Christina’s eyes were half-open, her hair drenched in sweat, the flesh around her wrists and ankles bleeding, and the gag still in her mouth.
Bastard, Richard said, lowering his eyes away from her tired and tormented face, down her body. Her dress had clearly been pulled back down to cover her abdomen, but her underwear had been cut away from her and just left hanging from the side of the bed. Richard retched when he noticed the small pool of blood between her open legs.
Look what you’ve done, you sick fucker! he screamed to Peter. How could you? But Peter didn’t seem to notice even when the pool of blood became bigger. He was too concerned with kissing the baby’s forehead.
Christina’s eyes slowly closed completely. Peter smiled at her, and mouthed the words, “Thank you.” He then rose up from the bed and walked toward the door—still holding her baby.
Peter didn’t lock the door. There was no need to.
Christina was already gone.
“What the hell have you done?” Richard heard a woman scream from the foot of the bed. “How could you have been so stupid?” She was a thin woman in her thirties, with jet-black hair that was tied back.
Peter was in the doorway, leaning against the frame; he had a hand on his forehead and a look of distress. “You have no idea what I’ve been through,” he said, his voice quivering. “I’ve been through Hell and back!”
The woman turned to him, her face filled with rage. “And what about this poor woman? What about her hell?” She shook her head. “How could you do something like this? How could you be so heartless?” She started to cry. “What would Sophie think?”
Peter suddenly straightened. “Where do you get off asking me about Sophie? You only ever bothered to meet her twice. And where the hell were you when we lost our child?”
“Don’t try to turn this back on me. You chose to cut yourself off from the family. You can’t just…”
“I had more important things to worry about.”
“Like what? Getting drugged up to your eyeballs?”
He edged closer to her. “Like starting a family—of my own. Making something of my life. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for us? Do you? You have no idea what it feels like to go through three miscarriages, and then be told that it may never happen for you. You haven’t a fucking clue!”
“Of course I do. But you’re not exactly…”
“Do you know what it feels like to pray to God, night after night, for him to give you a family? And when he finally gets off his fat ass to give you one, he lets your girlfriend give birth to a stillborn. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To walk into your bedroom, only to find the only woman you truly loved hanging from the ceiling.” He walked up to her. “I deserve this baby.” He pointed at Christina’s lifeless body still tied to the bed. “It was her fault. She let this happen. We did everything she told us to do. Every-fucking-thing! I kept her safe inside for months. Protected her from the outside world. Protected our baby from harm. We trusted her! So why should she get a family and not me?”
“Listen to yourself. Listen how insane you sound. How could it be her fault? She was just a midwife. She didn’t kill your baby. And she didn’t kill Sophie. No one did. It just happened.”
Peter began to weep. “I never meant for her to die. I only wanted to take back what was rightfully mine. I was going to let her go once Jake was born. I swear to God.”
Jake, Richard heard someone say from behind him. That’s not his name. His name is Dean. Dean Long.
Richard turned to see who had said it. There was no one there.
“I have to get out of here,” the woman said, making gagging noises. “I can’t take much more of that smell.” She barged past Peter.
“Where are you going?” Peter shouted, as she stormed out of the bedroom.
“I have to leave!”
He followed her, slamming the door behind him. “Wait! Come back!”