AllFreeNovel
Share Us
MAGGIE KENNEDY-O’KEEFE
Monday, June 22, 2020
I try to comprehend what Nola has just told me. She’s going to kill me and pin it on Nick? I search Nola’s face for any clue that this is all a joke but I know that she is crazy enough to do it. “It will never work,” I say. I pull myself to my feet. I have to get out of here. I need to get home.
“Oh, I think it will,” Nola shoots back. “I’ve got plenty of Nick’s blood left to leave right here at the scene. DNA doesn’t lie, remember?”
I ready myself for another contraction but to my surprise one doesn’t come. Maybe they are slowing down. Maybe I do have time to talk my way out of this. “Be reasonable,” I tell her. “If you kill me you have to make sure that none of your DNA is left behind. You have to make sure that Nick doesn’t have an alibi.”
Nola rolls her eyes. “He doesn’t have an alibi, Maggie. Nick does the same thing every single night. He closes up the shop, stops at the café to pick up dinner and then goes home alone to sit in front of the television.” Nola looks at her watch. “He’s probably watching SVU reruns right now. I guarantee he has no alibi. Now lie down, Maggie,” Nola orders. “The baby is coming.”
“No! No, she’s not!” I cry. “It’s not time.” I may be a first-time mother but I know that this baby isn’t going to come until I have the urge to push. I’ve been having full-blown contractions but not that primal need to bear down. I pray that the baby doesn’t come for hours. I have to find a way to overpower Nola and to get to safety.
“Lie down, Maggie,” Nola says, dragging her scalpel across my arm. I scream in pain and terror as a thin line of blood oozes from my skin. “Now shut up before I cut this baby from you.”
There is no way I’m going to lie down. If I do that, I’m as good as dead. My mind whirls trying to think of a way to reason with Nola but how do you reason with crazy?
“Please, Nola. Please whatever you do, don’t hurt my baby. She’s innocent in all of this. Can you promise me you’ll make sure she’s safe?”
“Like you did with Eve?” Nola asks. “Why would I do that for you?” Another contraction rolls through me, this one bringing me to my knees. “Now let’s get those pants off you. Your baby will be here soon.”
I know she’s right. There is no stopping this now. I can’t escape and now I’m at the mercy of a crazy woman who is going to kill me and my baby and make it look like Nick Brady did it. I lower myself onto the tarp and Nola helps me remove my shoes and pants. It’s mortifying but my embarrassment doesn’t last long. I’m in too much pain. My lower back seizes up and I grit my teeth and moan. I’m beginning to realize that I’ve probably been in labor all day. My water has broken and the contractions are minutes apart. I’m having this baby and soon.
The contractions come one after another and though I’m terrified, I look helplessly to Nola for reassurance. She’s the only one who can help me deliver and I’m completely reliant on her. I struggle to keep my eyes open and sweat pours down my face. I’m so thirsty, the roof of my mouth feels like sandpaper. At the peak of each contraction my fingers scrape against the rocky ground until all my fingernails are ragged and my fingertips are bruised and scraped raw.
Time is marked by the brief, blissful pauses in contractions but the reprieves are few and far between. Minutes or hours could have passed; I have no way of knowing for sure. All I know is that I feel like I’m going to die. Suddenly, the pain shifts and the need to push overwhelms. I bear down and push. The pain is unimaginable, then fades and returns with a fury. I push, try to catch my breath and push again. Over and over, like being buffeted by violent waves.
“I see her,” Nola says excitedly, a look of pure rapture on her face. I barely feel the burning, tearing sensation as the baby rips through me. I grit my teeth and a howl explodes from me.
“Here she comes,” Nola says and I look between my legs to see the baby’s head emerge and then slide into Nola’s waiting arms. I hate that the first person who touches my daughter is so evil.
“Why isn’t she crying?” I whimper, struggling to sit up on my elbows to get a better look. My baby is so small, her tiny mouth opening and closing, fighting for air.
Still no sound comes. No welcome cries. “Please, Nola,” I beg. “Please help her.” Nola turns away from me so I can’t see what she’s doing. Seconds past. I count them. Five. Then ten. Thirty seconds. A full minute. She’s dead, I think. My baby never had a chance.
Finally, a robust wail fills the air.
“Congratulations,” Nola says over the cries. “You have a beautiful baby girl.”
“Oh, thank God,” I weep. “Please don’t hurt her. Please, I’ll do anything.”
Holding the infant in the crook of her arm, once again she reaches for the scalpel. “Of course you will,” she says.
Nola kneels above me, my baby in one arm, a scalpel in the other. She is crazy. She’s going to kill my baby, make me watch and then kill me too. How could I have been so stupid? I had let my guard down and ended up in this godforsaken spot that I swore I would never return to.
“Please let me have her,” I beg. “Please give her to me.”
“Not just yet,” Nola says and reaches behind my head and retrieves her jacket, spreads it out on the ground right next to me. She carefully lays down my wailing daughter.
“What are you going to do?” I ask. My legs are shaking and I can’t stop shivering.
“Stay still,” Nola says as she pulls the elastic tie from her hair and bends over the baby. I can’t see what she’s doing and I try to slide myself a little closer to them. “Whoa, now,” Nola says, grabbing for the scalpel. I freeze and watch as she saws through the umbilical cord with the sharp blade. Now the only thing left connecting me to my baby is gone. She lifts the baby, wrapped in her jacket and lays her on the ground several feet away from me. I haven’t even got to touch her yet.
Horror washes over me. “Please give her to me. Please don’t hurt her, she’s just a baby. Please, Nola!” I beg. Salty tears blur my vision.
“Don’t worry, Maggie,” she says, her red hair brushing against my cheek. “I’m not going to hurt your baby. I’m not a monster.” With the scalpel still in one hand she reaches into her backpack and pulls out a scarf. For a second I think it’s the scarf that Eve was wearing the day she died, but it isn’t. The colors are different. Nola holds it in her hands like a garrote.
I don’t think—I just act. In one fluid movement I rear back then surge forward, butting my head into Nola’s knees. I hear the snap of ligaments like elastic being stretched too far too fast. Nola falls backward, the scalpel flying from her hand and tumbling across the limestone and out of sight.
