almost nothing but milk. Annie
had (not surprisingly) made a special trip to the pediatrician
about it, afraid that the smell signaled some kind of disorder.
“What are you doing?” Annie said, from
behind him.
Neal was so shocked he dropped the trophy
into the stainless-steel sink. When the heavy object made contact
with the metal, it created a reverberating
boom!
that was so
loud it made Neal’s ears ring.
Natasha started crying—she was cradled in
Annie’s arms.
“I was just trying to find a way to fix...”
Neal’s voice faded before he had finished his lie. He stared at the
crying baby, fear rising in him like a rudely awakened animal. His
daughter, that little...
creature
...wanted him hurt. Maybe
even dead.
He remembered a documentary he had seen on
TV about some natives in Africa who smeared human feces on the end
of their spears and arrows to ensure that their victims—in this
case, enemy tribes—developed serious infections if they were not
mortally wounded. Natasha had undoubtedly employed the same
principle here.
“What’s the matter with you?” Annie said.
She was still staring at him, her eyes filled with fear. “You
look...strange.”
Neal realized that he probably looked
insane, his back pressed against the sink, staring at his baby
daughter as if she were the Antichrist. But he couldn’t help
himself.
He was terrified.
Neal pointed a shaking finger at Natasha.
“That...that
thing
is trying to kill me!”
“What?” Annie said. She let out a short
laugh, but then her eyes became wide with fear. She took a step
backwards, through the doorway, and held the baby defensively.
“You’re losing your mind.”
“Oh, am I?” Neal picked up the trophy and
thrust it towards her. “She smeared her shit all over the end of
this thing to make sure I got an infection!”
Annie’s eyes became even wider.
“Smell it, if you don’t believe me!
Smell
it, Annie!”
She stared at Neal for a second, then turned
and carried Natasha into the bedroom, and shut the door. Neal heard
the lock click.
She was afraid of him…
Neal stumbled over to the dinette table and
fell into one of the chairs. “Holy Christ,” he said in a hush.
“What am I doing? What am I
thinking
?” Suddenly, he felt
cold and started shivering. He really was losing his grip on
reality.
She’s your daughter Neal, your own flesh and
blood. You’re imagining this whole thing because you feel so guilty
about wanting her aborted. You have a mental complex that’s so huge
and twisted you actually believe Natasha wants to get even with
you, wants to make you pay for almost ending her embryonic life and
keeping her out of this world.
Annie’s absolutely right. You need to see a
shrink, buddy. And fast.
Neal swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure of which
he was more afraid—going stir crazy or that his baby daughter was
actually trying to do him in.
He remained slumped in his chair for another
half hour, as the early-morning light gradually filled the room. He
could hear Natasha’s muffled crying for a few minutes, but then the
sound stopped in an abrupt way, accompanied by some coughing, which
told Neal that Annie was nursing her. Finally, the alarm clock went
off. He decided he had no choice but to try and pull himself
together and get ready for work.
* * *
By noon that day, Neal was certain that he
had taken a wrong turn somewhere on the Interstate. “TRAFFIC BOUND
FOR HELL—EXIT ONLY,” the sign must have said.
He sat outside a hi-rise office building in
Sandy Springs, trying to work up enough courage to struggle his way
out of the van and carry the order of roses he was supposed to
deliver into the lobby. He had stopped at a drugstore on his way to
work and picked up his pain killers, but they didn’t seem to help
much. He had taken six already, two more than he should have, but
they only dulled the throbbing in his foot. The pills also seemed
to have the unpleasant side-effect of making him nauseous. And
had (not surprisingly) made a special trip to the pediatrician
about it, afraid that the smell signaled some kind of disorder.
“What are you doing?” Annie said, from
behind him.
Neal was so shocked he dropped the trophy
into the stainless-steel sink. When the heavy object made contact
with the metal, it created a reverberating
boom!
that was so
loud it made Neal’s ears ring.
Natasha started crying—she was cradled in
Annie’s arms.
“I was just trying to find a way to fix...”
Neal’s voice faded before he had finished his lie. He stared at the
crying baby, fear rising in him like a rudely awakened animal. His
daughter, that little...
creature
...wanted him hurt. Maybe
even dead.
He remembered a documentary he had seen on
TV about some natives in Africa who smeared human feces on the end
of their spears and arrows to ensure that their victims—in this
case, enemy tribes—developed serious infections if they were not
mortally wounded. Natasha had undoubtedly employed the same
principle here.
“What’s the matter with you?” Annie said.
She was still staring at him, her eyes filled with fear. “You
look...strange.”
Neal realized that he probably looked
insane, his back pressed against the sink, staring at his baby
daughter as if she were the Antichrist. But he couldn’t help
himself.
He was terrified.
Neal pointed a shaking finger at Natasha.
“That...that
thing
is trying to kill me!”
“What?” Annie said. She let out a short
laugh, but then her eyes became wide with fear. She took a step
backwards, through the doorway, and held the baby defensively.
“You’re losing your mind.”
“Oh, am I?” Neal picked up the trophy and
thrust it towards her. “She smeared her shit all over the end of
this thing to make sure I got an infection!”
Annie’s eyes became even wider.
“Smell it, if you don’t believe me!
Smell
it, Annie!”
She stared at Neal for a second, then turned
and carried Natasha into the bedroom, and shut the door. Neal heard
the lock click.
She was afraid of him…
Neal stumbled over to the dinette table and
fell into one of the chairs. “Holy Christ,” he said in a hush.
“What am I doing? What am I
thinking
?” Suddenly, he felt
cold and started shivering. He really was losing his grip on
reality.
She’s your daughter Neal, your own flesh and
blood. You’re imagining this whole thing because you feel so guilty
about wanting her aborted. You have a mental complex that’s so huge
and twisted you actually believe Natasha wants to get even with
you, wants to make you pay for almost ending her embryonic life and
keeping her out of this world.
Annie’s absolutely right. You need to see a
shrink, buddy. And fast.
Neal swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure of which
he was more afraid—going stir crazy or that his baby daughter was
actually trying to do him in.
He remained slumped in his chair for another
half hour, as the early-morning light gradually filled the room. He
could hear Natasha’s muffled crying for a few minutes, but then the
sound stopped in an abrupt way, accompanied by some coughing, which
told Neal that Annie was nursing her. Finally, the alarm clock went
off. He decided he had no choice but to try and pull himself
together and get ready for work.
* * *
By noon that day, Neal was certain that he
had taken a wrong turn somewhere on the Interstate. “TRAFFIC BOUND
FOR HELL—EXIT ONLY,” the sign must have said.
He sat outside a hi-rise office building in
Sandy Springs, trying to work up enough courage to struggle his way
out of the van and carry the order of roses he was supposed to
deliver into the lobby. He had stopped at a drugstore on his way to
work and picked up his pain killers, but they didn’t seem to help
much. He had taken six already, two more than he should have, but
they only dulled the throbbing in his foot. The pills also seemed
to have the unpleasant side-effect of making him nauseous. And
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