Page 18 of Avenging Devil: Part 1

My best course of action is to get rid of them. For years I’ve been handling my problems alone. There’s never been anyone there to offer advice, a shoulder to cry on, or just hear me out. I’m used to this. I can do this on my own. I prefer to.

Resolving to ask them to leave, I flush, then go to the sink to splash cold water on my burning eyes, wincing in the cracked glass at the image reflected at me.I’m a mess.Even my blonde wig has come awry, showing my naturally dark hair underneath. Automatically, I go to straighten it, while acknowledging I look like a stray dog uncared for and unfed. No wonder complete strangers were concerned about me.

Not all,I correct, recalling the happy couple that had just walked past as though my being distraught would taint them.Not everyone would have stopped to help, nor seen me home safely.Now I grimace, knowing full well where I live, and that they have walked into a shady apartment block that’s surely beneath their station.

Get rid of them.Then I can grieve. I pull my shoulders back, determined to utter the words as soon as I go back out.

But when I do, it’s to see Niran looking ridiculous, seated on my already sagging armchair obtained from Goodwill, and Mary sitting on the worn couch, staring at me entering the room with genuine concern in her eyes. Something breaks inside me, and all my good intentions about keeping my woes to myself come blurting out of my mouth without me meaning them to. “I have to decide whether to have an abortion.” My voice starts strong, then cracks.

“Oh, honey.” Mary manages to extract herself from the sofa and comes over to me. “I thought it was something like that. No one should have to make that decision on their own. I’m here for you.”

Taking me by the hand, she encourages me to take the seat she just vacated and sits beside me. I’m already regretting telling them at all. The last thing I want is for anyone to try to influence me, whether they be ‘all human life is precious and deserves to be born’ or not. Despite what she’s said, thisisa decision I need to make for myself, as only I will have to live with it.

As though I’ve zipped my lips, I stay quiet.

Mary glances at Niran, then fills the silence. “I’m forty-eight,” she begins. She’s shocked me. I thought her younger than that. “My husband’s ten years older. Both my eggs and his sperm have seen better days. I got pregnant by accident, certainly didn’t expect to.” She pauses, and again looks Niran’s way. The Black man raises his chin as if to encourage her. I’m surprised there’s no look of disinterest on his face. “We had the options explained when I first found out. My choices were, abortion, or continue, knowing there was a big risk that I might miscarry, or the baby wouldn’t reach term, or that his development wouldn’t proceed normally.” She’s got my attention, and I find myself staring her in the face. “We decided to leave it to fate and hope for the best.”

Heavens. She’s been living with this since the day she conceived.She already knows she might not give birth to a healthy baby.“He’s okay now?” Her behaviour doesn’t suggest she heard bad news today.

Mary grimaces before nodding. “I’m six months, and yes, all looks good now. But there’s still a chance things could go wrong, which is why my man wraps me in bubble wrap.”

She’s someone who might understand. “If something did… if you find out he has severe developmental problems, would you terminate the pregnancy?”

Niran starts as though he wants to stop this conversation, but Mary waves him down. “It depends. If he couldn’t survive, or if he was never going to live a normal life—by which I mean, not just a bit, but drastically, like he’d never talk, walk or think on his own—then yes, I think I would. Grumbler and I have discussed it. Of course, I’m not in that position, so I can’t really say what I’d feel if I were.” She pauses. “Yes, so far the pregnancy’s going normally, but I still might not be able to carry him to term. I live with that thought daily.”

At that point, my phone rings. In no mood to talk to anyone, I ignore it. So few people know my number, I can guess who it is, but I haven’t got it in me to care. When the tone blares again, Niran gestures toward my purse.

“You want me to get the phone?” he asks in his deep, gruff voice.

I must nod, I’m not really aware, but he goes to my bag, extracts the device then shows me the screen. Yes, it’s the store where I work and the caller’s my boss who must be wondering why I haven’t yet turned up.

“It’s work,” I respond, dismissively.

“Want me to deal with it?”

Again, I must indicate yes, as he slides his thumb across the screen and puts the phone to his ear.

“I’m sorry, but she’s unwell… She won’t be able to come in today… Yeah, it came on suddenly… She’s seen a doctor and has been told to rest… Tomorrow?” He glances at me, and I nod my head. “Yeah, she’ll try and get in… I’ll tell her… Yeah.” Putting the phone down on the side table, he now addresses me. “She sounds nice, your boss. Said she hopes you feel better soon, and just let her know if you can’t go in.”

It suddenly makes me realise how I’m surrounded by good people even if I think I’m alone. My boss, always friendly, didn’t fire me on the spot. Mary’s just shared her personal story with me, and Niran, who took charge, carrying me when I couldn’t walk despite his disability. Guiltily, I register he’s been rubbing just below his left knee the entire time he’s been seated in the chair. A seat, I watch him now retake, sighing with relief as he takes the weight off his leg. Simply dressed in jeans and a clean t-shirt, he’s just like any other man I might pass on the street.He’s not a biker.He’s normal. Perhaps I can trust him, despite his threatening size and those muscles of his.

These people aren’t friends as such, but definitely friendly. And people who’ve done more for me in one afternoon than anyone else in the last five years. It’s that that makes me give a little more to them. Not my complete story, of course. I’m too ashamed for a start and sharing too much would be dangerous.

“I haven’t been to checkups before,” I start, trying to telepathically transmit to them that I’d prefer not to tell them why.It must work, as there’s no censure in their eyes, and no questions. “I’m twenty-three weeks pregnant, and I thought it was time to get myself and the baby checked out. So, I made an appointment.”

“That was today? The first time you’ve seen a doctor?”

Checking carefully, I notice Mary’s face carries no accusation at all, so I press my lips together, remembering the weekend I’d just been through. “No, last week was the first time.” I have to swallow a couple of times. Mary passes me back the now topped-off water, and I guzzle it gratefully. “I thought everything was normal.” But what do I know? I’ve not reached this stage before. I lost my previous baby much earlier in the pregnancy. I don’t admit the truth that I was scared to show my face publicly, worried my new identity wouldn’t stack up and terrified any official record might trigger something to enable Duke to find me.

“Go on,” Mary gently encourages me.

As another rush of sadness floods through me, I cry out, “Last week they told me something was wrong with the baby, but they wanted to run more tests.” I gulp, remembering how I’d spent the last few days unable to believe there was anything serious, despite the looks of sympathy the doctor had given to me. I sob, then take a fortifying breath, and tell them the rest. “The baby,my son,has anencephaly.” They’d told me the sex at the same time as they’d identified the problem, making it a hundred times worse, as I started to think of him as a person.

Mary looks horrified, but I suspect with her history, she’s been researching all that can go wrong. Niran looks puzzled, so it’s for his benefit I tell him the dreadful facts, my voice breaking before I’m halfway through. “His brain isn’t developing properly, a large proportion is outside his skull, rather than inside it.”

“Oh, honey.” Mary tries to hug me, but I pull away, wrapping my arms around myself. I don’t deserve comfort or sympathy.My fault. All my fault. Doesn’t matter that things happened when I never even knew, but hell, on who else does the blame fall?

“Is there treatment?” Niran asks, his voice probably sharper than he meant to sound.

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