|
|||||||||
| panda-like calm through fiction | |||||||||
|
Preggers
|
|||||||||
|
Dagney slept for the rest of the day, and well into the night. Sharpe had stopped by in the morning, and she woke long enough to hear him talk with both Dr. Piers and Nelson before drifting back off. Every few hours Clara would stir, and cry, and Nelson would steal her out of Dagney’s arms, and feed her, or change her, or jangle his keys over her.
It was after midnight when there came a knock at the door. Dagney stirred, but assumed any one of the men watching her would get it. But it came again, louder, more insistent, so she struggled to her feet. Her belly had already grown in size considerably, so she waddled to the door. She stopped, wondering who it might be; Nelson should have been there, and besides he had a key. It was too late for Sharpe to come by again, and besides he’d have called ahead. She’d never really thought about needing a peephole until that moment. She opened the door, slowly, until she recognized Marco’s ex standing on her porch. “Oh, fuck, the sheriff.” She hadn’t seen the woman since that day at the Fox Farm, and seeing her now brought the smell of rotted flesh back into her nose. “I’ve never heard that one before- I’m assuming Weird Al?” There was an awkward silence. “Dagney, I know I can be a bit of a bitch, especially when I’m forced to think about an old boyfriend sleeping with somebody else. And I’m pretty sure by now you know I’ve done some, consulting for Cox, and… I was the one who told them about Martin. But I just thought they’d want a chance at spin control, to get out ahead of the story. I never even thought they’d do anything to Marco… or you.” Dagney let the door swing open. “Holy fuck,” the Sheriff said. “When did that happen?” “Couple of days ago. Long god-damned story.” “Where’s the baby daddy?” “He… didn’t make it.” “Shit, Marco?” “No. Somebody else, actually. My vagina’s getting to be a bit of a Sarlacc pit- anyone who gets near it gets swallowed up. Not that Marco and I ever- I mean, we flirted a little, and talked about getting coffee, but we never-” “Shit… I didn’t think I could feel like more of a dick. I was getting all territorial and you two- Christ. Girl-truce?” “I don’t think we were ever really at war, but whatever. So why are you even here?” “I don’t know anything for a fact, yet, but I do know that it only took a few hours, from my meeting with a Cox rep to Marco’s officer involved. Sherri, one of the girls who works dispatch over in this county, we’re old friends, so she called me. At the time she seemed to think he’d make it, or at least have a chance to say goodbye. But I never got to see him. By the time I got to the hospital they’d declared him, and he was already in a wagon to the coroners. Fucking hate being the ex-girlfriend; gives you shit for rights.” The Sheriff was tense, but Dagney could see she was nearly in tears. “Would it be uberweird if I hugged you?” “Only because of the baby bump.” “Well I’m going to do it anyway.” She grabbed the Sheriff, lifted her up as far as she could and held her. “Uff, yeah, I guess you are.” They held each other a while, both pretending not to notice when their shoulder got damp. Eventually the Sheriff pulled away from the embrace. “I didn’t really know what to think, at first. Scary coincidence, maybe. But I couldn’t sleep. I was sure I heard somebody skulking around my house, and I live way the fuck beyond the boonies, which are a stone’s throw past the sticks. I don’t even have a coyote problem, we’re that far from the rest of the world. And I kept telling myself I was being paranoid, up until I found an improvised explosive taped to my car. So I dropped off the radar for a couple days, called in sick to work and pretended to everybody else I was going out of town to visit a friend in Springfield that didn’t exist. I left a butt load of messages at your office, and finally got through to Sharpe, who stone-walled me harder than Jackson. So I used the few Sheriff’s department resources I could get at remotely to track down your apartment. Because I don’t think either of us is safe. I don’t think I ever told you my name, it’s Irene.” “That’s pretty,” Dagney said, “my father’s a big Irene Dunne nut. He and my mom watched White Cliffs of Dover every year on their anniversary.” Irene smiled, but self-consciously touched her chin, and it was the first time Dagney noticed a slight cleft that resembled the actress’. Dagney tensed, as she heard keys scrape in the front door. The door swung open, and there was Nelson, talking over his shoulder to Dr. Piers, who was bouncing Clara happily in one arm, holding a waffle cone in the other. Dagney was surprised by the fury that crept up in her own voice. “You left me alone. Where the hell were you two?” Nelson looked sheepishly towards the carpet, trying to hide a black plastic bag in his hands. “We went out for porn.” “Excuse me, you went out for porn; I was after rocky road ice cream. Nelson told me about the difficulties you’ve had feeding little Clara, and it happens we encountered similar obstacles. But one solution we found was rocky road- a flavor I’m also partial to.” “Goddamned men,” Dagney and the Irene said together, then Dagney paused and thought about it. “Wait, she’s eating?” “In spurts. She mostly just eats the marshmallows out of the rest. But it’s a solid food- nutrition that will help her grow, since she doesn’t have a nutrient-bath or soil to leach from.” “Um,” Nelson said, “who’s your friend?” “Sorry, this is Irene, Sheriff from the county over. I worked with her on the Fox thing.” “Hmm.” Nelson eyed her suspiciously. “You mind if I ask if you’re armed?” “Always. But as Sheriff I feel I’m honor-bound, if not legally, to be prepared to do my job at all times. Even if I happen to be in somebody else’s county. You?” “Nah. Agriculture doesn’t have many calls for it. I petitioned the boss man to let me carry my Ruger, because hey, you never know, but Sharpe says if I’m carrying around a hammer I’ll just be looking for someone to nail. I mean” he flushed. “Look, I should probably be going. Dagney, I’ll be in touch, and here, this is my cell number, if you need me.” Irene handed her a card that had apparently been in her breast pocket a long time, because it had curved to the shape of her chest. Dagney nodded, and the Sheriff turned on her heals and left. Nelson watched out the front window as she walked away. Dagney noticed, and snarked, “She is really way too young for you.” “So were you- wait, that didn’t come out right.” “No, it came out in a very telling way, but I take your point; you don’t know when you’re out of your depth. Have you tried talking to your wife?” “Not for a few days, now. We were talking, on the phone, trying to patch things over, and then I said something… stupid. I don’t even know what I said to set it off, but something that came across as nit-picking her housekeeping, and it’s been radio silence since.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “You got a gun in the house?” “Yeah, my great-grandfather’s old 8 gauge. Dad got it after he died, but it hasn’t been legal to use it for fowling since the First World War, so he had no purpose for it- and insisted living in a city I’d need the protection. It’s under my side of the bed, Remington shells in the nightstand.” “8 guage? My shoulder hurts just thinking about it,” he muttered, wandering back into the bedroom. He came out a moment later with the big gun, loading in shells from a small green box. “Cleaned recently?” “Cleaned and oiled every six months, last time was four months ago. Why?” “Not sure I trust your Sheriff buddy. Could be she’s on the level, could be she’s scouting for somebody. I kind of doubt she’s doing wet work for the Coxes, though.” “Wet work? Really? “Fuck you if I’ve actually read le Carré.” “At least you didn’t hide behind James Bond’s skirt.” “Actually, Ian Fleming’s novels are pretty solid- certainly more so than the movies. And if Bond were in a skirt, he’d still make your heart beat faster. He’s that good.” “Or maybe I just like a man in a skirt.” He gave an exasperated sigh and turned a little red. “I really should get back to bed.” “We’ll be up a bit. I have porn to watch.” “And I made him rent The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, and we’re going to watch that with Clara.” “Also porn.” “But only after Clara falls asleep.” “It’s eerie how much having you here is like living with my wife again.” Dagney went to bed. She awoke to Dr. Piers prodding her with the cold end of a stethoscope on her tummy- which she realized was larger than when she’d fallen asleep. “Oh, you’re awake. I’d wanted to let you rest longer, but I was beginning to worry about how quickly your pregnancy is progressing. Basically, the female body usually has nine months to adjust to the rigors of child bearing and birth. You won’t. It’s going to be massively invasive, and painful, and destructive.” “I procrastinated this long because I’d hoped that the speeded growth rate would subside, but it’s time we discuss the possibility of termination. And let me be frank, any procedure to end the pregnancy has a high likelihood of increasing the number of viable terminator cells and other potential toxins released into your body. And therein lies the problem. This DNA has already bonded with yours- so we know it’s compatible. If so much as a single chromosome of terminator DNA were to find its way into one of your cells, it could start to trigger premature cell death- essentially a failure cascade as each dead cell increased the likelihood of more dead cells. It wouldn’t be instantaneous, we’re talking a premature death twenty years from now. But it’s a danger, twenty or thirty percent likely, I’d say.” “Okay,” she said. “What would you suggest?” “I have enough training to induce an early delivery. If we can wait until the equivalent of the twentieth week, that should split the difference between viability and your safety.” “And how long is that, for us?” “A little longer than a week, I think.” “Christ. Little bastard’s going to burst out of me like an Alien.” “That’s what we’re hoping to avoid. But it all boils down to our perspective. If we focus on your health, we go earlier, and the child’s likelihood of survival falls, drastically. If we focus on the fetus, we could wait maybe another day, or two beyond that, but the likelihood of your death increases almost exponentially. I can clarify the science in places if you’d like, but it’s entirely your decision. It is, after all, your body.” “My incubator, you mean.” “Well, for the next bit of time, yes. You’re nearly into the second trimester. By now the fetus ought to look human, rather than” “Like a chestburster.” “Yes. Would you like to see it?” Anticipating her answer, Dr. Piers opened up a black bag and started taking out equipment. “Wait,” she said, “I don’t have a sonogram machine.” “We… might have robbed a small clinic downtown. Possibly.” Dagney frowned, but he could tell her pouting was about to become louder and more aggressive, so he cut her off. “Traditional medical pathways are closed to us. If Cox Industries thought for a moment you’d become pregnant by one of their terminators, they’d want you badly enough to kick in the front door. And even if they didn’t, odds are excellent they could legally presume custody of your child- half of its DNA coming from stolen, proprietary seed. Monsanto, you’ll recall, was able to take custody of crops belonging to farmers who had never bought their products, but whose crops had been cross-pollinated with Monsanto’s proprietary gene-mods- so there is a precedent here. Which is of course to say nothing of the medical profession, who would certainly want to put you into a jar to study you. Our options going forward aren’t entirely pleasant.” He laid a pad filled with gel onto her stomach. “We thought this would be more pleasant than the gel- besides which, it’s reusable, and we’ll want to keep an eye on the little thing.” “How big is he?” As he spoke, Dr. Piers continued to ready the ultrasound. “He? Well, if he’s a he, or even if not, at this point, about the size of your fist, or a peach, if that’s more pleasant.” “More pleasant than having a fist inside me… though, I suppose the thought of having a peach crammed up into my uterus isn’t any less terrible. Though I guess it makes me feel a little better- I thought I just had to take a really big dump.” “On that note, you’ve been lucky enough to sleep through about half of the nausea and morning sickness. The next two days will likely be unpleasant. After that I would expect kicking. By the end of the week, we’ll potentially be able to tell gender. The start of next week is crunch time, where we’ll desire to make a decision on how to proceed. And, if you look at the monitor, here,” he swiveled the small screen towards her “you can see your baby.” “Whoa, that’s actually still pretty gross. Are we sure it’s viable, and I’m not going to have a Licker crawl out of me then proceed to eat all of us?” “That’s roughly how he’s supposed to look- it’s how they all look, actually.” “Ew.” “Welcome to the miracle of life.” “So, are you done with me? Cause I think I need to pee, now, and then I want to go back to bed.” “Absolutely.” Dagney slept most of the rest of the week, and it wasn’t until Thursday that Dr. Piers understood why. “Of course,” he told Nelson while they were sitting on the couch, “her body is using up all of her resources trying to prepare for the child.” He’d put her on intravenous nutrients a few hours after the ultrasound, figuring that she hadn’t eaten or drank enough and might need them, which in retrospect might have accidentally saved her life. Nelson had no idea what he was talking about, and was having trouble enjoying the movie playing on the TV. “I should have got something with Tera Patrick. Also, someone who talks less to watch it with.” “Like your wife?” “Nope. Believe it or not, she talks more. Lots more. For some reason me bringing home a movie is an invitation to a philosophical discussion. “Does she do that with every movie, or just when you bring home porn?” Nelson looked from the screen to Dr. Piers, then turned off the TV with the remote. “I hate you. You’ve ruined porn for me. I hate you more than cancer right now, and because of cancer I have a finger in my anus annually.” “You want a beer?” “No, but I”ll take a Coke.” “Right, I forgot,” Piers said, getting up from the couch. “But that doesn’t mean all’s forgiven.” “I know. But I figured we could talk it out.” Nelson sat on the couch a moment, listening to the sounds of Piers opening bottles. “Goddamnit, you really are like my wife.” Dr. Piers handed him one of the cold bottles. “You should call her.” “I know. But last time we fought, I thought maybe it was the last time. “Schrodinger’s cat. Until you look in the box, you don’t know if it’s alive or dead. But your relationship isn’t quantum mechanics- it’s either alive or dead. And I think you need to know the truth, one way or the other.” Nelson sat for a moment, staring at his cell phone sitting on the coffee table in front of him. “Fuck it.” He picked up the phone and dialed six numbers, hesitating on the seventh, then pushed it. It rang through. “Honey?” “Nelson,” Muriel said, her voice flat. “It’s nice to hear your voice again.” “I haven’t felt like hearing yours.” “I wasn’t- that wasn’t a dig at you. I’m not upset that you haven’t been taking my calls, okay, it upsets me, it hurts me, but I’m not angry. And I don’t blame you. I’m sorry about the fight. I didn’t want to fight and I don’t want to fight.” “What do you want?” “I don’t expect anything from you, because I know I don’t deserve to. But I love you, and I miss you, and I hope I haven’t lost you. But that’s up to you. You can take me back if you want to; I’m different than I was. I,” he paused, not certain he wanted to premise their relationship on it, “I quit drinking.” “You’re such a goddamned asshole,” she said, “but I married you, and I think I always knew what you were. But I’m not going back to how we were. You will treat me right, or you’ll spend the rest of your miserable days sleeping out back, tied to the tree where you wanted our dog to stay.” “You let Frank inside?” Nelson asked, the faintest hint of a protest in his broken voice. “I was lonely,” Muriel said. “I’m sorry.” Then he added, “I should have let him be an inside dog.” “I know that’s not what you meant,” she said. “But I’m not quite ready yet, to start over, at least. I need time, to take things slow. Can we start with dinner?” “I’d like that,” Nelson said. “Saturday?” “Sure. We’ll go to your favorite restaurant.” “Gugino’s.” He smiled; she was testing him. “No, that’s mine. Your favorite’s the old Church Bell. But we can go wherever you want.” “You better bring me flowers,” she said with a smile. “It’s a date.” “I’ll see you then. Bye.” “So it went well, then,” Dr. Piers asked, and it was the first time Nelson realized he’d been sitting there the entire time, listening intently. He didn’t reply, just continued to smile. He didn’t mention it after their date, either, though he came back to Dagney’s apartment smelling of a woman’s perfume. On Sunday night Dr. Piers woke Dagney up, holding an IV bag of oxytocin. “We’ve waited as long as we can. I’m worried if we wait longer you may start to experience tearing of your uterus, possibly hemorrhage.” “You said I had until Monday to decide.” “I said that was the deadline, but perhaps I didn’t emphasize clearly enough the dead part of the word. In fact, I’m concerned enough to ask if you’d like me to induce pregnancy, or remove the fetus in pieces- which would be far less risky to your health.” “I don’t know, I’ve kind of grown attached to the little parasite. We think it’ll grow a face eventually, right?” “It has a face- perhaps not as well defined as you’d like, but I remember the W series very well, and at this stage in gestation they looked very similar. And as you seem to have enjoyed Weir’s face, presumably that’s a good indicator.” “Fine. So are you going in after it or am I push, push pushing it out.” “I’m not a surgeon by trade, and any cutting runs the same risks early termination did. Physically, the child’s still small, and ought to plop out with relative ease.” “Okay, but you should know that if you’re wrong about any of this I’m putting my foot in your ass and you’ll have the opportunity to see if that plops out with relative ease.” “Hmm,” he said in response, and hooked the bag of oxytocin to her IV. He also applied prostaglandins, to help speed things up. “This is going to be traumatic for you and the baby. We want it to be over as quickly as can be safely accomplished.” “Before my cervix ruptures, right.” Nelson called Sharpe, who arrived shortly before the sun rose, with balloons and cigars. Nelson was in the bathroom at the time, and Sharpe made the mistake of entering Dagney’s room while she was pushing. He came back out white as a sheet. “That’s horrifying; I’ll never be able to eat at Arby’s again.” “Really? For some reason it made me crave a Philly cheesesteak.” Sharpe’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t believe I haven’t officially fired you yet.” Dr. Piers burst through the door. “I could use assistance.” They followed him back into the bedroom. Dagney was flailing wildly. “Would you hold her down?” The each gently took her arm and put pressure on her knee. “No, that’s how it starts, just a little touching, then Bam, worst STD ever. I don’t want a man ever touching me again, ever. No, that’s not good enough. No more men, period. And not just on the three of you- no! I’m declaring testicular jihad against the whole male gender. When I get out of here I’m going to make it my life’s goal to end procreation forever.” Sharpe frowned. “We really should have given her an epidural.” “I think we should have just knocked her unconscious and cut the thing out of her,” Nelson said. “I will cut things out of you,” Dagney said, in a very Linda Blair Exorcist sort of way. “I don’t think it’s safe in here for us,” Nelson said. Sharpe grinned. “Do you really think any place else will be safer? She has a long memory.” “Dagney, Dagney! You’re very closet o being done, and once we’re done, you won’t have to touch any of us ever again, and we can give you lots of lovely drugs to make it not hurt, so focus. I need you to feel that tightness in your belly again, and push. Two, three, and again.” She let out a heavy sigh, and laid limp on the bed for a moment, before an urgent panic kicked in. “Is he okay?” “He’s covered in goo and blood, but he seems to be otherwise healthy and happy. He even has quite a grip on my beard- which is now covered in goo and blood, as well.” “Fuck, thank god,” she said, and promptly passed out. She woke up a few hours later. “Where’s my baby?” she asked. “Can I hold him?” Dr. Piers was there and walked over to her. “Your baby’s fine, but he needs to stay where he is. He was very premature, so right now that machine is doing all of his breathing for him. He’s still growing at an accelerated rate, so after a couple of days he shouldn’t need it anymore, but for now, all you can do push your hand through that little hole.” She did. “Oh my god, he’s grabbing my finger.” “Quite a grip, didn’t I tell you?” “So… is my baby going to be all progeriac? Because, and I feel retarded for admitting this, but I cried just watching Robin Williams in Jack. I think having to live it would literally kill me.” “I… don’t know. The terminators are programmed to only grow quickly to maturity, but then to slow down to roughly normal human aging… but as I said previously, we’re beyond any comparable level of experience. So we do as our ancestors ever have, when uncertainties weigh with unanswerable questions.” “We drink?” she asked wryly. “We pray.” |
|||||||||