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“You okay, Maggie?” Nola asks.
I nod and look up at her. “I’m fine,” I say but inside alarm bells are clanging.
Nola situates herself next to me on the rock and tucks the flashlight beneath her chin, the shadows distorting her face like a kid getting ready to tell a ghost story around the campfire. “I just want to talk to you. We need to talk about Nick.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “I told you, I did what you asked. I used the blood you gave me and I added it to the evidence. You saw me drive it to the lab...”
Nola waves away my words. “Yeah, I know but the more I think about things, the more I wonder if screwing with the old evidence is enough.”
“Of course it is,” I say, my voice taking on a desperate tone. “You said it yourself. DNA doesn’t lie. Once the forensics come back, Nick is...”
“Are you really going to lie to me here?” Nola interrupts. “It’s where you killed my sister. You can’t lie to me in the spot where your best friend took her last breath.”
“Lie to you?” I ask. “How have I lied to you?” I want to be more outraged, more indignant but a wave of nausea overtakes me.
“Pay attention,” Nola says tapping me on the head with her flashlight. “I’ve been watching you and I’m beginning to think that maybe you don’t have the stomach for this.” She points the light toward the gullet of the cave. But even the strong beam can’t penetrate the absolute darkness.
“Nola, you’re wrong...” I argue but Nola taps my head again. This time harder.
“You talk a big game, Maggie, but I think I’m going to need a little more assurance. Why did you send your dad and brother away this morning?”
Another contraction hits me, this one intense enough to make me groan. Nola waits patiently until it passes. “I didn’t,” I begin but she gives me a look that shuts me up.
“You were in my basement,” Nola said with disappointment. “You probably saw some things that you shouldn’t have. You aren’t planning to tell your coworkers about what you found, are you?”
“I don’t care about your things, Nola,” I say, struggling to get to my feet. “You must know that. I’m not going to say anything about what’s in your basement. As far as I know they are just fake. Your Halloween decorations. You hold all the cards. I’m not going to say a word. We’ve got a plan in place. I don’t intend to change anything so you don’t have anything to worry about.” A burning pain spreads across my pelvis and I bend at the waist.
“Okay, then,” Nola says, plucking my phone from my back pocket. “I can text Shaun for you.” She scrolls through my contacts and quickly types out a message. “I told him I was going to drive you to the hospital and for him to meet us there. You, my dear, are in labor.”
“I think I am,” I breathe. “But the baby won’t be here for a long time, right?” I ask, my voice taking on a tinge of desperation. “Especially since it’s my first?”
“Depends,” Nola says, shining the light on my face. I wince at the brightness. “You could squeeze that baby out in a matter of minutes or it could take hours.”
“We should probably go then,” I say moving toward the exit. It’s going to be okay. Nola realizes that I’m no threat to her. I’ll get to the hospital, have my baby, put all this ugliness behind me.
“Wait, wait,” Nola says playfully moving the flashlight like a maestro, causing the light to dance across the ceiling of the cave. I catch glimpses of a rocky shelf. It’s a ledge about ten or fifteen feet above the ground and runs deep into the cave much like a catwalk high above the stage of a theater. It must have been a bitch to get up to, slippery and narrow.
“That’s where you hid,” I say, realization spreading through me, “the night that Eve died. That’s where you were when you heard our argument.” I clench my teeth against another contraction. I turn my face and throw up onto the ground beside me. A cold sweat breaks out across my skin and I begin to tremble. The sour smell of vomit is overpowering.
“We better go, Nola,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “We can talk about this later. Shaun will be waiting for us.” I imagine him at the hospital, the bag filled with a set of clothes for me to wear after the delivery and an outfit for the baby.
“Don’t worry, Maggie,” Nola says, “I was just kidding. Shaun isn’t waiting for you at the hospital. He thinks you’re still in Des Moines. Flat tires are a bitch.”
“Flat tire?” I repeat dumbly. “What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, Nola sets the flashlight on the ground and spreads out a large plastic tarp like a beach towel.
“What are you doing?” I ask fearfully.
Nola reaches into a black leather bag situated on a rock ledge next to her and pulls out two syringes. One small, like the one she gave me that held Nick’s DNA and one much larger. Instinctively, I cover my belly with my hands and begin to edge backward. “Surprise,” Nola whispers, her eyes feverish and a small smile playing on her lips as if we share some kind of secret.
