I woke to a searing pain in my temples, bruises along my shoulders and throat, a varicose vein-like network of blood trickling, ever so gently, down my spine. Several of my knuckles were busted – stiff and bruised over. I knew that we had been attacked – but the details? For the life of my baby and I, I could not remember.
It has always been a bit of a blank spot for me. I've never been filled in on whatever it was that transpired, and I have certainly never asked.
The baby was my first concern. I wasn't sure if I had taken a fall or if I'd been hit too hard. I tried to feel for a kick or movement, but there was nothing. Before I knew it, I was very near hysterical. Too shaky to stand, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, knowing only that I was atop a loudly complaining mattress. I recognized shapes – a dresser, a lamp. I reached over to turn it on, and it gave a hot flash of yellow before the bulb popped.
"Fuck!" I spit, trying to stay quiet, to creep gently through the blackness.
With a resounding crash, the door swung open, and I was blinded by light. I felt a hand take my wrist, another placed on my stomach. I glimpsed his thin torso, alight in a blast of sun. And then, his face.
His face!
I screamed until my voice gave out, tattered like mildew on clothes. It tore at my throat – a raw, unreasonable, faceless thing, with scrabbling claws, that cried, "Get me out of here!" Somewhere, at the other end of the scream, two leering faces cackled and giggled.
My breath came heavily – it wobbled and shook like midday heat. I backed away, but the hand, leather-clad and billowing with sand or dust, remained.
The baby kicked. I watched as the corners of the torn mouth turned upwards.
"Pluto," he laughed, "It don' like me." The larger one smiled stupidly, and pressed the side of his face to the fabric of my maternity dress.
"Get the fuck off of me!" I shrieked, and kicked him away. Immediately, I knew I'd made a mistake. His face crumpled, became meaner and smaller.
"She got fight in her!" the other one yelled, and took both my wrists, pulled me away from the bed. He stood behind me, pulled my hand in a punching motion, jerking me forward. I caught him in the ribs with my elbow, hard enough so he hissed in surprise and annoyance and let go of me. I ran out the door, through another, to find another deformed man, with an odd metal contraption around his head. He was not ten feet away, dragging a corpse. It was Peter, his mouth bloody and gaping, chest practically ripped open.
I made almost no sound – a soft, fleeting, "Oh!" – and eased myself to my knees. Pluto, the one I later learned was Cyst, and the skinny man all caught sight of me at once. Promptly, I passed out.