Echo of Redemption

by Roxy Harte

  I grind my teeth, trying very hard to not lose it. Damn Jackie.

  “There is a woman I met tonight who sings birthing chants. I think I’m going to hire her to assist with my birth. She sang and drummed for us. It was the most wondrous thing.”

  At a red light I turn in my seat to make certain she sees in my glare that I am not wavering on this. “I am your master, you are my slave. I will not hear another word about any of this. Do. You. Understand?”

  She doesn’t answer. A second later she bursts into tears, and I don’t have the mental or physical energy to do anything except drive us to the penthouse.

  “All you need is confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is in facing danger when you are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.”

  L. Frank Baum, The Wizard of Oz

  Chapter 31

  Kitten

  Time absolutely drags when you’re miserable, and with Master sleeping in the guest bedroom each night I am nothing but miserable. I spend so much time alone, I hardly feel like I’m in a relationship, let alone a ménage.

  Garrett is awake and has been for some time.

  Thud.

  The sound of a bar of soap hitting porcelain draws my thoughts to Master once more. Closing my eyes, I listen to the shower spray, imaging the water hitting his body. His skin will be flushed pink, he will smell of his scent: Ocean Breeze: A Bay Spa Luxuriant.

  The furnace kicks on and air whistles through the vent. We’re having an unusually cold winter, and I hate the thought of climbing out from under the quilt to go outside. If we hadn’t had such a horrible last night, I might beg off. Lord knows my eyes are probably so puffy, I would be better off not going. No amount of makeup can cover up red-rimmed, cried out eyes.

  Has it really been two weeks since I saw that horrible, judgmental obstetrician? The date on the calendar says it has because I’m supposed to see him again tomorrow and I don’t want to go. It seems I’ve been counting each day with the dread of one on death row and the time has flown.

  At least I have tonight. Maybe I can cause some havoc at the club. It’s been a long time since I’ve sat in the middle of a table and given myself a tongue bath…

  Maybe Jackie will be there, though since Valentine’s Day and the appearance of a new man in her life it seems she’s been spending less and less time at The Oasis.

  Rolling over, I look at the small clock on the bedside table. Five-ten. The time when most of the city is battling rush hour traffic and I am just waking. Master has allowed me to sleep in. Maybe he has no intention of taking me to the club tonight.

  Defeated, I flop back onto my back, feeling when I do so a bubble of hot liquid spill out of me. Oh, no! I didn’t feel like I even had to pee, but one of the babies must have hit my bladder just perfectly.

  Embarrassed, I hurry to the bathroom.

  Garrett doesn’t comment when I barge in and plop down on the toilet, it’s been a normal enough occurrence of late. It takes a moment for me to realize the red stain on the inside of my thighs is blood.

  “Master!” I scream and can’t stop screaming. This is the worst of my fears realized.

  He pushes open the glass door and sees immediately what is wrong.

  “I’m bleeding! I’m not supposed to be bleeding.”

  He reacts, wrapping in a towel but not drying off. Dripping wet, he carries me back to bed, puts pillows under my knees and feet. “Try to relax. Lay here while I call the doctor.”

  How can I relax? Sobbing hysterically, I cry over and over, “God doesn’t want me to be a mother.” Oh God, oh God, oh God. I can’t breathe, I can’t think. There is no summoning a prayer. What would I say? What promise would I make?

  “God!” I scream. “Don’t do this!”

  “To-day we love what to-morrow we hate; to-day we seek what to-morrow we shun; to-day we desire what to-morrow we fear.”

  Daniel Defoe, Robinson Crusoe

  Chapter 32

  Garrett

  “I’m going to take a look.” Quickly I assess that she isn’t hemorrhaging. Kissing her forehead, I explain, “There’s only a little blood, so you need to calm down and try to relax.” I kiss her forehead again. “I’m calling the doctor now.”

  I leave her alone in the bedroom. I speed dial the doctor on my cell and hurry through the penthouse to rouse Enrique. He is watching a talk show on the small television in his bedroom. “Kitten is in bed. Go stay with her while I call the doctor. Do not let her get out of bed.”

  Eyes wide, he doesn’t ask questions, he just hurries to obey. I suck in a deep breath as my call is answered, then hurry to explain the situation. It turns out the woman answering the phone is only part of a physician’s answering service. “If this is an emergency you should go to the nearest hospital.”

  “I need you to contact Doctor Moran and tell him to call me immediately.”

  “I’m sorry, that isn’t possible. Doctor Moran is unavailable. The obstetrician on call—”

  The noise from the bedroom is getting louder with Kitten taking the worst of her fears out on Enrique. I can hear him begging her to calm down and relax. Angry, I hang up on the answering service and call the lifestyle acquaintance who recommended his wife’s obstetrician. He answers on the fourth ring. “John, Garrett. I need Doctor Moran’s cell number. It’s urgent I talk to him.”

  John informs me that the doctor doesn’t give out his personal number.

  “What?” If I was livid with the answering service I am moreso now.

  “He should have one of his partners covering his calls. Did you leave a message with the service?”

  I hang up on John. Rude? Sure. Do I care at the moment? No. I’m irate as I hurry back through the living room to the bedroom. Enrique is holding Kitten’s hand and singing to her softly. For the moment she isn’t screaming, which is a huge improvement.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I run my hand over her stomach. “I want you to focus, Kitten. Tell me the last time you felt movement.”

  She is pale and scared but she meets my gaze. “When I woke up.”

  “Okay, that’s good. That’s been within the last hour. Have you felt them move since you returned to bed?”

  Her face crumbles. “I don’t know.”

  “Relax.” I prod her baby bump lightly. “Does that hurt at all?”

  “No,” she answers, then adds with hope filling her voice, “One of them just moved.”

  “Good, that’s good,” I assure her. “Concentrate on feeling them while I make another phone call.”

  Closing her eyes, she rubs her hands over her belly. Enrique keeps singing softly. She is much calmer as I speed dial George. This time I don’t leave the room, I only walk to the far side of it and look out the window while the phone is ringing. The sky is dark and rain is falling. Softly I explain the situation and am slightly annoyed when he repeats everything I explain, saying, “Celia’s bleeding but has confirmed she can feel fetal movement. Her obstetrician is unavailable.” I understand he was relaying the information when Thomas comes on the line.

  “Do not try to transport her to the hospital yet. I’ll have the obstetrician Lattie used come there immediately. It will be faster.”

  Twenty minutes later, Thomas and Dr. Wang are both standing in my bedroom. Thomas, Enrique and I step out of the room while he examines her. Enrique immediately moves a respectable distance away, close enough for him to hear us if we need anything but far enough that he doesn’t hear our every word.

  “I’m surprised you waited and we’re not at a hospital right now.”

  “I guess I felt that if there is any chance she might not lose them the less she moves around the better.”

  I’m surprised when Thomas sits down hard, looking slightly pale.

  “Are you all right?”

  He nods but closes his eyes, and I realize if anything happens to the twins he’s going to be absolutely devastated. It makes me won
der not for the first time how he is managing being away from his children. Home and family have always been the core of his universe.

  We sit in silence, waiting, and it is the longest twenty minutes of my life. When the doctor appears, he doesn’t look outwardly concerned. He smiles when both Thomas and I stand.

  “She is fine for now. Both babies’ hearts beat strong. I suspect a mild placental abruption. I think the best course of action is to wait and see how this progresses with complete bed rest. I do not believe that it will be the case, but if she would start bleeding heavily, arrange transportation to the hospital. I will put in an order for a mobile ultrasound immediately and based on their findings will reevaluate every other day. I will also have an obstetric nurse come by three times a day to monitor any changes. Does that seem satisfactory?”

  Overwhelmed and relieved, I shake his hand. “Thank you, Doctor Wang.”

  Thomas sees him out but returns quickly and together we go in to sit with Kitten. She is lying back with her feet still propped up. She looks terrified, if not miserable. I am surprised when Thomas tells her he has to leave again but promises to return as soon as he can. She is heartbroken. After he leaves, I scoot onto the bed with her. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She shakes her head and starts to cry. “This is my fault. I’m selfish and unworthy.”

  I quote statistics. “One in a hundred women experience placental bleeding at some point during their second or third trimester.”

  “Is that what is happening? My placenta is separating?” she asks frantically.

  Crap. I said the wrong thing.

  “Shh, I know it sounds scary, but as long as it is a tiny separation—which by the small amount of blood is the indication—it will clot and all will be fine. You will even be allowed out of bed in a few days.”

  “What if it isn’t a small tear? What if my placenta really unattaches?”

  “That would be more serious.”

  “The babies would die. They’re too small.”

  I want to reassure her but knowing she is only twenty-two weeks and still underweight, I don’t want to give her false hope. “That isn’t going to happen.”

  “Can I use your phone? I want to call Jackie.”

  “What? No. You need to rest.”

  She remains adamant. “Please? I want her here. With me. She said she would come, day or night, if I needed her to.”

  With a heavy sigh, I relent and hand her the phone, knowing as soon as she starts recanting what has happened in minute by minute detail that I won’t be needed for a while. I head for the kitchen to make her a cup of tea, using a selection of calming herbs, and am not surprised when the doorbell sounds. “Christ, Jackie.” Except it isn’t Jackie, as promised an ultrasound technician has arrived. It’s almost eight and I really hadn’t expected anyone until morning, but I’m glad he’s here.

  “When I speak of home, I speak of the place where—in default of a better—those I love are gathered together; and if that place were a gypsy’s tent, or a barn, I should call it by the same good name notwithstanding.”

  Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby

  Chapter 33

  Thomas

  Without thinking about it too much, I go to George’s and corner my brother. “You are a problem. Doctor Psycho feels it would be unsafe for the Bay Area to release you into its midst, and I have promised you won’t go around killing people if we allow you to live on your own.”

  He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.

  “The question is, can you control yourself?”

  “Yes,” he answers cautiously.

  “Even if some Joe gets in your face, waving a broken beer bottle?”

  “I won’t put myself in that situation.”

  “And if an armed extermination team comes hunting you?”

  “There might be a few bodies left in my wake.”

  I slap his shoulder and congratulate him, calling over my shoulder to George, “He’s completely rehabilitated. You’ve done a great job. We’re leaving, and I know you are needed at Lewd Larry’s. The place is yours to hold together until further notice.”

  George takes the news well, grumbling under his breath about lack of appreciation, but I can tell he’s also biting at the bit to get to the club. An hour later, I’m pulling up to the artist’s loft I bought him. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  “I won’t,” he promises, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. “What’s happened? I was expecting to be Doctor Psycho’s prisoner for many months to come.”

  “You have to stick to your therapy schedule.” We stay in the car, heater blowing warm air on us. I don’t want to go inside until we come to an understanding about a few things.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he whines. “Now answer the question.”

  “It’s Celia. We had a scare today, thought she might lose the babies, and I realized as much as I feel responsible for you, my place is at her side.”

  Nikos looks concerned when he asks, “Is she all right?”

  “For now. She’s going to be required to have one-hundred percent bed rest, at least for a while. Garrett and I will take turns staying with her and taking care of his business.”

  Nikos nods. “Garrett being the man you share her with?”

  “Yes. We’re a committed ménage. After today, we’ll be living together.”

  “I never meant to take you away from your family so long. Thank you.”

  I squeeze his thigh. “Thank you. Now, let’s go inside. I want to get you settled so that I can get back to her.”

  Our car doors echo when we slam them closed, shattering the silence. Two dogs on opposite sides of the street react, further dissipating the quiet. I point out hidden security measures on approach, security cameras, pressure alerts that react to a change of weight on the sidewalk. No one will come near his front or back doors without his knowing well in advance.

  “Self-destruct?” he asks.

  “Of course. Once we’re inside I’ll show you all the bells and whistles.”

  After ushering him in, doubt is evident on his face. “I lived like a king before coming here. My apartment overlooked the beauty of Shanghai.”

  I almost laugh, but don’t. I’ve brought him to a lost corner of the city, a gritty, rundown underbelly currently being reclaimed by artists and musicians. I’ve probably made a mistake, no doubt drugs are prevalent. Do I really expect him to abstain?

  The loft seems little more than a derelict dump. Paint peels from the walls both outside and within, although the main room has been recently painted the color of a bruised plum, purple verging on black. There is a shit-green velvet sofa, obviously left behind because the back upholstery is torn and vomiting white stuffing.

  He plops down in its center and I expect it to disintegrate under his weight. “I like bright light, clean lines, ultra chic. I like the best money can buy. Opulence. Luxury. My place in Shanghai had an indoor lap pool, a sauna, a hot tub for twenty.”

  With an approving pat on the seat cushion, he stands to inspect the rest of the space, moving to the kitchen area. He turns around and is back in the long, wide living area with its single sofa. He laughs. “My bedroom in Shanghai was bigger than this entire space.”

  I try to see the loft as he is seeing it. The kitchen is no more than a cubby corner where a mini-microwave sits on top of an apartment-sized refrigerator. There is a single sink that would have been better suited in a sixties era bathroom, as it is a pastel shade of pink with exposed pipes beneath. Opening a narrow door, which might be a pantry, he finds the toilet.

  “It’s sparse,” I admit.

  “My enemies will not look for me here,” he tells me. “It’s perfect.”

  Relieved, I lead him around the room, pointing out all of the state-of-the-art security measures he overlooked, including a bolt hole and hidden armory. He whistles at the display of weapons. “Now this, dear brother, is what I’m talking about. I could rule a small country with thi
s much artillery.”

  “Yeah, well the plan is for you to not have to use it. Daniel is dead.” Reaching into my jacket, I pull out his new documents: driver’s license, passport, social security card, banking information, credit cards. You are now Joshua Lambert.”

  He takes the proffered documents.

  “You grew up in Seattle, Washington. Your dossier is on this microchip, along with every detail you need to know about yourself.”

  This part he knows. We’ve both been so many people in our lifetime that becoming someone new is easy. Sometimes it’s a relief. A do-over. Becoming Thomas was mine, I hope he sees becoming Joshua as much of a blessing.

  “Pay very close attention, you do not leave this loft. In a few weeks, assuming all goes well, I’ll loosen the leash a little, but for now, plan on being tightly reined.”

  “No problem.”

  “Of course, I will stop by every morning on my way home from the club and George will come by every evening on his way to work. I’ll have food deliveries arranged…and entertainment if you want.”

  His lips twitch and I realize he is trying very hard to not laugh. It seems I have been his entertainment of late. He assures me, “Just food. For now.”

  I hug him. “By the way, we’re not brothers.”

  He hugs me back. “I’ll be a good boy, Ari. Trust me.”

  * * * *

  Back at the penthouse, Sophia and Garrett are already in bed sleeping. Without undressing, I lay beside Kitten even though I’m not tired. I am torn by my responsibilities. Helping Nikos get resettled I worry that I have pushed him to do more than he is ready for, but if I hadn’t and anything would have happened to make matters worse for Sophia and the babies, I’d have never forgiven myself.

  Sophia kisses my shoulder and I realize I’ve wakened her. She asks, “Everything all right?”