Authors: Vivienne Harris-Scott
I believe in miracles. Part II
vi
September 2004. Prince of Wales hospital.
Sydney Australia.
I have a child. I have a child. I have a
child.
The
news is incredible; she has to repeat it to make it sink in.
She
missed the birth of her own child, but who cares?
She
has a child.
She
hasn
’
t
seen him yet. She woke up just an hour ago from the induced coma she has been
in for over a month and the first thing she felt was her flat belly which sent
her into a panic but the nurse guarding her promptly alleviated her fears.
She
has a child. Now that she is finally awake, both mother and son are fine.
A
son! So, Ethan and I were right, it is a boy. The nurse has called the doctors
to inform them of her waking up, and of course, her husband has also been
informed.
She
has son. He is fine. She
’
s
made it.
She
cries.
((~~!~~))
I
’
m all right. Unbelievable. There is no
other superlative to describe such miracle.
I
don
’
t
remember anything except being at home talking to Ethan, and now I am in a
hospital bed, five weeks later, with three doctors telling me I had sepsis and
it nearly killed me. They had to keep me under to save my life, and while they
were at it, not only they saved my child, but cut the cancerous tumour out of
my body.
I
’
m all right. I have survived. I have a
child.
As
they are talking, filling charts with notes and examining me, Ethan walks in.
We
just look at each other, the people in the room become silent, and they cease
to exist.
As
he approaches my bed, I can see the relief on his face. He grabs my hand and as
our fingers intertwine, he says,
“
Thank
God.
”
and tears fall from his eyes.
((~~!~~))
It
’
s finally us. My husband, my son, and I.
Ethan
brought him to me after the doctors and nurse left. He lifted him from the
bassinet where he had been asleep and gently deposited him on my chest, making
the introduction,
“
Meet
your son, Luca Damien McGregor.
”
I
look at him, my son, and it
’
s
like my heart explodes; tears I don
’
t even feel are falling.
He
is beautiful, wrapped in a yellow
wonzie
jumpsuit. I
look at his face, his chubby cheeks and thank God for his good health. As if sensing
my wonder of having him in my arms for the first time, my baby opens his eyes,
and I am awestruck, he has Ethan
’
s
blue eyes, the exact same shade of cerulean blue, and he is examining me. He
doesn
’
t
cry, just looks at me, curious. I look at Ethan, unable to articulate. He
smiles, and says softly.
“
I
had the same reaction.
”
and he holds my free hand tightly.
”
He
’
s perfect.
”
he pursues. I nod my head.
”
He
’
s perfect.
”
I repeat.
((~~!~~))
It
’
s a month later and we are at home.
Ethan
looks up at me, sees me staring, and smiles almost shyly as if he'd been caught
doing something in secret.
I
just walked into Luca
’
s
room, or shall I say his field, and my husband is blushing as he is feeding a
bottle to our son.
I
had discovered with stupor the nursery when I had returned home. It was
beautiful, the dominant colors being yellow and blue, and the main theme was
soccer would you believe. My son
’
s
bassinet was in the form of a giant soccer ball, opening at the top and resting
on four feet!
Ethan
had sheepishly held his hands up when I had turned towards him upon opening the
door, and said,
“
I
couldn
’
t
resist!
”
I had just mumbled,
”
Lucky,
you
’
re
not a boxing fan
…”
Now,
I sit across from him and can
’
t
help the smile creeping on my face.
I
ask him lowly,
”
What
are you thinking about?
”
"This,"
he says quietly. "You, us, the baby..." he looks at Luca, and
whispers, "Our family," a tender smile on his face.
Ethan
holds Luca in his arms and he is staring down at his son with pure fascination.
My heart melts at the sight. He had once told me he couldn't believe he'd made
such a small person that looked exactly like him. My heart goes out to him.
Sometimes, he still acts as if he didn't deserve this life. I think, these are
the times guilt creeps up on him, luckily, it doesn
’
t happen often.
He
still looks at me as if he couldn
’
t
believe I was his, on quiet nights when he held me in his arms, our son
sleeping a few feet away. I wish there was some way I could get through to him
that he deserved to be happy and his family wasn't going anywhere. All three of
us had all gone through too much to get where we were.
I
firmly believe, our life can and will only get better. I
’
m out of the hospital with a clean bill of
health, my son, in spite of his early birth is growing into a beautiful baby,
and Ethan, against all odds, is turning out to be the husband I could have only
dreamed of just a year ago, and an unrelentingly committed father to our child.
Yes,
really, our life is a dream come true.
Little
do I know, I will be the one destroying that very same happiness they all
suffered so much to reach.
((~~!~~))
She woke up with a start, and the dim
light of the cabin reminded her where she was. On her way to Boston.
A
hostess, noticing her movements under her blanket, approached and asked if she
was all right and needed something to drink.
She
could feel tears at the corner of her eyes as she nodded and said with a hoarse
voice, a bottle of Evian would be fine.
Three
hours into her flight to Paris, and she had fallen asleep remembering Luca and
the happiest time of her life.
She
knew why she had suddenly woken up, and dreaded falling asleep again. She knew,
thinking of Luca, could only lead to one thing: immense, incommensurable pain.
And,
she was solely responsible for it.
She
couldn
’
t
blame Ethan for this. She caused it, no one else.
For
years, she had run away. Her memories locked in the recesses of her mind, never
to be accessed for fear of destroying the simple life she was now living. Julian
has changed everything, and with the child she was now carrying, there was no
more escaping possible.
The
fear of retribution because of what she had done to Ethan was never far, but it
never felt as real and tangible as the fear coming from within her, the fear of
the terrible things she was capable of doing. Much more abominable than what he
could ever do to her.
Ethan
had done terrible things to her; yet, he had atoned, and his sins were forgiven.
His last threats, just a remain of his old persona. She never really believed
they
’
d
come to fruition.
The
fear she felt when thinking of Luca was different, much worse, and it
originated and ended with her. She hadn
’
t atoned, she just fled the scene of her
crime, and not once had been forced to confront the monster she really was.
Until
now.
Because
of Julian, because of their future child. She had been, for the first time in
five years, forced to stop running away from herself, and think of her past, of
her husband, and the child they shared.
She
had been forced to look into the mirror of her soul.
What
she saw was terrifying.
Walking through the valley of the shadow
of death
…
Vi
June 2005. Darling Harbour. Sydney. Australia
I am a killer.
Yes,
I know; that
’
s
the last word people would associate with me when they describe me.
But,
you heard right: I am a killer.
I
am lot of things. Aren
’
t
we all?
Killer
is just another adjective to add to the list.
Except,
unlike any other descriptive, this one has a stigma. This one is accompanied by
a profound sense of shame and guilt. This one is one of the few that just
prevents you to ever be the same person you were, before.
I
know it makes you think of the words
‘
rape victim
’
, doesn
’
t it?
Well,
it
’
s
not the same because rape is something that is done to you. Killing is
something you do onto other, and that is the difference. And, it is big.
I
know my tone sounds casual, flippant even, I survived both; but believe me, I
’
m not taking either lightly. It
’
s just how I cope.
I
’
ve seen the self-loathing Ethan felt for
what he did to me and while I understood how one could feel regret and guilt
over something they
’
ve
done, I never really truly empathized with him. Don
’
t get me wrong. I forgave him but empathy
is a whole other business.
That
is, until I found myself in his shoes, literally. Doing something that was
simply unfathomable, something that was so far from my core values, so far from
my core being, that only horror could be the appropriate response.
There
is nothing like killing someone. There is definitely a before, and an after.
Before.
Yes, before. Because there is you before; and, then, there
’
s you, after.
No
matter what you have lived, no matter what you have done, or what has been done
to you up to that very point. It
’
s
all in the before, in that time when you were a different person.
Before,
the killing happened.
((~~!~~))
I did the unthinkable.
I will never be the same.
I killed my son.
((~~!~~))
I am waiting for Ethan
…
and the police.
I
am sitting outside the house, by the pool, my feet are in the water.
Marina
is my bedroom, with my son. My dead son.
I
’
m not sure exactly what time it is, what
time it was when I killed him.
It
’
s still dark, so I know it
’
s still the middle of the night.
I
don
’
t
feel anything. My feet are in the pool, and I don
’
t feel anything.
I
look at the shimmering water under the full moon, and I wonder if I
’
d feel something if I let myself fall.
Tempting.
Yes,
I could let myself drown, and then I wouldn
’
t have to face Ethan or anyone else.
I
wouldn
’
t
have to see the body of my baby.
My
son, Luca.
Ever
again.
((~~!~~))
A sudden fit of fear awakens me. I just
had a nightmare. The room is still dimmed lit, I must have forgotten to turn
the light off, I think. I feel something against me, against my legs, and as I
open my hazy eyes, I realize, it is my son.
Luca!
Why is my son, in the bed, crushed against my legs? I lift my head, and the
book I had been reading has fallen off the bed, past my son, his bottle has
rolled onto the carpet.
My
breathing is getting labored as I touch my baby forehead. He is cold. I lift
him and examine him. His eyes are closed, he looks oddly grey, and as I try to
touch his arms and legs. I realize, he
’
s not moving, he
’
s not breathing.
I
don
’
t
understand. Why is Luca in the bed? How did this happen? Why he is so cold? Why
isn
’
t he
breathing? I am crying and choking on my
own breath, as I am talking to my baby, begging him to wake up.
Chilliness
envelops me, my blood runs cold as I realize, my son has stopped breathing a
while ago, and there is absolutely nothing I can do.
I
feel my heartbeat slow in my chest, my brain snapping at the realization of
what happened.
I
stand up and I sing a lullaby as I rock Luca in my arms and put him in his
crib.
I
go to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.
My
hair is dishevelled. My eyes are now dry, but also empty, vacant. I am still
wearing the same white shirt I had before going to bed, to read to my son.
Except
now, it
’
s
damp with my tears.
Except
now, my baby is dead.
I
fell asleep and crushed my baby to death.
I
smothered him with my own body.
My
body is the murder weapon.
I
am a killer.
And
forever will be under a cloak of darkness.
((~~!~~))
I let the shirt slip on the floor and
change into a nightgown, I don
’
t
bother to put my slippers on as leave the bathroom, I won
’
t need them. I go and knock on Marina
’
s door and wait outside until she wakes
and opens it.
She
lets out a scream when she sees me.
I
don
’
t
know what she sees, but if my insides are reflected on my face, I must look
scary.
I
just say in a voice that sounds foreign to my own ears,
“
Something is wrong with Luca, he won
’
t wake up. He
’
s in his crib. Please don
’
t touch him, and call Ethan. I
’
m going to the pool.
”
And
I leave her there, shell-shocked.
I
know she is going to go my room and watch over him.
I
know Ethan will be home soon.
I
know the police will come.
I
know, because I put Luca back into his crib, no one will ever know what I did.
No
one; except me, and God.
((~~!~~))
When Ethan arrives, I am still by the
pool, my feet dipping in the water. I don
’
t even turn around.
I
hear him talk to someone on the phone, and then he comes to me.
He
is behind me, on his knees, I can feel them against my back and he envelops me
tightly. He murmurs against my hair
“
Baby, I saw Luca. I spoke to Marina. The
police are on their way. Is there anything you want to tell me?
”
I
don
’
t
move, my eyes are closed, and just murmur,
“
No.
”
I
feel Ethan moving, and he turns my head, so our eyes meet, he stares at me
silently for a long time, and as he gets up, finally says,
“
Stand up. They can
’
t find you here. Put some pants, a jumper
and your
Ugg
boots on. And then, meet me at the
front.
”
I
still don
’
t
move, so he pulls me up until I
’
m
finally standing against him, he searches my face until I nod, his lips
slightly brush mine, and I hear him say,
“
Hurry,
”
as he walks back towards the house.
((~~!~~))
The police come, the room is examined,
photographed, and Luca
’
s
body is retrieved.
We
are questioned, Marina and I, under the watchful gaze of Ethan.
When
they let us go, he speaks to the officers, and they finally leave. Our
chauffeur drives Marina back home, to the city. I hear Ethan make a few more
phone calls, but I
’
m
not paying attention. Enveloped in a shawl, I am sitting on a sofa, my knees
up, my head resting on them, my eyes closed.
I
know it
’
s
only the two of us now.
I
am waiting.
I
feel him sit next to me, and I know he is watching me.
He
touches my curls, and I open my eyes. He looks like he aged 10 years within the
past few hours, his face is pale under his tan, and his eyes are glassy.
Ethan
asks me what happened. What really happened, and I tell him.
He
looks at me with horror.
At
first.
As
I tell him I lied to the police when I said I found Luca, not breathing in his
crib, his eyes widen with shock and consternation.
When
I tell him I fell asleep with our son pressed against me, and woke up in the
same manner, except our baby was no longer breathing, I see Ethan get up, his
own breathing is now labored and his eyes reflect such burning pain, I have no
choice but to close my own.
After
a few minutes of chilled, unbearable, silence, he finally asks in a whisper,
“
Are you saying, Luca died in your arms?
”
My
eyes shot open, his back is turned and he is setting logs of wood in the
fireplace. I murmur,
“
Luca
was in bed with me.
”
keeping my eyes on his back, because I know when he turns around and looks back
at me, hatred is the only thing I
’
m
going to see, and I need to accept that.