Once more unto the breach, dear friends …
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, HENRY V
BELLE GLADE,
FLORIDA
SEPTEMBER 22,
2013
12:21
A.M.
Seventeen-year-old Madelina Aurelia thrashes
naked beneath a sweat-soaked bedsheet as she cries out to her
foster father, “Get this goddamn baby outta me!”
Quenton Morehead, an ordained minister
and struggling alcoholic, squeezes the teenaged girl’s hand, his
dark eyes lingering on her exposed pelvis. “Don’t blaspheme, child,
the midwife’s on her way.”
“Where’s Virgil?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find him!”
The minister cringes as the girl’s
high-pitched screech penetrates his brain like a tuning fork. He
hears the front door open and sighs a quick Amen.
“Virge?” Madelina stops thrashing.
“Virgil, honey? That you … you cheatin’, whorin’ sonuva
bitch!”
A heavyset black woman enters. “Calm
down, baby, everthin’ gonna be just fine.”
Madelina tears at the mattress as
another contraction grips her torso. “Vir … gil!”
The midwife turns to the minister. “Go
on and find him. I can handle things here.”
Quenton backs out of the bedroom, then
hurries out the front door of the sweltering stucco home and into
the night.
Reverend Morehead enters the strip
club fifteen minutes later, his senses immediately seized by the
smell of alcohol and smoke and sex. He heads for the bar, then sees
his son-in-law in a back room, receiving a lap dance.
“Virgil! Get your heathen butt home,
your son’s on the way.”
“Aww shit, Quenton, give me two more
minutes.”
“Now, boy!”
“Sum’bitch.” Virgil climbs out from
beneath the stripper, squeezes an exposed breast, whispers, “I’ll
be back soon,” then follows Quenton into the parking
lot.
TEMPLE
UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL
PHILADELPHIA,
PENNSYLVANIA
12:43
A.M.
Dominique Gabriel gazes through
feverish eyes at her foster mother, Edith Axler, as another
contraction begins. The wave of pain crests higher, the pain
excruciating. “Edie, get me drugs!”
“Hang in there, doll. Mick went to get
the doctor.”
“I need drugs, now!”
“Okay, okay.” Edith rushes out of the
birthing room to find the nurse.
“You do not need drugs,” says
Chicahua. “The uterus is a woman’s center. If the uterus is not in
proper position during birth, nothing in the child’s life will be
right.” Placing her hands on Dominique’s pelvis, she begins to
massage the exterior of her daughter’s swollen abdomen and lower
back, softening the muscles while repositioning the
uterus.
Mick enters the room a moment later,
in time to see the old woman extracting a red-faced newborn from
his wife’s birth canal. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What I have done since before you
were born.” She spanks the blood-streaked, fair-haired child
lightly on its rump, encouraging an air-breathing gasp. “Hold your
son while I fetch his brother.”
Michael Gabriel stares teary-eyed at
his offspring, the child’s eyes wide and azure blue. “Hey, Jake.
Daddy’s here for you this time, pal.”
Moments later, Jacob Gabriel’s
dark-haired brother is born, announcing his arrival with a healthy
wail.
BELLE GLADE,
FLORIDA
12:57
A.M.
Reverend Morehead hears the sounds of
a baby crying as he reenters the sweltering stucco home.
“Madelina?”
The rotund midwife is in the kitchen,
an infant in her arms. “Look. There’s your grandpa. Say hi,
Grandpa!”
“My Lord, will you look at his eyes,
I’ve never seen eyes so blue.”
“Silly, it’s not a he, she’s a little
girl.”
“A girl?” Quenton feels the hairs
raise along the back of his neck.
“Where’s the father?”
“Puking his guts up outside. Quickly,
take the child and—”
The screen door slams open and Virgil
approaches, a line of spittle running from his lower lip to his
stained T-shirt, a ring of white powder visible in his left
nostril. “Okay, le’ me see my boy.”
Quenton and the midwife exchange
frightened looks. “Now, Virgil, take it easy. We need to talk.” The
minister steps in front of the wailing infant.
“Outta my way, Quenton, I said I wanna
see my son.”
“Virgil, the Lord … the Lord has
blessed you with a child. A daughter.”
Virgil stops. Facial muscles contort
into a mask of rage. “A girl?”
“Easy, son—”
“A girl ain’t shit! A girl’s nuthin’
but another goddamn mouth to feed and clothe and listen to her
whining.” He points at the screaming infant. “Give her to
me!”
“No.” Quenton holds his ground. The
nurse stands, preparing to flee with the child.
“I want you to sober up, Virgil. I
want you to go to my home and—”
Virgil punches the minister in the
gut, dropping him to his knees.
The midwife tucks the infant under one
arm, brandishing a kitchen knife in the other. “Y’all git outta
here, Virgil. Go on!”
Virgil stares at the blade quivering
in the fat woman’s fist. In one motion he grabs her wrist,
wrenching the knife free.
The midwife screams, backing
away.
Virgil stares at the infant, then
hears someone moaning from inside the bedroom. “Madelina? You’re
dead …” Wielding the knife, he ducks inside the bedroom, locking
the door behind him—
—surprised to find a massive black man
inside, seated in a folding chair.
Ryan Beck looks up from reading the
newspaper. “Evening, Virgil.”
“Who the hell are you? Where’s my
wife?”
“Someplace safe. You’ll be happy to
know her Uncle Sam is going to take care of her from now on, along
with your daughter, Lilith. Your little girl will be raised in a
safe, loving environment away from you and her pedophile
grandfather.”
“That so?” He brandishes the knife.
“What’s in it for me?”
“For you? A hearty congratulations.”
Beck smiles. “You’ve won a Darwin award.”
“Darwin award? What the hell’s
that?”
“It’s an award given to those who
remove themselves from the human gene pool in order to improve
it.”
Beck joins Kurtz in the van ten
minutes later. The former CIA assassin is cradling the
turquoise-eyed newborn. Madelina is sedated in back.
“She’s a cutie, isn’t
she?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d her old man die?”
“He accidentally stuck a butcher knife
up his own ass.”
“Hey, it happens.” Handing Lilith Eve
Aurelia to his friend, Kurtz drives the van, heading for the
commuter airport.