Maestro

by Thomma Lyn Grindstaff

  Rough hands reached under her robe and pulled off her underpants. Then Elena shoved her thighs apart and examined her. Annasophia had never felt so exposed in all her life. Perhaps Elena did know a little something about childbirth, and she and the baby would come through this okay.

  Why would Elena be this cruel, though? There was something sadistic in what she was doing. Perhaps she was exacting her revenge after all, and she didn't even need to send Annasophia back to 2010 to do it. All she needed was to put Annasophia in a state of miserable helplessness, being utterly dependent on a woman who despised her.

  Yes, despised her. No matter how convincing Elena's kindness had been, Annasophia had to admit that it had all been an act. What sort of agenda Elena had, Annasophia couldn't begin to imagine, but she must want something desperately to be able to maintain her act so long. This was probably some ruse to get Maestro back. If she died in childbirth, then to Elena's mind, she'd no longer be standing in the way.

  Annasophia recalled what Elena had just said, that she would only call someone for help if it were the baby in danger. Not Annasophia. Only the baby. Elena had been plotting murder. And she couldn't be thinking clearly. The baby's welfare depended on how the childbirth went. Surely, she could make Elena understand that. But then, why should Elena care about the baby at all? All she'd wanted, all along, had been Maestro.

  “Please,” Annasophia begged, disgusted at being reduced to begging. “My baby.” Another contraction hit, and her robe felt so hot as to be unbearable. No longer caring what Elena saw or didn't see, she stripped off the robe and lay naked and writhing on the bed. Hoping the pain would ease with a shift in position, she got on her hands and knees, panting. When the contraction finally eased, she gasped in Elena's direction, “Whatever you do to me is one thing, but please make sure my baby is okay.”

  “The baby will be fine,” Elena said, calmly and coolly. “You can bet on that.”

  She sounded not only convincing, but determined. Maybe Elena did want to protect the baby. But Annasophia no longer trusted any of her feelings about Elena. They'd steered her wrong all this time. What she wanted was to fight. To find more things to throw. To get up from the bed and kick Elena's ass in any way she could manage. She couldn't do any of these things, though. Another contraction came, and all she could process was pain, and she could barely process that. She lay back down and twisted on the bed, grabbing the sheets and tearing at them. The contractions were getting closer and closer together, and all she could do was lie here and moan.

  The baby was coming, and it was up to Elena, and Elena alone, to deliver him.

  Chapter Four

  Elena sat in a chair at the foot of the bed, and Annasophia, naked and drenched in sweat, writhed on the bed. Her contractions had gotten fierce, and surely, by now, she was close to being fully dilated. When she asked Elena to check, though, she'd said she had no idea what Annasophia was talking about. She hadn't touched Annasophia since that first time, when she'd pulled off her underpants. She only sat and watched as Annasophia twisted, turned, and sometimes got on all fours on the bed, trying anything she could to mitigate the pain and help things go a bit faster. Elena didn't twitch, her expression so cold it could have been cryogenically frozen, and she didn't bring Annasophia any food or drink, no matter how many times she asked for it.

  Annasophia knew enough about childbirth to know that once she was fully dilated, she would go into transition, and then the pushing stage would start. She had heard transition was the most painful part of childbirth, though she couldn't imagine anything hurting worse than these contractions. They were coming roughly five minutes apart, and each one felt as though it were draining her of her insides while burning them to a crisp. Somehow, she kept from screaming, but each time a contraction hit, she tore at the bedsheets and moaned. Her lips were bloody from biting them. Oh, if only Maestro could see what Elena was doing. Or not doing. But now, he couldn't even call. Noontime had come and gone; surely, he had tried calling her at the usual time. What must he think, not being able to get through?

  Oh, how she hoped he'd pick up on something being wrong and catch the next plane home!

  It might be her – and Matt's – only hope.

  For now, though, she simply had to have a drink of water. She had been sweating profusely for hours. Her body and the bed were soaked with it. To make matters worse, she had thrown up the eggs and waffles she'd had for breakfast, and there the mess still lay on the floor. Elena hadn't cleaned it up. She had only continued to sit in the chair and watch, as though she were viewing some kind of perversely entertaining spectacle. No matter how much this hurt, though Annasophia would have to get up, make it to the bathroom – only a few feet away – and get some water. Dehydration would set in soon, if it hadn't already. If Elena tried to stop her, she would do her best to kick her teeth in.

  A contraction had just passed, so now was a good time. Annasophia edged her way to the side of the bed, then pushed herself into a sitting position, with her feet touching the floor. Oh, shit. Her head swam. So dizzy. Wasn't that a symptom of dehydration? She heard movement. Elena had gotten up and was approaching her.

  “Don't come any closer,” Annasophia said. “I have to get a drink of water.”

  Elena stopped and her icy expression gave way to an expression of deep thought. She seemed to be considering something carefully. Then she nodded. “Well, you might be at this for quite a while longer, and dehydration could be dangerous for the baby. I don't want to take chances.”

  “So you'll get me a drink?”

  Elena nodded, but a malevolent smile crossed her face. Then she turned and left the room.

  Annasophia lay back down in the bed, relieved that she didn't have to try and walk. Her dizziness had grown so intense she feared she might start dry-heaving again. Goodness knew there was nothing in her stomach to come up. She turned on her side, clutched her enormous belly, and began to sob. Oh, if only Maestro would come. She thought at him, Your son and I are in mortal danger. Please, please come.

  Like that would work. What a joke. At this point, though, it sure couldn't hurt.

  Elena returned to the room, but she wasn't carrying a pitcher of water or even a glass. Instead, in her hands, she held what looked like a bowl. Yes, a mixing bowl. Annasophia had used it several times to mix batter for cakes. As Elena moved closer, water sloshed out of it. She had filled it full. But why the hell hadn't she brought a pitcher and a glass?

  It didn't matter. She would drink it, even if Elena had brought it in a big plastic bag.

  Instead of placing the bowl on the rolling tray, as Annasophia had expected, Elena put it on the floor, several feet away from the bed. Then she went back to the chair she had placed at the foot of the bed and sat down. She still wore a creepy little smile on her face.

  “What's that?” Annasophia pointed at the bowl. “Can't you put it on my tray?”

  “Well, since you seem so fond of being on all fours like a dog, I figured I'd water you like a dog. Makes sense to me.”

  “What?” She couldn't believe she'd heard Elena correctly. The woman had to be insane.

  “You'll have to get out of that bed and drink it like a dog.”

  “You bitch. I might have known you'd turn against me like this.” Annasophia started to say more, but another contraction gripped her. She screamed. She couldn't help it. And before she knew what she was doing, she rolled over and got on all fours. The position seemed to help relieve the pain somewhat. Who cared if Elena saw her as a dog. Nothing mattered but that Matt would survive his birth, and hopefully she would, too.

  That meant taking a drink. Annasophia would do the deed with as much dignity as she could muster. While she might need to get on all fours while in labor, she didn't need to do it while she drank.

  She would, however, have to get on the floor. Her head spinning, she edged herself off the bed and eased to the floor. When her butt hit bottom, she grunted. Instead of crawling to the bowl on all fours, she sc
ooted along, only to find that Elena had gotten up again. When Annasophia reached the bowl, Elena picked it up and carried it to the other side of the bed.

  “Weren't you listening to me?” she said. “I told you that you'd have to drink it like a dog.”

  Another contraction hit, and Annasophia screamed. She had never dreamed anything could be so painful. Something had changed. This must be what doctors called transition, the phase between the contractions and the pushing stage. She fell back onto the floor, shaking uncontrollably. Her legs trembled so hard that they made drumming noises on the floor. Suddenly, she felt as though she were freezing, and she grabbed for the blankets on the bed, but they were too far away. The pain spiraled up and up until she forgot her name. Where was she, and what was happening? She tried to move – oh, the floor felt so hard, and surely, there was a bed nearby, wasn't there? – but all she could do was lie here and shake.

  “Help,” she said to whoever was in the room. She'd forgotten who it was. Only that somebody was here, but why wasn't she getting any help?

  She looked around, bleary-eyed through the pain, and through the haze, a face took shape: a woman with blonde hair and hate in her eyes. Annasophia remembered. Elena, who wanted nothing more than for her to die.

  Maybe she would die. She couldn't do this any longer. As soon as that thought took shape, she felt an incredibly strong impulse to bear down. The pushing stage. Yes, pushing the baby out. How could she push out a baby when she was dying of thirst?

  Water, she wanted to say, but she couldn't speak through the pain. She lay back on the floor, spread her legs wide, and bore down with all her might. At the agony, she screamed and dug her fingers into the shag rug. Elena's face drew closer, hovering nearby. Her eyes glinted oddly.

  “Yeah,” she said, sounding breathless. “Keep pushing. Push as hard as you can.”

  Did that mean she was fully dilated? The urge to push came again. Annasophia bore down as hard as she could, only to feel fiery agony. The contractions were coming in waves, and Annasophia could no longer control herself. Screw dignity. Screw modesty. Screw it all.

  Writhing on the floor, she screamed and screamed.

  ###

  Elena left the room. What incredible luck. Annasophia made her way around the bed to where the bowl of water sat on the floor. That last spell of dizziness had been awful. If she didn't get something to drink soon, she would soon find herself in even more of a mess. She picked up the bowl, tilted it toward her mouth, and drank deeply, deeply. Thank goodness Elena had forgotten the bowl. Annasophia refused to act like a dog for Elena's amusement.

  Pain gripped her again, but damn it, she wanted back in the bed. She didn't want to give birth to Matt while lying on the floor. Gasping, she hauled herself back up in bed, and the bed felt like paradise after the hard floor. The pain spiraled up and up again, and increasingly, she felt the urge to push.

  Through her haze of pain, she heard noises right outside the doorway. What was Elena doing? It sounded like she was moving a piece of furniture right outside the door, in the hallway. Annasophia couldn't imagine what was working in the woman's brain. Elena came in with a plug and plugged it into a socket just inside the bedroom door. Whatever she'd plugged in was right outside. Annasophia waited to see what she was getting up to, but Elena only came back into the bedroom and sat down in the chair. When she saw the empty bowl of water sitting on the floor, she scowled.

  “You're not getting any more, so I hope you enjoyed it.”

  Annasophia couldn't reply. All she could do was push. She no longer had any control; she would do what her body wanted, and her body wanted to push. Now that she was in the pushing stage, surely this would be over soon, and Matt would be born. She hoped with all her might Maestro had sensed something wrong when his noon call had gone unanswered and that he was on his way home.

  If so, Elena would have hell to pay.

  ###

  Four hours later, Annasophia was still pushing. Three times – or as nearly as she could figure – she had passed out from pain and exhaustion. Dimly, she wondered why she wasn't dead yet. Elena only sat in the chair and watched, her eyes with an odd gleam.

  “Please,” Annasophia gasped. “Call a midwife. Call somebody. I think the baby's stuck.”

  “Well, we'll see,” Elena said. “I still think you can push it out.”

  It. That rankled. “Damn it, Elena...” She'd had more to say, but she couldn't say it. She was sucked again into a spiral of pain. She lay sideways, spread her legs as wide as they would go, and bore down with all her might, screaming her lungs out. Then she fell back, moaning and sobbing. She would die. She couldn't keep this up. No way.

  She reached down between her legs, expecting to feel nothing but her own throbbing and tortured tissue. But no. This time, she felt – lo and behold – the baby's head. Oh, my God. She might be able to give birth to Matt, after all. Yes, she could do this. He was coming. Another urge to push seized her, and again, she rolled onto her side, spread her legs, and bore down with every ounce of strength she had. This time, she didn't so much as scream as bellow. She was absolutely determined that she bring Matt into the world, regardless of everything else. Surely, she had pushed him out a little bit more.

  When she reached down to touch Matt's head again, he hadn't budged. He had to be stuck. Again, she remembered the doctor's words from her regular checkups: narrow pelvis.

  “Please. I need help.”

  “You can do it,” Elena said coldly.

  The urge to push hit Annasophia again. This time, though, when she tried to bear down, she fell back into a gray haze. God, she was so tired. She had never dreamed a person could be so exhausted. Some time later, she realized that the urge to push was gripping her again. She had no choice. It wasn't as though she could say no to her own body. This time, she turned her back on Elena and got on her knees. With her legs as wide as she could get them, she gripped the bedposts with her hands for support, then bore down as hard as she could, even harder than she could have imagined. As she pushed, she threw her head back and wailed. She thought she would pass out again from the pain.

  But she didn't.

  This time, Matt moved a little bit. She was starting to stretch around his head, and now she understood why women in labor called this the “ring of fire.” Panting, she glanced over her shoulder at Elena, in whose expression malevolence burned even hotter than the ring of fire between Annasophia's legs. The urge to push slammed into her again, but this time, she could no longer stay on her knees, so she got down on all fours and pushed as hard as she could manage. This time, it wasn't nearly as hard, but exhaustion was getting the better of her again.

  She had bled quite a bit on the bed. Elena hadn't let her have another drink. Dizziness made her head swim, and she sank back down on the bed, panting. She mustn't lose consciousness again. If she did, she might not come back.

  Annasophia lay, her head on her pillow, her legs spread wide. She reached down and touched Matt's head again. He wasn't fully crowned yet, but he was close. One more push, and he'd be there. One push after that, he would be even closer to birth. She mustn't give up. She couldn't. Her mind and heart were one thing, though. Her exhausted body was quite another.

  “God, Elena,” she grunted. “How can you be so cruel?”

  “I'm only doing what I have to do,” she said.

  Okay, maybe not cruel. Crazy probably fit better. Oh, God, Oh, God – the urge to push was building again, and Annasophia, sobbing and moaning, gave herself over to it. Despite what she had already been through, nothing could compare to the agony as she pushed as hard as she could, locking her arms around her knees to make it easier to bear down, and Matt's head crowned, bringing the ring of fire to its sizzling climax. Oh, she couldn't stop screaming. It hurt so bad. Somebody had to get this baby out of her. She couldn't stand it any more.

  “God, Elena, pull him out, pull him out, please...” Annasophia was babbling, but she couldn't stop.

  Elena just
sat there.

  An abrupt knock sounded on the door.

  Maestro?

  Annasophia let out a long breath as the urge to push hit her yet again. Perhaps she and Matt were saved.

  ###

  “Annasophia! Elena!” came Maestro's strong voice. “What's going on in there?” He kept knocking on the door, but Elena didn't move from her chair. Annasophia glanced at her, and for the first time, she saw anxiety creeping into her expression.

  Whatever Elena had planned, she wouldn't get away with it. Not now that Maestro was here. He had come. Thank goodness, he had come.

  “Keep pushing, bitch,” Elena snarled.

  Regardless of what she said, Annasophia had to do what her body wanted. She bore down again and felt unutterable relief as Matt's head left her. He was nearly born now. All that she had to do was push him the rest of the way out, then he'd be in her arms, Maestro would be here, and they'd have Elena arrested and out of their lives for good.

  She would survive this. Their family would be okay.

  The haze of unconsciousness pulled at her, but she beat it back. She had to push again. Bearing down, she felt Matt slide out of her body and onto the bed. Elena jumped out of the chair. At that point, everything became a blur of sound and activity. Elena snatched the baby into her arms and rushed him into the bathroom. Then she headed for the bedroom door, on her way out.

  Surely, she'd had sense enough to wrap Matt in a towel to keep him warm.