'Ms. Dalton-Why are you here?'
'Is it true the baby needs an organ transplant?'
'Do you think you'll be a fit mother?'
'Did you want an abortion because you weren't married?'
'Why aren't you pressing criminal charges?'
'Can you get us inside to see Renata?'
She found it impossible to move away from her car. They had her surrounded by an impassable wall of polyester and power cables. Her breath stopped. Ahead of her she saw a tiny pinpoint of scintillating darkness appear. It grew, expanding across her field of vision as something drummed in her ears with growing power. She remembered having fainted in the cafeteria and welcomed the feeling as an escape that would temporarily solve her problems.
A huge hand reached out of the shimmering blackness to seize her arm. Another equally massive hand shoved some-thing under her nose. The sharp odor of ammonia brought her to with a startling memory of her mother cleaning the kitchen floor. Just a flash of that lovely, sweet face laboring with a sponge mop and a pail and then the crowds returned.
This time, though, she was in motion.
The beefy pair of arms, clad in white, served double duty. The left arm held her by her right upper arm as the right plowed a path through the reporters, huge elbow out like a powerful wedge driving through the field of inquiring minds.
The arms were attached to a singularly huge brute, nearly as wide as he was tall. Topped with close-cropped platinum hair that curled like the wool of a highland sheep, the face was contorted by the sneering smile of a man who enjoyed this sort of confrontation and probably did not get to see it often enough.
'Move it or lose it,' bellowed a deep voice with an unplaceable accent. The speed of their progress stunned Valerie. They glided through the crowd, which-though small-replenished itself from rear to front as they moved.
'You'll be all right, ma'am,' the deep voice reassured. 'They sent me out to get you. Doc Fletcher figured you'd be bothered by these guys.'
The elbow threatened, swung, cut swaths through the re-porters, never hitting, barely touching. They all quite profes-sionally avoided getting bruised.
'The name's Mason, ma'am. Johnny Mason.' He charged with her toward the line of protesters. 'I'll be around to take you back through tomorrow.' He turned his head to smile at her. Under a gnarled brow framed by thick silver eyebrows, emerald eyes smiled as his fighter's lips twisted into a grin. 'I used to be a movie-star bodyguard before I became an orderly.'
He elbowed the chest of a particularly obstinate paparazzo. 'It was tough leaving show business, but I knew medicine was my calling.'
Mason and Valerie moved almost as one into the thick of the pickets. They all stopped what they were doing to stare at the woman and her burly escort. Most gazed at her, not knowing how to react. Were they to hate her because she had wanted an abortion or support her because she came to save her baby? Or vice versa?
Rather than make a hasty decision, they simply stared.
Valerie saw a few of their signs as Mason rammed through the gap that opened to let them pass. Bayside University Steals Babies.
Abortion Is Murder-Transoption Is Kidnapping.
One sign merely read: I Cor. 1:28.
There were more signs than she could read before the entry doors swung open to admit the pair into the reception area. They breezed past everyone, Mason leading her into Dr. Fletcher's office.
'Sit down and take a rest, ma'am,' Johnny said. 'That little girl in there needs you in the best health.' He smiled gently and patted her on the shoulder with a thick, soft hand.
Valerie thanked him and lowered herself into the brown vi-nyl easy chair. Dr. Fletcher entered a moment later, crisp white lab coat over baggy hospital greens. She looked calm. Without any en-mity in her voice, she said, 'Good morning, Valerie.' Valerie hesitated a moment before replying. 'Good morn-ing, Dr. Fletcher. I-I just want to let you know-'
