Phoenix

Chapter one

A story created for the Perry loves Della group, based on the TCOT Nine Doll chapter, but with the premise, what if...

Thank you Sonia, Mi Amiga! This story would not be what it is without you. I love you!

Della Street was tired—there were no two ways about it. The day had been a very exhausting one for her. Now that she was alone in her apartment, after Perry Mason had left for Scotland on his much-delayed fishing trip, she decided to make herself a cup of tea before turning in early. Some people had stiff drinks to steady their nerves and unwind, but she had always preferred the cup that cheers.

Once in the kitchen she filled the kettle with fresh water and adjusted the heat under it, pulled down her favorite cup and saucer, and selected her flavor. While she waited for the water to come to a boil, she sat on one of the island stools. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a long, unhappy sigh as the memories of the day cascaded over her like an avalanche. The first image to hit her was of the sweet little girl who, hours before, had shown up at the office without any adult supervision. Della had talked with her for a few minutes, long enough to glean the pertinent facts of what she wanted, and it hadn't taken long for her heart to melt. Peggy Smith. A sweet name for a sweet girl. And what was it she had been after? Only help in finding out who she was, and if she belonged to someone.

At least, that had been her request. But Della was intuitive. What Peggy really wanted was to know if there was anyone in this great big world who loved her. Anyone at all.

She had gone into Perry's private office first, knowing that he was "in conference" with Paul Drake. She also knew that was code for unpacking and repacking his fishing gear for the fourth time. Honestly, the man was useless on days like this; he was already thousands of miles away, casting for trout in some icy stream in the highlands without a single thought in his head except for which fly to use. Still, she had to try.

Peggy had gotten under her skin. There was something in the forlorn way she looked, something in the sweet way she held her head and spoke, something in the depths of her dark blue eyes that . . .

For a moment Perry had tried to refuse to see the potential client, but Della, being the wise woman, she was, used her charms to convince him. When he saw her come through the door, she had sensed the reserve in him. She understood, only too well, the reason behind it. It was for the same reason that Della's heart was captured from the first moment she saw Peggy. And then he had surprised her by doffing his hat and greeting her with a warm smile.

Della shifted her weight on the kitchen stool. Her head and neck were hurting, and she tried to rub out some of the tension. Another sad sigh escaped. Nevertheless, she wouldn't lie to herself. Although she had absurdly tried to pretend that she was only motivated by empathy for a helpless and defenseless little girl, she knew in her heart that the truth was more complicated. From the instant she saw Peggy a part of her heart she had thought forever numbed tingled back to life.

That feeling would not go away so easily. The moment Peggy Smith walked into Suite 904, she had awakened a sad memory, one so painful that both she and Perry had long buried it. A painful memory of an event which brought so much devastation and sadness to them personally as a couple, and individually.

Della allowed herself one more sigh, hoping to dispel the gloom. It did nothing to take away the most bittersweet moment of her—no-their lives.

It should have been the supreme moment of joy for us, she thought morosely, but instead . . . instead it nearly ruined us—me!

Instead, it had forced them to keep it hidden in the recesses of their memories and the dungeons of their hearts. In order for her to function at all, both in life and in her career, she had to chain it deep below the surface and diligently guard it, lest the pain escape and unleash unspeakable, absolute hell.

Della took a deep breath, shook her head to banish the memory that was creeping closer and closer to the forefront of her consciousness, to check her emotions from overflowing to the limit. On the stove the kettle began to whistle. She turned her head, staring unseeingly at it. In the end it was that sound that broke her dam of resolve.

Her whole body began to tremble and suddenly a loud sob ripped the serenity of the apartment. It was the heartbreaking sound of a mother crying as she remembered the loss of her baby, her very flesh and blood. A little angel who barely saw the light of this world before being snuffed out.

Just a few hours, that's all we had with her. Oh, God, that's all we had! The tears were a torrent now, coming so steadily that to wipe them away was a waste of energy. Our baby!

A baby who with her departure had left both parents in utter misery. Letting out a mournful sigh, Della remembered her daughter, that beautiful baby, who she hadn't even had the opportunity to see, much less hold in her arms. She only had the memory of the strong cry of her girl at birth. With that cry, hope had been born. She had been so sure their daughter would have the same strong constitution of her father, the same willful nature of her mother.

But after the delivery one of the nurses had assured the new mother that she would take the baby for a routine check-up, make sure everything was fine, and then present her. The nurse had reassured Della that there was no need to worry, that she would soon be cradling her baby in her arms to spoil and pamper. And Perry had watched, guarded and concerned, but no less proud and hopeful and eager. As the nurse took the baby, Perry had caught a glimpse of his daughter for a few seconds, producing a smile she had never seen before or since. He had told her it was when he saw how little chestnut curls began to form on the little head of their daughter that his joy was complete.

XXXX XXXX XXXX

Three hours later Della had been transferred to a private room. Until that moment no one had spoken to her or brought her daughter. Understandably her worry and anguish were taking over, but it was Perry who suffered the most. As the minutes ticked past, the lawyer's irritability increased more and more. She watched as his countenance slowly changed from happiness to one of anger. All the warning signs were there; she knew him well enough to know he was a time bomb about to explode.

Despite his Girl Friday's plea, Perry's patience had snapped and he had headed for the nurses' station. In his best courtroom voice, he had demanded to be informed about his daughter, blustering and thundering threats of lawsuits and other legal recriminations if they did not give him any information. A fearful nurse had approached the irate lawyer, nervously asking him to return to his wife's room. She had insisted that a doctor would be in to speak with them within five minutes and would report everything they needed to know. With heavy footfalls, he had returned to his wife's side to wait. To Perry and Della, those were the longest and most harrowing five minutes of their lives.

Not in her worst nightmare had she imagined what Perry and she were about to experience.

Not long after she had finally agreed to marry Perry, they had undertaken a case that required a trip to France. There they had officially tied the knot, agreeing to keep their marriage a secret for professional reasons and only revealing the truth to their most intimate circle. Then, when Della learned she was pregnant, they both agreed that she would work until she started showing. That hadn't happened until well into the third trimester. Not even the eagle-eyed reporters of the courthouse circuit had spotted the signs.

There had been no doubt Paul Drake would become godfather to their child. With Perry convinced the baby was a girl, he and Paul had already started their campaign to spoil and pamper her. The future father had even started calling her "my little princess."

The pregnancy itself had been uneventful, with just a few bouts of morning sickness. With every checkup the pair grew more and more confident and excited. There had been early morning talks, wrapped in each other's arms, in which they made plans. Some of those entailed how to balance Della's presence at home and at the office. And some of those plans had included the decision not to wait long to enlarge the new family even more.

The day her daughter was born, Della had been in the office. While she was giving directions to Gertie on some random matter her water broke. At the time Perry had been out; the courtroom was off-limits to Della until after the birth. Seeing the suffering of her boss and friend, a nervous Gertie had called an ambulance, alerted Paul Drake, and tried to reach Mr. Mason at the Hall of Justice. Paul had come immediately, but instead of riding with her to the hospital, he had been ordered to go in search of the future father.

Perry couldn't hide his pride or sense of satisfaction when he verified that his suspicions were true. That he and his Girl Friday had become parents to a beautiful girl. But that happiness did not last long, evaporating like the misty dew on a hot summer morning. When the doctor entered her room all the joy left it.

The doctor's words still echoed in Della's head.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mason, I . . ." he paused, dipping his head down, "I'm really sorry, but your baby . . ."

All the blood had drained from her face. "Doctor, please tell us, what is happening to my baby?" Della interrupted. She had been unable to control the anguish in her voice.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mason, there were complications with your daughter and she passed away a couple of hours ago."

"NOOO!" Della screamed, feeling her heart break into a thousand pieces, as Perry quickly approached the bed to hug her.

"Della," he murmured gently, "my love, please . . ." He had choked on what he was going to say. Then he had said, "I promise you everything will be alright. This must be an absurd mix-up." His voice broke in a whisper, the lump in his throat growing larger by the second. After making sure that Della was a little calmer, he turned his gaze to the doctor.

Wiping his tears, Perry took a deep breath of air to attempt to calm his temper. His eyes, twin blue flames, blazed. "Doctor, explain how this could happen. I saw my daughter in perfect condition when the nurse took her away."

"Mr. Mason, we really don't know how to explain what happened. When we checked on your daughter's vitals, everything was fine. After that we took her to the nursery while the paperwork was being finished. When a nurse came to pick her up to bring her, she noticed that the baby was not breathing. She called one of my associates, Dr. Scaretti. He did his best to revive her, but she did not react. Sir, ma'am, I'm really so very sorry! "

"Damn! What kind of doctors and nurses do you have in this hospital? Now you come in here and tell us that our daughter is—?" Perry had to swallow hard before he had forced himself to finish the sentence. "Dead. Our daughter is dead," he repeated in a whisper. Then as his anger surged again, he glared at the doctor. "I demand a more coherent explanation right now or I will sue this hospital for negligence! HELL! How can a healthy child die, without an apparent cause?"

"Perry, please, leave it alone! I can't hear or know more—not right now." Della had met his anguished eyes and had felt the shattered pieces of her soul scatter to the wind. "I need to get out of this hospital. I don't want to be here for another second. Please take me home." And with that she had attempted to get up.

Perry had moved to Della to stop her from getting up. "My lady, please... Della, you have to be in bed! You must recover first."

But she had been stubborn. Pushing him away, she had shaken her head. "NO, Perry, I won't! I just want to go home. I can't stay here, where it reminds me of everything we have lost. Perry... please..."

After Perry had brought Della home, the days had passed quickly for both of them. Their life was covered by a cloud of sadness. Both of them fought in their own way against their own loss and pain, with Perry taking refuge in his work and Della traveling to her Aunt Mae's house to recover her body and soul. Upon returning to Los Angeles, Della had reached a tough, unpopular decision and had informed her husband that they would no longer live together.

Perry had refused. Della explained him that she had realized would be the best for both of them, that it wasn't an end to their relationship, but a way through. And she didn't want their relationship to deteriorate further. They would start again, leaving behind everything they had experienced. They would remain married but each in their own home. Perry had attempted to argue, to convince her that after a while they could try again for another baby. But Della flinched at that thought, firmly refusing, stating that if something happened to their new child, she would no longer know how to go on living.

Although he hated the separation, as time passed Perry realized it had been the best for both of them. Each of them faced their pain and loss in their own way, and they maintained the love and devotion which had brought them together in the first place. They both even thought that they had managed to heal the scars left by their daughter's death.

But it all went flat for Della when Peggy Smith walked into her office. That sweet girl who was the same age her daughter would have been. Nine. But the Cosmos wasn't finished with her. Fate ironically saw to it that Peggy even shared her daughter's birthday.

Abruptly she returned to the present. The kettle, still whistling, announced that the water was ready, snapping Della out of her sad thoughts. After finishing her tea, she headed to her room. Going over to her closet, she pulled down a small box. Gently opening it, she pulled out a small baby robe. Clutching the small garment to her chest, Della began to tremble. The tears fell freely.

XXXX XXXX XXXX

Chicago, June 11, nine years earlier.

In an office high rise, in one of the suites that bespoke affluence rather than reputability, a telephone rang.

"Office of Mr. Michael Domenico," a receptionist of average appearance answered. She listened for a fraction of a minute, then replied, "Yes, I understand. Mr. Domenico is expecting your call. Just a moment." She pressed an intercom button. "Mr. Domenico, Mr. Robert Wilson on line two."

"Thank you, Lisa!" Michael called as he picked up the receiver. "Robert, I hope you have good news for me."

"Of course, sir! Have I ever failed you? The job was done satisfactorily." The man on the other end of the line laughed. "It was even easier than we thought, although a nurse and a doctor had to be bribed. Still, everything went smoothly. Those two have already taken premature retirement." His grin was almost audible.

"Good. Details?"

"Exchanging the baby for a dead one was easier than we thought. Fortune favors the bold, Boss. Almost at the same time another girl was born with respiratory failure. She died shortly after birth. Then in an oversight the doctor and the nurse changed the bracelets of the babies. Now Mason and your Miss Street think their daughter is dead."

"Well done, Robert," Michael praised, "you've definitely earned that bonus. Make sure there are no loose ends and get back to Chicago right away."

"Leave it to me. I will be back in two days."

Michael Domenico cradled the receiver. Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, he took out a picture frame. Looking at the photo, he smiled maliciously. The image showed him and a Della, much younger, sharing a sweet hug.

"Dell ... my dear Della... you and Mason will never know that your daughter is alive."