Fast Forward 6 Months
Captain Peacock's Baby
It was a cold, drizzly morning. Stephen had been doing his duty of pulling trash from all the departments and emptying dustbins. He went round back of the store to the skip to unload his rubbish trolley.
As he threw a black plastic trash bag in, he heard a soft sound from within the skip; it sounded like the mewing of a kitten. He stopped and listened. A bag moved slightly. Was it the wind blowing the bag? He leaned in to reach for the bag; it was just out of reach. He stood on his tip-toes and his fingers brushed the bag, but he could not grasp it. He went back into the warehouse and retrieved a small wooden crate to stand on. Grasping the corner of the bag, he discovered it was heavier than he thought.
He became angered that someone would be so cruel as to throw a bag of kittens in the trash. A sense of urgency washed over him when he thought that maybe only one kitten might be alive in the bag. He positioned the crate and climbed onto it, and sitting on the edge of the skip, swung his legs over and heaved himself in.
He sank past his knees in the trash and bags. With great effort, he slogged over to where he saw the bag move, slipping down to his knees with each step and being scratched by sharp box edges. Taking out his knife, he grasped the corner of the bag to cut it open.
"I wonder if Betty will let me keep the kitten if I tell her where I found it. She's got a big heart, of course she will," he smiled and mused.
He cut the bag open and looked inside. His eyes went wide in horror and he reeled back. He could feel the color drain from his face and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Cold sweat beaded on his face.
"Good God!" he gasped, shaking, his heart pounding. His breath quickened.
In the bag, barely moving and almost bluish in color was a baby. A girl baby. She was naked, covered in blood, her umbilical cord was still attached yet crudely cut. She had tiny fingers, which were blue. Her hair was matted with dried blood and gunk and her eyes were barely open. There were paper towels in the bag as well. Stephen unbuttoned his smock.
He reached into the bag and carefully lifted the frail baby out. He tucked her into his smock and began to breathe on her in an attempt to warm her.
"You'll be alright now. I've got you," he whispered.
He began to scream for help.
Richard and Colin heard him from inside the warehouse and came running. They looked around the yard and not seeing him, swung their heads toward the skip. They ran to the side of it and seeing the blood on Stephen's hands and smock, began calling for others.
"He's hurt! Get him out! Paul, Mel! Help!" yelled Richard.
"What are you doing in there, Stephen?" called Colin.
Stephen's arms were wrapped tight around his chest, holding the baby close to keep her warm.
"Give us your arms!" called Colin. Stephen shook his head 'no.' He held fast.
"Lean in, then!" Paul urged.
The four men grabbed him and handed him out.
"What the hell were you doing in there?" asked Paul. Stephen did not answer. His face was ashen.
Stephen opened his smock slightly. They all gasped, mouths agape.
"Mother of God!" someone stammered.
They ushered Stephen back into the warehouse. Richard ran to get Mel the shop steward and send for Sister. Mel called the police.
They escorted Stephen and the baby to Sister's office.
"Sit down. Let's DX that smock, Peacock," Sister said.
Stephen set the baby down on the table and took off his smock.
Sister gave him a fresh smock and put the bloodstained one in the laundry.
She took out a flannel, wet it with warm water, and began to clean the little baby. The baby barely moved. Sister made a nappy from a towel and put it on her, then
Sister wrapped her in another towel. The baby was not moving or making any noises. Stephen picked her up and held her. The police arrived and entered Sister's office.
Sergeants Cogswell, a burly man, about 40-ish with a ruddy complexion and hands like cannonballs, and Bradshaw, his junior, about 30-something with soft boyish features and ginger hair, introduced themselves and took out their notepads. They took down notes, Stephen's name and address, and a synopsis of events leading up to when he found the baby. The police sketched the area and asked the others if they had seen anything.
The ambulance arrived and the paramedics entered the warehouse, walking straightaway to Sister's office. Stephen set the baby down on the table so the paramedics could examine her.
The paramedics called back to the control center.
"Start an IV with D5W, TKO, and Ringers Lactate," the voice on the radio instructed.
"What's that for?" Stephen questioned.
"She's lost a lot of blood and has been exposed to the cold. There's no telling how long she was in the bin. The IV will help her fluid levels."
Stephen nodded slowly. He removed a cuff link and pulled up his sleeve.
"Take as much blood as you need," he offered.
"If it comes to that and we need to, we'll definitely take your offer."
The paramedic opened what looked like a fishing tackle box and removed a plastic bag of clear liquid and plastic tubing.
"That needle is bigger than her arm!" Stephen cried.
"Sir, would you hold her still, please?"
"It's OK…I've got you," Stephen cooed. He steadied the tiny baby but she did not move or even whimper as the paramedic inserted the needle. The paramedic looked grimly at the baby.
"That's not good, is it?" Stephen asked flatly.
"It's too soon to tell, sir. We have to take her to hospital now."
"I'm going with her," Stephen insisted.
"I'll tell Mel," Sister said.
"Thank You, Sister."
Stephen cradled the baby in his arms and carried her. He climbed into the back of the ambulance with the paramedic. Stephen set her on the gurney, keeping one hand on her. Her tiny eyes tried to focus on him. Stephen smiled at her. Her little lips curled upward and she sighed softly.
"Hey there," Stephen said softly.
At the hospital, the paramedics took the baby into the emergency room.
"This is as far as you can go, sir. You'll have to wait in the waiting area," the paramedic informed Stephen, directing him where to go. He nodded.
Stephen sat down on a cold plastic chair and waited silently. His thoughts drowned in the bustle and din of the emergency area. Doctors and nurses entered the emergency room and came out, but no one took notice of Stephen, who looked up in anticipation every time the doors swung open. The place smelled like antiseptic and rubbing alcohol. A TV droned from the nurses' station.
A doctor garbed in scrubs came out and headed toward Stephen.
"You came in with the baby from the skip?" he asked.
"Yes, sir, is she going to be alright?" Stephen asked hopefully.
"No, sir. I'm afraid she's died. Her systems had all shut down. She lost so much blood and body heat. We did everything we could for her. I am sorry. We need to fill out the death certificate. We have her listed as a 'Jane Doe'."
Stephen's shoulders slumped in defeat. Everything went to slow motion.
"You know, you've shown her the only kindness she ever had in her short little life," the doctor said kindly.
The doctor squeezed Stephen's shoulder and then walked away.
Stephen felt cold and numb. Sergeants Cogswell and Bradshaw, the police officers from the warehouse, walked up to Stephen to take a few more notes and tie up loose ends.
"Do you need a lift back to work, sir?" one of them asked.
He shook his head.
"No, I want to go home. I need to go home," he said, barely above a whisper, his brows furrowed.
The police escorted Stephen back to the house. He went inside and sat down on the couch, hands folded in his lap, staring blankly, silently waiting for Betty.
Betty arrived home; it was dark outside, Stephen sat motionless in the dark of the lounge.
Betty snapped on the light and jumped as she saw Stephen sitting on the couch.
She gasped, "You scared me! You're home earl-," she could see blood smeared on his white work shirt, "Stephen! What's happened to you?" she shrieked, her eyes wide with alarm.
He patted the seat next to him, quietly he invited, "Sit down, Betty. Let me tell you about my day."
"You're covered in blood! Have you been hurt?" she asked frantically.
He shook his head slowly, "That's not my blood, Dear."
He held her hands as he spoke.
"Stephen, your hands are shaking! You're scaring me."
Her eyes were pleading. He looked at her, almost through her. He held her hands as he spoke. He recanted the day's events and told Betty about the beautiful, helpless baby with blue eyes and how she smiled at him. He told her how the baby looked like a little angel. He described in vivid detail her little hands and toes and her little mouth. Betty listened intently, watching Stephen's face, and hanging on his every word. She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. His red-rimmed eyes turned upward, and his lips barely moved. His chin wrinkled and his voice strained. He swallowed hard. Betty put her arms around him, hugged him tightly, and stroked his hair.
"Shh..shh. It's OK," she whispered.
The gravity of the day finally settled on him and he broke down sobbing.
"Where do you suppose she is? Do you think she's in heaven?" he asked, his voice distant.
She put her hand on his chest and patted him over his heart.
"She's in there."