Bloodline

I would, I decided, trust my intuitions. I would go to that red farmhouse—no, I would go to its barn, which would be safer. That would be my shelter for the moment. And from there I would plan my next move.

So I walked down the slight grassy incline, away from the autumnal beauty of the woods, to the curving country road, and then, keeping to the softest part of the shoulder, I began walking, naked, toward that tiny town. And as I walked, I began to feel aware of a demanding, urgent hunger unlike any I had ever known before.

21 Years Ago

Serena blinked the drug-induced haze from her head and glanced up at the man in the white lab coat, with the stethoscope around his neck. He wasn’t looking at her, but at her chart.

“Where’s my baby? Can I see her now?” Then she smiled a little, through the fog. God, they must have given her a lot of drugs, she thought. “I’m already saying ‘her,’ when I don’t even know for sure, but I expected her to be a girl. Was she? Is she perfect and wonderful? How much did she weigh? Why haven’t the nurses brought her in to me yet?”

The doctor lowered the chart, replaced it on its hook at the foot of the bed, and then he came closer and reached down to pat her hand. Not hold it, just pat it. He wasn’t smiling.

Something clenched tight in the pit of Serena’s stomach. And suddenly she didn’t want to hear what he was going to say.

“It was a girl, yes. But…I’m very sorry, Serena. Your baby was stillborn.”

A sledgehammer hit her squarely in the chest. She fell back against the pillows as every whisper of breath was driven from her lungs. Her hand clutched her chest, because she couldn’t seem to draw more air back in. And then the doctor pressed his icy hand to the nape of her neck, pushing her head forward.

“Put your head down and breathe. Just breathe.” He hit a button on the wall behind the bed and snapped, “A little help in here,” then yanked something from his pocket, snapped it and held it underneath Serena’s nose.

The ammonia smell hit her and burned, making her gasp and jerk her head away. And then she was breathing. In and out. Breathing. As if nothing had happened.

“That’s better.” He glanced up as the door opened and a nurse entered. Pretty, blond and young.

Serena glanced at her only briefly before shooting her gaze straight back to the doctor. “It’s a lie,” she said. “It’s a lie. My baby was not stillborn.”

The nurse came closer. “I know how hard this is. I’m so sorry.”

“My baby was not stillborn,” Serena repeated. And she locked eyes with the doctor. “I heard her cry. I heard her cry.”

“You were heavily sedated,” the doctor said, with no hint of sympathy in his matter-of-fact tone. “This isn’t uncommon, this delusion of having heard the baby cry. I know it’s hard to understand, but it’s fairly normal.”

“I heard her cry,” Serena said again. And then she noticed that the blond nurse couldn’t meet her eyes.

“I’m ordering a sedative,” the doctor said as if she were no longer in the room, then he returned to the foot of the bed, grabbed the chart and scribbled something on it. “Get it into her, stat.”

Serena sat up straighter in the bed. “I don’t need a freaking sedative! I told you, I heard my baby cry. I heard her!” She shot her desperate gaze to the nurse. “I won’t take a sedative. I want a phone. I want the police. I want to know what you people did with my baby.”

“Your baby was stillborn,” the doctor said again.

And very subtly, so slightly that she couldn’t even be sure if she was imagining it, the nurse shook her head as she held Serena’s eyes.

“Get the Valium,” the doctor ordered.

The nurse—her name tag said Maureen Keenan, R.N.—hurried out the door. Serena wondered if she had really seen the silent message Nurse Keenan had sent—and whether the doctor had picked up on it.

No time to tell. He left on the nurse’s heels.

The second the door closed behind him, Serena scanned her hospital room, but there was no telephone in sight. Getting out of the bed, wincing at how sore she was, she went to the window and pressed the slats of the blinds apart so she could see outside.

The sun hung low in the sky. The parking lot lay beyond her window. She was on the second floor.

God, where was her baby?

She heard the door opening and dove back into the bed.

Nurse Keenan was back, syringe in her gloved hands. She came close to the bed, leaned down and clasped Serena’s forearm.

“I really don’t need that, Nurse Kee—”

“It’s Maureen, and I know you don’t need it,” the other woman whispered. “But you do need to listen and do exactly what I tell you. I want you to wait one hour. Pretend to be out cold, because this shit should knock you right on your ass. Understand?”

“But what’s going on? Where’s my baby?”

“I don’t know. I just know you need to get the hell out of here. One hour, then go out the window. Dangle from your hands, then let go, so it won’t be as far to fall. Maybe five feet. There will be a backpack in the bushes with everything you need. One hour, then go. Fake it till then.”

Footsteps came tapping along the hall, and Maureen quickly slid the needle into the pillow and depressed the plunger. “You’re out cold. There’s a clock over there.” She inclined her head slightly. “One hour, then get out. Your life depends on it.”

The door opened, and the doctor walked in. Serena closed her eyes and let her head sink onto the pillow as if she were completely relaxed. She made her breathing slow and even and deep.

“Did she give you any trouble?” he asked.

“Only a little. I talked her around. I think she likes me.”

His cold, gray, unfeeling eyes were still on her. Serena could feel them, even though hers were closed.

“She shouldn’t give us any more trouble tonight,” the bastard said.

“It’s hard on her. Poor thing, thinking she heard her baby cry. What do you suppose is behind that?” the nurse asked.

“You were there, Maureen.”

“Well, not in the room. I mean, I was in the unit, but not—”

“So? Did you hear a baby cry?”

It sounded almost like an accusation. Or maybe a challenge.

“No, Doctor Martin,” Nurse Keenan replied, in a tone that held no life. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

Serena knew it was a lie. She knew it right to her soul. Maureen Keenan knew. She had heard Serena’s baby cry, and she knew. And she wanted to help.

Serena wasn’t imagining anything. She hadn’t been hallucinating or deluded or reacting to drugs. Her daughter was alive. She was alive!

And if it took Serena the rest of her life, she would find her.

2

The Present