CHAPTER 4

Mark had been watching their apartment complex for months but for fear of being seen, he had lingered outside. Regardless, he had managed to familiarise himself with the comings and goings of not only Max and Mike, but also the other residents. One in particular had caught his eye when she stopped to converse with Mike one afternoon. Max had likely informed him about the baby that same day because he returned home with an oversized teddy bear and helium balloon in tow. Apparently, their neighbour too was expecting and had stopped him to remark upon the happy news.

At first, given her lack of similar colouring to Max, Mark had dismissed her.

However, in light of recent circumstances, the blonde in her hair was a variable he was now tasked to ignore – "You're gonna have to widen your options." The voice reminds him as he stands by a lamppost, staring bestially up at the silhouette of the fair-haired mother-to-be in question.

…

By the time the wee hours rolled in, Mike decides to give up the search for the night and retire.

"Yeah, I better go." Ryan agrees, "I'll be back first thing." He told the younger man as opened the door to leave. Before stepping over the threshold, he turns and places a reassuring palm on Mike's shoulder. "You'll get through this. We all will." There it was again; that uncharacteristic optimism. As strange as it was coming from the cynical, incredulous Ryan Hardy, at least it was coming from somewhere.

Mike's mouth twitches upwards slightly in an attempt at a half-smile, grateful for the reassurance. "Night, Ryan." He says as he locks the door behind him.

Feeling his eyelids grow heavy, he wastes no time getting to bed. Settling in beside Max, he notices the damp patches of fabric by her face and the way her arms were cocooned around her protruding belly. She had been crying and presumably fallen asleep the same way. The thought urged tears from his own eyes and had him holding her just that bit tighter.

"I love you." He whispers against her skin, hoping his words and arms might make her feel safe somehow.

Max's eyes open then, stirred by his movement. "Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

Her eyes meet his, impossibly woeful than ever. "Like it's the last time I'll hear you say it." And the dejected tone in her voice tells him she believes it very well could be.

He takes her face into his hands, directing her eyes to his in the dimness of the room. "I love you." He proclaims, repeating his previous words. Though this time, far more pronounced and unyielding. "You heard it that time, right?"

She opens her mouth to object but he quickly connects their lips: kissing her words away. It was generally his failsafe when she was either talking too much, or about to say something she shouldn't. And he knew what she was going to say; only he refused to hear any of it.

Instead, he tells her to go back to sleep. "I'll be here to say it again in the morning." He assures her with a slight smirk, kissing her once before relaxing his body against hers.

As he held her, she buries her face into his shoulder. For all her feminist bravado, all she could think now was that she needed him; his arms around her – them. She needed him to hold her and promise her, without words, that they'd find a way through this together. They did before. Why not again?

And for now, Max complies – understanding the point he had made and quite frankly, too tired to fight the pull of sleep. "I love you, too." It's barely a whisper but he hears it anyway, fingers reaching for her hair before drifting off into a dream world in which he'd hopefully meet her.

Had either of them been awake a moment longer, they'd have heard commotion in the apartment above their own; a short-lived shriek and the shattering of glass.

"The others didn't have as much fight in them." Mark cursed. Though, he supposed that was on account of him drugging them before they were made aware of the situation. This time however, he had to be quick and keeping her alive throughout the procedure was apparently out of the question.

"Don't mess around." That familiar voice had warned him earlier. "Kill her good. You need them to know who's in charge and the rules they thought you'd abide by are yours to change as you will."

With the words drumming through his brain, Mark went about doing what he had been set out to do. He began by lifting her nightdress to reveal the baby bump which seemed to be in its final month of growth. "Perfect." He mused, reaching into his bag to find the scalpel missing.

Oh well, he shrugged. The broken shards of mirror would do just the same. Ceremoniously, he took the sharpest edge of glass and punctures the skin at her waist. Then – equally as effortless - he severs the surface of her abdomen, the flesh breaking and falling apart, blood seeping through the crevice. Dropping the piece of glass, Mark inserts both hands into the woman's body, reaching for her child. The amniotic cocoon is burst and the infant breathes its first breath of air.

The customary wail followed and Mark momentarily considers smothering it. "Noisy things, babies." He remarked to no one but the memory of the voice from before reminded him not to harm the children. Dutiful, he places the baby to the side on a pile of blankets and turned his attention to the mother's carcass. He wasn't finished with her.

…

The baby's cry wakes Max later that same morning and fortunately for Mark, the sound hadn't registered as familiar in her mind and she thought nothing of it.

Unlike the previous morning, she wakes up to Mike sleeping peacefully beside her. She thought about remaining there in his arms for a while longer but, she knew the day had to be faced eventually. And hiding under the covers wouldn't make it or its troubles go away.

Sighing heavily, she pulled away from him and sat upright. Somehow, the lump in her chest felt larger than it had been before she fell asleep. It was a feeling beyond that of fear or grief and it weighed her down.

"Hey," Mike's sleepy voice greeted from behind her. "How you feeling?" He asks, groaning and stretching.

Tired - She felt tired, but not the type of tired that sleep could fix. It was dark and sombre, and though the sun was up and shining brightly, things didn't feel any better.

"I'm okay." She lies, pulling the covers off of her legs to get up.

Mike leaned back on his elbows, watching her move about the room. "You have a doctor's appointment today." He points out, having made it his first fatherly duty to remember when her scans were scheduled.

"I cancelled it." Max replies vacantly, searching for her glasses since she couldn't be particularly bothered with contacts today.

"What? Why?" Mike asks, confused and slightly offended she had made this decision alone. Had she done anything else regarding their baby on her own?

"It's not important right now." She replies, still looking. "Where are my glasses?"

He finds them on his bedside cabinet and hands them to her. Before she could walk away however, he grabs her other hand, demanding her attention. "What do you mean it's not important?" He begins, trying to understand what was going through her mind. "We have to know that our baby's doing okay."

"He kicks all day every day – he's fine." She assures him, pulling her hand free from his grasp.

"And how do we even know it's a boy? That's what this appointment was for." He reasoned, out of bed now. In truth, he had been excited to find out whether they'd have a girl or a boy. He hadn't told Max but, even though they referred to the infant as a boy, he secretly hoped for a girl; one whose beauty and strength could rival only that of her mother.

Apparently, his wife was less excited than he was, given the silence he received in reply.

"I suppose witness protection is out of the question too?" He mumbles. It was something he had considered in passing and mentioned to Ryan the day before, heedful that Max wasn't listening because he knew what she'd say.

"Absolutely." She says, confirming his initial suspicion. She refused to hide from the inevitable, especially while other women were being killed in her stead.

Mike rolls his eyes, pulling on his jeans. "Of course it is."

Max stops rifling through her clothes to find jeans that would fit and turns around to address his words. "What's that supposed that to mean?" She demands.

"What do you think it means, Max?"

"I don't know, Mike. That's why I asked." She countered, folding her arms across her chest.

He sighs, straightening his back and meeting her gaze. "You said it yourself – the welfare of the baby isn't important right now." He regrets his choice of words the moment he hears them and there's already a flare of rage in her eyes before he can atone for giving voice to them.

"I did not say that." Although her eyes said she angry, the hitch in her throat speaks of a far different, more painful emotion.

Apparently, Mike's tongue felt the need to keep flapping about with words he didn't mean. "Are you sure? That's what I heard."

"Well, you heard wrong." She decides, keeping her voice as level as she could manage. "How could you think that?" It wasn't so much a question as it was an insinuation. Max knew she wasn't perfect but she knew also that she cared far more than she should about things she ought not to. When it came to those she loved, including her unborn child, the level of worry and concern consumed her. That fact that her husband would question that conviction… well… it was unbearable.

The pain and betrayal Mike saw in her eyes then nearly brought him to his knees. She may have been in the wrong about cancelling the appointment. And though her wording was poor, the reasoning behind it was fair. And he could admit that he hadn't been, "You're right, I'm sorry."

Although she knew he didn't mean to hurt her, he was and at this point, she didn't need to feel any worse than she already did, "Whatever." She says, shaking her head and left the room.

"Max, where are you going? It's not safe." Mike objected, following her.

Mike watched her open the door, fully intent on leaving the apartment before she suddenly came to a halt. He approaches her from behind, wondering what she was staring at, "What is it?" The sight before them answers his question.

Whatever tension had been between them and the grievances they had with each other in the moments prior seemed to vanish as quickly as Max opened the door.

Directly across the hall from the entrance to their apartment lay their - once pregnant- neighbour: dead, limp and leaning against the wall. It was obvious she had been killed elsewhere, for the only blood to be seen had dried against the bruised, severed flesh at her middle.

Following the initial shock, Mike grabs Max and hauls her back inside. He didn't want her to see any of the horror Mark was intent on raining down upon them. As if simply knowing wasn't torture enough.

"Sh- she doesn't… didn't look like me." Max breathes, on the verge of tears but far too stunned to weep.

Later, Mike would explain to Ryan and Clarke that Mark had intentionally left the body there for Max to find. "He's not playing by the rules anymore." Clarke announced, noting how dissimilar the woman was to Detective Hardy.

Mike scoffed. "He's making the damn rules."

"Weston's right." Ryan states. "She was pregnant too, and that's all that matters." And it was. Of course, it had been a bonus that she happened to be friendly with the couple. Targeting her was a no-brainer now that colouring wasn't an issue.

It made things easier for Mark, but harder for them.

Anything to make them squirm just that little bit more.