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!
Two baby snakes, maybe four inches long, had sunk their fangs into his armpits and were writhing No! Tendrils! That's what they were. No-tentacles! Two smooth, twisting, coiling tentacles. No suckers like an octopus. Flesh colored… looked like rattails.
Dawn screamed again as Dr. Landsman rushed away with the baby. Her little boy's eyes opened and he looked at her with a black gaze. As she screamed again she saw the anesthetist injecting something into her IV line.
'You've done your job,' she said softly. 'Now rest.'
Something warm in her arm, and then the world faded to white…
4
The phone startled Munir out of a light doze. Confusion jerked him upright. What was he doing in his office? He should be home…
Then he remembered.
Jack was on the line: 'Meet me downstairs.'
Out on the street, in the pale, predawn light, two figures waited. One was Jack, the other a stranger-a thin man of Munir's height with light, shoulder-length hair and a goatee. Jack made no introductions. Instead he led them around a corner to the front of a small all-night coffee shop. He stared through the window at the lights inside.
'This looks bright enough,' Jack said.
Inside he ordered two coffees and two cheese Danish and carried them to the rearmost booth in the narrow, deserted store. Jack and the stranger slid into one side, Munir the other, facing them. Still no introductions.
'Okay, Munir,' Jack said. 'Put your hand on the table.'
Munir complied, placing his left hand palm down, wondering what this was about.
'Now let's see the merchandise,' Jack said to the stranger.
The thin man pulled a small, oblong package from his pocket. It appeared to be wrapped in brown paper hand towels. He unrolled the towels and placed the object next to Munir's hand.
It looked like a finger. Not Robby's. Different. Adult size.
Munir pulled his hand back onto his lap and stared.
'Come on, Munir,' Jack said. 'We've got to do a color check.'
Munir slipped his hand back onto the table next to the gruesome object, regarding it obliquely. So real looking.
'It's too long and that's only a fair color match,' Jack said. 'After all this time I thought you'd do better.'
'Hey,' the stranger said, 'I have to be careful. I not only gotta find the right shade, the boarder's gotta be a John Doe, and one that's headed for the oven or med school real soon.'
Jack shook his head. 'Still…'
'It's close enough. Pretty damn good on such short notice, I'd say.'
'I guess it'll have to do.' Jack handed him an envelope. 'Here you go.'
The goateed stranger took it and stuffed it inside his shirt without opening it, then left without saying good- bye.
Munir stared at the finger. The grisly flesh on the stump end, the detail over the knuckles and around the fingernail-even down to the dirt under the nail-was amazing. It almost looked real.
'This won't work,' he said. 'I don't care how real this looks, when he finds out it's a fake-'
'Fake?' Jack said, stirring sugar into his coffee. 'Who said it's a fake?'
Munir snatched his hand away and pushed himself back. He wanted to sink into the vinyl of the booth seat, wanted to pass through to the other side and run from this man and the loathsome object on the table between them. He fixed his eyes on the seat beside him and managed to force a few words past his rising gorge.
'Where…?'
'He works at the city morgue.'
'Please… take… that… away.'
He heard the soft crinkle and scrape of paper being folded and dragged across the tabletop, then Jack's voice:
'Okay, Cinderella. You can look now. It's gone.'
Munir kept his eyes averted. What had he got himself into? In order to save his family from one ruthless madman he was forced to deal with another. What sort of world was this?
He felt a sob build in his throat. Until last week, he couldn't remember crying once since his boyhood. For the past few days it seemed he wanted to cry all the time. Or scream. Or both.
He saw Jack's hand pushing a cup of coffee into his field of vision.
'Here. Drink this. Lots of it. You're going to need to stay alert.'
An insane hope rose in Munir.
'Do you think… do you think the man on the phone did the same thing? With Robby's finger? Maybe he went to a morgue and…'
Jack shook his head slowly, as if the movement pained him. For an instant he saw through the wall around Jack. Saw pity there.
'Don't torture yourself.'
Yes, Munir thought. The madman on the phone was already doing too good a job of that.
'It's not going to work,' he said, fighting the blackness of despair. 'He's going to realize he's been tricked and then he's going to take it out on my boy.'
