F Wilson - Fatal Error

"Which hospital are we going to?" she said as she sloshed along in her shoes.

"No hospital."

She stopped. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Doctor Landsman has a clinic. Your baby, he is much too special for hospital."

"This guy looks promising," Jack said, handing Munir a file. "Remember him?"

Until tonight, Munir never had realized how many people his department had let go-"downsized" was the euphemism-in the course of the past year. He was amazed.

And exhausted. They had been at this for hours, checking names against an online list of victims of the Trade Tower attacks. No hits so far. That didn't rule anyone out, because the madman's sister could have been married, and therefore wouldn't necessarily carry the same name.

Munir had slept in fitful naps since Wednesday and could barely keep his eyes open. But he opened the file and blinked the text into focus.

Richard Hollander. The name didn't catch until he read the man's performance report.

"Not him. Anyone but him."

"Yeah? Why not?"

"Because he was so…" As Munir searched for the right word, he pulled out all he remembered about Hollander, and it wasn't much. The man hadn't been with the company long, and had been pretty much a nonentity during his stay. Then he found the word he was looking for. "Ineffectual."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. He never got anything done. Every assignment, every report was either late or incomplete. He had a wonderful academic record-good grades from a good school, that sort of thing-but he proved incapable of putting any of his learning into practice. That was why he was let go."

"Any reaction? You know, shouting, yelling, threats?"

"No." Munir remembered giving Hollander his notice. The man had merely nodded and begun emptying his desk. He hadn't even asked for an explanation. "He knew he'd been screwing up. I think he was expecting it. Besides, he had no southern accent."

For the sake of completeness, he checked the 9/11 list, but no Hollander.

Munir passed the folder back. "It's not him."

Instead of putting it away, Jack opened it and glanced through it again.

"Wouldn't be too sure about that. Accents can be faked. And if I was going to pick the type who'd go nuts for revenge, this guy would be it. Look: He's unmarried, lives alone-"

"Where does it say he lives alone?"

"It doesn't. But his emergency contact is his mother in Massachusetts. If he had a lover or even a roomie, he'd list them, wouldn't you think? 'No moderating influences,' as the head docs like to say. And look at his favorite sports: swimming and jogging. This guy's a loner from the git-go."

"That does not make him a psychopath. I imagine you are a loner, too, and you…"

The words dribbled away as Munir's mind followed the thought to its conclusion.

Jack grinned. "Right, Munir. Think about that."

He reached for the phone and punched in a number. After a moment he spoke in a deep, authoritative voice: "Please pick up. This is an emergency. Please pick up."

A moment later he hung up and began writing on a notepad.

"I'm going to take down this guy's address for future reference. It's almost three A.M. and Mr. Hollander isn't home. His answering machine is on, but even if he's screening his calls, I think he'd have responded to my little emergency message, don't you?"

Munir nodded. "Most certainly. But what if he doesn't live there anymore? Or is visiting his mother?"

"Always a possibility." Jack glanced at his watch. "But right now I've got to go pick up a package. You sit tight and stay by the phone here. I'll call you when I've got it."

Before Munir could protest, Jack was gone, leaving him alone in his office, staring at the gallery of family photos arrayed on his desk. He began to sob.

"Fully dilated and effaced," Dr. Landsman announced to all present.

For what seemed like the millionth time in the past hour, he had his gloved hand in her vagina, checking her cervix. She lay on the delivery table with her knees up, her crotch totally exposed to anyone who cared to look. And there seemed to be a lot of potential lookers-potential only, since no one seemed interested.

Why so many people for a simple delivery? What were they all doing here? And where exactly was here? Why wasn't she at a hospital instead of this private surgicenter somewhere in Queens?

She'd think about that later. Right now all she wanted was for the pains to stop.

"Is that good?"

He nodded. "Very good."

"Then why isn't he coming out?"

"He's trying. You've got to help him a little more."

"But what if he's too big to fit?"

"No worry about CPD-you've got a perfect pelvis for childbearing."

"Yeah, but-unnnngh!"

Another contraction. They were coming closer and harder. This was the worst yet.

"Breathe like I showed you," said the nameless nurse in scrubs by the head of the bed.

Dawn started panting through pursed lips, blowing hard. It helped, but not much.

"Make it stop!" she groaned. "I can't take much more of this."

Another woman in scrubs appeared at her bedside. "We're going to take care of that right now."

When the contraction subsided she was rolled onto her side and her lower back was swabbed with something cold.

"What are you doing?"

"It's epidural time."

She'd read about that-injecting anesthetic into the fluid around the spinal cord. But it involved sticking a needle into the spinal canal. Scary, but if it worked… anything to stop these pains.

She was ready for the stick when it came.

"Okay, we're in," the woman said. "Now the anesthetic. This will be like money from home."

She felt a new contraction coming on, building. "Better hurry. I've got another…"

And then the pain faded. They did some taping and then eased her onto her back again. She looked at the woman-doctor, nurse, she couldn't tell, and didn't care-and loved her.

"If you were a man, I'd kiss you."

She smiled. "I've heard that before."

Another man in surgical scrubs, tall and fair-haired with a round, cherubic face, walked into the room.

"Who's that?"

"That's Doctor Heinze."

"Another doctor?"

He must have heard because he stepped forward and smiled down at her.

"I'm a pediatrician. I'm here to examine your baby after he's born."

Wow. Mr. Osala was sure going all out for this baby. He'd totally thought of everything.

"All right!" Dr. Landsman said, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Let's deliver us a baby!"

Dawn flowed through a blur of pushing and then not pushing and then pushing again and again and again until…

Dawn felt a great pressure relieved, heard a high-pitched wail, and then someone said, "We have a baby!"

Joy, relief, and fear roiled within her. It was over, she had a baby, but what was she going to do with a baby? Oh, right. He was already adopted.

"Is he all right?"

"He's…"

Dr. Landsman seemed at a loss for words. She could see his head framed between her raised thighs. He was gazing down at the baby in his arms, well below Dawn's line of sight, with the same fascinated expression she'd seen during the ultrasounds.

The nurse and the anesthetist flanked him, each looking over a shoulder. Their expressions reflected different emotions. A certain fascination, yes, but tinged with something else. Revulsion?

"He's what?"

Dr. Landsman shook himself and looked at her, then looked down again. "He's stopped breathing! Quick! We'll need to suction him!"

As he shot to his feet, cradling the baby, Dawn caught a glimpse of her child.

And screamed.

He had hair-a full head of black hair and a dark down covering his skin. But what were those things under his arms? They Snakes!