Chapter 21:
"How is she doing Doctor?" asked Rebecca. The doctor, a young Afghan man named Joseph Singh, did not respond. Rebecca's right eyebrow arched at the cold treatment. Continuing to ignore the now enraged, but composed, nurse, Singh began his examination. His deft hands probed and measured Motoko's glands and musculature, searching for any signs of disease or injury. From her muscle tone, Singh calculated the amount of force her limbs could generate. "Extraordinaire," he remarked, "how could she be so strong."
Still puzzled by the apparent strength of the sleeping patient, he lifted the chart hanging off her bed and began ruffling through her test results. A stray cough caught his attention. He looked up only to find Rebecca's grim visage. Her furrowed brow told him that his life was in danger: death by evisceration. It was only her strict adherence to professionalism that saved him from a tragic death, but not the terrible fate that awaited him at home. She was telegraphing the message loud and clear: You're sleeping on the couch forever mister!
Singh whipped his head back into the chart, hoping that if he remained still, the predator before him wouldn't be able to see him. Rebecca began tapping the metal railing of the bed, trying to coax the reticent doctor to finish his prognosis. "Then he's mine," she laughed maniacally in her mind. By happenstance, her gaze fell on to the young Asian woman lying beneath her. The sight gave her pause. Her skin was flat and had a sick pallor color, while her silken black hair was a tangled mess, covered in an oily sheen. Yet despite all these flaws, the young mother's beauty was undeniable. Motoko's sharp, but delicate features resonated with poise and grace far above any model or actress – she was elegance personified.
"She's going to be fine," Singh finally spoke, breaking Rebecca from her contemplation. Rebecca let out a breath, "That's great, I'm sure her husband would be relived to hear the good news." Singh nodded his head in response, prying his eyes away from Rebecca's ample bosoms, hoping that she hadn't notice his indiscretion. She hadn't.
"Want to grab some coffee," he asked, putting away his stethoscope. Rebecca looked up and peered into his deep amber-colored eyes. She smirked, "My, My, Doctor, do you think I'd forgive you that easily." He smiled nervously. Before they began dating, he thought Rebecca was the kindest, sweetest person that he had ever met. It was only afterwards, after they had become a couple, did he realize that he was merely the victim of a bewitching siren. He couldn't be happier.
"Fine, I'll let you off the hook, but just this once," cooed the playful nurse, "but I have to go and find her husband first, Okay?" Singh just nodded affirmatively; glad that he had survived the day with his manhood intact. Rebecca, smiling, took his hand and led him gently out of the room, leaving behind Motoko – and her guest.
Stepping out from the bathroom where she hid, Sarah walked over to the bed. Her head hung low, hidden by shadow as the dim light above showered down on her young supple body. In her right hand held a scalpel that she had pilfered from one of the surgical trays that she found in the nurses' station.
"Remember me Motoko," Sarah whispered into her ear, "you should. You did take my happiness from me." If Motoko had been awake, she would have felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees. The young American slowly rounded the bed, her hand gently tracing along the contours of Motoko's body. It had been almost six years since she had last seen Motoko, and much to her dismay, her enemy had grown even more beautiful in the time that had passed.
"I can understand why he fell in love with you. Even after giving birth and almost dying, you're still picture perfect," Sarah mused, "you could even say I'm a little jealous."
The old emotions began to reemerge, threatening to engulf the teenager. Rekindled by ancient feelings, memories of her childhood began to emerge from the brink. She had always been a lonely child. Her mother had died when she was only two, far too young to remember the angel that she was. Her father on the other hand, she remembered vividly. After her mother's death, she was sent to live with him in California. He had been far too concerned with his own petty affairs to raise his daughter properly. The only attention he paid to her was at the end of a switch – the discipline of the rod as he was so fond of calling it.
It was Seta who rescued Sarah from her living hell. Seta had heard the rumors and decided that hearsay was enough proof for him to act. He came to her one night and whisked Sarah away, leaving behind her father – who was desperately in need of medical attention. Though hardly father material himself, his incompetence stemmed from immaturity, not violence – a world of difference to a nine year old girl. She was happy with Seta, but his life was lonely to her. He traveled the world to new and exciting places, digging up ancient artifacts, giving her little time to acclimate to her new surroundings or form relationships with anyone.
She had no complaints though; Sarah's limited experience with true happiness dulled her to the ache in her heart – that was until she met Keitaro.
He was a doofus and a loser, so unlike her new papa. But it would be Keitaro that would prove to be the father that she had always hoped to have and not Seta. He gave her a home and there, she had found the joy of friendship. Though far too young to understand love in all its many trappings, she had hoped that Keitaro would be with her forever – she just wouldn't admit it openly.
And she never would, thanks in part to Motoko.
Sarah's eyes blazed open with fury, her gaze falling onto the object of her hate.
Her right hand flew to Motoko's throat, but stopped just before making contact. Sarah paused for a moment, trying to rein in her emotions. Gradually, her anger diffused into the entropy. Her trembling hand grew still. She slowly reached out until her fingertips pressed against the soft flesh of Motoko's neck. She began to caress its length, feeling the smoothness of her skin. "It's no secret that I want you dead Motoko for all the crap you put us through," Sarah spoke, her voice calm and even. Like an Anaconda going in for the kill, Sarah's fingers coiled around Motoko's throat. "It would be so easy just to squeeze," she whispered, reveling in the feeling of power she was experiencing.
And just as quickly, Sarah drew back her hand. "But then again, I do have this little knife here, don't I," she said, winking at the unconscious Motoko, "Oh the fun I could have with you right now." She slid the edge of the scalpel along the side of Motoko's face, light enough to avoid drawing blood. "Make you not so pretty. Maybe Keitaro would leave you," she giggled, but paused as the words she had just uttered reverberated through her mind.
She slowly withdrew the blade and stepped back from Motoko, her head drooping, allowing her golden tresses to cascade down – shrouding her face from view. After a moment of terrible silence, she spoke: "He would love you, even if you were disfigured. He would love you, no matter what." The last sentence was spoken barely above a whisper.
Sarah brought her hands to her face, pressing her palms into her forehead. The tears began flowing relentlessly. "Why does he love you so much," she demanded to know.
"I…I…don't know," Motoko weakly breathed. Sarah's head snapped up, her scowl revealing a murderous intent. The rage in her soul broke loose, compelling her to act. She lunged at the prostrate figure with her blade poised for an attack.
Sarah cringed in pain as she felt Motoko's vice like grip take hold of her offending wrist, the blade held limp in her hand. She could not believe the amazing strength Motoko was displaying after almost dying only a few hours before. Fear broke out in Sarah's stomach as she met Motoko's eyes – she had seen those eyes before.
It was Motoko of the Shinmeiryu.
"A year ago Sarah, I would have gladly submit my life to your rage," Motoko spoke in belabored voice, "but I am afraid that my life is no longer void." With impressive force, Motoko flung Sarah against the far wall – her former strength returning to her. The impact shook Sarah's teeth, filling her mouth with the taste of salty iron with just a hint of bile. Sarah's vision blurred as she attempted to catch site of the danger approaching her.
Motoko felt the stabbing pain in her gut as she hurled Sarah across the room, but dared not show weakness, her training taking hold. She gritted her teeth and prepared to do the impossible. Most doctors would say a woman who just had a c-section should not be able to stand, let alone fight, but Motoko was no ordinary woman.
She gripped the railing and slowly shifted her legs off of the bed. She was still numb below the waist, but refused to give into such trivialities. Someone wanted to end her and she could not allow that – she could not allow her baby to go motherless.
It was then that the memories of the day came rushing back to her. Her warrior's spirit dissolved as her fear grew into desperation. "What happened to my baby?" Motoko cried out.
In her search for vengeance, Sarah had not taken the time to find out what had happened to the baby. The words pierced Sarah's heart, deflating her hatred. Her maternal instincts, though hardly a factor in her life, allowed her to empathize with Motoko's pain.
Motoko took a few steps towards the door, hoping to find a nurse, but instead fell onto the hard unforgiving floor. "What happened to my baby?" she screeched, pleading for an answer.
Recovering from her injury, Sarah focused her vision on Motoko. It was then she noticed the red stain on Motoko's hospital gown. "Omigod," she gasped, "she must have torn her stitches."
Nausea hit Motoko full on, causing her to slump to the ground. She struggled to pull her head back up, but a wave of dizziness overtook her. The room began to spin around her, the cold becoming unbearable. "Please," she gurgled, "Where is my baby?"
Sarah crawled to her and pulled the sagging figure to her chest. She could feel the warm wetness on her fingers as she attempted to slow the bleeding. Sarah began to panic when Motoko's eyes began to recede into the back of her head. "Stay with me," she yelled, trying to keep Motoko conscious.
"Somebody help me!" Sarah screamed, as she tenaciously clung onto Motoko, hoping to keep her life energy from bleeding out into the abyss.