Chapter 2 - THE SOUND OF_SIRENS

Dr. Evans hesitated, his eyes wide in the lantern light, but the sound of Richard’s boot smashing against the door frame for the third time decided for him. The wood splintered violently, the lock tearing free from the jamb. The door swung open, hitting the wall with a deafening crack.

Richard stood in the doorway, drenched in rain, chest heaving. In his hand, he held a heavy steel tire iron he must have taken from Emily's car. He looked past Dr. Evans, his eyes locking onto me.

"There you are," he breathed, a twisted smile forming on his lips.

"Get out of here!" Dr. Evans shouted, stepping forward with the metal IV pole raised. "The police are on their way!"

Richard didn't even blink. He swung the tire iron with brutal efficiency, striking the IV pole and knocking it out of the doctor's hands. Before Evans could recover, Richard drove his fist into the doctor's stomach, sending him crashing to the floor, gasping for air. Nurse Jenkins screamed, retreating to the far corner of the room.

Richard stepped over the doctor, walking slowly toward my bed.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Beneath the sheets, my right hand gripped the cold steel handle of the surgical scalpel Dr. Evans had slipped me. I kept my arm flat, hiding the blade.

"You really made me work for this, Sarah," Richard said, stopping at the edge of the bed. He looked down at my swollen stomach, a possessive, sickening look in his eyes. "You ruined everything. My reputation, my family's name. For what? Because you couldn't handle a little discipline?"

"You're insane," I hissed, shifting slightly on the bed, preparing my muscles despite the agonizing pain of a looming contraction.

"I'm protecting what's mine," he corrected, raising the tire iron slightly. "I'm going to take you out to the car. If anyone tries to stop us, I'll kill them. And when we get home, you're going to tell the police that you kidnapped yourself. That you lost your mind. If you don't..." He gestured vaguely with the iron. "I've already dug the hole, Sarah."

He reached out his left hand to grab my arm, to drag me out of the bed.

As his fingers closed around my wrist, I didn't pull away. I lunged forward.

Using every ounce of strength left in my exhausted, pain-wracked body, I drove the scalpel upward, sinking the blade deep into the meaty part of Richard's forearm.

He shrieked—a high, piercing sound of absolute shock and agony. He dropped the tire iron, staggering backward, clutching his bleeding arm. The tire iron clattered loudly against the linoleum floor.

I didn't stop. I threw my legs over the side of the bed, the contraction hitting me with full force, but adrenaline overrode the pain. I kicked the rolling surgical cart with both feet, sending it crashing directly into Richard's knees. He tumbled backward, hitting the floor hard, his head bouncing against the cabinets.

Dr. Evans, recovering his breath, scrambled to his feet. He grabbed the fallen tire iron and stood over Richard, raising it high.

"Don't move!" Evans roared, a terrifying command that finally seemed to penetrate Richard's manic rage. Richard looked up at the doctor, then at me, clutching his bleeding arm, the fight finally draining out of him as he realized he was beaten.

Outside, the wail of sirens finally pierced the storm. Not just one, but multiple cruisers, their red and blue lights washing through the shattered front windows of the clinic, painting the dark hallway in strobe lights.

"It's over, Richard," I gasped, leaning heavily against the bed rail, my body shaking violently as the contraction peaked. "You lost."

State troopers flooded the hallway seconds later, their flashlights cutting through the dark. They found Richard on the floor, bleeding and subdued, and dragged him to his feet, slamming him against the wall to cuff him.

As they marched him out of the room, he turned his head to look at me one last time. There was no rage left, only the pathetic, hollow realization of a man who had finally hit a wall his money couldn't tear down.

The moment he was out of sight, my legs gave out. Dr. Evans dropped the tire iron and caught me, easing me back onto the bed.

"The lights!" a trooper shouted down the hall.

A moment later, the clinic’s backup generator roared to life, flooding the room with bright, beautiful light.

"Okay, Sarah," Dr. Evans said, quickly checking my progress. "You are fully dilated. We are having this baby right now."

The next hour was a blur of pain, sweat, and intense, focused effort. I pushed with everything I had left, channeling the terror, the anger, and the desperation of the long night into bringing my child into the light.

And then, a sound cut through the room.

A loud, furious, beautiful cry.

Dr. Evans lifted a small, wriggling, perfectly healthy baby boy into the air. He cleaned his face and laid him gently on my chest.

I wrapped my arms around my son, pulling his warm, slippery body against my skin. He stopped crying, his tiny hands resting against my collarbone. Tears of pure, unadulterated joy streamed down my face. I buried my nose in his dark hair, breathing him in, knowing that the nightmare was truly, finally over.