PART TWENTY SIX

He meant it, the tone of his voice said so. I remembered the day he made that promise so clearly. There was something very special between us then, an intense feeling that I had never experienced before, or since. I had wanted so badly for him to kiss me, and I think he would have too if we hadn’t got that call from Kelly. My heart sped up as I was thinking about it. But that promise, I didn’t know if it was one he could keep.

"What are you thinking about?" Paul whispered, his breath tickling my ear.

"I ... nothing."

"Bullshit. What’s wrong?" he tightened his arms around me, carefully avoiding my swollen stomach.

"I’m just worried ... that promise you made ... please don’t put yourself in any danger for me."

"Sam, I meant it. I can’t handle seeing you hurt by this monster again."

"I mean it too. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me, I couldn’t stand that. Please ... don’t put yourself at risk. It’s not worth it."

"Samantha ..." He was cut off as the door opened. Steve’s friend came in and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me to my feet. Paul started to stand, trying to help me, but the guy kicked him in the stomach, leaving him doubled over on the floor in pain. I looked at Paul, trying to see if he was okay as I was pulled out the door. I was taken to Paul’s bedroom where Steve was lying on the bed. He signalled for me to go and sit with him, but I didn’t move.

"Sam, I’d have thought you’d have learnt by now what happens when you don’t do as I ask." He nodded at his friend, who hit me across the face. Then he shoved me towards the bed and left the room, shutting the door behind him. I sat on the edge, facing away from Steve. I felt him move behind me, and tried not to cringe as he put his arms around my shoulders.

"Sam, what do I have to do to prove how much I love you?" he whispered in my ear.

"I don’t want your love. I’ve experienced it, it’s the last thing I would ever want."

Steve licked my ear. "I remember you used to like this," he murmured as he sucked my earlobe. Then he started licking and biting my neck.

"Nothing you do makes me feel anything but sick," I said.

"I didn’t hear you complain last time ... at the studio."

"That’s because I was unconscious you asshole. That’s the only way you could get what you wanted ... to knock me out. You’re pathetic." He hit me again, swinging from behind me, this time with his fist, connecting with my right cheek. The blow sent my head reeling, jerking my neck. I could feel the warm trickle of blood down my cheek, coming from a gash caused by a ring he was wearing. Tears began to well up in my eyes but I blinked them away, refusing to let Steve see me cry, despite the pain.

"You’ll learn to love me again one day," Steve said. "You see you’ll have no choice. Where we’re going, there will be no one else for you to love, except me."

"What do you mean?"

"I made some connections in jail, including a guy who has agreed to fly us to a remote and deserted island up north. You and I ... together ... forever."

"You can’t do that," I said. "My baby ..."

"Will be born on the island and raised as ours. We’ll be a family and I intend to make sure that this one has lots of brothers and sisters."

"No, you can’t. I won’t go."

"You seem to be under the impression that you have a choice. You don’t. You’re coming with me and that’s that! I’m just waiting on a call and then we’re out of here. You’ll never see those dicks in there again ... especially Mr TV star." Steve called out to his friend who came and took me back to the bathroom. I was shoved in, and the door closed behind me, leaving the room pitch black again. I found a wall and sat down, leaning against it. Paul crawled clumsily to where I was and sat next to me.

"Is there a towel or something in here?" I asked.

"I dunno ... this is Paul’s bathroom after all," Tim said, but no one could bring themselves to laugh at his joke.

"Yeah, here’s one," Mikey said. I felt something brush my leg. I took the towel and held it gingerly against my face, trying to stop the flow of blood from where Steve punched me.

"Are you hurt?" Paul asked.

All I could do was burst into tears, letting the flow that I was holding back in front of Steve go. "We have to get out of here," I cried as Paul put his arms around me. "We have to ... he’s going to take me away."

"What do you mean?" Tim asked.

I told them what Steve had said, what he was going to do. As I spoke Paul’s arms grew tighter and tighter around me.

"No," he said when I had finally finished. "I won’t let him."

"Paul, if you try and stop him he’ll kill you," I said, the though of it making me cry harder. We all sat in silence. My sobs finally stopped as I nestled me head against Paul, totally exhausted. I shut my eyes as Paul kissed the top of my head lightly. I faintly heard him say "I won’t let him take you away. Try and rest, it’ll all be okay." Then I drifted off to sleep.

PART TWENTY SEVEN

I opened my eyes slowly, a slim hope in my heart. But it was extinguished when I saw that it was still pitch black. I moved carefully, trying to get some feeling back into my legs.

"Sam, you’re awake?" Paul asked quietly.

"Yeah," I muttered. "How long was I asleep?"

"Around six hours. We’ve been in here for fifteen now."

"How the hell did I sleep for so long?" I asked.

"The emotional strain you’re under, it’s exhausting you."

"What time is it?"

"Around six in the morning." Paul had got himself a new watch, this one with a light.

"Has there been any noise from out there?" I asked.

"No." Mikey’s voice came from across the bathroom. "Not a sound ... oh, except the phone keeps ringing. Of course the don’t answer it."

"I wonder if anyone has any idea what’s happening," Tim said. He sounded very depressed, the way I felt. "Would anyone know we were in trouble?"

"Laura will wonder why I didn’t come home last night," Mikey said hopefully.

"No," said Paul with regret. "She knows you’re at my place, when you didn’t come home she’ll just assume you were too drunk to move."

"Oh yeah," Mikey muttered.

Suddenly we all blinked as the light came on, hurting our eyes which were accustomed to the dark.

"Damn it Paul, why don’t you have the switch in here like normal people," Tim said.

"Because the builders fucked up when the built this place. Don’t get shitty with me about it."

We all took a while to adjust our eyes, gradually opening them in the harsh light.

"Oh God Sam." I heard Paul gasp. I looked at him questioningly and noticed that Tim and Mikey were also staring at me. I slowly stood up and looked in the mirror, instantly seeing what made them stare. The left side of my face was slightly bruised, but the right side was a mess. It was swollen and bruised deep purple from where Steve had punched me. There was a lot of dried blood down my cheek and around the gash Steve’s ring caused. There was also blood on my lower lip, which had been split during one of the many times Steve had hit me. There was a faint bite mark on my neck. I looked at the floor, embarrassed that they had to see me like this.

Paul silently stood up and found a wash cloth. He moistened it and gently began trying to clean up some of the blood off my face. His cringes mirrored my own pain.

"I’ll kill him for this ... I swear to God I will," Paul muttered. "You said you weren’t hurt."

"It doesn’t hurt too much," I lied. "I didn’t think it was this bad." Paul put down the cloth and gently touched the side of my face before embracing me.

"Oh, how sweet," a voice from the door way said. Steve was standing there, gun in hand. "Too bad it can’t last. C’mon Sam, it’s time for us to go."

"No!" said Paul as he stepped forward.

"Excuse me?" Steve grinned.

"You’re not taking her." Paul took another step as Steve raised the gun, pointing it at Paul’s head.

"No!" I screamed. "I’ll go ... just leave him alone ... don’t hurt him." I turned to Paul. "I’m sorry ... I ..." I was pulled out the door and it was shut behind me before I could finish speaking.

Suddenly there was a loud commotion and the front door was broken open. A number of police officers wearing bullet proof vests ran in and yelled at Steve to drop his gun. He didn’t, instead grabbing me and holding me in front of him as a shield. He fired his gun at them, but was holding it in his left hand, as he was holding me with his right. He tried to shift me to his left so that he could fire with his right hand, but I slipped form his grasp and dived towards the floor. I heard shots fired and covered my head in terror. Finally there was just silence. I felt someone bending over me, asking if I was alright. I slowly lifted my head and looked carefully around. My eyes came to rest on a shape on the floor. It was Steve, lying motionless in a growing pool of his own blood. His friend was lying on his front, being hand cuffed by police.

Paul came running out of the bathroom and fell to the floor next to me, lifting me so that I was cradled in his arms. There were tears in his eyes. I opened my mouth to tell him that I wasn’t hurt, that I was okay, but all that came out was a scream of pain. I saw panic in his eyes as I cried out in agony.

"Oh God, Paul," I managed to say. "The baby!"

PART TWENTY EIGHT

The pain was incredible, unlike anything I had ever experienced before. An ambulance was called, but it seemed to take an eternity to arrive. Paul knelt on the floor, holding me, a worried expression on his face. Tim and Mikey were talking with the police, they kept throwing concerned looks in my direction. I was on the floor with Paul, my whole body trembling in pain. It was all I could do to keep from continually screaming.

Finally the ambulance arrived. Paul came with me to the hospital, Tim and Mikey said they’d follow. On the way the pain became too great for me to bear, and I lost consciousness.

When I opened my eyes there was less pain. It had dulled to a slight crampy feeling. Paul was still with me, holding tight to my hand.

"Hey," he said as I looked at him. He was worried, but trying to cover it up.

"What’s going on?" I asked. "What’s happening to me?"

"Hold on, I’ll go get a doctor," Paul said as he stood up to leave.

I grabbed his hand. "No," I said, "Don’t go, please. I’m scared."

"It’s okay, I’ll just stick my head out the door, I won’t go away." He went to the door and I watched him get someone’s attention and talk to them. Then he came and sat back by my side. "The doctor will be here in a minute," he said as he took hold of my hand again.

"Paul, I’m so scared." I tried not to cry, but it was a huge effort.

"I know, but I’m here for you. I won’t leave, okay?" I looked up at him and saw tears glistening in his eyes. He brushed them away as the doctor came in.

"Hi Samantha. How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I don’t know, it doesn’t hurt as much ... what’s happening?"

"Well I’ve given you something for the pain, so that should be under control."

"What about the baby?"

The doctor paused and looked at me. Then he pulled a stool over and sat next to my bed. "Sam, I’ve looked through your records and Paul has told me a bit about you, what you’ve been through. This has been a very traumatic pregnancy for the baby. It shouldn’t have survived the first trimester but did. The amount of stress you have been under in the past few months has taken its toll on the baby. Have you taken a fall recently?"

"Yes, just before the pain started. What do you mean taken its toll? What’s wrong with the baby?"

"It’s too early to tell exactly, but it is ready to come out. We do know that it isn’t fully developed, it’s too small. We have to deliver it ... but ..."

"But what?" I asked squeezing Paul’s hand even harder.

"There are other complications. The position the baby is in, it’s putting extra strain on both you and it, that’s why you were in so much pain. We can’t deliver it naturally from the position its in. If it doesn’t correct itself very soon we’ll have to operate. I need you to be prepared though, as a medical student you should know how delicate this situation is." I nodded, the doctor continued. "There’s a strong chance that the baby won’t be healthy, even a possibility it could die. It isn’t a certainty by any means, but you do need to be aware of it. I’ll be back in around an hour, if the baby hasn’t moved then we’ll discuss what happens next."

Once the doctor was gone I turned to Paul. I was crying now. Paul moved to sit on the edge of the bed and hold me, trying to sooth my tears.

"It’ll be okay," he said softly. "I’m sure the baby will be okay."

"I don’t know Paul. There’s so many things that are wrong about this ... the effect of the overdose, the stress, the fall I took earlier ... at uni this would be a typical case of a high risk delivery, where the baby doesn’t usually survive." I wrapped my arms around his neck and cried.

When the doctor came back he did an ultrasound which showed that the baby hadn’t moved. He explained the procedure, more for Paul’s benefit than mine, I knew what would happen, and he told me that he’d do everything he could to ensure the survival of the baby. A few minutes later I was lifted on to a trolley and taken towards the operating theatre. Paul came with me, but was made to stop at the door. My hand slipped from his as I was wheeled through. I lifted my head to see him, and he said something to me but I couldn’t make out what it was.

Once I was lifted onto a different table, one of the nurses gave me an injection. There was a slight sting, then everything gradually just faded away.

PART TWENTY NINE

I opened my eyes slowly, feeling slightly disoriented. I could feel an odd weight on the bed next to my hip so lifted my head gingerly to see what it was. Paul had dragged the chair right up next to the bed and was sitting, leaning forward with his head resting on his arms on the edge of the bed. He looked to be asleep, so I didn’t say anything. I put my hands across my stomach, immediately feeling the difference. There was no swelling, my stomach was almost as before, the baby was gone. I didn’t know how long I had been asleep, I had no idea what had happened to my baby.

I turned my head as I heard a noise at the door. When he saw that I was awake, Tim came into the room and over to the bed. He looked at Paul, still asleep, and smiled.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Not bad."

Paul stirred then, lifting his head. He looked at me and smiled, but in his eyes all I saw was sadness.

I was scared, but nonetheless I asked about the baby. I had to know. "How is it?" Paul looked at his hands, reluctant to answer. "Is ... is it dead?"

Paul took my hand and looked at me sadly. "No," he said, "but it’s not good."

"What do you mean? What’s wrong?"

"Sam, the stress you’ve been under, the fall you took ... it has effected him. You said you thought it would. He’s very sick and weak."

"He? It’s a boy?"

"Yes," said Tim. "You have a son."

"Is he going to die?"

"I don’t know," answered Paul. "The doctor said they’re doing all they can, but it doesn’t look good." He was speaking gently, as if he were scared to upset me.

A little while later the doctor came in and confirmed what Paul had said. The baby ... my son ... was sick. He wasn’t breathing properly and some of his organs weren’t working as well as they should have been. He was very small, underweight even for a premature baby. He was being kept in a special unit and was hooked up to machines which were, for the moment, keeping him alive.

"So that’s it," I thought. "He’s going to die." I closed my eyes, shutting out the others in the room. I told myself that it was a good thing, that the baby should die. It was conceived during an act of absolute hatred, the man who created it was a monster, not even worthy of being called a man. It was a baby that I didn’t want, and now it was going o die. I repeatedly told myself that this was how it should be, how I wanted it to be, and gradually I came to believe it.

I opened my eyes as Paul took my hand. The doctor was gone, but Tim and Mikey were in the room, both hanging back from the bed.

"How are you doing?" Paul asked.

"Okay," I said. "It doesn’t hurt as much any more."

"Good," he said.

"You look tired," Tim said.

"So do you." I tried to grin.

"Yeah, well I guess a sleepless night spent locked in a bathroom and then a day in a hospital will do that," Tim replied, stifling a yawn.

"What actually happened?" I asked. "How did the police know what was going on?"

"Sam, you’ve been through a lot today. It’s been a big strain, physically and emotionally, with the baby and everything," Paul said as he pushed the hair off my face. "We’ll let you get some rest and tell you all about it tomorrow."

"No," I said. "I’m fine, I want to know."

Paul moved to sit on the bed, taking my hand in his. He thought that the news of the baby would have made me too upset to listen. Between the three of them, Tim and Mikey did most of the talking, Paul just sat with me, they told me that Kelly had been worried when I hadn’t called. I had promised her I’d call her as soon as I got to Sydney and when I didn’t she tried calling me at Paul’s place. When no one answered, she acted on a hunch and called the police. One of Paul’s neighbours had also called the police, they had seen someone push their way into the house. When police came to check it out they had seen someone open the window and look out, they had been holding a gun. They knew that something was wrong, and went from there.

"And now he’s dead," I said. "I saw him, there was no mistake."

"Yes," said Paul, "he’s dead. It’s finally all over."

"No," I said, "not yet. Soon he’ll be joined by his son ... then it’ll be over once and for all."

PART THIRTY

The next morning Paul arrived as soon as visiting hours began, just as I was waking up. He didn’t look as tired, but his eyes were still sad.

"Good morning," he said as he produced a bunch of flowers from behind his back.

"Hi," I said. "Oh, they’re beautiful. How did you know I love lilies?" I sniffed the flowers, my eyes drawn to the solitary red rose in the centre of the white lilies.

"I think you mentioned it once and I took a bit of a guess. How are you feeling?"

"Good actually. There isn’t as much pain and I can sleep comfortably again."

Paul hesitated before speaking again. "I just saw the doctor outside. Have you spoken to him yet?"

"No. What about the baby? Is it dead?"

"No, but there’s no change."

"Oh."

Paul busied himself with finding a place to put the flowers. He set the down next to the bunch my parents sent.

"How are your mum and dad?"

"Good. They’re in Nepal at the moment. Kelly called them to let them know what had happened, and they sent those."

Paul came and sat on the edge of the bed and picked up my hand. "Do you want me to take you down to see your son?"

"No." I looked away from him.

"Why? They’ve done research that shows that the touch of a mother can help babies. You should know that."

"I do, and it’s a good reason not to see him."

"Sam, what’s wrong?"

"Loo Paul, the baby is probably going to die. What’s the point in getting attached to it?"

"Maybe because he’s your son. You have such an amazing capacity to love and care for someone, why can’t you give just a little bit of that to your son? He’s part of you."

"He’s also part of Steve, the one person I hate more than anyone else in the world. I would be reminded of that every time I look at him. No, it’s better this way."

Paul didn’t say anything, just looked at me sadly. I don’t think he believed that this was how I felt, but it was. I had convinced myself that it was.

Paul came to see me every day in hospital. Each time he asked if I wanted to see my son, each time I said no. There had been no change, the doctor was doubtful that there would be ... not one for the better anyway. They had left a birth certificate for me to fill in and sign, but it just sat next to my bed. I couldn’t even bring myself to name him. The doctor seemed to understand and was willing to give me extra time. It’s not as if they were expecting the baby to be released from hospital anyway.

Tim and Mikey had both been in and out. They were concerned about my apparent lack of feelings for the baby, especially Tim, who adored his children more than anything else. I think Paul had tried to explain it to them, but they were still worried.

I stood in front of the mirror studying my reflection. The bruise on my face was fading and was now a pale yellow, and the cuts had nearly healed. I thought I looked odd, my stomach seemed so small. It wasn’t as flat as before I was pregnant, but was so small compared to just last week. I was dressed in a skirt and top, ready to leave the hospital. I was being discharged today and was going to stay at my parents place, looking after it for them while they were away. I’d stay in Sydney for around another month, finally having that holiday.

"Are you ready?" Paul asked, appearing behind me in the mirror. He lightly kissed my cheek. "You look great," he said.

"Thanks," I smiled. "Yeah, I’m ready to go." I went to pick up my bag, but Paul beat me to it.

"You have to take it easy for a while, doctor’s orders."

"Carrying a bag isn’t going to kill me," I said.

Paul just smiled. "Come on, I want you to do something before you leave."

"What?"

"I want you to see your son. Once you leave, you might not see him at all." Paul had accepted that the baby wouldn’t survive, and the doctors were also giving up hope. "You can’t let him die without at least saying goodbye." I let Paul lead me towards the nursery. Once there I looked through the glass. Off to one side in a humidicrib was a baby that Paul was pointing to. It was tiny, pink and was connected to various machines. The name tag in front of it simply said "Baby C". He looked so helpless, lying there like that. Despite what I had told myself, I could feel my heart breaking. Paul put his arm around my shoulders.

"Goodbye my son," I whispered. "I’m so sorry."