She groaned, deep in her throat, drawing her knees up, still bouncing Caleb in her one free arm, in the only way she could. She wasn’t able to move from the mattress, couldn’t walk the floor with her baby as other mothers did, could offer him no solace other than from her own body, and now it was too sick to nourish him.
It was so cold, so, so cold, and she could barely keep herself warm, let alone her tiny baby boy. One quilt. I’m still in my tank and shorts, rank with months of wear. Filthy with blood. And I’m so cold.
Caleb found her nipple again and began to nurse, being soothed for the moment by the sucking motion alone. Josie drifted, her head fuzzy, pain pulsing in waves, made more intense with each suck from her baby’s mouth. Despite the frigid room, a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face. Thirst overwhelmed her and she reached her tongue out to draw in the moisture her body was losing.
As Caleb’s eyes drifted shut, exhausted for the moment from his bout of crying, Josie’s head lolled on her neck. Her gaze snagged on the box of rat poison in the corner. She wondered dully if she could use her quilt to throw toward it, drag it back. She wondered if a death by rat poison would be better or worse than death by starvation. She’d come close to starving, but Marshall had always brought food at the last minute. Why? Why did he keep throwing food at her? Was he conflicted about letting her die? Or was he simply toying with her to increase her suffering?
Josie slept, rats larger than dogs lunging at her and her newborn with their sharp teeth and beady eyes filling her fevered dreams, their mouths opening to scream that she was going to d-die, d-die, d-die. She woke with a wail on her lips, Caleb fast asleep in her arm, her breast still bared. Marshall stood next to her bed, staring down at them. His body split, wavered, two of him appearing where once there was one. For a moment she doubted he was real.
“You’re sick,” he said, his voice dull.
She thought she nodded, but she couldn’t be sure. Her head throbbed, her tongue felt overly large in her mouth.
“Yes,” she said. She swallowed. Her voice sounded so scratchy, dry.
He knelt next to her, bringing a water bottle to her lips. She made a sound of desperation, of gratitude, her gaze holding with his as he tipped the bottle back and poured the sweet water into her parched mouth. When he took the empty bottle away, she pulled herself up, laying the baby on the mattress and quickly grabbing Marshall. His gaze shot to her hand holding his forearm. “Take him,” she said. “Leave me here but take him. You assigned blame to me and I deserve it. I deserve it all. But him”—she tipped her head toward her child, his face angelic in sleep—“he’s blameless.” A small mewling sound came up her throat as a pain shot through her abdomen. She had a severe infection. She was dying. Her milk had dried up, either from lack of hydration, or the illness her body was fighting. “He’s innocent,” she rasped. “He doesn’t deserve to die. Maybe I do, but not him. Not your son. This living piece of you. Take him to a hospital, or a church. Somewhere. Just leave him there. Please, please, please.” Her words dissolved into gasping sobs.
For two heartbeats, three, his eyes bore into hers, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Her breath stalled, heat rushing through her fever-ravaged body. The room swayed, as her heart thundered in her ears.
In one quick movement, Marshall scooped their son from beside her, the portion of quilt that had been wrapped around him falling away. No! No! Despite her plea of a moment before, Josie cried out, reaching for him, scrabbling to bring herself to a sitting position so she could snatch him back. Nonono. What had she done? “Don’t hurt him,” she begged. “He’s innocent. He’s just a baby. Please, please.”
Marshall stood, turned, the baby cradled in his arms. Caleb was naked, his pearlescent skin shining in the small amount of light streaming through the window. Nonono! Her beloved baby lay cold and helpless in the arms of a masked monster. Josie’s heart lurched with panic. Snatched from his warm cocoon, from his mother’s breast, Caleb began shrieking. “Don’t hurt him!” she screamed again, her voice breaking on a sob. Josie continued to reach for her son, the chain at her shackled wrist biting into her skin as she struggled desperately to pull her body forward. Just one last touch, one last kiss, whispered words that he might carry in his soul, if not his memory. Her sobs grew increasingly shrill as Marshall moved away. “Please, please, please!” she cried.
Marshall walked out the door. The door clicked behind him. Her baby was gone. Josie was alone once more. She collapsed back onto the mattress, pulling her knees to her chest, sobbing with the crushing grief pressing into her broken heart. Caleb’s cries mingled with hers, growing distant, fading as mother and son wailed desperately to be returned to one another. Finally, the call of her infant drifted away into nothingness as though he’d never existed at all.
Josie cried until she couldn’t cry any more, until her fever swept her away into a deep, dark void. She surfaced and then faded, floating on a sea of sickness and devastation, her empty arm still cradling what was no longer there. She wished for death. She no longer had a reason to live.
At some point—she didn’t know how long it’d been—she woke to the sound of the door unlocking. She opened her eyes blearily but didn’t move. Marshall came in, his posture strange. Different. For a moment he simply stood and looked at her. “He’s taken care of.” His tone was odd, she didn’t know how to describe it. He wavered again, split. Became two.
She tried to lift her head but was too weak. “Where is he?” she asked, but he ignored her as though she hadn’t said the words. Maybe she hadn’t.
He threw a bag at her. “This is the last one you’ll get,” he said flatly. “I won’t be back.”
After he left, after his footsteps had faded away, Josie stared at the fast food bag on the floor. She closed her eyes. She wouldn’t eat it. She wouldn’t prolong this agonizing torture one minute longer.
She slept again. A sound pulled her from her sleep. The cry of an infant. Her baby. Right there in the room with her. But when she opened her eyes, there was no one there. No sound could be heard. Agony gripped her. Everything hurt. Her body. Her heart. Her soul.
Her breath ghosted. She was a ghost. Barely there. As transparent as morning fog.
What had Marshall done with Caleb? Had he left him in a hospital? Was someone kind caring for him now? Was he warm? Fed?
; It’s not enough.
She lay there, staring at the light shining in the small, rectangular window, dust motes dancing lazily in the air, the thought causing a spark of hope within. No, it wasn’t enough. He would still need her. Still. To raise him. To love him. To bandage his skinned knees and assure him he mattered. To tell him his name.
She reached for the bag of food. She still had purpose. And she wouldn’t give up. She’d keep trying until the end. For him. For her child. She would probably die anyway, but she’d die trying. Until her final breath. Because that’s what good mothers did.
She removed the bottle of water first, drinking half in three big gulps. Her stomach burned. The infection was worsening.
As she reached in for whatever food Marshall had brought, her hand touched something hard. Confused, she pulled it out, staring at the child’s toy wrapped in clear plastic. The fast food restaurant had inadvertently thrown one of their children’s meal toys into the bag of food Marshall had ordered?
Josie unwrapped the character that stood on a small platform. She pressed the underneath of the platform and the character collapsed. She did it a few times, sitting up slightly as she depressed the button. Her head swam as she came to a sitting position and she took a minute to get her bearings, wiping her arm down the side of her sweat-drenched face.
Somewhere in her mind, there was something she could do with that toy. But what? “What do I do with you?” she muttered to the cartoonish face. At least she thought she did. It was getting so hard to focus.
Her heart had started beating faster and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. This was probably useless. Still, she couldn’t help the small kernel of hope that was expanding inside of her. With effort, she removed the bottom of the toy by cracking the plastic platform. Inside was a tiny metal spring. She exhaled a pent-up breath, extracting it with her fingernails. She swallowed, wiping at her sweat-drenched face again as her stomach cramped. “Calm, calm, calm,” she said like a mantra, when she felt her heart beginning to race. “Stay calm.”