Sophia's Chronicles
Chapter 61: Keep The Faith
Shemsiel's Beach Club, Miami, Florida – 8 January 2012, 12.13pm
It was high noon when Shemsiel and Dinah were sipping on two ice-cold margaritas, sat across each other at a round table free of the normal clutter in Shemsiel's office. Raziel would be expecting them both to come to his new office soon to discuss their mission. Now that would be tricky, considering that Shemsiel had intelligently signed himself up to be answerable to not just one but two angels who happened to hate each other. He was loyal to Raziel, of course – forever and always. But the Naomi situation was somewhat complex. While he realised that he should be feeling guilty for ever even summoning Naomi, he couldn't help but feel some satisfaction in actually having gotten somewhere with finding Zara. If it wasn't for Naomi, they wouldn't even have known where to start. Herein lay the problem – Naomi would want to hear about what he'd discovered. On top of that, Shemsiel was fairly certain that she would expect him to lie to Raziel just so that she can get ahead.
"We have to tell her something," Shemsiel put forth. Worry eclipsed his face as he anticipated a response from Dinah, who so far seemed to be more quiet than usual. She seemed lost in thought, her eyes closed in some kind of meditation. Millennia of practice made her eyeliner just perfect, its wings almost as shapely as her actual wings. Shemsiel felt somewhat unsettled to see her in relative calm whereas he himself felt like his heart would jump out of his chest if he didn't take action right then and there.
She had her knees pulled up, her shins pressing against the table. Then her eyes fluttered open. "Hmm…" she rolled her tongue over her upper teeth. "We need to tell the others."
"Tell them what? That Naomi thinks I'm working for her now?" Shemsiel huffed.
"Yes. Tell them everything," Dinah advised. When he rolled his eyes, she just straightened up, becoming impatient. "You did this, Shems. Own up to it."
"Are you… are you sure about this?" he pressed. "What if it's a bad time?"
"Look, you did something regrettable. Now, you have that in common with Raziel," she reasoned. "But the both of you, no matter how much you are going to disagree about methods, wanted the same thing – to get somewhere. Once he sees what we've gotten, I'm sure Raz will ease up on you. He's not a short-tempered butthead like you."
Shemsiel chose to ignore that jibe. "Alright, then what? Naomi's still waiting."
"Raziel will know what to do," she answered. "You know, this could actually work in our favour. If she thinks that you'll snitch on us, then we can throw her off."
"That's assuming that Raz won't finally decide to kick me off the team," he grumbled.
"Oh come on," Dinah began to feel sorry for him. "He's not going to kick you off the team, Shems."
"How do you know that? I've been throwing punches at him since Day One," Shemsiel reminded her.
"Are you just going to sit there and be an insecure teenage girl?" she snapped at him. "Raziel's your friend, dumbass. He's better than you give him credit for."
"Hmph. Alright," Shemsiel relented.
Raziel's New Office, Los Angeles – 8 January 2012, 12.44pm
"Oh come on," Raziel threw his hands up. The five of them sat around a conference table. The new loft had a relaxed aesthetic, similar to the warm shades of the wooden scheme the New York office had. This one too was situated on a high floor of a skyscraper, overlooking the cityscape of Los Angeles. "Seriously?"
He seemed more exasperated than furious, which was supposedly a good sign. Dinah gave Shemsiel a thumbs up under the table to provide support. "I know. I fucked up," Shemsiel gave his sorriest expression.
"Of all the things you could do for revenge…" Pahaliah had a palm fixated on her forehead, supported by an elbow that rested on the table. She shook her head in disappointed.
"It's not revenge, I swear!" Shemsiel defended. "I mean, do you guys actually think I'm that petty?" There was a collective hesitation in answering that question. "Wow. Now that's the true tragedy here."
"You know what, whatever," Raziel dismissed, maybe a little too soon for comfort. Shemsiel expected at least half an hour of having his ear chewed off. "Let's just end it at this, okay? I know I did a bad thing, and you did a bad thing in response. So let's just call it even. No one do any more bad things!"
"Is this what we've come to?" Rahab chimed in, disappointed himself.
"Unfortunately so. But I'm drawing the line here," Raziel declared. "From now on, we return to what we are supposed to be. Full transparency among us. No one do anything behind anyone's back. And no, Shemsiel, it doesn't mean you're forgiven – you still have to see this through and produce something good out of what you've done."
"I understand," Shemsiel solemnly nodded. "So what do we do now? What do I tell Naomi?"
"The truth," Raziel answered. He let out an exhale, running through the rationale in his head. "If this is really the Men of Letters, then we're going to need all the help we can get. They're a tricky bunch."
"Wait, wait," Rahab held up a finger. "How sure are we that this is actually what it is? How did you guys say that you ended up in Princeton again?"
"An eerily-placed clue," Shemsiel answered, taking off his aviators for once in a lifetime. Through his vessel's pale bluish-grey eyes, he turned to face his fellow wearer of tank tops. "Someone wanted us to find out what happened to Zara. And this someone happens to know Trimarchian code. And presumably they knew what happened, which was how they gave us the exact coordinates and even the date and time of Zara's kidnapping."
"But why not just come and tell us? Why go through the trouble of leaving an encoded message?" Pahaliah pondered.
"Maybe they couldn't," Dinah suggested. "It could be Sophia. It could be someone else. But whoever they are, they must have known that we were actually looking for Zara in the first place. Which then begs the question: how?"
"One of Naomi's?" Pahaliah speculated. She tsked, shaking her head in denial. "No, that doesn't sound right."
"I know this sounds like a long shot but…" Dinah trailed off, her eyes frozen in their trajectory from a sudden realisation. "What if someone's been listening in on us?"
That certainly got everyone's attention. They'd all grown silent, straightening up in their chairs. "Let's find out," Raziel posited. "Everyone, take a different corner. Search the apartment."
Took them long enough to catch on, the stealthy archangel's lips curved up one side. He watched in mild amusement as the angels slowly crept around the apartment in search of anything dubious. But they wouldn't find anything. Not that day. As quietly as he had entered, the scarlet-eyed son left.
Hell – 8 January 2012, Time doesn't matter in Hell
"Oh, you'll resist, at first. But the humiliation will eat at you. Until, finally, you're worn down by your utter helplessness. And you call me... Master," Crowley suavely dictated, standing in front of his new prisoner. He had to consciously repress an outburst of laughter at the situation. Even in a moment like this – of certain and utmost victory – he couldn't believe that he'd made it this far. That his plan had worked so wonderfully. "You brag of your superior power. Well, genius trumps brute force. I've had a dozen of my most loyal studying the cage where you were held at the molecular level. They managed to replicate the material. They made those chains. Getting you here... well, that was a different matter."
None of it would have been possible without the witch, Esther. Her intelligent weaving of power and innovation had given him all he could have ever wanted. The fires of passion surged through his veins and he vowed to himself that he would make sweet, sweet love to her once he was done taunting the Devil. Her help was instrumental with the technical bits. But the plan? The creativity? All that was his. Breaking down the old vessel's sanity – not that there was much to begin with – giving him the false hope of getting free and maybe seeing his lover again was all Crowley's to own. Seeing the torment and anguish on Nick's face was like a sweet prelude to what he would put Lucifer through. With enough prodding and sweet-talking, Nick's identity broke down just enough that he would do whatever Crowley said but not too much that he couldn't say a certain three-lettered word. The word that served as the lock to Lucifer's new prison.
Lucifer smirked, almost impressed. "Thanks? I mean, all that effort," he studied that shit-eating grin on Crowley's face closely. "So you could've had me back in the cage, but no, you needed your sad, little uh- whatever this is. How do you think this is going to end? Nice new digs, by the way. Cozy."
"Keep laughing, Satan," Crowley taunted. "You'll want to be entertained until I eventually end you."
Lucifer obliged. It just all seemed so silly to him. Does this demon really think…? "Ah. Oh, sorry, it's just that..." he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye with what restricted movement the cuffs around his wrists allowed him. "You actually... you seriously think this is gonna work? It's just, uh... It's so sad."
Crowley pursed his lips. Perhaps it would take a while longer before the world's least favourite angel actually understood what dire situation he was in. Or the demon King would just have to show him. He slowly walked over and with a swift swipe of the hand, he yanked the chain connected to the brace around Lucifer's neck, forcing him down onto the ground. "Hope you like the taste of the floor," he sneered.
"Ow," Lucifer uttered. Oh, you shouldn't have done that.
"There's a spot there that needs scrubbing," Crowley quipped, feeling some satisfaction at watching the archangel turn his head tensely towards him from the ground.
"And worse, you're not even gonna see it comin' when you get taken down," Lucifer threatened as he got himself back onto the chair.
"By you?" Crowley huffed.
"And my beautiful family," Lucifer vowed. "We'll probably take turns kicking you around. Hey, maybe junior will use your head as soccer practice."
"Your… family," Crowley pondered over those words, forming a steeple with his fingers as he slowly paced behind the chair. "Oh, you mean Sophie and little Satan? Well, where are they now, then?" He was now in Lucifer's right peripheral field of vision, using his hand to make a gesture like he was looking somewhere far away. "Are they… over there?" He then looked in a different direction, maintaining the gesture. "Or… or are they over there?" Crowley dropped his hand and made a disappointed expression. "I'm sorry, I just- I just don't see them here, there or even anywhere, as a matter of fact." Now he was really pushing it, pouting like a sad little duckling. "What happened? Did your girlfriend take the kid and leave you? Did she finally realise that you weren't worth sticking around for? That you weren't uh… how do you say… father material?" Lucifer snarled at him, pulling at his own chains in desperate hunger for blood. "The old seed-and-secede? Or the- the switch-and-ditch?" Crowley burst out into laughter, amused by his own verbal assault. "Maybe she found someone else? I mean, all those years you spent away from each other… Are you sure the child is yours?"
"She did not leave me," Lucifer muttered, almost like a growl. He refused to believe it, no matter how much his better instincts told him so. He felt like he should hate her. That she deserved nothing but his contempt after what she'd done. But still, he wanted so much to trust her. Maybe she had a reason. Maybe when she came back it would all make sense. 14 billion years of knowing someone had to mean something. Then again, something she had said a while back came to mind. I've accepted that we're not the same as we used to be. Maybe you should too.
"It is a little touching, you know. That you have so much faith in someone who pulled a 'God' on you. One would think that someone like you wouldn't fall for it again. No pun intended," Crowley remarked. As if to rub salt on the wound, he continued, "But really, I've had my men scouring the globe for the sweet thing and I'm sorry to say that Sophia just… isn't even on this planet. But her vessel on the other hand…"
Her vessel. Zara. There was some hope after all. "Let me guess… you have her here somewhere just waiting for Sophia to come back so that you can pull the same schtick on her," Lucifer wondered.
"That would be… really entertaining. I mean, I'm gonna have to cut my cable subscription," Crowley jibed. "But no. Zara is going through an entirely different hell of her own. And if she isn't, it just means she's ratted on you and your beloved for the sake of self-preservation. Either way, you get a washed up vessel who probably wants nothing to do with you." Lucifer looked away, spiteful. Crowley simply exhaled and checked the time on his watch. "Oh would you look at the time. Kingly things await me."
With that, he left Lucifer alone with his thoughts. Sighing, Lucifer reached into that mental link he had with Sophia – the one afforded to him by the vial of essence she'd given him before the apocalypse. I'm in Hell again. Wish you were here.
British Men of Letters Temporary HQ – 15 January 2012, Fuck if I know the time
Brains. Worms. Insects. Crawling up the wall. Ants. Ants. ANTS. Zara felt giddy. She'd been staring at the red light in the corner of the room for at least an hour straight. It was the most interesting thing to do in there. She'd look at the light bouncing off the walls and there'd be faint images appearing in the darkness. They're called closed-eye hallucinations and it's perfectly normal for anyone to purportedly see things in darkened places or when they close their eyes. And for Zara, it was the only kind of entertainment. She'd weave stories in her head out of the things she saw, like she was telling a crazy bed-time story to the child she would be having. Maybe she was preparing her arsenal of stories in advance. Would it be a boy or a girl? Ah, who cares. Most people would probably be frightened of having children out of wedlock. But right now, it was the only thing that made Zara happy. Just her and this little one against the world. No angels, no demons. What about Nick? He's probably dead anyway. Crowley had him – not much to imagine after that.
"Zara? Zara." The doctor's voice snapped her out of her daze. She looked around herself, surprised by the sudden intensity of light. She was sitting in the doctor's office. She didn't even know how this happened. "How are you feeling?"
Absolutely void of emotion. "I'm alright," she answered, nodding.
"Are you experiencing any discomfort? Anything out of the ordinary?" Dr Berg maintained a frown-riddled expression.
"My feet are swelling, I guess. I feel kinda sick every now and then. That's normal, right?" she asked.
"Yes, it is," he said, now ruffling through a drawer for some papers.
"Good, 'cause I haven't had a normal human pregnancy before," she smirked sardonically.
Dr Berg raised an eyebrow at that before lifting a document into view. "I have the results of the test we ran on you in the week after… uhm, Christmas." Unless the doc had a phobia of reindeers or Santa, Zara could have sworn saying the word 'Christmas' made him uncomfortable. Maybe it had something to do with all the arguing she heard right before she passed out. She couldn't recall what he and Toni must have been arguing about, but it sounded bad. "So far, so good. Everything seems normal. But I'm gonna need you to take it easy from now on."
"That's not exactly in my hands, you know," Zara quipped. "What's the matter, doc? You seem tense."
"Zara, if I'm being completely honest…" he gulped. Zara herself felt a shiver arising from seeing his nervousness. She was used to seeing him as a somewhat comforting presence but if he was anxious… "Toni is venturing beyond our ethical boundaries. I'm trying my best to keep her under control, but there's only so much I can do. The only thing that's keeping her from using all her tools on you is that baby in your womb."
Those words resounded in the vacuous space in her head. The only thing… is that baby in your womb. Zara averted her eyes, her naturally shapely eyebrows creasing slightly. "What can I actually do? I can't give her what she wants… I don't know how…" her voice trembled a little.
"Tell her something. Give her some information," Dr Berg advised. He was the only one in this whole facility who had human eyes. Eyes that looked like they cared. Maybe Tom showed it from time to time, but that was a hard bet. So when Dr Berg gave her the look like he was begging her to do what was right by her child and not the archangel, she couldn't help but rethink her choices.
"I've already betrayed Sophia too many times," she spoke through an impending sob. "And I paid a huge price for it. I'm paying for it now." Dr Berg felt sympathy tugging at his heart strings. He had no idea what she was talking about but he knew, if anything, that this was a girl who'd lost hope a long time ago. A psych-eval based on her history would confirm as much. She wasn't a bad person; she was just… lost. He wished to God so bad that she would just choose the light and do right by herself. "Sophia always told me I should have faith in her. And if I had, I wouldn't be here right now. I won't make the same mistake again. I'll keep my faith. I know she'll save me. I just know she will. And then I'll apologise and everything will be right in the world again."
"But what if it's too late?" he asked her. "God, angels – they're all the same. You don't know when they'll do anything. Are you really going to take the chance? Is your child's life worth the chance?"
Zara felt her facial muscles tense up, ready to contort into a weep. Her gaze scanned upwards cursorily, fixing on the crucifix hanging from the wall. Jesus hung from it in agony, palms and feet spilling blood where faith had driven nails into him. "Faith isn't supposed to be easy. I see that now," she reasoned. "I just have to trust that she'll keep me and my baby safe."
"For your sake, I hope you're right," Dr Berg responded.
A Crossroad, Somewhere – 8 January 2012, 1.24pm
"You're late," Naomi glared at the demon. She stood on a crossroad among green pastures, illuminated by the blaring sun.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart," Crowley greeted. "I had to tend to an important guest."
"You have to know that I won't hesitate to smite you. Especially after what you've done," Naomi threatened. "Why did you summon me?"
"To talk terms, of course," he answered. "We've both been bamboozled, presumably by the same angel."
"Raziel," Naomi spat out his name bitterly.
"Ah, finally a name to the face," he remarked. "Angel of secrets, huh? We're all suckers for tall, mysterious types, aren't we?" he sighed. Naomi rolled her eyes. "You should be glad that I've actually considered the possibility that our delivery mishap was not fully intentional on your part. And I understand, having received the short end of the stick by certain hero types."
"Is there a point to this?" Naomi pressed, her shark-like eyes studying his every move in case he tried to pull something.
"If you remember our time in Mesopotamia the way I do, you know I'm a lover, not a fighter," Crowley flirted.
"What do you want, you cockroach?" Naomi scoffed.
"I'm fully aware that your pet angel – my ex-pet angel- our pet angel?" he paused to wonder. "Castiel is in the wind with the tablet."
"Have you seen him?" Naomi asked. "Where is he?"
"Easy, love. I do have some eyes on him," he reassured her. "Sure, it is possible for me to point you in the right direction. But that's not why I'm here."
"No?"
"We had a plan, you and I. A rather wonderful plan, I might add. A plan that's on the verge of falling into total ruin-"
"Plan's off," Naomi stated. "Raziel saw to that. Which means we're back to square one." A blade fell from her right sleeve into her grip.
"Don't be so quick to give up," he urged. "Maybe we can make another deal before this gets truly bollocksed. I mean, I must have something that you want."
"We've been down this road before," she spoke, pointing the blade at him. "The last time we made a deal, I lost three angels and our plan went up in flames. I've learnt my lesson."
"Well maybe you should've done a better job at keeping your subordinates in line! I know I have," he argued. "And you know what, this time we can include your little angel fiend in the plan too." Naomi raised an eyebrow, curious. "I'm guessing you haven't killed him yet because of some kind of ethical code or whatever nonsense you angels tell each other to sleep at night. But what if I did? No one's gonna bat an eye if the King of Hell and All Things Evil takes out one little angel."
That truly did sound tempting. But what was the point? Get in bed with Crowley again, for what exactly? To kill a competitor? It sounded disproportionate. "You know I actually feel sorry for you. Such a lowly thing like you, trying to strike so high. Be careful, you might hurt yourself." She took a step closer to him, armed with the angel blade.
"Your angels aren't dead," Crowley suddenly added. "I mean, the third one is and I presume that's your doing. But the first two are alive and well." Naomi froze in her step. "Do you want them back?"
"What did you do to them?" she growled.
"Oh, nothing much… just sold them off to an interested party," he shrugged nonchalantly.
"You sold angels of the Lord like common whores?" Naomi exclaimed. "To whom?"
"Ah, here's the thing. You haven't asked me what I want in return," he pointed out.
Naomi crossed her arms and waited. "Well?"
"What I want is very simple. I realise that the bedrock of our once-blooming cooperation has been compromised. And frankly, I enjoyed our relationship. All that mutual understanding and potential for peace and freedom for both our sides…"
"Crowley. Point."
"I want us to rebuild that relationship. Because it matters. Because it works. And to start again, we must both come to a truce. Castiel may have the angel tablet, but it's your problem. Let me tell you what's mine: the demon tablet."
"The demon tablet," she repeated. "You want the demon tablet, is that it?"
"It is. If the angel tablet allowed Castiel to break your hold on him, I must wonder what the demon tablet could do. I have to do what it takes to protect my own kind, you see," he explained. "My proposition is this: I'll tell you where you can find the rugged renegade, and you help me get my hands on the demon tablet." Naomi seemed unconvinced. "And on top of that, as a sign of good faith, I'll tell you where you can find your two missing children."
Hm. This was a tough one. What was the alternative? Crowley beating her to getting to Castiel? That would be a non-problem, considering Castiel was well-equipped to handle demonic disturbances, especially now that he was determined to protect the tablet. But it would be nice to get his location before Raziel. And considering that Sarah and Marcus were still alive, it was entirely possible that they were being used to extract information about Heaven, just like Crowley did with Samandriel. And so it would be her duty to find them and put an end to it.
"Hello? Earth to Naomi? Can we make it official or not?" Crowley snapped her out of her thoughts.
"When I look at your face, Crowley, all I see is target practice," Naomi said firmly. "But, I'll admit, you do make an interesting offer. So what the hell."
She drew out a pen from inside her coat. Taking his cue, Crowley himself brandished a scroll, letting the parchment drop and roll on the ground. "Always a pleasure doing business with you."
British Men of Letters Temporary HQ – 20 January 2012, Time? Idk her
Zara sat in the corner of the red light, thinking about nothing in particular. She held a lock of her hair, bringing down a comb to untangle it. The comb was one little luxury they allowed her, on top of the Doppler that the doc gave her. Sometimes she wondered whether it was actually okay that she was becoming cozy in this dark cell. Sure, there was nothing here, but what was out there? In the real world? Demons and angels and monsters that wanted to kill her? And if she ever got out of here, what would she do? Get a job? Sounded like too much effort for something that couldn't last very long. The image of Cecil, her former boss, flashed before her eyes and a stabbing pain radiated through her chest. How many people had she condemned… just by knowing them? At least until this pregnancy ended and her little baby popped out, this padded room was probably the safest place for her anyway. Even with a sadistic bitch like Toni in charge.
She adjusted her position on the ground, leaning back more against the wall as she bathed in the deep red light. She moved herself forward a bit, feeling some mild discomfort. Expecting the discomfort in her lower back to go away, she relaxed her shoulders, waiting for it to pass. That's when she felt it. Something between her legs. She held her knees apart and looked down, but seeing as she was in a really dark room wearing black pants, there was nothing she could see. Thinking nothing of it first, she went back to hugging her knees. Then she felt it again. Like something flowing. It was a familiar feeling, like something a woman would only feel when…
She gasped. Desperately hoping that it wasn't what she thought it was, she put a hand down there. Her heart raced and she panted heavily as she pulled away, feeling something sticky coat her fingers. She held her hand up to the light and she swore her heart stopped beating in that moment. It looked black on her hand – thick and shiny, black liquid. Zara screamed, jolting to her feet immediately. She looked at where she had been sitting and there, the carpeted floor was stained with something dark. Jabs of pain radiated from below her tummy. Zara ran to the door, feeling sick with every drop that ran down her legs and stained the floor with a bloody footprint. She pounded the door with a fist aggressively, over and over again until it hurt. It took a while for her to verbalise what she needed but she managed a shout. "HELP!" The world spun around her. Her fingers trembled. Her fists clenched in denial. And in all this time, her insides screamed out for… for something to save her. There was no time, no thought to waste on what was actually going on. Only this terrible, burning feeling in her soul that life was over. The muscles in her throat tightened, releasing a long, pained bawl from the depths of her very being.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening. NO! A raw shriek escaped her throat as she felt all life drain from her bones. She felt herself going weak. Her mind swirled with the despair that threatened to take her over. When the guards finally opened the door to her cell, they found her curled up on the floor and a weeping, trembling mess. They had to lift her up by the arms and drag her out of that cell. At some point, one of the guards resorted to simply carrying her because she had given up on walking. What began as a trail of crimson footprints had become a dragged path of smudged blood, and then eventually mere drops on the ground. Her breathing grew raspy, her head felt light and her uterus… well…
Dr Berg had the bed ready for her as the door slammed open. Her screaming was audible throughout the whole floor and naturally, he'd assumed his medical expertise was needed. He wasn't quite sure, however, of what to expect until he saw her a sobbing, bloody heap in one of the men's arms. The moment he saw the dried, crusty line of blood going down her ankle from the pants, his heart sank. He knew what was coming. He approached her on the bed. Her eyes were open and moist, but they seemed to be somewhere else. "Zara," he called out her name gently.
"It's alright. I'm alright. I'm alright," she droned on repeatedly with a weak voice that he could barely hear. "Everything's fine. I'm fine. We're fine."
She lay eerily still on the bed, continuing to mumble to herself, as he rummaged through his drawers and got out a syringe and a bottle with some liquid. He carefully drew the liquid into the syringe and administered it to her by the upper arm. And just like that, her rambling grew fainter and fainter until her eyelids fluttered to a close and but a single teardrop fell from the side of her face.
The world was dead quiet when Zara regained consciousness. She'd been in such a deep slumber that she'd almost forgotten where she was. Her vision was still blurry so she rubbed her eyes, struggling to adjust to the darkness. Her whole body felt a little numb, well-pampered by the mattress she lay on. For a moment, the world didn't make any sense even though the room she was in was too familiar – she was back in her cell. She sat upright, letting her feet dangle off the edge of the bed. A feeling of disorientation washed over her and she found it difficult to remember what had happened before she went to sleep. Something just didn't feel right. It wasn't supposed to be a calm moment, something inside her said. She frowned. Her body felt weaker than it did before, effort tugging at her muscles for even the smallest movements.
Sensations gripped her all in an instant. Something foreboding. Her cheeks felt cold, like she'd been crying. Quivering, she put a finger to her eye and felt her eyelashes – damp. That's when she saw it. The dark patches on the ground. She inhaled sharply. Her chest heaved with deep breaths. What happened? She put a hand to her tummy, as if that should glean anything. But she needed to know. She had to know somehow. All this uncertainty was killing her. Suddenly remembering something, her hands fumbled beneath the pillow, pulling out the instrument that had been her only comfort in this dark cell. She put the receiver of the Doppler to her tummy and the speaker to her ear. She flipped the switch. There was that familiar eruption of static. But on top of that, nothing. Absolutely nothing.
A choked cry escaped her lips. Her eyes stung and her vision grew blurry again. With a sudden spout of energy, she hurled the instrument against the wall, causing it to shatter into pieces as she let out a hoarse wail. Through all the tears and whimpering, her body shook with grief for the life that she lost, for the part of her soul that was never coming back. It felt like a piece of her had been chipped away and vanished in the annals of space and time. Over and over again, she asked herself how this could have happened. But she knew the answer. It was this God-forsaken place. It was all the stress they'd put her through. It had to be. Her body felt cold, so cold, without even a shred of reassurance. She needed so bad for someone to tell her that it was going to be okay, even when she knew there was no coming back from this. To have loved someone before they even properly existed. To want to give them the world. To find in them the hope and happiness that she couldn't find in herself no matter how hard she tried. All of it, taken from her in one moment. It was like reliving the loss of her beloved archangel child all over again. And it still fucking hurt.
Her mind felt so weak, like it was ready to shatter to a million pieces. Maybe she should just let it. She should just resign to whatever end awaited her in this torture facility. And now that she was no longer pregnant, that was probably exactly what was going to happen. Maybe she was okay with it.
"The doctor will see you now," someone called out from outside the door. Zara feebly tried to cover her eyes, uncomfortable from the sudden introduction of light into her dark sanctuary. Summoning whatever strength she had left, she pulled herself onto her feet and quietly followed where they led her. She didn't know if she dreaded seeing Dr Berg or felt relieved – he would put a name to her new Hell but he would also offer emotional comfort. Whatever it was, she just wanted to be done with it. Anything to get back to sulking in her cell.
As she took a seat, she immediately noticed the leaner man with a fuller head of hair sitting opposite her. Who was he? What was he doing here? He wore a lab coat and stethoscope too. Maybe he was here to assist Dr Berg. He was definitely younger, but not too young – more like a youthful fifty-year old. "Hello, Zara," he greeted her.
"Who the hell are you?" she asked with a brittle voice.
"I'm Dr Williams," the man introduced himself, looking at her through button-like brown eyes. Just a quick glance, it seemed, before returning his gaze to something on a computer screen.
"Where's Dr Berg?" she asked. By now, all her crying had made her face red, especially the tip of her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were puffy too and threatened to leak tears again.
"I'm afraid he's a little… indisposed," the doctor answered, his eyes still scanning something on the screen. "He's been granted permission to return home to Britain."
"Why?" Zara wondered, eyebrows creasing. He was the only person here who cared about what happened to her. It didn't seem right that he would just up and leave all of a sudden.
Dr Williams sighed. "He… he said that he couldn't take being a part of this operation anymore. After what just happened to you." So quickly? Wouldn't it only have been a few hours? Or a day at maximum? "The man had a lot of heart. Being old as well, I believe it was best for his physical well-being to call in when he felt like he couldn't handle it anymore."
Zara looked away. This all stank of something horrible. Now even the one person with some semblance of a soul had left her. She looked at the bookshelf, reading briskly the various titles on the book spines to keep her mind occupied. She had an uncomfortable feeling at the pit of her stomach. Then her eyes roved over something. Something small and would have inconspicuous if not for the random chance that she would spot something out of the ordinary. Right there, near her foot, at the leg of the table was a small speck of… blood. Everything else looked so pristine and then that. A spot they missed. Zara's breathing grew erratic. Oh my God… Her heart wanted to give out so bad. Maybe her chest would implode first. Dr Berg didn't leave…
"Shall we begin?" The new doctor typed in a few words and then paused, turning to look at her. "I think, by now, you must be aware of what has happened." If he noticed her visible look of distress, he said nothing. Maybe she'd hidden it too well. Maybe he didn't care. "I deeply regret to inform you that you've lost the baby. Dr Berg tried all that he could but… it was simply too late. Now I've looked at his tests and it is my obligation to tell you what I see. And I must warn you, the truth can be painful." He gave barely a single moment for Zara to process what he'd said before continuing, "In all honesty, the sonograms done show major structural abnormalities associated with sustained drug use. I am aware, after having read past medical reports during your stay here, that you used to smoke and drink. Sadly, I think the nicotine and alcohol that you might have consumed during the early stages of your pregnancy, during which you may not have been aware of it, has led to this."
Even if that were true, it didn't explain why Dr Berg was killed over it. It seemed more likely that Dr Berg got upset and challenged whoever was in charge of this place, which then possibly led to them killing him to cover their tracks. Perhaps he threatened to report this – he did say they had a certain ethical code – to someone who could have done something about it. Now I'm truly alone…
"We understand if you're feeling… scarred by this. It's perfectly normal. But your psychological well-being matters…" Zara tuned out the sound of his voice. She didn't believe him for one second. Him and his mannequin eyes. It was all gone. Hope was all gone. Zara was… gone. Her tired eyes glanced up towards the crucifix again. Was this her crucifixion? Jesus bled from his palms and feet. But she… she bled from her womb. And it wasn't even her own blood to shed. This was a faux crucifixion. A laugh in her face from the Almighty God. Maybe God was telling her that she was an idiot for having faith in a fallen angel. Maybe this was God's revenge. Perhaps she was evil after all. An abominable thing, trying to reach for the sky only to stumble off the stool she was standing on and break her neck from the fall.
