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Chapter One : Surfacing

It was impossible. Simply impossible.

My family showed up all at once. My Grandma Mazur, my mother, my father. Barreling into the room with concerned but joyous faces, showering me with praise and care. They gave me excuses for being so late – I was at the funeral home when Dillon called, I was sleeping, I was taking a shower- and then chatted excitedly towards me. Told me how brave I was and how beautiful I looked and, finally, where was the baby?

I could barely believe it.

"It's dead."

My flat statement was followed by a silence that suffocated me. Obviously, the doctors and nurses had told them nothing. There shocked faces and terrified expressions made my throat squeeze shut. They had all been so sure. So positive that the baby was absolutely fine, even though it had been delivered two months premature. The mood in the room quickly shifted and I instantly felt bad for telling them the way I had. But the feeling didn't last long. I was far too emotionally unstable to dwell on such things. My mind was a whirl of thoughts and images.

Just gone. One moment, it was there and the next, poof. No more.

How could that be so?

Stillborn, I explained to my mother when she softly questioned me about it. My Grandma and father had decided to flee, running off to perform activities – excuses- such as using the bathroom and grabbing a bite to eat for me. Even though I couldn't even ponder shoving anything down my throat at the time.

It hadn't been fully developed yet. The lungs too shriveled, the heart too small to beat. While I said this, my own heart seemed to stop for a moment. I didn't explain to my mother that stillborn babies came into the world silent. I didn't tell my mother that I was – had been- so sure, so, so, sure that it had come out crying at the top of its lungs. And I didn't state how I was too weak and defeated to see it. Even when Dr. Yvette had insisted I see it – to have closure- I still could not bring myself to face it.

My mother didn't speak for quite a while and I was glad. I didn't want to hear the clichéd saddening looks or half-hearted words of sorrow. I just wanted to wallow in my grief and block out the world. I told her that I would be released from the Hospital soon although the staff had insisted that I stay to recover.

Recover from what? Having a dead baby?

I glanced down at my hands, fiddled with the cover sheets. Fingers were suddenly wrapped around my fists. My mother squeezed once and I knew that was her way of saying how sorry she was about the situation.

A great, looming pain was rising in my chest. Filling my lungs and bones and heart with agony. I could not stay here. I could not stay here, sitting in bed, wondering what could have been and what should have been.

When I glanced up, my mother was gone. In her place, stood someone I hadn't expected to see.

His eyes were soft and smiling. His dark hair curled around his collar. He was dressed in a casual outfit : ripped jeans and a light green T-shirt with a black, motorcycle jacket. I could see the outline of a gun at his waist.

He didn't move towards me. Just stood in the doorway, staring at me from afar as if I was an animal on display. The action made my cheeks flame and I narrowed my eyes. His eyebrows raised and he finally stepped inside while inconspicuously keeping his distance.

I asked,"You aren't working today?"

He shrugged. "Sure. But I wasn't doing anything at the moment so I thought I'd….drop by."

In my city, news spread like fire. This was one of the things that irritated me, especially right now. I wondered how low it would take for everyone to be up here, congratulating me on a child they didn't know I had loss. "I appreciate it." I croaked out.

"No problem."

Our conversation sounded ridiculous under the circumstances. I felt like such an idiot, speaking so calmly about a mundane topic while, inside, I felt like my soul was breaking in half. A sob hitched in my throat and I could see that he noticed because he jerked towards me only to catch himself and slowly back away.

He looked like he wanted to speak but couldn't find the appropriate words. Finally, he asked, "How are you doing?"

"I'm great. I just gave birth to a dead baby. How are you, Joe?"

My tone was harsh and my words quick. I waited for regret to drown out my anger but none came. Not even when his eyes widened and his mouth came apart slightly. I only felt empty and furious and unforgiving.

Joe Morelli- who I had been dating for nearly a year, who I had moved in with multiple times, who knew me like the back of his hands, who had loved me and cared for me- glanced down at his shoes. His voice was soft, barely a whisper. "I'm sorry."

Joe Morelli, who I had cheated on with another man and carried that man's baby for seven months, glanced up at me with pity filled eyes and said, "I'm so sorry, Stephanie." Then he turned and left without another word.

I couldn't be mad at him. I wanted to, desperately, but I just couldn't drum up the emotion. Truth be told, if I were in his shoes, I wouldn't have even showed up. Morelli and I had been officially done months ago. It had been his choice and I could do nothing but go along with it.

My mother was there again, squeezing my hand but I tuned her out. I tuned out the whole world. I was left floating there in a silent, white abyss with my heart pumping blood of anguish.

o0o0o0

Against my wishes, I stayed in the hospital for three more days.

Friends visited and left with dark clouds over their heads. Lula, in particular. One of my closest friends. She was characteristically up beat but when she reluctantly left upon visitation, she was sullen and withdrawn. My mother stayed by my side religiously, much to my chagrin. The doctors and nurses treated me as if I was fragile and could crack at any moment which was, partially, true. Morelli did not come back and I wasn't sure if I was happy or sad about that.

Although dealing with my mother was tiring and repeating that I had loss my baby was devastating, the nights were the most terrible aspect of sitting in the hospital bed. My dreams were filled with darkness and hurt and despair. The nightmares would jerk me out of sleep and keep me awake for hours.

All the while, I did not cry. It was surprising, even to me. Whenever my eyes threatened to shed tears, I waited for them to come. Because I deserved to cry, Dr. Yvette had told me, I deserved to grieve. But, each time, nothing came. As every minute passed, I grew more and more indifferent. I stopped staring people in the face, I stopped speaking, began drifting in and out. I worked at keeping the world around me deaf and unseen. For if I heard a child cry…..or a woman laugh….or smelled food….

I was better off cocooned in my own world.

My idea of coping hadn't changed when I was released. Even when my mother insisted that I stay with her and Lula called to see if I wanted to talk, I made up quick excuses to avoid them. Dr. Yvette, once again, asked if I needed a sense of closure but I refused. I had not asked about it beforehand but I learned that it would be buried. My mother, most likely, had it arranged.

I wanted nothing to do with the ceremony. I wanted nothing to do with my family or the hospital or anyone.

Entering my apartment building felt surreal. Everything was exactly the same and, at the same time, so painfully different. Dillon had been waiting for me when I arrived and I had hurried to wave him off and sprint to my apartment. Facing people was becoming more and more of a challenge.

As soon as I closed the door to my one bedroom apartment, I knew someone was there.

I didn't react initially. I just stood there, staring at the dark figure looming in the foyer. Then, quite calmly, I flicked on the light switch and the room was illuminated.

The figure morphed into a man. His eyes were dark and soft. His black hair fell in silky waves around his brown face. He was dressed in all black and I wondered how he had gotten inside but quickly shrugged the thought off. I knew from experience that he could get into anywhere.

He stood stiff. His face was too blank to read. His fists were clenched.

I said the first thing that popped into my mind. "I thought you weren't going to be back for another week."

"I took the first flight out."

"My mother called you?"

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. His eyes flickered to my hands and then back to my face. "You don't look too good."

I shrugged. "I'm fine."

His voice got low and soft. "Are you?"

Suddenly, emotions began to erupt inside my chest. Shame, worry, distress, mourning, wistful. I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. My eyes burned, my throat felt dry, the ragged hole that had formed in my chest was expanding. "Yes, Ranger." I pushed out, voice breaking terribly. "Yes, I'm fine."

Then I fell to my knees and cried.

The tears I had caged up were flowing out all at once. My chest heaved painfully and I covered my mouth with my hand to muffle some of my sobs. The gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach spread to every limb of my body and I was positive that I was breaking apart.

Ranger was on me in a second. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me towards his chest where I bawled into his shirt. He didn't say a word while he held me and that only made me cry harder. We stayed like that for what seemed like all eternity before I pushed away and wiped at my puffy eyes.

"I'm sorry." I told him hoarsely, feeling embarrassed.

He stared down at me. "Stephanie, you have nothing to be sorry about."

But he was wrong. I had ever thing to be sorry for. I told him all of it in a rush. How my water had broken in the kitchen, Dillon hauling me to the hospital, going into labor, seeing the baby, learning that it had died, the tormenting days afterward.

Ranger took it all in with a placid face. It was his thing. He was the calm and collected person. He didn't waver in the signs of a crisis. It had once made me look up to him and feel protected but now it only made me angry and annoyed.

"You could show a little emotion, you know. I mean, your newborn baby just died."

It sounded incredibly horrible saying this but I couldn't help myself. His calmness was aggravating. I was crying my eyes out and he was acting as if nothing had happened.

Seven months ago, Joe Morelli and I had gotten into a fight. It hadn't been unusual and it hadn't been the last time but I had been heated and hurt and looking for an escape.

That's where Ranger came in at. Ricardo Carlos Manoso by birth, he was my mentor and one of my closest friends. Or, had been. He had taken me in with no hesitation as I had expected. It was no secret that Ranger and I were sexually attracted to each other but we had never acted on it, up until now, that is. That one night of extreme pleasure and vengeance had led to my getting pregnant.

Not only had I lost Morelli but I had, simultaneously, lost Ranger as well. When he learned of my pregnancy, he hadn't been excited. In actuality, he had been aloof. He only spoke to me when it concerned the unborn child, he avoided me, he treated me with agitation. His attitude had hurt me more than I let on. Once upon a time, I thought Ranger loved me. But I realized quickly that he had been lying. It was obvious that his interest in me had been strictly sexual and that he would now only deal with me because of the baby.

But now it was gone and he did not seem to care. His eyebrow raised slightly and he stated carefully. "It's hard…..to miss something…I….never met."

Fury lit up my eyes and I shot to my feet, glaring down at him. "Is that what you think? That I shouldn't cry over it? What is it to you, just spoiled milk? Huh?" My body trembled with rage. "Well I'll have you know that I laid awake thinking about it for DAYS! I had nightmares about it! I felt ripped in half! I felt incomplete! But you…..you see it as nothing but a bullet you managed to dodge. Just another illegitimate child you DON'T have to care for."

I realized, regrettably, that I had gone too far. The words had been out of my mouth before I could even comprehend it.

He got to his feet and towered over me, eyes narrowing. "You have no idea what you're talking about." He hissed.

"You don't miss it." I stated, voice softening. "You said you don't."

"No. I said it's hard to miss. Not that I don't. I wish it wasn't true but it is. If I had saw him..."His voice trailed off and he shook his head. "If I had actually saw him, I wouldn't have let go."

My mouth came open.

"How could you think that?" Ranger was saying, staring at me hard. "How could you think I didn't care? Don't you see how fast I came back when I heard?"

I blinked slowly.

"I thought about it everyday, Stephanie. I pictured it in my head. I thought about how he'd look and how he'd sound and what he'd be when he grew up-"

"Ranger-"

"I thought about how he'd see me. If he would resent me. If he would like you more. How we'd raise it. I thought about what to name him, what you might like-"

I choked. "Ranger, I'm so-"

"I made him a bank account." He was glaring, muscles tensing in his jaw. I had never seen him this mad. "I gave him all the money he would ever need, just in case."

I swallowed back tears.

"I had nightmares too, Stephanie. Except I didn't have the fortune of waking up."

"Why?" I whispered out, hand over my mouth. "Why didn't you ever tell me? Why did you treat me like you didn't care? Why did this happen to us?"

Ranger started to the door, stopping beside me. "It's not something you can rationalize." He stated in a barely audible voice. "And it's nothing something you can make go away. For you own sake, Stephanie, I hope you realize that soon."

Then he was gone. Out the door and down the hall. I wanted to go after him, to hug him and kiss him and tell him I was sorry but I couldn't over. My knees wobbled and I thought I might sink to my knees but I didn't.

After a moment, I tried walking and was satisfied when my feet remained upright. I slowly migrated around my apartment. Same couch, same kitchen, same room. Rex, my hamster, was running on his wheel. His food bowl had been stacked high with food and I wondered who had fed it while I was in the hospital.

I couldn't think about that for long because my mind focused back on Ranger. I had saw how much my words had stung in his eyes. I mentally berated myself and slumped onto the couch in my living room. I wanted desperately to have him back here, holding me for fear of falling apart.

Something sitting on the table caught my eye. I leaned forward to inspect it and saw that it was a DVD. Small, square and completely unusual in my home. I owned a T.V. and a DVD player but no DVDs. I spun it around to check and see if anything was written on it but all I saw was "Play Me."

I thought about throwing it away and curling up in my bed but that made me even more depressed. I thought about calling Ranger and asking him if he had left it here but I was too uncertain to speak to him again. I glanced at it and, suddenly, a bad feeling began to nag at me.

Slowly, I slipped it out of its case and slid it into the DVD player. It was probably nothing, I assured while I turned on the T.V., just some home movie I forgot I had.

The T.V. buzzed to life, flickered and then went black. Seconds later, something came into view. It was small and pale and….

My eyes widened and I lurched forward, staring at the screen with an intensity that should have burned a hole in it.

It was my baby.