Page 58 of Joker's Ghost
‘Cause I was hunting down a dirtbag who was stalking my family.
“She didn’t mention falling sometime during the day, or right before she went into labor?” The doctor’s eyes pierce through me, or maybe my guilt is jacking me up.
“No.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Of course, she fell trying to defend herself against one of my enemies.
“Because of the postpartum hemorrhage, her blood countis very low. We’re pushing fluids and typing her blood for a transfusion.”
“A blood transfusion?”
“Yes, we feel at this point it’s necessary to sustain her recovery. She was also dehydrated, and this can all lead to the body shutting down.”
“Shutting down? What the fuck does that mean?”
“From the information we received from the paramedics, your wife was already in the last stages of labor when they arrived. They also reported there were signs of a struggle of some kind. Any physical exertion or extreme stress can cause premature delivery, especially after subsequent births.”
“I don’t know where you’re goin’ with this, Doc, but I don’t knock my wife around.”
Her gaze lands on my one-percent patch. “I’m not here to judge, but we can’t deny the facts that some form of trauma caused her to go into an early labor.” Her thin lips set in a firm line. “Either way, a social worker will interview your wife when she regains consciousness.” She hangs the clipboard on the end of Daisy’s bed. “She should be moved up to maternity shortly, and after your baby is examined, she’ll be placed in the nursery on the same floor.”
Dr. Jonas leaves, and all the questions I couldn’t bring myself to ask her haunt me.
How long before she wakes up?
Will she be all right when she wakes up?
Will she wake up?
I move to the side of Daisy’s bed and gently stroke her hand. “I’m so sorry, baby.” I lean in and kiss her hair. “I wanted everything to be perfect this time.”
I blink back the tears because crying is a useless emotion.
DAISY
My eyes flutter open a few times before I can focus on my surroundings. I’m in bed, but not our bedroom at the condo. This bed has bars.
I blink furiously until I see windows line one wall, and a curtain hangs on the other side of the bed. The room is semi-dark with blue lights flashing from a machine next to my bed, and there’s a persistent beeping over my head. I rotate my head in the other direction, and Joker is sprawled out in a chair two sizes too small for him.
I force my brain to make sense, and slowly I remember.
The heavy hand covering my mouth in the kitchen.
Fighting back, then the pain of my fall, followed by the searing pain and overwhelming urgency of my body taking over to deliver our baby girl.
I raise my head and search the room. No bassinet, no trace of my baby. I smooth my hand over my somewhat flat stomach.
“Joker,” I choke out. I clear my throat. “My baby?” The hoarse rasp screams out of me like a wounded animal.
Joker startles, then grips the arms of the chair, two seconds from ending up on the floor. He pushes himself up and lunges for the bed. “Are you in pain?”
“Where’s the baby? Where’s our baby?”
He strokes my face, and my heart pounds harder. “Try to relax. You’re in the hospital, but you’re gonna be fine.”
“Tell me.” Why is he keeping the truth from me? “Where’s our baby?”
“She’s fine. She’s in the nursery.”
