Hope and Undead Elvis

chapter Thirty-Five

Hope and the Prison





They locked Hope in a suite. There were plenty, so she didn't think they'd displaced anyone on her behalf. They made sure she had food and water available, and all the pillows she could possibly want.

It made for a comfortable prison.

Duce made it clear she wouldn't want for anything because he wanted a healthy baby. On the other hand, he wasn't about to let her slip out of his grasp and risk losing the legacy he'd decided to make for himself.

"There are people here who disapprove of you having a baby," he'd said. "It's important to protect you from anyone who might try to hurt you."

"I want my dog," Hope had responded. "And I want to see Margaret." She'd accepted that for the moment she would be safe, albeit a prisoner. She believed that sooner or later, an opportunity to win her freedom, along with Undead Elvis's, would present itself.

"I'll see what I can do. How far along are you? How long until you have the baby?"

Hope had laughed. "It's not a precise science, Mr. Duce. It could happen tomorrow or it could happen a month from now. Marking days on a calendar hasn't been my priority."

The Deuce had frowned and left her to stew in the room.

She knew she needed to rest; she'd been running on sheer willpower for what felt like days. And she would need to be alert for whatever came next. She ate, drank, and bundled pillows around herself as best she could. She lay on her side and stroked her belly. "I don't know how we're going to get out of this one," she said. "But we will. I promise."

Her baby went to sleep, so Hope did as well.

Bright sunlight on her face awakened her. With more difficulty than ever, she maneuvered herself out of bed and went to the window. The world outside was covered in clean, white snow, but steam rose off the roads as the sun baked away the ice. Three hundred miles to Graceland, she thought. It didn't seem nearly the daunting journey it had before. She only had to plan her escape, rescue Margaret, her father, and Undead Elvis. Nothing to it.

The door latch clicked. She turned to see a pale-faced Josh pushed into the room by people in the hall. He staggered and caught himself against the closet by the entrance.

Hope arched an eyebrow at him. "Well?"

He glanced behind him at the closed door, then looked back at her and put his finger over his lips. He hurried over to the table and found a pen and paper in the drawer. Ask me what I'm doing here. Play along, he wrote.

She shrugged. "What are you doing here?"

"Somebody said there's a chemical in semen that triggers labor," said Josh. "I get to deliver it."

Hope felt a chill. "You're what?!"

Not going to rape you, he wrote. "You heard me. Turn around. This won't take long." They're listening. Fight back. Make it sound good.

Hope's pulse quickened, not from fear anymore, but from excitement. Something was going on. Plans were being made, perhaps on her behalf. "Get away from me!" she cried, and thumped the desk chair against the desk. "What's going on?" she whispered.

Josh banged the desk and Hope, taking the cue, squealed as if she'd been hurt. "Shades' idea," whispered Josh. "We're getting out of here. You, him, the dead guy, Margaret, and me. Will you lead us to Graceland?"

"What?" Hope forgot herself and asked in her normal voice.

Josh grimaced, held out his hand, and slapped it with the other. Hard. Hope remembered to cry out. He did it again. "Turn around or I'll beat that baby out of you," he snarled.

She made herself sound like she was crying, defeated. "Anything. Just don't hurt me anymore." She leaned in and whispered. "Why are you here and not Duce?"

"He doesn't want to dirty his hands. This way he looks like the hero, saving you. Start moaning."

Hope shrugged and made rhythmic grunts, squeals, and gasps while Josh slapped his own thigh. Conversation was impossible for the next few minutes. After what seemed like a suitable interval, Josh held up his hand.

He wrote on the paper, I'll be back this afternoon to "try again." Duce's orders. Don't have the baby! This last he underlined, then waved the paper at the bathroom, indicating Hope should flush it.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror in the vanity alcove. She didn't look nearly mussed enough. She shook her bushy hair, frizzing it out, and rearranged her clothing into a more sloppy appearance. But there was one thing missing, and she knew it would hurt. "You have to hit me," she whispered.

"What?" Josh's voice came close to being too loud.

"Hit me! In the face." Hope pointed to her cheek. "Right here. Give me a bruise, maybe a black eye."

"I can't do that!" he hissed.

"Dammit, Josh, nobody's going to believe it if I'm not marked up. I can't do it myself."

"I can't!"

"You have to." She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eye shut as Josh made a fist and looked down at it. "For God's sake, Josh, I used to be a stripper. I've been beaten up before. One little punch isn't going to kill me."

He looked like he wanted to throw up. Instead, he cocked his fist back and swung it at her.

She leaned into it. She knew he wasn't swinging hard and it had to look real. His fist crashed against her face, just below her left eye. Pain blasted through her skull, whiting out her vision. She stumbled back to sit hard on the bed, jostling her baby and making him kick her ribs. "Son of a bitch," she mumbled. She couldn't see anything but stars out of her left eye. Blood dripped from her nose onto her white t-shirt. It didn't bother her; it would add to the authenticity of her being an assault victim. She spat more blood onto the carpet so she wouldn't swallow it.

Josh looked horrified at what he'd done, but Hope gave him a thumbs-up. She could already feel her cheek swelling from the blow.

"We can talk more this afternoon. I'll shut off surveillance if I can," Josh whispered.

Hope nodded. "Haven't you done enough already? Get the hell out of here, you bastard!" she screamed at him.

He fled out the door. She waddled after him, only to find her way blocked by a couple of burly guards who looked both mean and uncomfortable at the idea of confronting a recent rape victim. They stammered about her not leaving her room.

"Tell Duce I want my dog," she called after Josh. "And I want to see Margaret." She looked at the two guards through her swollen face. Her vision was returning to her left eye, albeit blurry. "And one of you a*sholes can go find me some ice." She threw a chip at them and stalked back into her room. In the bathroom, she wetted a washcloth and attended to her bleeding nose.

The bleeding stopped after awhile, leaving the bathroom sink streaked with pink. Hope wiped it down the best she could, not out of any sense of duty toward the Casino's appearance or as a concession to Zane Duce, but because she'd seen enough blood spilled over the past few months that she didn't need to be reminded of it.

She ate what food remained in the room, knowing it might be awhile before she got any more, and she wasn't going to waste any chance to pack on a few more calories. Every mouthful of food meant her baby would be that much healthier, that much more likely to survive birth.

Birth.

Hope had made a conscious effort not to think too hard about the impending challenge of delivering her baby, but Josh's pseudo-rape had brought it to the forefront of her mind. She had less knowledge about the process than even the typical woman, she figured. She'd never had the sex discussion with her mother. She'd seen enough fellow strippers get themselves knocked up by the worst sort of man that she'd convinced herself never to put herself in that kind of situation. Now it was facing her, and she was terrified of what it meant.

She knew birth was supposed to be painful and traumatic, and in this new, broken world, she wouldn't have the luxury of epidurals, IV drips, and thoughtful nurses providing ice chips, focal points, and breathing advice.

She might not have any help at all.

Even if she managed to deliver her own baby, what then? What chance did a helpless infant have in the cruel world that seemed to have been abandoned and left broken by its creator? There were things like inoculations which he would never get. He could catch anything. Anything! A moment's inattention from Hope could get him taken by a wild animal or one of the vicious monsters that some men had let themselves become. She'd nearly starved during her journey across the fractured landscape. How could she hope to provide for her son?

Crippling fear threatened to overwhelm Hope. She lay back on the bed, her arms wrapped around her belly, and let the tears come. Unlike in the past, these tears weren't those of sadness, frustration, or fear. They were shed for her son, for all the things that might make her cry in the future.

Because once he was born, she would have to be stronger than ever. She wouldn't be able to let down her guard for a moment and indulge herself in the weakness of tears for fear she might lose him. So she cried for things that hadn't yet happened. Skinned knees. Fevers. Hunger. Broken bones. Frustration. She cried for the misery left in the world which would be his legacy. She cried for herself and all the things she had lost already, and all the things she knew she had yet to lose.

And then, when she was finished crying, she smiled, for there was always hope.