"You of all people, I thought, would believe me.” Victoria looked out the window. “My mother sent me back."
"I don't doubt you, Victoria. Things have been difficult of late."
"Difficult for me most of all.” she thrust her weeping bandages out at Samantha.
"Victoria, please.” Samantha shifted.
"My blood that can't be replaced. I can't not be a vampire anymore. I have to have thrill and meaning!"
"Thrills from preying on others?” Samantha's breath grew short. “Victoria, I don't have the time for this."
"Sure.” She slunk under her covers. “No one has time for Victoria."
"I didn't have to come here. I came here to help you—and you do need help. You only want favorable attention—you've only ever wanted the spotlight. You've been given a second chance again and you're throwing it away because it's not on your terms. If you don't want my help, than you can really just go to hell!"
Samantha stood up and fell on her stomach.
Shit!
I rushed in to the room, but Samantha was out cold on the floor.
"I knew you were listening!” Victoria sat up again.
"Shut up, Victoria.” So selfish. “Use your emergency button. Now!"
"There's no need to yell.” Victoria fiddled with the call.
"I beg to differ. Samantha could die. Her unborn children could die. Because of you."
Doctors rushed in, and a stretcher pulled up. Samantha groaned, and I thought she said my name. I leaned closer.
"Jean.” She whispered. “Jean?"
"Are you Jean?” A med asked me.
"No, I'm Gaston, her brother. Jean's her husband."
"Where is he? We might have to induce."
"In America, I believe."
"We don't have that kind of time."
The stretcher whisked away. I tried to follow Samantha, but the entourage of doctors rushed behind hefty swinging doors. I bolted to the elevator instead and rushed out to the maternity ward.
"Are they bringing a woman here from the psychiatric unit?” I must've looked stupid before the receptionist. “A visitor, not a patient. Her name is Samantha."
"Just a minute, sir.” The nurse was on the phone. A genuine call, I heard the medical jargon once I stopped to listen. The elevators beeped, and the doctors wheeled Samantha into the ward.
"That's her.” I left the receptionist. “Samantha!"
The doctors wouldn't let me near her, but I saw Samantha, groggy and sedated.
"We need to deliver this baby now."
"Two!” I told them. “Two babies!"
An attendant grabbed me and thrust me into a prep room.
"Put these on.” She handed me blue scrubs.
"I can't go in there.” I grew queasy at the thought of blood, placentas, screams, sweat. Ugh. “I'm not her husband."
"Aren't you her brother?"
I remembered Samantha shooting me with a crossbow. It was so long ago! I felt that pain again in the pit of my stomach. I bit the bullet.
"Yes. I am her brother."
It was busy and noisy as I imagined, but the door swung back and hit me in the butt. I had to help Samantha, even if it was just saying I had been there when she came to. What if she didn't come to? And because of Victoria! I don't know how to care for a baby. Surely I alone would have to take the baby—two—to Jean in America. Maybe Pamela would help me. What if it wasn't twins? What if one died? How could I tell Jean? Where was the damn Canuck when I needed him?
The surgeons wrapped Samantha in a canopy of blue sheets and hooked her up to machines.
"Scalpel,” The masked doctor ordered.
The shiny silver glinted in his hand, then it dove in. Blood soaked the sheets and dyed them purple. Through some of our lost magic still remaining, I spaced out of the operating room. Memories not my own, thoughts and recollections of my Father I still held. From his dying breath to his most treasured moment, I saw my Mother. I saw my mother giving birth to me.
Antonio had been there, and there I was small and bloody and screaming. The vision was black and white, but red blood was everywhere. My mother's eyes were fading, yet she was lovely, angry, happy, and sad all at the same time. She gasped her last breath, and I heard my own baby cry. Suddenly, I was back. The operating room was gone, but I was in a bed myself. A nurse appeared.
"Mr. Welshire, you're awake."
"How long was I gone?"
"Gone? You've been asleep for a few hours. You hit your head when you fell."
"Fell?"
"In the operating room. You passed out."
I had no memory of that.
"Samantha?” She returned to the forefront of my mind. “Where is my sister?"
"We've set her up in her own room.” The nurse helped me out of bed. I was woozy. “Professor James was here. I believe he contacted your brother-in-law."
"Was it twins? Both of them? Did they make it?"
"A boy and a girl, in the nursery under our supervision."
Supervision. Something about that word reminded me. One who needs to be supervised. Victoria!
"My sister, Victoria,” I asked the nurse, “where is she?"
"In her room, as far as I know."
I left the nurse and went to the elevators. I thought on my bearings, then took the lift down. I hustled passed the psych watch woman. My head hurt and I felt weak, but I was sure I found Victoria's room. The bed was empty.
"Where is Victoria?” I returned to the waiting nurse. “She was on a suicide watch. Where is she?"
"She spoke with the Doctor. They went to the Chapel."
I zipped down the hall, well I wanted to zip, but I think I was going slower than that. I tore open the Chapel door, but my urgency wasn't quelled by the dim light, easy music, and big three religious symbols. Where was Victoria? Why would she be here?
An old woman sat still in a pew. Maybe she was dead? But she wasn't Victoria. I turned to the prayer book and flipped through the pages. The sneak didn't sign her name:
For my niece and nephew, V.W.
* * * *
My head cleared, and I was herking and jerking in an elevator again.
I stopped a woman in teddy bear scrubs. “Where is the nursery?"
She pointed and I followed, halting before internal windows. Samantha sat in a rocker with a pink baby bundle. A nurse rocked beside her with a baby bundle in blue. Samantha looked tired, but content as my own mother had been so briefly. I stepped closer to the glass, and there was Victoria. She wore black pants and a dark shirt—the clothes from Pamela, I assumed. Her hair was down and wild as always, her arms crossed.
I approached her, but she continued to stare into the nursery at Samantha, the twins, the other newborns wiggling in the incubators. I observed them all as well. Victoria remained, unwavering. I watched her rigid stature and smooth face. All signs of her recent issues, pouts, and cries for attention were gone.
"I want a child of my own,” she declared at last.
God help us!
Gaston
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About the Author
Kristin Battestella writes for her hometown newspaper in New Jersey and has been writing science fiction, fantasy, nonfiction, and horror for fifteen years. She enjoys being at home with her family, collecting records, and creating web pages in her spare time, along with various sports articles, online reviews, and fiction work. The Vampire Family is her first full-length work.
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Visit www.eternalpress.com.au for information on additional titles by this and other authors.
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The Vampire Family Page 19