Stephen King - The Dark Tower

Maybe he’s only busy. Running…hiding…fighting. Silence doesn’t necessarily mean he’s —

Mia howled what sounded like a string of obscenities, pushing as she did so. The lips of her already distended vagina spread further. A freshet of blood poured out, widening the muddy delta-shape on the sheet beneath her. And then, through the welter of crimson, Susannah saw a crown of white and black. The white was skin. The black was hair.

The mottle of white and black began to retreat into the crimson and Susannah thought the baby would settle back, still not quite ready to come into the world, but Mia was done waiting. She pushed with all her considerable might, her hands held up before her eyes in clenched and trembling fists, her eyes slitted, her teeth bared. A vein pulsed alarmingly in the center of her forehead; another stood out on the column of her throat.

“HEEEYAHHHH!” she cried. “COMMALA, YOU PRETTY BASTARD! COMMALA-COME-COME! ”

“Dan-tete,” murmured Jey, the hawk-thing, and the others picked it up in a kind of reverent whisper: Dan-tete…dan-tete…commala dan-tete. The coming of the little god.

This time the baby’s head did not just crown but rushed forward. Susannah saw his hands held against his blood-spattered chest in tiny fists that trembled with life. She saw blue eyes, wide open and startling in both their awareness and their similarity to Roland’s. She saw sooty black lashes. Tiny beads of blood jeweled them, barbaric natal finery. Susannah saw — and would never forget — how the baby’s lower lip momentarily caught on the inner lip of his mother’s vulva. The baby’s mouth was pulled briefly open, revealing a perfect row of little teeth in the lower jaw. They were teeth — not fangs but perfect little teeth — yet still, to see them in the mouth of a newborn gave Susannah a chill. So did the sight of the chap’s penis, disproportionately large and fully erect. Susannah guessed it was longer than her little finger.

Howling in pain and triumph, Mia surged up on her elbows, her eyes bulging and streaming tears. She reached out and seized Sayre’s hand in a grip of iron as Scowther deftly caught the baby. Sayre yelped and tried to pull away, but he might as well have tried to…well, to pull away from a Deputy Sheriff in Oxford, Mississippi. The little chant had died and there was a moment of shocked silence. In it, Susannah’s overstrained ears clearly heard the sound of bones grinding in Sayre’s wrist.

“DOES HE LIVE? ” Mia shrieked into Sayre’s startled face. Spittle flew from her lips. “TELL ME, YOU POXY WHORESON, IF MY CHAP LIVES! ”

Scowther lifted the chap so that he and the child were face to face. The doctor’s brown eyes met the baby’s blue ones. And as the chap hung there in Scowther’s grip with its penis jutting defiantly upward, Susannah clearly saw the crimson mark on the babe’s left heel. It was as if that foot had been dipped in blood just before the baby left Mia’s womb.

Rather than spanking the baby’s buttocks, Scowther drew in a breath and blew it in puffs directly into the chap’s eyes. Mia’s chap blinked in comical (and undeniably human) surprise. It drew in a breath of its own, held it for a moment, then let it out. King of Kings he might be, or the destroyer of worlds, but he embarked upon life as had so many before him, squalling with outrage. Mia burst into glad tears at the sound of that cry. The devilish creatures gathered around the new mother were bond-servants of the Crimson King, but that didn’t make them immune to what they had just witnessed. They broke into applause and laughter. Susannah was not a little disgusted to find herself joining them. The baby looked around at the sound, his expression one of clear amazement.

Weeping, with tears running down her cheeks and clear snot dripping from her nose, Mia held out her arms. “Give him to me!” wept she; so wept Mia, daughter of none and mother of one. “Let me hold him, I beg, let me hold my son! Let me hold my chap! Let me hold my precious!”

And the baby turned its head to the sound of his mother’s voice. Susannah would have said such a thing was impossible, but of course she would have said a baby born wide awake, with a mouthful of teeth and a boner, was impossible, as well. Yet in every other way the babe seemed completely normal to her: chubby and well-formed, human and thus dear. There was the red mark on his heel, yes, but how many children, normal in every other regard, were born with some sort of birthmark? Hadn’t her own father been born red-handed, according to family legend? This mark wouldn’t even show, unless the kid was at the beach.

Still holding the newborn up to his face, Scowther looked at Sayre. There was a momentary pause during which Susannah could easily have seized Scowther’s automatic. She didn’t even think of doing it. She’d forgotten Jake’s telepathic cry; had likewise forgotten her weird visit from Roland and her husband. She was as enrapt as Jey and Straw and Haber and all the rest, enrapt at this moment of a child’s arrival in a worn-out world.

Sayre nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Scowther lowered baby Mordred, still wailing (and still looking over his shoulder, apparently for his mother), into Mia’s waiting arms.

Mia turned him around at once so she could look at him, and Susannah’s heart froze with dismay and horror. For Mia had run mad. It was brilliant in her eyes; it was in the way her mouth managed to sneer and smile at the same time while drool, pinked and thickened with blood from her bitten tongue, trickled down the sides of her chin; most of all it was in her triumphant laughter. She might come back to sanity in the days ahead, but—

Bitch ain’t nevah comin back, Detta said, not without sympathy. Gittin this far n den gittin shed of it done broke her. She busted, n you know it as well’s Ah do!

“O, such beauty!” Mia crooned. “O, see thy blue eyes, thy skin as white as the sky before Wide Earth’s first snow! See thy nipples, such perfect berries they are, see thy prick and thy balls as smooth as new peaches!” She looked around, first at Susannah — her eyes skating over Susannah’s face with absolutely no recognition — and then at the others. “See my chap, ye unfortunates, ye gonicks, my precious, my baby, my boy! ” She shouted to them, demanded of them, laughing with her mad eyes and crying with her crooked mouth. “See what I gave up eternity for! See my Mordred, see him very well, for never will you see another his like! ”

Panting harshly, she covered the baby’s bloody, staring face with kisses, smearing her mouth until she looked like a drunk who has tried to put on lipstick. She laughed and kissed the chubby flap of his infant’s double chin, his nipples, his navel, the jutting tip of his penis, and — holding him up higher and higher in her trembling arms, the child she meant to call Mordred goggling down at her with that comic look of astonishment — she kissed his knees and then each tiny foot. Susannah heard that room’s first suckle: not the baby at his mother’s breast but Mia’s mouth on each perfectly shaped toe.

Yon child’s my dinh’s doom, Susannah thought coldly. If I do nothing else, I could seize Scowther’s gun and shoot it. T’would be the work of two seconds .

With her speed — her uncanny gunslinger’s speed — this was likely true. But she found herself unable to move. She had foreseen many outcomes to this act of the play, but not Mia’s madness, never that, and it had caught her entirely by surprise. It crossed Susannah’s mind that she was lucky indeed that the Positronics link had gone down when it had. If it hadn’t, she might be as mad as Mia.