July 22, 2002

Daryl rushed Carol through the doorway to the ER at the new hospital in their tiny hometown. She was still in his arms. He immediately took note of the hospital's new name, new hallways, and new faces of the doctors on the walls. Nothing was familiar to him here, but maybe that would prove to be a good thing. Maybe she would get good care here. The hospital he was familiar with had been a shithole. It remained to be seen if that same shitty healthcare would still be on tap here within the new walls. For Carol and their daughter's sake, he hoped not.

Even though he was in a room with wheelchairs, he was still holding Carol in his arms, ignoring looks of shock from others in the registration triage area. When the registration desk saw that, they called for a nurse and an orderly with a wheelchair immediately. Daryl was reluctant to let go of his wife but knew that she needed help as soon as possible. Finally, he relented. When Daryl was finally able to get out the fact that she was eight months pregnant, what had happened with her fall, the bleeding and water breaking, nobody bothered to continue with the standard triage protocol. The couple were rushed straight away to the labor and delivery wing. On the way, Carol lost consciousness.

The doctor that rushed in to check on Carol and the baby introduced himself as Dr. Edwin Jenner. He listened as Daryl gave Carol's history, the fact that she had had a normal doctor's appointment this morning, and her fall this afternoon. When Dr. Jenner verified that Carol was still bleeding and that her water had definitely broken, things went into a manic frenzy. Concerns about the amount of blood still coming from Carol superseded any plans of a normal birth. Carol was immediately rushed into an operating suite for a crash C-section. Due to the very real likelihood of traumatic injury to both Carol and the baby, Daryl was not allowed into the room.

He stood there, unable to move from the spot he was in, the spot where he had lost sight of Carol. He knew he couldn't do anything from out here. Hell, he wouldn't be of help in there either. He had never in all his life felt as helpless and useless as he did at that moment. All he could do was sit in the chair he was still standing by and wait. He wouldn't go anywhere or do anything until he knew his wife and his daughter were safe. Carol and Sophia were his world, and right now his entire world had tilted on its axis. He would wait right here until his world was set to rights. He would be here for them as soon as he was allowed in. That's all he could do now. Wait.

His mind was going crazy not knowing what was going on. He made sure not to lose his cool though because the last thing he needed was to have security come and try to remove him from this very spot. He knew if anybody tried that, he would seriously lose his shit and probably be tossed out on his ass. He was a Dixon after all, a fact that meant something in this town. So, instead he did something he had given up on in childhood. He prayed. He prayed so damn hard, and he remained in his chair for his lone, silent vigil.

Forty-five minutes later, Dr. Jenner came out in fresh scrubs. Daryl could tell by the look in his eyes that it was bad. He listened to every word the doctor said without a word back. Every single word broke his heart even more. Carol was sedated and in recovery. She would make a full recovery. The fall had damaged not only Carol, but there had been trauma to the fetus that Jenner referred to as 'very grave'. The fall had induced rapid onset labor and her head was not properly engaged. The sudden, hard labor put further trauma on her head and neck. Her lungs weren't quite developed enough as well. If the trauma wasn't present, they may have been able to intubate her, and she could have been admitted to the NICU. But the head injuries took away all hope. There was nothing they could have done; the infant had been a lost cause even before they cut Carol open.

Daryl listened to it all. He felt his world crumble more with each and every word that came from the doctor's mouth. They would never be bringing their little Sophia home from the hospital. There would be no need for the nursery in the alcove. There would be no late-night feedings. No diaper changes. No watching her grow up.

Daryl continued to listen when the doctor explained that per hospital policy, the remains of their child would be unable to be viewed due to the head injuries. He listened when he was told that the staff would give them a hair clipping and footprints as a memento and would refer the Dixons to a pregnancy loss counselor. He was told about the hospital's program for low-income parents of pregnancy loss, how they would pay for cremation. He paid attention to every single detail that ripped his heart apart. He made a show of caring about the fact that the hospital was going to assign them a grief counselor and make sure he and Carol were ok before going home to Atlanta. He listened and paid attention and cared the entire time his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

If he had been paying closer attention to the goings on a distance away from where he and the doctor were standing, Daryl may have noticed that the two of them had attracted the attention of a couple men in suits.

The two men watched the scene with clinical detachment. They had been paged from their expansive offices when the circumstances of the Dixon birth became clear. Lawyers by trade, hospital board members by election, private owners by a dynasty of money; they had been alerted to the situation as soon as the parent's demographics had been noted by the registration clerk who was on their payroll.

A healthy white female infant from a poor background would fetch a pretty price on the black-market adoption syndicate. Dr. Jenner and his nurses were on their direct payroll. Thank goodness Jenner was able to save the child. Now, they just had to pay attention to the child's parents. They needed to find their weakness. Somehow, someway, everybody could be bought.