closet and opened it. Inside Melanie’s immaculately packed floral canvas bag, her phone chimed again.

  “It’s Mark,” Karen beamed. “Here.” She handed the phone to her friend.

  Melanie flipped open her phone and read the first of two messages from the father of her child: She’s beautiful. She’s beautiful, and healthy, and perfect. She clicked on the second message. It took a moment to open, but when it did, Melanie was in love. It was a picture of her darling, sweet, baby girl. Melanie gazed at the picture and longed to hold her baby. She smiled at the sight of her gorgeous girl.

  “Well!? What did he say?” Karen insisted.

  “Look!” Melanie held out her phone.

  “Awwww, she’s perfections Mel-Bel, just like you. Good job, Momma!”

  Momma, thought Melanie. I like that.

  Chapter Three—Saturday Evening

  “Stay calm, baby.” Melanie soothed in the most motherly voice she could muster. Don’t try to fight. Stay calm, and we will try to do everything we can to help you, honey. We love you so, so much.”

  Clara, whose eyes flitted frantically between opened and closed, couldn’t understand why she felt like lead--her eyes, her body. Her vision was blurry behind her half-closed lids and she was immediately aware through the haze that her throat was parched. She tried to speak, but when she did, all she could muster was a weak groan. As her mind cleared little by little, she began to panic.

  “Clara, don’t try to speak. Mom will get you some water.” Mark nodded to Melanie, indicating the instruction.

  “The drugs are making you thirsty,” her father explained as Melanie left the room to pour some water in the kitchen and quickly returned.

  “Drugs?” Clara thought? What drugs? What’s happening?” Her eyes continued to flutter and focus for what seemed an eternity. When she was finally able to hold them open, what she saw horrified her. She was back in her upstairs bedroom, in her own bed, under her own down comforter. Except it was not her own parents attempting to quiet her. It was strangers who hovered over her. As Melanie offered the glass of tap water to her daughter, Clara rallied the energy to scream so loudly that her mother dropped the glass which shattered on the hardwood floor below. She felt a sting on her arm, in addition to the sting in her throat caused by the shrieking. Maybe it was a glass shard, maybe a needle, but before Clara could decide, she was out.

  When she roused again, it was early Monday morning, and she was just as groggy as the previous day. Her body was heavy like never before. For a few minutes, she allowed herself to believe perhaps she was just very sick. Maybe she was running a ridiculous fever and that was the reason her body was heavy, her mind was foggy, and that maybe, just maybe, she was having incredibly vivid nightmares or even hallucinating. Clara kept her eyes closed for as long as she could for this very reason. She clung to the hope that none of this was real, but eventually, she knew she was going to have to open her eyes and face reality.

  Ultimately, she willed her lids to separate. Relief washed over her exhausted body. She examined the room around her—the fluorescent lighting, mild greenish stark walls, a single window, and a curtain suspended from the tiled drop-ceiling that served as a privacy curtain between her railed bed, which she was just now determining was very uncomfortable.

  Thank God, she smiled, I am sick. I am in a hospital. Still weak, Clara relaxed and closed her eyes again. She knew she had never been sick a day in her life, according to her germaphobe mother, anyway, so she figured now that she was finally sick, she was getting fourteen years’ worth. It must be something awful to be admitted to the hospital, she concluded.

  I wonder where my parents are, Clara thought, but judging by the bright morning sun that was penetrating her closed lids, she figured it must be early the next morning. They were probably at the cafeteria grabbing a quick breakfast or in the lounge pouring themselves some coffee. It’s probably been a long couple of days for them too, she mused, but still wished they were here, by her side.

  She must have dozed off again—she wasn’t surprised as tired as she was—because when she awoke, the sun had moved across the sky and was no longer shining directly on her. She opened her eyes and noticed that in fact many hours had passed and judging by the shadows creeping across her dim room, she presumed the sun must be sinking down over the other side of the building. She smiled a lazy smile, knowing her parents would be somewhere in the room ready to welcome her back into the land of the living. She twisted her sore neck to the right and then toward the left, surveying the room, but there was no sign of them. She tried feebly to sit up in bed, but she was too weak. After a moment of rest, she raised her right arm to feel for the button on the side rail of her hospital bed so that she could raise the bed instead of attempting to raise her body. When she reached for the rail, her arm caught on something. She reached over with her left hand to untangle whatever wire or tube was holding her back, but when she did, her left arm stopped short too. Clara opened her bleary eyes and saw that she was not tangled in medical equipment; she saw that both of her arms for unknown reasons were restrained.

  At some point, fatigued from her attempt to free herself, Clara must have fallen asleep--blacked out, more likely--again because when she woke, the sun was once again shining brightly through the one small window in her sterile little room. She was mentally aware enough to know that it must now be Tuesday morning, but she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure in her current cognitive state.

  “MOM!” Clara screamed at the top of her lungs despite the pain. “MOM? DAD?” She screamed again, louder this time, but no one came. Where were they? Why weren’t they by her side? Why was she restrained? These were the questions racing through Clara’s mind as she pulled against the restraints with all her might, which was less than impressive since she had been sedated, or at least she assumed she had been sedated given her grogginess and general malaise.

  “Someone HELP ME!” She shouted and began to sob uncontrollably, but still, no one came. She wondered if anyone could hear her. Were they watching her? Were her parents even in the same building? And what about the strange dreams she had had? Oh, God, she thought. What if they were somehow real?

  Clara quickly pushed that thought out of her mind. It couldn’t have been real. But still, she wondered frantically, where am I and why am I here? With that thought, there was soft knock at the door of her empty room. She waited for a long moment, and then she heard the knock again. Louder this time, but still gent
le and unobtrusive.

  “Who….who is it?” Clara asked, nervous and not having a clue what or who to expect. She knew it would not be her parents. They wouldn’t have knocked. She hoped it was a doctor, or better yet, a nurse—in her experience nurses always knew more about what was going on than the doctors anyway—who could explain what was happening.

  “Clara?” A gentle voice answered. “Clara, my name is Dr. Lydia Lindenhurtz. I’m a psychiatrist associated with this hospital. May I come in, please?”

  A psychiatrist!? Clara thought. Oh my God, what happened that I need a psychiatrist!? The idea of being tied down in a hospital at an unknown location with a psychiatrist knocking on the door and asking to enter left Clara utterly terrified.

  “Clara?” the pleasant voice called again.

  “Come in.” Clara answered with reluctance and apprehension. Clara heard a buzz and a bolt automatically unlock before the door opened. Dear God, was she locked in this room as well? The door swung open and Dr. Lindenhurtz entered. Clara still could not see her; she was standing behind the privacy curtain that was pulled between Clara’s bed and the door.

  “Clara, may I come the rest of the way in? I’d like to meet you face to face if that’s okay with you.” Her words seemed sincere.

  “Umm, yeah, I guess…” Clara answered, but her words turned upward creating more of a question than a statement.

  Clara heard the door latch behind the woman. Gentle footsteps approached the curtain, pulled it aside, and proceeded to the only chair in the room which sat across from Clara’s bed. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched this stranger entering her room.

  “Clara, may I sit?” the woman requested, motioning to the empty chair. Her tone was one of caution. Through her tears and foggy head, Clara observed that she was of average height, maybe 5’6 or so, with plain brown hair, and small glasses. She wore a heather gray pants suit with black flats. Her features were common and friendly. She had that girl-next-door-vibe. Clara could relate. She was a girl-next-door type too, she thought.