"I still can't believe you did that," Colleen ran her hand gingerly down the back of Sully's newly cut hair, shaking her head with a small smile.
"Thought it was important. Don't ya like it?" Sully looked between Matthew and Colleen both seated on his right, the trip thus far having remained relatively silent.
"Course. Reckon it makes ya look more handsome," Colleen rolled her eyes with a half-hearted chuckle, but quickly looked away out of self-conscious embarrassment.
"Why, thank-you, Miss Cooper," Sully played on the girl's discomfort, hearing Matthew clear his throat, on the other side of Colleen, obviously unimpressed by their antics.
"Ain't it more appropriate we start worryin' about what's gonna happen once we get to Boston? How we gonna find Dr Mike and Brian? I mean, what if that ain't even where they've gone. We're only guessin'," Matthew began destructively scratching a small dirt stain from the knee of his trousers.
"Matthew, there's nothin' we can do about that until we get there but where else would Michaela have gone? I know it's not ideal, but what choice do we have?" Sully turned his attention to the young man, slightly frustrated that Matthew was insisting they discuss an issue that was for the most part, unsolvable, however able to look past that to the boy's deep concern.
"Yeah, I dunno, just seems wrong somehow. Us jokin' foolin' around, forget it," he dismissed himself with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Sorry, Matthew, you're right. Maybe it's all my fault. Maybe I shoulda said somethin' sooner, shoulda come found ya before she," Colleen looked initially at her brother, before turning back towards Sully for her final statement.
"Wouldn't a done any good, Colleen. You wouldn't a found me, and doubt Michaela woulda listened to anything I had to say anyway, even if I had known. Ain't so sure I coulda stopped her leavin' like this," Sully unexpectedly locked eyes with Matthew, the young man finishing his sentence.
"You coulda tried, we all coulda, we shoulda. Even if she still wanted to do this. We coulda at least all gone together, as a family. Shouldn't a had to take off like this on her own. That ain't fair," Matthew reflected, Colleen interrupting him quickly.
"What ain't fair is her takin' Brian like that. Gonna be so scary for him, he ain't gonna know what's happenin'. Don't even know about Dr Mike bein' pregnant," Colleen folded her arms tightly across her chest, her voice unwavering and stern.
"Colleen, you can't say that. She probably only took him coz she knew he'd a been real upset her just leavin' and if they're in Boston, well, Dr Mike's family are there, Brian'll be fine," Matthew reasoned, still not entirely convinced that trying to interfere with Michaela's wishes was the right decision.
"No way Michaela'd go to them, Matthew. Not like this. Be stayin' as far away as she could from them. Boston's a big place, ain't likely she's gonna run into anyone she knows, but I do think you're right about her takin' Brian. She woulda done it for the right reasons," Sully lowered his voice as he spoke, aware of the middle-aged man sitting opposite them.
"That'd be a first," Colleen interjected cynically; both Matthew and Sully turning in towards her, about to defend Michaela's actions.
"Look, ain't any point us stewin' over this, ain't gonna change nothin' but, suppose we do find 'em. What exactly you gonna say to her?" Matthew looked directly across at Sully, almost challenging him to provide an immediate solution.
"I don't know. Worry about that when the time comes," Sully unconsciously brought his left hand to his cool, bare neck, feeling the hairs on his skin rise, unaccustomed to being exposed to the air.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Michaela awoke to a dull throbbing in both her forearms. Blearily opening her eyes, she moved her hands as she looked down to see them secured firmly to the leather bag, the metal edging having dug into her flesh. Initially unfamiliar with her surroundings, Michaela had forgotten she'd fallen asleep with the large object tucked against her, until her sudden movement caused the bag to roll and slip from the bed onto the rug below with a thud.
Brian, his head nestled in his crossed arms, stirred slightly at the sound. Still nervous following his mother's earlier outburst, he slowly raised his head and discreetly watched the scene unfold before him.
Being jolted slightly from her sleepy state, Michaela took several moments to process the sequence of events which had just occurred. She stared blankly down at the floor, trying to make sense of the several items which now protruded into view. The impact had caused the clasp of the bag to open, and the bell of her stethoscope, along with several bottles of medicine had worked their way out during the fall.
Reaching down to retrieve the bag, as well as the loose objects, Michaela pulled them awkwardly up onto the bed, rolling over onto her back as she settled the handful of items and bag by her right side.
In that mere heartbeat; no longer than a fragment of a moment, Michaela felt time freeze around her. It was as if nothing existed outside the physical limits of her own body; that her rational mind, her heart, and her soul were pulled simultaneously towards one minute, unimaginably small area of her lower abdomen. Just below and to the right of her belly button, Michaela felt the feather-light sensation against the inside of her skin. Her breath held unconsciously in her throat, her right hand moved instinctively to the spot, as she felt the fine internal stroking movement return, ever-so-slightly further down that time.
Michaela sharply pulled her hand away immediately after processing the experience. She could feel her blood go cold as grim reality dawned on her. Oh, please, no. It can't be. Not yet. Michaela forced her eyes closed, as she desperately attempted to convince herself that maybe she was having another nightmare. Yes; that was it; she was dreaming; this wasn't really happening.
"Ma?" Brian leant forwards on the chair, having witnessed Michaela's frantic movements moments earlier.
"No. no, no, no," Michaela released the force with which her eyes were drawn closed, however still did not dare to open them yet. Another few moments. There was still hope that this wasn't really happening.
Keeping all of her attention consumed in the darkness behind her eyelids, Michaela couldn't fail to detect the physical sensation once again.
"Stop!" She opened her eyes, as she gripped her arms tightly around her stomach. Pulling herself into a sitting position, Michaela realized the darkness was worse. The darkness only amplified the disturbing movements she had perceived.
Her sound mind came quickly to the surface, with a physiological explanation; There, Michaela, now that child is actually moving. Just under your arms, Michaela. That baby's heart is beating, its body is growing arms and legs.
"I," Michaela removed her arms from her middle; just as quickly as she'd put them there. She couldn't ignore the scientific rationale just presented, and almost welcomed the overwhelming nausea that consumed her instantaneously. She pulled herself up from the bed, oblivious to the alarmed expression plastered on the young boy's face, as she ran into the bathroom, the contents of her stomach quickly emptying into the basin to the right of the door.
"Ma!" Came the squealed exclamation from across the room. The small child ran quickly to his mother's side, his eyes large and scared as he watched her continue to dry-retch for several minutes.
"Go away! Leave me alone," Michaela waved frantically at the boy's presence, as she struggled to withstand the violent hauling of her upper body.
"It's all right, Ma. Here," Brian carefully reached for her long tresses of hair and pulled them over her shoulder. Michaela's attention was consumed in futile attempts to catch her breath between purges.
The young boy waited vigilantly by his mother's side until she lacked both the physical energy, and emotional inclination to dry-retch any longer. Michaela's arms rested on the edge of the basin, her face pale, her eyes wet with effort.
"Is it the baby makin' ya sick, Ma?" Brian delicately arranged her hair over her back, trying his best to be thoughtful and understanding, despite the contradictory and frightening displays he was witnessing.
"Be quiet," her voice was raw and low. Michaela kept her attention focused on the delicately hand-painted edgings of the fine-china basin.
"How about a glass a water, Ma?" Brian's voice found a renewed hopefulness, as he quickly dashed back into the room and filled a small glass.
"No," Michaela's response was equally dull and uninflected. Not having heard her negative reply, the small boy hurried back into the bathroom, pushing against her side, proffering the glass to her with a considerate smile.
"I said, no!" Michaela turned immediately around, unaware that the child had moved so close against her, so as inadvertently managing to knock him harshly to the ground. A small gasp was emitted from his mouth, as the glass hurtled down to the tiled floor, smashing upon impact.
"See, now look what you've done! You silly child! Clean that up, this minute!" Michaela flew into an irrational rage, rushing back out of the room to begin a mindless circling of the large area.
"S-sorry, I'm sorry," Brian remained huddled on the floor beside the bathtub; uninhibited tears streaming down his face, having never heard his mother yell like that in his life.
Michaela secured her hands to her hips, beginning her second lap of the confined space. "Why did I even bring you, nothing but trouble. Foolish, wasn't I? Too busy worrying about you. Worried about how upset you'd be, that I didn't want to cause you more pain," Michaela repositioned her hands, and sat down on the edge of the settee, her behavior still wildly unpredictable and out of her own control.
"Please, Ma, said I was sorry. I, I'll clean it up," Brian's choked voice could just be heard as it radiated through to the bedroom.
"What am I going to do? I've left it too late, now," Michaela turned her attention down to the busy street below, seeing the hordes of finely dressed individuals stroll along the footpath.
Brian sniffed several times, trying to stop himself from crying, as he began picking up the fragments of broken glass. After a minute or so, he'd finished cleaning the glass and spilt water, dropping the slivers into the bin next to the basin.
He remained in the doorway, his small hands clutched to the doorframe for several minutes, as he watched the distress and torment play across his mother's face. He took several steps back into the main room, this time, more careful to keep a safe proximity from his mother's side.
"I'm sorry ya brought me. I'm sorry! Wish I'd never seen ya leavin'." His voice crackled with emotion, however his words were sincere.
"I'm sorry, too," Michaela turned, as if seeing him for the first time. There was a resolve in her eyes; a distance.
"Sorry ya have to worry 'bout me all the time." He heard the bitterness in her voice, and the sharpness of her harsh gaze. Arriving less than two feet from the door, Brian felt his chin begin to tremble. He quickly realized that it was due to the fact that he now felt so dreadfully afraid of his mother.
"Wish my real Ma hadn't died, then you wouldn't a got stuck with us!" Brian frowned.
"Don't you think I feel the same way? If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in this mess!," Michaela tore her eyes from the child's gutted form, realizing he would never understand the significance of the sentence that had begun to pass from her lips.
"I hate you," he whispered, meaning it all the more strongly than he had two years earlier. He meant it to hurt; he meant it in defense, as he slipped out through the large wooden door and into the long corridor.
Michaela saw the devastated look of betrayal cross the boy's face as he made his way in silence from the room, the gentle clicking of the lock in the door being the final sound heard. Brian's heartbroken expression lingered in Michaela's mind, being of more profound influence than words alone.
She felt her hands clutch the wooden arm of the settee, her gaze restless; between the closed door and the fading daylight through the window.
What are you doing?
Why are you here, Michaela?
Her jaw dropped with an audible sigh, unable in that moment to process with any meaning, the events of the previous few hours. Words, instead, were perceived as nothing more than emotion. Michaela allowed herself to take a further step into the turmoil building within her, realizing that the underlying emotion was not merely anger. Yes, she was angry; angry at the Doctor, angry at the circumstance that had caused this nightmare, but most of all she was angry at herself. She'd failed herself as a doctor, caused unnecessary delay, and to that end, brought this entire situation on herself.
Glancing back across at the closed door, Michaela repeated the boy's departing words to herself, and immediately arrived at a new conclusion; she'd failed that child as a mother. Michaela felt her mind drift through other significant individuals in her life; Colleen, Matthew. Sully. She'd failed them all. As she reflected upon recent events, she realized she'd driven them all away; Sully, the children, the town and now Brian. Michaela rose to her feet, and aimlessly began to pace towards the bed, all the while, her mind continued to challenge itself. Why are you pushing people away? They're trying to help you. They care about you. Being on your own is not going to help one bit.
"Shut up! I don't care! I don't!" She felt her weight collapse against the mattress, beyond tears by this stage. It was then that she noticed it; still upturned in the middle of the bed from when she'd retrieved it from the floor; her medical bag.
"What's the point," Michaela murmured, as her hands moved automatically to roughly toss various items back into the bag. Her right hand had locked onto her stethoscope once again, when she became aware of the gentle movement return to her lower abdomen.
"It's just nerves, tension. Ignore it," Michaela chastised herself, as her hands gripped tighter around the black rubber tubing of the instrument. But she couldn't fool herself; her scientific conviction was too powerful, and, as hard as she fought to tempt herself otherwise, the physician in her persuaded back more strongly.
"Please, make it stop!" Her eyes dropped closed, as she tightened her grip around the clasped stethoscope in her right hand. "Please," she whispered, focusing all of her attention on the object in her grasp, desperate to block out the delicate reminder of life within her.
Again, Michaela's emotions shifted, and pleading gave in to rage, as she sent the stethoscope hurtling back across the room behind her. It landed softly against the rug. She turned back to the several items still rested against the elaborate quilt; a neatly rolled up bandage, a pair of tweezers, and a filled bottle of Laudanum. Her eyes moved over the initial two items quickly; however her attention was held by the third. Brushing her fingers lightly over the faded markings on the small glass bottle, Michaela focused her efforts on reading one letter after the other, in a fraught attempt to distract herself from the nausea which continued to build in her stomach.
"Maybe, just," her right hand gripped the bottle harder, as her mind moved at an indescribable speed through random sights, sounds and sensations of the last five months. Without logical explanation, Michaela magnified the harmless tingling against her skin into a discomfort, which soon spiraled uncontrollably into a burning pain. She had to make it stop.
She heard the tiny rush of air as she removed the cork stopper from the bottle, Michaela knew she could make it stop; at least for a while. She mechanically brought the small tip of the bottle to her lips, awaiting the soothing bitterness of the liquid as it invaded her mouth. Tipping the bottle slightly, Michaela felt her awareness sharply aroused by the nocuous substance she swallowed.
Drawing a calming breath, Michaela immediately took another sip, the bottle still held tightly in her fingers, as she settled herself back against the pillows.
I can still feel it. Make it stop, please. Make it go away.
Michaela rolled onto her left side, facing away from the door, as she brought the bottle to her mouth a third time, her left hand pressed harshly against her firm stomach.
She felt lucidity begin to slip away from her after several minutes. Slowly, the environment blurred until she could barely remember why she held the object in her hand. Her mind had narrowed, at the exclusion of all else, to two realities; the unpredictable fluttering under her left hand, and the coolness of the bottle in her right.
Her eyes watched, mesmerized, as the clear liquid lapped against the walls of the bottle it was surrounded by, teasing her, tempting her with the comfort it offered.
Just one more.
Michaela heard her mind coax; relishing in the distraction which was afforded by the strong tasting drug as it seeped to the back of her throat. She swallowed, feeling more liquid enter her mouth, and repeated the action once again. Michaela felt her head grow heavy, and pulled the bottle away, no longer able to sense the fluid pass by her lips. Letting it fall empty against the quilt, she rolled over onto her back, welcoming the overpowering sedation as it engulfed her consciousness.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Brian kicked his feet against the edge of the stairs, having descended and ascended the two flights of stairs to the point of exhaustion. Dropping down to the top step, the boy wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, worried that he might be seen.
His anger had quickly eroded into guilt, the moment he'd run out into the hallway, and for the past ten minutes or so, he tried to concentrate on the events most prominent in his mind.
Maybe it was his fault; after all, he'd been spying on her. He'd told his sister about her getting fat and that's what had prompted her to leave. Then again, on the train, he'd tried to tell her about the baby's heartbeat, which had sent her running out into the corridor in tears; again. All his fault.
His black polished shoes scuffed against the carpeted step harder and harder, as he felt his toes stub against the hard leather.
"It's all my fault. I did it. I caused it. If Ma hadn't a died, none a this woulda happened. I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't a broken the glass and made Dr Mike upset. I wouldn't a wrecked everything!" He banged his right foot against the step a final time, digging his hands deeper into the pockets of his newly purchased trousers.
"Shouldn't a said I hated her," he frowned, as he reflected on his emotive words. The young boy drew a comforting breath, as he pulled his hands from his pockets and headed back along the corridor to their room; with the intention of apologizing for his nasty remark.
His small hand gripped the gold-plated door handle, and gently pushed it down to allow the heavy door to open into the room. "Ma?" He whispered tentatively, as he stepped inside, and turned to close the door before worrying about locating her.
"Ma? Wanted to say I was sorry," Brian voiced nervously, as he noticed Michaela on the bed across the room. "Wouldn't blame ya if ya real mad at me, after what I said, ya gonna punish," he paused, seeing her eyes lightly closed.
"Sorry," he muttered, his voice hushed, as he arrived by the edge of the bed, to confirm that she was indeed resting.
Brian tilted his head into a soft, warm smile, as he very delicately climbed onto the edge of the bed, taking every precaution so as to not disturb her. He carefully moved the black leather bag from the space between them, placing it down on the floor to the left side of the bed. It was then that he saw the small bottle several inches from her right hand. Picking it up and trying to read the label, Brian's worry was reignited. "Ma? Are ya sick, Ma? How come ya takin' medicine?" He dropped the empty bottle back to the bed, tenderly reaching to take her hand.
"Couldn't the doctor make ya better, Ma?" He moved his left hand to brush back the hair from her forehead. Although the contact was extremely gentle, Brian saw his mother's eyelids flutter several times in response. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake ya," he frowned, something about the color of her face and eyes not seeming usual. It was then that he saw her mouth move. Still on his knees, the young boy bent forwards to try to hear her words.
"Don't tell, Becca, Promise me you won't tell Mother," her voice was childlike and disjointed, Brian barely understanding the words, before her eyes fell closed once again.
"Ma? Ma, it's me. It's Brian." He squeezed her right hand slightly harder, his alarm intensifying as her eyes remained closed.
"Becca, please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't tell," Michaela's voice was breathy and weak, Brian just managing to hear her mumbled response.
"Ma? Ma! Ma, wake up! Ya gotta wake up! Please, Ma!" His breathing was quick and forced in his throat, as he shook her right arm more violently.
"Ma, please?" He pulled himself back off the bed, waiting for several seconds in hope of a movement or verbal response. None came.
"I, I'll get help, Ma. I'll get a doctor," Brian called, his small voice conveying the desperation and dread that was only growing inside his frail young mind and body.
"Please, Ma, please be all right." He turned back towards the closed door, barely managing to see his way out into the hallway through the tears which clouded his vision.