The Meridians (5 page)

At least I'll see my family again, he thought, and was surprised to find that the thought brought him no comfort. Rather, it made him colder, made him more fearful. What kind of God would let his family die that way? How could God exist in this horrible world? And if no God, then no afterlife, no joyful reunions with loved ones lost.

Scott knew he was dying, and knew he would die alone, and that when dead, he would remain alone for the infinity of oblivion. He cried then.

The gray man smiled as Scott's tears flowed, as though he garnered the same strength from them as he would if he tucked into a six course meal.

"You're good," said the gray man. He winced then as he nodded at his ruined shoulder. "Didn't expect you to get a shot off, especially not after what had just happened to your family."

Scott's tears redoubled then. He looked around for his gun, and saw that it was in his hand. But when he tried to raise it to fire, to kill this sonofabitch who was leering and gloating over him as he lay dying, his hand would not respond. Nothing would, in fact, below his neck, and Scott suspected he had broken his back during the fall down the stairs - that is if the second bullet hadn't pierced it before then.

The gray man smiled even wider, a shark's smile of pleasure at the moment of the kill. Sirens could suddenly be heard, but they were few and far away, and Scott knew they would not arrive in time to be of any help to him.

The gray killer must have known that as well, for he continued to smile as he said, "Sounds like your blue-suited brethren aren't going to get here soon enough, doesn't it? But then, there's never a cop around when you need one, is there?" The killer laughed at this, as though he had just told the funniest joke ever heard.

He was in front of Scott now, and gingerly stepped over Scott's body to stand - to
loom
- over Scott's head. Then the killer leaned down and put his gun on Scott's forehead.

"Yeah, you were good," said the gray man once again. "Very good. I was supposed to give you a message from Swampy, but I don't think I will. I'll let you go without that indignity. No one has to know," he added, as though he were granting Scott some signal honor.

Scott hacked, and summoned up all his strength to cough - right into the face of the man who was about to kill him. Blood spewed, covering the gray man's face in dark red fluid. The hitman cursed, then kicked Scott in the side angrily.

Scott didn't even feel it. He just laughed.

The killer leaned back down and replaced his gun in the position it had been in just a few moments before. "Fine," he said. "Swampy said to tell you he'd be out in a few weeks, and you and your family will be dead forever. He said to tell you that before I killed you."

And with that, the gray man pulled the trigger. Time slowed down once more, and Scott heard the agonizingly slow explosion of a round being fired point-blank into his forehead.

***

5.

***

It didn't take Doctor Cody and the nurse long to verify what Lynette already knew: there were no bullet wounds on her body. She had never even
seen
a gun, outside of television, let alone been shot by one. Still, it was the most frightening time she had ever passed in her life, being examined by the doctors for a gunshot wound that they apparently believed Robbie had been responsible for.

A few minutes after they finished their exam and let her get dressed again, Robbie was ushered in by the same two policemen who had taken him out in the first place.

"What the
hell
is going on here?" bellowed Robbie, rubbing at his wrists as they released him from his handcuffs.

The police were silent, deferring to Doctor Cody, who sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Please understand," he said. "Everything today has been extremely irregular. First your manner of being admitted. You had an amniotic fluid embolism followed by a cardiac arrest and, not to shock you, but you were clinically dead when the paramedics reached you. It was probably only through the fast acting of your husband in calling nine one one and then performing CPR that you survived at all."

"And to repay him, what? You were going to throw him in jail?"

"Not at all. Indeed, as I said, the hospital staff were all quite impressed with him and with his apparent affection for you. But we had hardly the time to deal with that due to the fact that we were busy saving your life...and the life of your unborn son."

"What's going on with him?" asked Lynette, her concern for Robbie momentarily pushed aside now that he was with her and no longer in shackles. Rather, she wanted to know what was going on with the baby.

With
Kevin
.

"He seems to be responding to the transfusions and the medicine that we've given him," said Doctor Cody. But he didn't seem at all happy. Rather, he delivered this news as though he was giving positively horrifying information.

Robbie apparently picked up on that, too, for he said, "If he's responding well to the course you've set for him, then why do you look like your favorite dog just got run over by the neighbor's lawnmower?"

It was a tribute to how tense Robbie was, Lynette realized, that he had verbalized such a crass image, and had done so with neither apparent embarrassment after the fact nor any kind of remorsefully apologetic glance at her.

The doctor didn't answer for a long moment, merely looking at his feet.

"What is it?" asked Robbie. Still Doctor Cody didn't answer.

Finally, Lynette leaned forward as far as she could. By doing so, she could barely -
barely
- reach the doctor's arm. She patted him as best she could, trying to communicate patience and hopeful confidence with the gesture.

Apparently it worked. Cody looked up, first at her, then at Robbie, as though not just gauging them as recipients of possible bad news, but as humans in the eyes of God.

"The complications attendant with your pregnancy and with the baby's birth are likely just a precursor," he finally managed.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Robbie quietly. "Is this going to happen again?"

"No, no," hastened the doctor, shaking his head hurriedly. "Most obstetricians go their entire practices without seeing an amniotic fluid embolism. It's not that. Rather...."

Again, he seemed at a loss. And now Lynette knew. Or at least, she thought she did.

"It's the baby, isn't it?" she said. "It's little Kevin."

Robbie looked over at her sharply at the name, as they had never really decided on one, thinking they still had weeks to determine such a thing, but said nothing so apparently thought it was all right - or at least
didn't
think it was worth fighting about right at this instant.

Doctor Cody nodded.

"So, what are you saying?" asked Robbie. "Is he going to die?"

"Perhaps," said the doctor simply, "though I tend to think that he's made it this far, so his prognosis is actually dramatically improved from what it was only a few hours ago. But what is more concerning to me right now is his future."

"You mean," said Lynette, and felt her breath hitch inside her pain-wracked body. "You mean, something's wrong with him?"

The doctor said nothing for a moment, then shrugged. "We don't know," he said, "and we likely won't for some time. But the fact is that he was without oxygen during your cardiac infarction, and children whose mothers suffer an amniotic fluid embolism often have...effects. Long-term effects."

"Like...he's going to be mentally handicapped?" asked Robbie. Lynette cringed. Not because she thought Robbie was being cruel in asking the question; she knew he held nothing but the same love and concern for Kevin that she did herself. No, she cringed because the question itself had to be asked.

"He's most likely going to suffer from developmental disabilities of some kind or other, yes," said the doctor.

"Thank God," whispered Robbie.

The doctor looked at Lynette's husband so fast that she thought he might get self-inflicted whiplash. "Did I just hear you correctly?"

"Doc," said Robbie, and what he said next was enough that, even if Lynette hadn't already loved him body and soul, she would have fallen in love with him right then and there, "if he's going to have 'developmental disabilities' then that means he's going to be
alive
. And however our son is, if he's alive, then that's enough. I was worried we were going to lose him."

"I was more worried about your wife, but yes, the baby's situation also posed a very real threat."

"Why were you more worried about me?" asked Lynette.

"No one told you?" asked the doctor.

"I don't know...did they?" asked Lynette, amused.

Doctor Cody smiled, the movement lighting up his otherwise dour face and making it nearly handsome. "You're right, that was a rather silly question, wasn't it." He took off the wire-rimmed glasses he wore and rubbed them between his lab coat. "The fact is, women who suffer from your condition have about a thirty percent mortality rate."

Lynette heard Robbie gasp beside her and felt his hand clutch for hers. She held it tightly for a moment to reassure him that she wasn't going anywhere, then asked the question that had not been satisfactorily answered.

"So if the baby's going to live, and I'm going to live, what was all this about a bullet wound? And why did you cart Robbie off?"

The doctor looked suddenly nervous, glancing at the nurse, who studiously avoided his gaze, and at the policemen, who almost glared at him as though his presence was an affront to nature.

Doctor Cody harrumphed, then said, "Well, the fact is, it seemed like the most likely explanation."

"
What
did?" said Robbie, frustration peering around the corners of his normally calm and soothing voice.

"It seemed most likely that someone had shot her, and given the fact that she had never gone to a hospital - at least not one that we could find a record of - to take care of the wound, and given the further fact that you failed to mention the wound when you admitted her, the hospital's Social Services division thought it most prudent to contact the police and detain Mr. Randall until we properly checked you out, Mrs. Randall," he said, nodding at Lynette.

"Why would you think that someone had shot me?" asked Lynette, equally horrified at the idea that someone could have shot her and at the idea that anyone could think Robbie would have done such a horrendous thing.

"Because you had a bullet in you," said the doctor simply.

Lynette felt her jaw drop nearly to her chest. "A
bullet in me
?" she repeated.

Doctor Cody nodded. "And not just in you, but in your womb."

"What?" demanded Robbie.

Again, the doctor nodded. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small baggy. Inside was a small piece of metal, twisted and misshapen.

A spent bullet.

Lynette's mouth once again gaped. "My womb?" she repeated.

"Yes." Doctor Cody once again looked at the nurse, and once again the nurse failed to look back at him. "And even more oddly..." he began, but Lynette knew what he was going to say before he said it. Because just as she had dreamed of having a son, she realized she had also dreamed of this. "...it came out with your baby. Clutched in his little hand, in fact."

After that, there was really not much to be said. The police shuffled out, saying that someone might be in contact with them and to stay near their home for the next few days. Doctor Cody clearly wanted to ask more questions, but he pushed the nurse out a few minutes after the police left, just as clearly seeing that Lynette wanted to be alone. To sleep. To hold Robbie's hand. To dream.

And to wonder how a bullet had come to be in her unborn child's hand.

And how she had dreamed of it before hearing of it from anyone.

***

6.

***

When the end came, it didn't come as Scott had expected it. He had thought that the end would come with a cool blast, followed by nothing. Instead what happened when the killer pulled the trigger was that Scott felt an intense heat on his face, and felt his eyes sting as something hit them.

And in the next instant, he felt...something. Something strange, as though the world had just twisted inside him and around him, space bending and curving around like putty.

And he was
still alive
.

"What the fu -" began the killer, and backed away, looking at his gun.

Scott watched him back away. Watched him move away from him as though the killer had just seen Satan jump out of the pits of hell and beckon to him. He realized that the killer was looking at something beside him. With great effort, Scott looked to his right, and saw the last thing he ever expected
to
see.