Crimson Return

by Daelynn Quinn

  “Auntie Pollen, come with me,” Evie asks, her featherweight hand grasping mine.

  “Evie do the best you can and I’ll come help you when you are done.” Evie goes into the bathroom and I wait, resting my head on my forearm against the doorjamb.

  “Auntie Pollen!” Evie calls to me from inside and I enter as a wave of heat bears down on me. I help Evie wipe and pull up her pants but the dizzying sensation takes over.

  “Go wash your hands,” I say and after she leaves the bathroom, I slam the door behind her, lean over the toilet and unleash the monsters in my belly. Then again. And again.

  A rapping at the door snaps me back to attention. “Pollen? Are you okay?” Lana asks sounding unusually concerned.

  I dab my chin with toilet paper and flush the contents before coming out to face her. “I must have caught Evie’s stomach bug,” I say, shielding the painfully bright overhead lights from my eyes. I just want to go lie down in a dark, quiet room, away from any strong sensory stimuli.

  “I think you should go,” says Lana, catching me by surprise. “I don’t need any of these kids getting sick in here.”

  “Okay,” I say, taking Evie’s hand. “Thank you, Lana.” She nods almost imperceptibly and I go home.

  * * *

  “Nap time, Evie,” I say, shepherding her into her bedroom decorated with pink and yellow butterflies. She turns around and punches her hands on her four-year-old hips.

  “I’m not tired. No nap!” she snaps at me.

  “Evie. Auntie Pollen is very tired and I don’t feel good. My tummy hurts. I need you to take your nap so that I can lie down and take a nap too.”

  Evie shakes her head, over exaggerating each turn. “Uh, uh.”

  “Evie. When I say it is nap time, it is nap time.” I say sternly. I hate to admit it, but caring for Evie has given me a newfound appreciation for my parents. I don’t know how they could have put up with Drake and me. We were such brats. I just wish they were around now so I could tell them how much they mean to me and how sorry I am for giving them a hard time.

  “No!” Evie lowers her brows and glowers at me while crossing her arms in defiance.

  I throw my hands up in the air, exasperated and too weak and sick to put up a fight. “Fine! Just stay in your room and play then.”

  I charge off to my bedroom, leaving Evie behind in hers and collapse onto the bed, ignoring the blankets. Why am I so tired? I drift in and out of consciousness, thinking about Glenn and what he said about Drake. Could Drake really be alive? It was a closed casket funeral. They said he was blown to bits by a landmine. But what if that really didn’t happen? What if we just buried an empty coffin? But I can’t trust Glenn. I’ve already established that. Or can I? Maybe he was telling the truth all along. But then, who else could have sabotaged the shuttle and stolen the plans. He’s the only outsider here. My confusion frustrates me to no end. I shouldn’t think about this right now. I feel too sick.

  There’s a knock at the door. I glance over at the clock. It’s two o’clock. Already? Where has the time gone? Timber’s here to watch Evie while I go to train with Marcus. I can’t go today—not feeling like this. But I would enjoy her company.

  I open the door and lean against it.

  “Oh, Pollen, you don’t look well,” Timber says, pressing her hand against my forehead.

  “I don’t feel well,” I say. “I’m not training today.”

  “Do you want me to go?” she asks.

  “No, come in,” I say, opening the door wider.

  “Where’s Evie?” Timber asks, looking around the living room.

  “In her bedroom.”

  Timber tiptoes over to Evie’s room and peeks inside, closing the door gingerly before she turns back to me. “She’s out. Sprawled across her bed wearing her finest pink dress and princess crown.”

  I smile. “I told her to take a nap earlier, but she refused. So I just let her play in there while I rested.”

  “Can I make you some tea?” Timber asks. I nod. Tea might help to ease my stomach.

  Timber shuffles around the tiny kitchen nook, filling a kettle with water and placing it on the single burner range. The kitchen is only a kitchen in that there’s a little countertop to prepare food, two cabinets and a mini fridge for storage, and a single burner range and microwave for cooking. Marcus unplugged the microwave as soon as we moved in for fear that the radiation might trigger memory loss from the chemical in the tattoos we were imprinted with from Crimson. Usually, though, we just eat in the food court.

  I curl up on the couch, laying my head on the arm cushion. After a few minutes, Timber brings me my cup of black tea with a splash of hazelnut milk.

  “Thank you, Timber.”

  “What’s up, Pollen?” she asks as I carefully sip the hot tea. It burns my upper lip so I blow on it gently before attempting another sip.

  “Nothing. I’m just tired. And a little nauseated. I’ll be okay after I get a good rest.”

  “Something’s different about you,” says Timber, narrowing her eyes. She sits next to me and leans her elbow against the back of the couch, resting her cheek on her fist. “Ever since you were attacked, you’ve been really distant and . . . unhappy. Look, I don’t want to push you, Pollen. You know that. But you can talk to me.”

  “I know,” I gaze off into space, debating whether to tell her about my affair with Glenn. Maybe it would help, to get this off my chest. I don’t think she would tell Marcus. But I don’t want her to look down on me either. Timber has a kind heart. She’ll understand.

  “Timber I’ve done something horrible,” I start, and, from out of nowhere, high tide rushes in. Timber leans over me and, taking a tissue from the box, wipes the tears from my cheeks. The tissue saturates quickly so she leans over and pulls out three more for me.

  “What is it, sweetie?”

  “It’s Glenn,” I say, gulping air between my sobs. “After I was attacked, we were locked in Granby’s office—when the power went out. Glenn found some small bottles of liquor in Granby’s desk. Of course we drank them, after what had happened and all. Then, I don’t even know how it happened.”

  Timber’s eyes widen. “You didn’t . . .”

  “When I woke up, our clothes were on the floor and we were laying together on the loveseat.” I can barely breathe now, my wailing too strong to control. Hiccups interrupt every few words. “I didn’t want that to happen. I can’t believe I did that to Marcus.”

  “Oh, honey,” Timber reaches across and takes me in her arms. As she presses against my breast I feel a sharp pain as if she’s just jabbed a sensitive bruise, and I flinch back, grabbing my chest. Timber arches her brow, bewildered and deep in thought.

  “You said you were tired and nauseated?” I nod. “Do your breasts hurt?” I nod again.

  “Oh my god, Pollen. You’re pregnant.”

  Chapter 14

  “I’m pregnant?”

  Timber stands back in the corner of the medical examination room covering her mouth to hide her shock, while Dr. Yipolis peruses my medical history. I feel numb; like this isn’t really happening. Perhaps it’s just a dream. A really bad dream. Wake up, Pollen. Wake up!

  “It would appear so, Ms. McRae,” says the hideously handsome young doctor. He shakes the ebony bangs from his brow, in a move only models could perfect, and looks up at me through his long dark lashes with his brilliant ultramarine eyes.

  “From the look on your face I presume you were not trying?” His voice is unnaturally gentle, like hot melted caramel flowing from his perfectly chiseled lips. It helps to ease the tension that seems to be permanently constructed in my muscles.

  “No,” I whisper, looking down at the floor. I can’t look him in the eyes—they remind me of Marcus.

  “And you cannot remember the date of your last menstruation?” I shake my head in shame. Why would I bother with that? There’s just been too much going on to even care.

  “We’ll do an ultrasound to determine how far alo
ng you are, and then I’ll give you further instructions. Would you excuse me?” Dr. Yipolis and Timber leave the room and Timber gives me a reassuring glance and soft smile just before she closes the door. I shift uncomfortably on the table wearing my white paper gown, which leaves little to be discovered.

  The imaginary ticking in my head begins. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. What could be taking them so long? I take deep penetrating breaths to try and calm myself down, but they are futile. What am I going to tell Marcus? He’s infertile—he’ll know I betrayed him. What else could he think? I envision that twisted, angry look on his face when we were at Crimson and he’d thought I’d joined the Enforcers. That fatal look would be butterflies and roses in comparison to learning this.

  The door handle clicks and I wrap my arms around my paper gown, as Timber rolls in the ultrasound machine on a cart, kicking the door shut behind her.

  “You okay?” she asks, plugging in the machine.

  “For now,” I reply, still shaken.

  Timber flips a switch and the machine hums as it starts up. She places one hand on my knee and the other behind my shoulder. “I’m here for you, Pollen. No matter what happens.”

  I nod sadly. “We both know what will happen.”

  “You don’t know that.” She shakes her head. “Besides, there’s no rush to tell him. If it is Glenn’s, you’re still very early. There’s still a chance . . .” Timber falls silent. Pain clouds her eyes before she looks away and presses some buttons on the machine.

  “Lie back,” she says, holding my back and gently lowering me down on the paper-lined medical bed complete with paper pillowcase.

  “Miscarriage,” I say. Timber nearly drops me. She looks petrified.

  “What?” Timber’s eyes widen, as if she’d just seen a ghost doing the hokey pokey with a zombie.

  “That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? There’s still a chance I could have a miscarriage.”

  Timber shakes her head, trying to rid herself of some horrible thought. “Yes, you could. But nobody should ever wish for that. I’ll go get Dr. Yipolis.”

  I want to press her for more information. There’s something she’s not telling me. Did she have a miscarriage before? That would explain her strange reaction. But I decide to bite my tongue instead. She’ll tell me eventually.

  Timber leaves and strolls back in about thirty seconds later with Dr. Yipolis. My body tenses as he instructs me to place my feet in the stirrups at the end of the bed, exposing my pride and joy to his gorgeous deep blue eyes.

  Timber picks up a wand-like device from a rack on the side of the machine, rolls a condom onto it, and squeezes a translucent cyan jelly onto the tip. She hands it to Dr. Yipolis, who sits on a rolling stool between my legs. Why, oh why, did the OB/GYN have to be a hot doctor? Why couldn’t it be some fat, wrinkly old lady? Dr. Yipolis is actually the OB/GYN, internist, and sometimes a surgeon, though it’s not really his specialty. There are only two other doctors here and neither of them is adept in women’s health.

  “Relax,” he says, gently inserting the warm wand inside me. “Just some pressure.” I wince from the sensation. If I weren’t so worried about Marcus right now, I’d probably be squirming with discomfort. But the fear of facing him tugs my attention from my physical body.

  I close my eyes as the hot doctor maneuvers the wand inside me, leaning left, then right, and then circling it around. A chill bites my legs as the air conditioner kicks on and I reflexively shiver.

  “There it is,” says Dr. Yipolis. I open my eyes and focus on the ultrasound monitor, but all I see is an indistinct monochromatic blob of flesh.

  “That’s it?” I ask incredulously.

  Timber fiddles with the ultrasound machine, taking some measurements.

  “Looks like your fetus is very young. You’re only about four weeks along.”

  Four weeks! It’s only been just over two since Glenn and I . . . this has to be Marcus’s baby! But how will he react when I tell him? Will he be happy or suspicious? It doesn’t matter. My fears have dissipated and now I can relax and enjoy my pregnancy. I close my eyes and feel my upturned lips emanating relief.

  When I open my eyes, Timber looks hard at me, shaking her head, as I exhale sharply. What’s she trying to tell me?

  Dr. Yipolis finishes his exam and holds out his hand to help me sit up. His hand is unnaturally soft, like that of a child’s. I’m glad he’s got some feature that turns me off, despite his dashing good looks.

  “Miss McRae, the fetus looks healthy and normal for this stage of the pregnancy. I would like to offer my congratulations, however, you are the first pregnancy we’ve had since the virus.” My smile melts away. What is he getting at?

  “We don’t know how exposure to the virus might affect the fetus. I’d expect if your fetus has the double mutation, it would be immune, just as you are. But since we have no record to compare it to . . . well, to be honest we just don’t know.

  “I’d like you to take it easy over the next eight weeks. This pregnancy could be unpredictable, but it’s important. You may give birth to the first post-virus child. That’s nothing to be taken lightly. I’d like you to come in weekly for testing, so we can monitor the progress and take note of any developments. Would you be okay with that?”

  Overwhelmed with all this information, my mind has entered a void, and I’m speechless. I simply nod.

  “Good,” says Dr. Yipolis. “You can get dressed and I’ll see you next week.” Just before he leaves, the kind doctor turns back to me, “And Miss McRae, congratulations again.”

  Timber remains in the room with me, turning off the machine and preparing to take it away. Then she places her hand on my knee again.

  “Pollen, are you alright?”

  I shake myself out of my trance and glance up at Timber, with a grin that stretches eye to eye.

  “It’s not Glenn’s,” I murmur, eyes glistening with happy tears. “Four weeks. It can’t be his.”

  Timber’s shoulders slump and she looks down, disheartened. Moving behind me, she hops up onto the paper-lined bed and gently massages my shoulders.

  “Pollen,” she sighs wistfully, “pregnancy always starts on the date of your last period. That’s how doctors determine the due date and how far along you are. I know it’s confusing, but the first two weeks don’t really count. Conception would have taken place two weeks ago.”

  My heart shrivels up and turns to dust. The smile that donned my cheeks just a few seconds ago has died and my shoulders tense up under Timber’s fingers. I had forgotten all about that. I should have remembered how they calculate the date. After all, I had been pregnant before.

  “So it could still be Glenn’s,” I mutter breathlessly.

  “It would appear so,” Timber says, rubbing her thumbs into the solid mass surrounding my neck. “But it could be Marcus’s, right?” she asks with a hint of optimism.

  I turn to face Timber. She drops her hands in reaction to the desolate expression on my face.

  “He can’t have children,” I say solemnly. “That’s why his first wife left him. He’s infertile.”

  Timber’s face droops and she wraps her arms around me, allowing me to cry into her shoulder. How could this happen? Why me? Why now? I was so happy with Marcus and Evie. We were going to be a family. Spend our lives together. Now with one horrible mistake I’ve destroyed that possibility.

  * * *

  “We need to unpack, Pollen. We’re going to be here for a few months, might as well get comfortable,” Marcus says, adjusting the mirror he just hung on the ecru tinted wall and eying the reflection of the boxes that sit stacked in the corner of our temporary underground apartment. On the far wall hangs a virtual window—a light box that emits manufactured sunlight, mimicking the sunrise and sunset, so it feels like we are above ground.

  The apartment is much smaller than our first home—a studio apartment with a double bed and pull out sofa for Evie. Marcus and I don’t have the privacy we’re used to, but i
t doesn’t matter too much. I haven’t been in the mood to fool around with him ever since I discovered my pregnancy. It hurts too much to know how this will affect him.

  I keep waiting for the right time to tell him. Who am I kidding? There will never be a right time. Deep down I’ve been praying for a miscarriage. It’s the only way out. I guess I’m just scared. And I want to hold on to him as long as I can before his love for me turns into spite.

  “I will,” I say as I lie face down on the bed reading the Ceborec newsletter. They distribute the newsletters once a month. Usually it just lists updates on the shuttle, upcoming events, and a list of birthdays, as if those really matter anymore.

  “When I’m feeling better,” I sigh.

  Marcus sits on the edge of the bed and sweeps his hand across my brow, brushing the hair out of my face.

  “Still feel like crap, huh?” I nod. “The doctor still doesn’t know what it is?” Not only have I been hiding the truth from Marcus, but I’ve been flat out lying to him as well. I don’t really feel that sick anymore, just incredibly tired. I don’t want to unpack because I know he’ll throw me out as soon as I tell him I’m pregnant. He thinks I’ve been seeing the doctor for some mysterious illness when I go in for my weekly tests. That’s what I’ve been telling him anyway.

  It’s been three weeks now, since that fateful day in the medical clinic. I know I’ll have to tell him soon. I’ve been holding off in case I have a miscarriage. Part of me wants to lose the baby. That would make things so much simpler. But it would also remind me of losing Lex, the baby I lost almost three years ago, which could possibly rip me to shreds.

  “Pollen, is there something else going on?” Marcus asks, rubbing my stiff neck with one hand.