Chapter 39
Elliot
The leave of absence request glowed on my screen. It was approved, perfect timing. Charlotte's induction was in two weeks, two weeks to ensure nothing interfered with my son's return.
I'd researched it all, past-life testimonials, Tibetan Buddhist texts, even babies born with birthmarks matching fatal wounds. For forty-two years, I'd believed only in scalpels and science. Then the universe gave me proof.
Elias.
When Elias died, I searched for his signs everywhere and anywhere.
I would wander aimlessly in the graveyard.
His room remained untouched. I'd sealed his onesies in vacuum bags, trapping his scent-sweet milk and lavender soap.
His favourite board book, ‘Goodnight Moon’, still lay open on the rocker, the spine cracked at the page where he'd always giggled.
Who is he?
The voice yanked me back to the present.
Through the binoculars, I watched Charlotte smile at some useless man-some stranger—as he pressed his palm to my son's home.
Kill him.
The binoculars creaked in my grip.
Kill him before he steals her away. Before he takes Elias away from you again.
Glass bit into my skin as the lenses shattered. Blood welled, thick and warm.
She is ours.
The man drove off. Charlotte waved.
KILL HIM.
The voice screamed inside my head. The engine hummed alive, I followed, already calculating the steel trunk, rural roads and the vial of insulin to make it painless.
For her sake, not his.
◆◆◆
The fluorescent lights of Morrisons hummed like a nursery nightlight, casting Charlotte into my starlet.
I lobbed random items into my trolley: a cantaloupe, her favourite, according to her Instagram, organic carrots, and a jar of olives.
They all got tossed in while tracking every glance thrown her way.
Men.
Women.
Even the fucking cashier.
They all looked too long.
Charlotte, oblivious, swayed to whatever played through her headphones, one hand absently rubbing her belly, when a teenager rammed his trolley into hers. No curse. No flinch. Just that infuriatingly serene smile as she stepped aside.
My son's mother.
Her fingers absently traced the curve of her belly, a self-soothing gesture I'd catalogued weeks ago.
My son kicked beneath her touch. My future pulsed under her clothes.
Two weeks of surveillance had taught me everything.
The snivelling spineless father and his vile serpent of a wife.
The toad-faced stepsister and her husband, who drank too much.
And Charlotte?
She deserved better
She deserved me.
My tongue dragged across my lips as she turned, the black dress clinging to hips made for breeding. Her ridiculous running shoes were practical, unlike Julia’s choices, which should've been a turn-off. Instead, I imagined them hooked over my shoulders as I—
Taste her.
The voice slithered up my spine, sticky sweet as formula.
Test the quality for Elias.
Her breasts strained against the dress. They were fuller now, ripe. I could already see the veins beneath the skin, smell the salt-sweetness of—
All over. Taste her.
The voice pushed me over the edge, and my trolley collided with hers.
“Dr. Vale?”
Her voice, warm honey laced with surprise, sent blood rushing south.
I let my gaze drag over her groceries: organic spinach, Greek yoghurt, oranges, the prenatal vitamins I'd prescribed.
“Charlotte,” I purred her name, smiling as I palmed an avocado.
“Oh, do you live close by?” she asked, raising her hand to her neck, but the beautiful blush gave her away. “This is my local. I've never seen you before.”
“I was passing through and remembered I needed a few things. Never mind me, how have you been? I saw you have kept all your appointments at the prenatal clinic.”
“Oh, yes, but of course. If I could, I would want Ellis checked daily,” she said with a bright smile.
My smile dimmed at the name. It was WRONG. I wanted to wring her neck.
“Ellis?” I asked blankly.
“Yes, I named him after my Grandad. I am the last one left on my mum’s side.”
It’s close enough.
The voice snapped at me.
You're almost there.
It switched to a melodic soothing tone.
“Ellis is a fine name,” I said forcing the words out while she beamed at me oblivious to the maelstrom of emotions raging inside of me.
“Why don't I escort you to your car?” I asked, trying to get the foul taste of the name that was all wrong out of my mouth.
“Oh, no. I couldn't impose on you like that,” she said like the sweet, gullible fool I had her pinned as.
I narrowed my eyes on her and her trolley. She immediately glanced at her trolley to check her contents.
“All healthy,” she said with a smug smile.
“Yeah? And are you supposed to lift heavy items?”
Her smile faltered before her hazel eyes looked away from me.
“I don't have anyone who can help out. My family lives too far away,” she said before she bit her lip and nervously toyed with the handle of her trolley.
“I’m free and offering, Charlotte,” I said softly, itching to touch her hand.
Not yet. She isn't ready.
The voice stated the obvious.
I fucking know.
I snapped back.
“Okay,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear.
And just like that, we did our shopping together.
◆◆◆
It was dark by the time we reached her car. I enjoyed her company more than I’d anticipated. She was more feisty than I’d pegged her as. It had to be the shades of red in her hair or her Irish heritage. We walked at her pace, and I remained patient since she carried precious cargo.
Between the baby aisle and the toiletries aisle, she told me how much she missed her mother.
That was something I could relate to. Her mother died almost instantly from a brain aneurysm.
She was with her until she took her last breath.
Her words put me in a trance as I remembered Elias, unnaturally still, pale but for the dark bruising on his skin.
Before I could spiral out of control, her hand reached for her belly.
“Feel, he is kicking,” she said, reaching for my hand in excitement.
My palm stretched over the thing's black material. The anguish left me as I felt his elbow or foot trying to stretch her out. I smiled, knowing my son was alive and well. He gave me two rapid taps, and I held my breath while she gasped.
“He is lively tonight,” she laughed. The tinkling noise was pleasant.
I glanced at her swollen breasts, and I could almost smell the sweet milk mixed in with her citrus shampoo. She made me so fucking hungry. Four years of abstinence was no joke.
Yes, keep her. Keep them both.
The voice purred.
She was made to be bred. This one was born to be a mother.
“I’m glad I bumped into you tonight,” I said to her with a smile, gently rubbing her stomach in circles.
Her blush deepened, that shy smile making my molars ache as I clenched down on them. “So am I.”
Behind us, the tyre I slashed earlier hissed its last breath.