The station was Light FM—Marigold’s favorite. Another woman’s voice came on. She sounded like a teenager.
“Hi, Carey,” the young woman greeted the DJ. Haunt felt like saying ‘Hi’ back to her. Haunt mouthed her name and the spit clung to his teeth. He felt like he had the flu. His bones ached and he was so tired. He wanted to sleep forever.
“Hello,” the DJ said. “And what’s your name?”
“Julie.”
“Well, hello, Julie. How are you doing tonight?”
There was a pause before she said, “I’m okay.” Haunt heard the expansive sadness in her voice. She sounded like how he felt.
“And how can I help you, Julie? Are you missing somebody special tonight?”
“I am,” the girl said, and Haunt’s lips quivered. He rubbed his hand through his graying hair, waiting for the answer.
“And who are you missing?”
“My husband.”
A knife twisted in Haunt’s stomach. Even in a coma, was his wife still missing him right now? Why did he leave her? Why had his instincts forced him to leave?
“I’m sorry to hear that. What’s his name and where is he now?”
“His name is Scott and he’s overseas.”
“Serving our country. You must be proud.”
“I am,” Julie said. “I miss him every day.”
“And how long has he been stationed outside of the country?”
“Over a year now.”
Haunt’s heart dropped. He didn’t think he would make it through the night without the love of his life, let alone a year.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Is there any song I can play for you?”
“Yes.”
“And what song would that be, Julie?”
“’Restless Heart’ by Peter Cetera.”
“A great song,” the DJ said. “Here’s to Scott from Julie. She misses you. Come back home safe to her.”
The guitar swelled and the drums kicked in and Haunt knew he would fall apart by the end of the song.
Peter Cetera sang, and Haunt’s sadness engulfed him. He turned it up so he could hear it over his moaning.
He listened to the end and cried so hard that he collapsed on the steering wheel. He fell asleep as his engine continued to grumble on with the key still in the ignition.
The garage windows and doors were all closed, which kept in the heat. And the poisons.
Chapter Fifteen
Marigold rowed deeper through the sour tide that reeked of wet socks and dirty hair. She headed toward the trees. The more she rowed, the foggier it got.
The baby at the end of the boat hadn’t said a word to her since telling her to “Row.” He sat silently and pulsed dark green. His gray eyes were constantly narrowed, and his thin lips constantly pursed.
Who was Instinct supposed to be anyway?
He definitely wasn’t Aiden. She felt a harrowing sense of repulsion toward him. It made her think back to her dream in the bathroom, and the sickening feeling she felt as she watched her baby drop. That baby on the tallest branch had been her Aiden. She felt the connection to him right away. It was the same connection that had led her to cover her stomach instead of her face when she fell down the stairs. She didn’t even have to think about doing it. It happened all at once—motherly intuition.
But that same intuition made her want to strike the baby at the end of the boat. She wanted to tear the paddle from its metal rung and slam him right in the face with it. The only thing that stopped her was fear—fear, and the latent feeling that she had already struck this child at some point in her life. But that was impossible. She would never hurt a baby, not even one as ugly as this.
It raised the question again. Who was Instinct supposed to be and why did his image haunt her? He certainly meant something to her. It was like déjà vu, or the innate feeling that you’re being watched. But she didn’t know this child and she didn’t want to know him. So she turned her head and kept looking at the massive trees behind her.
The smelly, black water slapped against the sides of the boat, making a noise that sounded like dry hands striking the wooden hull. It chilled her sweat to think that maybe there really were hands slapping the boat. After all, she had traveled through a hallway of tongues just to get here. Who was to say that the water itself wasn’t teeming with millions of hands? She imagined them to be bone white with peeling, black fingernails.
No! She couldn’t allow herself to think that way.
Being stuck on a boat was bad enough. The thought of being in a sea full clawing and hungry hands would drive her nuts.
She turned her head again and concentrated on the towering trees. Sweat dripped into her eyes, but she still saw them clearly. They were so immense that they remained visible even through the enveloping fog, which had grown so milky and thick she could barely see her hands.
Her heart felt like it was going to explode. Deep in her chest, a feeling of self-preservation felt like it was forcing its way out of her. It kept pounding against her chest like a battering ram. With each pound she heard something whisper beside her ear. It was a gruff voice that sounded strangely like her younger brother, Adam. “Look at me, Marigold. Look at me! Stop turning your head and look!”
But she wouldn’t dare. The baby’s stony gray eyes watched her intensely, and they looked so much like her dead father’s that it made her skin crawl. Every now and then, she caught faint glimpses of his eyes and it pained her, because it was impossible not to look. Trying to avoid them almost made her forget how sore her back had become; or how much the oars hurt her as they rubbed on the blisters that had formed on her hands.
Her armpits suffered that sandpaper, grinding feeling as she rotated her shoulders. The damp humidity made her pajamas cling to her skin. She was so miserable in the afterlife that it made her wonder where her real body was.
Probably on some operating table.
At that thought, she wondered if Jeff was by her side back in the real world.
He must be so worried about me.
Marigold went to wipe her eyes with her shoulder but the boat rocked violently as she did so. The waves were so choppy now, that it was hard to keep her balance. Her blistered hands gripped the oars tighter. She wouldn’t allow herself to go overboard. She wouldn’t let the hands take her under.
Something like a cool, sharp gust of wind felt like it shot through the back of her head. A yellow light seemed to be the result of it. It glinted ahead of her like a lighthouse signal. The fat, oval light pierced through the fog. It looked like it could be miles away, but so close at the same time. It hovered in the distance, silent, beautiful and haunting.
As she looked at it, she felt brutish, surgical hands, clamp down on the skin beneath her eyes and pull her face down to look at the child, who pulsed so blindingly green.
His gray eyes were mesmerizing and a wave of tiredness hit her between the eyes. She started to nod off, lifted her head, and nodded off again. What the hell was going on? She shook her head. When the blurriness faded, she could see the baby’s face at the end of the boat clearer. The green aura began to fade. His tiny lips curved upward and his flat nose was like that of a boxer’s. But there was something else about that nose…She knew that nose from somewhere, but where?
From your first lover, something beside her ear whispered. Her first lover did have that nose. She had met the boy when she was only 13. He was 17 and his name was Tony Miller. She remembered his green van. All the cool people in the 70’s had vans, or at least in her limited experience in the time that had been true. She snuck out of the house one night, her hair in pigtails because he said he liked how young they made her look. He thought she was 15. Not that he could have known any different. She had met him while standing in line for a funnel cake at the summer carnival and when he had asked her her age, she lied. Fifteen had tumbled out of her lips so easily. She had never told Jeff about this.
Their first and only fuck in his van was terrible. He pulled
down her pants and she spread her legs for him. He took off his black shirt with the cut-off sleeves and didn’t even pull his pants down. He just unzipped his jeans and pulled out his dick. He was on top of her before she even had a chance to judge the size of it. At first it had hurt her but the pain didn’t last long, as he came in seconds. He pulled out quickly and some of it splattered on her thigh. She’ll never forget that feeling, even 36 years later. His sperm was warm inside of her and it felt good. But he rushed down and stuck his fingers in and started scraping. She cringed in pain. He kept screaming, “Oh, shit!” over and over again. What she remembered most was his nose as he dragged his nails inside of her, trying to pull out his sperm. His nose was huge and ugly. How could she have ever fallen for him? He looked like scum with his ratty hair, his squinty eyes, and that enormous nose of his.
A month later, she was pregnant. She didn’t know where he lived and he wouldn’t pick up her calls. For months, whenever she thought of him, all she could see was that nose. It looked like it had been flattened only to be forced straight again. It was such an odd looking thing—and it was on the baby’s face.
The more Marigold studied the baby’s face, the more she realized that the child was a mishmash of familiar features: His eyes were definitely her father’s, and his nose was from her first lover.
As for his mouth…
It belongs to you. Letting go of the oars, she touched her lips—my God—they were like his. She now knew who Instinct had taken the form of.
But how could that be possible?
She had aborted him 35 years ago. He had never been born.
Chapter Sixteen
Marigold felt a pop in her head like a light bulb shattering. There was another one, and then another. It stuck her once in her back and then in her knee.
Keep rowing! Her eyes narrowed in on the baby’s, and a connection was made. His voice in her head was shrill and panic-stricken.
She received another shock, this time in her left elbow.
Row, the child commanded. Now that you’ve let me inside your head, we can finally talk. But you can’t stop rowing. You need to hurry! Grab the oars and turn the boat around. You need to head away from the trees! AWAY!
Marigold watched the child’s serious eyes. There was a flash in his pupils and his eyes glinted emerald green. With a strained effort, she turned the boat around until she saw the trees again without having to turn her neck. As soon as she began to row away from the trees, the fog peeled apart like curtains. The sky was a thick brown color now, and its muddy hue reminded her of the lake that she almost drowned in as a child. It reminded her of many things, actually.
“What’s happening?” She asked.
Please, stop worrying, mama. You’re making the right decision now. Trust me. Just keep going in this direction. Yes. Just like that. Good. Now, we can talk.
Marigold saw the green light envelop the baby again. This was Instinct, alright, and she felt weak at his command.
She continued to row away from the trees, just as Instinct demanded. The soreness in her heart went from scalding hot to ice cold and the abrupt change in temperatures was immediately refreshing. But the more distance she put between herself and the trees, the more her lower lip trembled. She hadn’t felt a sense of loss and helplessness like this since her best friend back in middle school moved to Florida.
The more she rowed, the more the trees faded away as if they were mere illusions that were never really there in the first place.
The baby turned his head and stared at the trees behind him.
Whew, that was a close one. I’ve been trying to communicate with you ever since you got in the boat, but I couldn’t get in. It’s been hard trying to talk to you.
She remained quiet. The numbness in her shoulders rolled down her limbs and made them quaver. But the pain was not what bothered her. It was the uncertainty. For the first time since she had started rowing, she finally felt like she was doing the right thing. She didn’t see the chalky clouds crowding in around her, and didn’t feel wrong for heading where her heart (and her gut) told her to. But hadn’t Imagination warned her that Instinct would be very persuasive? Her Aiden was in those trees. She knew he was. Her heart told her so. But if that was the case, then why did she feel that she was making the right decision by heading away from them?
Marigold stared into the child’s eyes and her heart slowed to a subtle thump. Another tear slid down her cheek.
“How are you able to look like him when I never even saw his face?”
Look like who? He asked. He looked perplexed. I’m your SON, mama.
“No. You’re Instinct. Imgi—” She was going to say that Imagination told her about him but something in her head told her not to. She kept her mouth shut and the child stared at her with a vacuous expression.
What do you mean I’m ‘Instinct’? I don’t understand.
The green aura around him radiated even brighter. She turned her head. In her mind she replayed images from a distant dream. She saw her Aiden fall from a tree and heard herself scream.
“No!” She growled. Her trembling lips suddenly turned into a scowl. “You’re just trying to keep me from him! But I won’t let you! Go to Hell!”
She grabbed the oars again and began to turn the boat around. The clouds crowded instantly. Her heart lit up in flames. It felt ten times worse than before.
But she rowed anyway and the distant, oval light flashed again in the distance. It made her feel dizzy and she had to squint to see it. The light was now sharp and piercing. In the distance, something seemingly behind the light, made a huge splash and her ears twitched. Instinct’s eyes widened.
Oh, God, you’ve awakened it! You have to listen to me, mama, and you have to listen to me NOW. You have to turn back from the trees. You still regret aborting me and you need to turn around, or you’ll release something HORRIBLE inside you. You will!
His voice crawled around in her brain like a daddy long legs and squeezed her pounding heart like a vice.
“You can’t stop me! I know he’s there and I’m going to get him.”
But you don’t understand, Marigold. You need to forgive yourself before you can move on. It means everything right now. I’m trying to help you!
She wouldn’t listen. Some driving, internal force kept pushing her against Instinct. She kept rowing toward the trees, cringing every time the oar hit the rough current. She had to concentrate to not fall overboard.
The pounding in her chest was too strong. She could hear it in her ears. With everything that was in her, she tilted her head back and let out a sharp cry, and in the distance, behind the oval light, something else cried with her. But this cry was different. It sounded like a wildebeest making a mating call.
Something else was out there.
The baby with the gray eyes and curved lips opened his mouth and—of all people— her brother’s voice came out of him.
“Stop, Marigold! Don’t force me to transform,” he said with her brother’s gruff, cigarette deepened voice. His eyes turned mud brown like her brother’s, and hair began to grow from his scalp until he was sporting the same high-and-tight cut her brother always wore. Even the baby’s curved lips filled out and turned sharp red like her brother’s. Strawberry lips, she used to call him. He hated that nickname.
“Once I transform, I can’t change back, Marigold. And I need to take you to the trail. You need to come with me now. Your greatest regret is going to burst right through that fog if you don’t turn from the trees. You need to hurry, Marigold. Turn this boat around!”
But she continued rowing still, fighting against every instinct in her body for her son, her true son. Her limbs blazed and her heart screamed, but she kept rowing, until it was too late.
All was suddenly silent.
In the distance, she heard what sounded like a whale crashing into the sea. Something behind the oval light made a seismic roar that popped her ears.
She looked at her brother’s face and he
looked back at her. In the distance, the splashing grew louder. And closer.
Chapter Seventeen
“Why didn’t you listen to me when you had the chance?” Instinct shouted gruffly. “Now it’s too late. Transforming would be futile. You have no idea what you’ve just awakened in yourself.”
“What is it?” She felt the hot air reverse directions. The fog disappeared.
“Your greatest regret,” her brother’s voice said in the baby’s body. “You’ve let it overcome you.”
About a half mile away, something immense rose from the water. It looked like a corkscrew of red and brown tape. It sunk back into the tide. Again, its violent, seismic wave pushed her boat, nearly tipping her overboard.
She grabbed the oars and rowed hard against the surge. She slammed the oars back into the tide but felt a gargantuan force working against her. That’s when she saw that whatever was out there was about as thick as a Mack truck. Its whole body was a long, twisting, white corkscrew of rope. It was—an umbilical cord!
She saw its face as it rose up out of the water a quarter mile off. It was nothing more than a hole with wriggling white fingers and dripping pus. Its flesh was lathered in mucous. Sticky, brownish blood clung to its curved back and underside. The bulbous, living umbilical cord plunged back into the tide and pushed her boat with the force of its seismic wake. It made immense strides under the water. One more lunge and it would be right on top of her. She leapt across the boat and wrapped her arms around Instinct. His tiny heart raced against hers. Her heart pounded just as hard.
“What are you doing?” Instinct shouted. “The water is just as dangerous as the creature! What’s down there will send you into the black void, too!”
She held the squirming child in her arms and leapt off the boat as the surging corkscrew tore through the side and smashed the boat to splinters. As she sunk into the cold, black sea, the monster’s wiggling, bulbous body shot up past her until its tail whipped forward in midair and sunk back into the water, distancing itself from her.
The Darkness of the Womb Page 5