‘Shut up!’
His voice silences me. I’m cold, so cold I can barely move. A cold draught blows into an opening behind me, a vice-like grip tightening my chest as I try to take a breath. I turn my head slightly to the side, see what I think is the back of a car seat. ‘Where am I?’ I ask, my voice barely hitting the air before it’s swallowed up by the howling of the wind, which is close enough to touch. My right arm is dangling down by my side, my fingertips brushing against something soft, the carpet of a footwell, I’m sure.
A memory fires off my brain into my mind’s eyes; a faceless figure dragging me through the hallway and out into the garden where sharp gravel sliced into the soles of my bare feet. Everything was a little off kilter, thoughts and dreams bleeding into one. Then what? A car on the road, its headlights blinding, Cory in the passenger seat…
‘Doctor Hughes!’
‘I said get up, before I drag you out by your hair!’ His voice holds the same authority it always has, only now it’s edged with a dangerous undertone I’ve never heard before. What’s happening? Why would Doctor Hughes want to hurt me?
‘Cory, where’s Cory?’ I raise my arm and use both hands to push myself up off the back seat of what must be his car, a searing pain slicing through the back of my head as I do. I collapse back down face first, the image of Magda’s body lying in wait; my friend, my best friend slumped against my kitchen cupboard, her skin a sickly shade of grey, a knife sticking out of her torso. Panic wraps itself around me. I squeeze my eyes shut.
One thing you can see, one thing you can hear…
Without warning, sharp nails dig into the back of my neck and I’m yanked back, hitting my head on the rim of the car door as I’m propelled up onto my feet. The neckline of my nightdress cuts into my throat. I manage to wedge my fingers down the front of the fabric and pull at it to stop myself from choking, gulping greedily at the freezing cold air. The wind blows up the hem of my nightdress as it charges past. Straining my neck, I manage to turn to face to Doctor Hughes who still has hold of the back of my nightdress, the whites of his eyes alight in the darkness. My gaze falls down to where Cory is being held in place by the doctor’s forearm, my baby’s torso and legs dangling down like a rag doll.
A scream bubbles up inside of me but evaporates as it hits the air.
‘Make a sound, and I kill him.’
‘Please, please don’t hurt him.’ I start to cry, my fingers still wedged down the front of my nightdress in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure on my throat.
‘Seriously, Gwyn, do you ever do as you’re told?’
‘Who’s Gwyn? What are you talking about? Please don’t hurt my baby!’
‘I never should have trusted you. Now walk!’ He starts to drag me across what I think is waste ground, the night so dark it’s difficult to see anything bar my own breath. I don’t understand what’s happening. Is it a case of mistaken identity? And who in God’s name is Gwyn?
After a minute or two the ground changes in texture, muddy and soft to cold and hard. In the distance, a car flies past us, it’s taillights disappearing before I have chance to shout for help. Straight in front of us, two cast-iron street lamps shine a soft light down onto a cobbled footpath. I look up, see Old Dee Bridge up ahead.
‘Why are we here? What are you going to do?’ I strain to look at Hughes, my questions drowned out by the ferocity of the roiling River Dee thrashing against the brick wall which is now a metre or so to the left. I look over to my right, am greeted by another, albeit much taller, wall. We are hemmed in, invisible in the darkness! Even if anybody did happen to look out of their window or venture out onto their balcony from the flats above us, they won’t see us. ‘Please don’t do this, Doctor. I’m begging you, please.’
‘I’m sorry, Gwyn. It’s the only way.’
Confusion, mixed with sheer desperation, clouds my thoughts as Doctor Hughes throws me towards the low wall causing me to fall to the ground, my knees scraping against the concrete. I scramble over to the wall in a desperate bid to get away from him. Pushing my back up against it, I look up, see that he is now looming over me, his forearm still wedging Cory into his side. ‘Please, please stop this.’
He takes a step forward, his heavy bulk now partially blocking the light behind him. It’s too dark to really make out his expression but I know he’s calm, too calm, which is somehow more terrifying than his blind rage of a moment ago. Cory isn’t making a sound and I think his eyes may be closed. The cold is too much for him, he’s surely gone into shock. Oh God, he’s going to die! A sob escapes from my mouth as I reach my hands out towards him, gravel embedded in them from where I’ve fallen. ‘What do you want?’ I plead. ‘I’ll do anything as long as you don’t hurt my baby. Give him to me, please!’
‘Stand up.’ Doctor Hughes speaks softly, his rolling Welsh accent terrifying.
I take a deep breath, manage to pull myself up into a standing position, knowing only that I have to be calm if I am going to save my son. ‘Just tell me, please. Why are you doing this to us?’
He smiles, his white teeth contrasting against the black sky. ‘Because he’s mine, and he isn’t safe with you.’
I shake my head, confusion clouding my thoughts, making it difficult to think. ‘He’s not yours. He’s mine and James’s.’
‘Now we both know that isn’t strictly true, don’t we?’
‘Well, mine and the donor’s then. But not yours, never yours! I don’t know who you think I am, but you’re wrong!’ Anger rips through me, my barely controlled voice seeping out through the gaps in my teeth. ‘You have no right to him.’
His laugh rips through the air. ‘You really are stupid, my dear.’ He takes a step towards me. ‘I am the donor. I’m your child’s father!’
‘For nothing is hidden that will not become evident, nor anything secret that will not be known and come to light.’ Luke 8: 17
‘Pardon?’
She attempts to step back but the wall stops her in her tracks. Behind her, the River Dee rises in intensity, an almost perfect backdrop for the grand finale. The street lamp behind me partially illuminates Louisa’s beautiful face. I dare not blink, not wanting to miss the moment when sweet realisation lights up her pretty green eyes. I don’t have to wait for long. Slowly, her pupils dilate and her lips part into a silent scream.
It surprises me just how much the past and the present are aligning, an almost perfect synergy. There was a time, when God first revealed his plans to me, that I considered whether or not I was strong enough to see them through to fruition. When my wife, Gwyn, committed suicide two years ago by jumping off Jubilee Bridge in the dead of night, taking my precious little Gabriel with her, I thought I’d never be able to find strength again. I hated her for what she’d done, for what she’d taken from me, and yet I hated God more for allowing it to happen.
That is until I began to understand.
The Bible talks of ‘spiritual warfare’, a collision of good and evil. My wife, Gwyn, was always a mighty woman of God, introduced me to my Lord and Saviour when we first met, ten years ago now. It was her belief that God’s plan for our life was to set up SureLife, a fertility clinic like no other. ‘God is the only one who can give life,’ she whispered into my ear one evening while we were lying side by side, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. ‘But you are his finest vessel.’ Of course she was right. I was already becoming an expert in my field as an embryologist, earning myself the title of the ‘miracle worker’ from colleagues and patients alike. When Gwyn gave birth to Gabriel the same day I signed the paperwork for SureLife, I truly believed we were living out our godly purpose. But of course, with any spiritual warfare, the devil is always watching and waiting, ready to take everything a person holds dear. I guess in the weeks after Gabriel’s birth, I was too busy to notice the signs of my wife’s declining mental health. My ignorance allowed the devil a foothold in our life, and darkness was able to extinguish the light which had previously shone.
&
nbsp; Of course the authorities labelled Gwyn’s demonic possession ‘postnatal psychosis’, but I of course knew the truth.
In the months that followed I felt abandoned, like Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane when he cried out ‘Eli Eli lama sabachthani?’ Meaning, ‘My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’ But, like Jesus, I soon began to hear the voice of God, desperation birthing a new understanding of what my true purpose was. I realised that Gabriel’s death wasn’t the end… it was only the beginning.
I put everything into the business and soon SureLife went from strength to strength, my ‘live birth’ rate soon reaching number one in the whole of the North West. Day by day I breathed life into embryos smaller than dust particles, and watched in awe as God knitted them together in their mothers’ wombs. As it is written in the book of Genesis: ‘The Lord God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life.’ It was then that I really began to understand God’s purpose for me. Like Jesus, my son would also rise from the dead!
When Louisa walked into my consultation room a month later, the living, breathing image of Gwyn, God whispered his blessing into my ear.
‘I impregnated you with my own semen,’ I tell her now, enjoying the look of pure disbelief on her face. Her fear infuses the air around us and I sniff up, inhale the scent, taste it at the back of my throat. ‘I own SureLife, remember. Nobody pays that much attention to what I do. It was easy. I could have had lots of children if I wished. But that was never the plan.’
‘You’re sick, you know that?’ She is shaking, her jaw clenched through the sheer weight of the shock.
‘No, not sick… righteous. I knew the moment I clapped eyes on you that you were the one, that Gwyn lived inside your black soul. Of course I had anticipated a few more failed rounds of IVF before you would agree to a donor, but you were gagging for it, weren’t you? Desperate to have a child regardless of the consequences.’
Her eyes widen. ‘You mean you made the IVF fail on purpose?’
I smile. ‘Of course. I’m the leading fertility expert in the North West, don’t forget. I don’t make mistakes. Especially not with beautifully crafted embryos like yours and your husband’s.’
She falls back against the wall and for a moment I think she’s going to topple over. ‘You said they were poor quality. You said it was unlikely to ever work!’
I suck on my teeth. ‘You know the phrase “Trust me, I’m a doctor”? Well, don’t believe that.’ I laugh at my own wit… clearly I am on a roll.
‘You bastard!’ For a moment I think she is going to fly at me but she obviously thinks better of it. ‘You denied my husband the right to have a child. You’re evil!’
‘Hmm.’ I take a step towards her, lean over and whisper my next words deep into her inner ear. ‘You didn’t exactly fight his corner, now did you?’
As the truth of what I am saying hits home, she puts her hand up to her mouth and heaves. I realise that, as much as I am enjoying this chit-chat, this isn’t why we are here. I hoist Gabriel up into a more comfortable position and hang him over the wall, so he is dangling over the river below. I hate to do it to him, but there isn’t another way.
‘No!’ Her scream makes my ears bleed, my happiness turning to mild irritation as I consider the possibility of a neighbour hearing her dramatics.
‘Quiet! Another sound, and he goes over!’
‘Please… I’ll do anything. Tell me what I can do,’ she whimpers, her pleas now buried underneath a mass of sniffles and snivels. She’s far too emotional… but then again Gwyn always was!
‘Can’t you see your questions are killing my son all over again?’ I glare over at her, my top lip curling up of its own accord. ‘I should have known you couldn’t be trusted with him, Gwyn. You were always too highly strung. I saw the signs this time though, didn’t I? Fool me once, my darling wife, but not twice!’
‘What?’ She looks at me confused. ‘I’d never hurt him!’
I laugh, tighten my grip on Gabriel who hangs limply in my arms. ‘That’s what you said two years ago… when you threw yourself off Jubilee Bridge with Gabriel in your arms!’ Tears stick in my throat, my emotions threatening to erupt. ‘Ironic really, isn’t it, how things come full circle?’
I look on in amusement as her hand flies up to her mouth, sick splaying out between her fingers.
‘Can you stop being so messy? You only have yourself to blame for this!’
‘I don’t understand what you’re saying,’ she chokes, her eyes glued to Gabriel, who does look a tad cold. ‘Just don’t throw my baby into the river. I’m begging you.’
I smile, take a moment to ready myself for the final part of my perfectly executed plan.
‘He’s not going in the river. You are!’
‘Please, no, you have to be joking me?’
I glance down at the river, which thunders along at an alarming rate, the smell of algae and wet earth burning the back of my throat. If I jump into the river, I’ll die. Not only will the below-freezing temperature send me into shock, but there’s no riverbank for miles.
‘On the wall now or he goes in! I’m not messing around, Louisa!’
‘I’ll die, it’s too cold.’ My words emerge as a string of panicked sounds. ‘And I can’t even swim!’ As I speak my thoughts aloud, a memory swirls into focus. Doctor Hughes knows I can’t swim. I told him so when he recommended swimming to help implantation on my first round of IVF with SureLife. Oh fuck! This has been his plan all along – to find somebody he could manipulate and discredit, somebody who can’t swim! It’s now blindingly obvious what he’s going to do. He’s going to force me to jump into the river and then he’s going to kidnap my child!
‘You can’t do this.’ I lean my arm against the wall for support, fear surging up into my throat. ‘You’re sick!’ I turn my head to look up at him, his face partly illuminated by the street lamp behind. ‘You won’t get away with this.’
‘Climb up on the wall! Or I will kill him!’
‘Okay, I’m doing it.’ I raise both hands in front of me, knowing I have to think fast if I’m to have any chance of surviving. ‘Just please pull Cory back over the wall and wrap him up. It’s so cold.’ Fiddling around with the tie on my dressing gown, I manage to take it off and throw it down on the floor between us. My hope is that Doctor Hughes will bend down and pick it up, that I’ll then be able to wrestle him to the ground and scream for help. But as my dressing gown hits the concrete, something hard skims across the ground. I look past Hughes, see a solid black shape a metre or so away. Of course! My mobile phone!
My breath feels trapped against my ribcage as I consider what this means. Surely the police will be able to track me down through the phone’s GPS? Surely by now James will have arranged cover at the hospital and gone home? He’ll step through the door, and he’ll find Magda and then he’ll call the police! They will come looking for me, of course they will. Perhaps they are tracking me down right now! After all, they think I’m crazy! I slide my eyes over to Hughes, terrified that he’ll turn and see the phone. He doesn’t seem to have noticed. ‘Wrap Cory up in the dressing gown,’ I try again. ‘If you don’t he’ll die.’
Uncertainty cuts across his eyes. ‘I’ve already told you. His name is Gabriel.’
Another memory flashes in my mind’s eye; the photograph in Doctor Hughes’s office of a woman and baby, his hair as red as a sunset, the mirror image of his mother. Who was the mirror image of me!
‘The picture on your desk…’ I swallow down the terror which laces my words. ‘That was Gwyn and Gabriel?’
‘Yes.’ Doctor Hughes’s eyes glisten with tears and for a moment I think I might have got to him. ‘She… well, she was possessed by demons, kept on telling me Gabriel was too precious for this world. I should have seen the signs, but at the time I was living in Wales and busy setting up SureLife in Chester. I was too busy to notice.’
‘It’s not your fault, you…’
‘On the wall now
or he goes in! I know what you’re trying to do!’ Hughes holds Cory further out over the river, the muscles in his arms tensed. I’m positive I hear Cory whimper. Oh thank God! Thank God he’s all right.
‘Right. Okay. I’m doing it.’ I climb up onto the wall, feel the frost as it bites into the soles of my bare feet. The wind lifts up my hair, the force like a thousand lashes across my cheeks. I stare down into the blackness of the river, another gust of wind causing me to sway forward.
‘I blamed myself, you know,’ Hughes is saying now. ‘I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Almost lost the practice before it had even opened. They dragged Gwyn out of the river a week after she disappeared, but they never found Gabriel. But I know why now. It’s because he never really died. God was just holding on to him until he could be reborn. I knew when I first saw you that Gwyn’s spirit lived inside of you. I knew you could bring me my son back!’
I try to process what he is saying, my fear for Cory all-consuming. It’s obvious that Hughes has suffered some kind of mental breakdown since the loss of his wife and child, his delusions a coping mechanism against all that’s befallen him. ‘Please… let me help you,’ I say, my words slurring through sheer shock. ‘Let me and Cory go and we can try and make this right. You’ll never get away with this, you know you won’t.’
He swallows loudly. ‘I will. SureLife is already sold. I’m moving back to Wales. And the police are incompetent anyhow. They may never find you. And if they do, they’ll assume the baby has been swept away in the current. Three weeks they searched for Gabriel before giving up. Three measly weeks!’
‘James won’t believe I jumped to my death and killed our baby. He knows how much I love Cory!’ Guilt twists like a knife as I allow myself to think about James. My husband, my wonderful husband, who has loved me unconditionally since the first moment we met. And yet, when it mattered, he let me down, didn’t he? If he’d just believed me, all of this could have been avoided. But even as I think such a thing, I know James isn’t really to blame. Of course he genuinely believed I was ill, was only ever trying to do what he thought was right. ‘James will find Cory,’ I say again, sure that, despite everything, he’ll never believe I killed our baby.
A Mother’s Sacrifice Page 25