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  “I told you, Los Angeles. Remember?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s right.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m from 'Frisco. I’ve only been here for three years. It’s still all new to me.”

  “Do you like it here?” asked Lyrica.

  “I do. Boston’s great—I mean who wouldn’t want to live here? It’s beautiful. But I miss the smell of grey.”

  “As in the color?”

  “Yep.”

  “I was not aware that grey had a smell.”

  “It does. It’s called smog. Something you take for granted until it’s gone.” Natalie paused. “How are you feeling?”

  Lyrica sighed. “Physically, I feel okay.”

  “Yes, well, you’ve come a long way in the healing process. I’m so happy that’s the case.”

  “Mentally and emotionally, though, I am struggling.”

  Natalie ceased fussing and her lips curled. “You know, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  “You do not have to stand,” Lyrica continued. “Please—have a seat.”

  Natalie pulled up a chair. Indeed, she was practically the only kind face Lyrica had seen since she’d been there. She wasn’t that old, but her eyes conveyed a depth of experience. She took her spectacles off and slowly wiped them with the edge of her smock. Stalling. That’s what she was doing. Whatever she had to say, it wasn’t good.

  “Thanks for the chair. You know, I can only imagine the pain you must be going through. I um—wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy.” She put her spectacles back on and looked at her square.

  Lyrica didn’t reply, silently acquiescing.

  Natalie continued, “It makes what I’m about to say even harder.”

  Lyrica closed her eyes and pursed her lips. “So, I was not dreaming after all.”

  “Excuse me?” asked Natalie.

  “Nothing. What’s wrong?”

  “Samantha, I’m not exactly sure what your situation is, but I know a runner when I see one. Heck, I’ve been running for most of my life. Anyway, I wish I could come in here and tell you that you could rest now. Maybe grow some roots. But I’m afraid not.” She placed her elbows on her knees and leaned forward. “It seems that some of your lab results came back—puzzling, to say the least. So much so, that they’ve garnered some attention from the medical staff here as well as some ‘higher ups’. The same goes for Sefira.” She glanced at the baby, who was still sleeping peacefully in her bassinet. “I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, I think it would be best for you and your baby to get out of here as quickly and quietly as possible.”

  “How quickly?”

  “You’ve got until late tonight. After that, I won’t be able to help you.”

  Lyrica leaned back in her bed, closing her eyes and cupped her forehead. This was not the news she was looking for. A moment passed before she was ready to look at the nurse.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I am glad you told me.” Now what? She sighed.

  “Look, um—” Natalie sat back and ran her fingers nervously over her hair. “I know somebody that knows somebody that could get you a new ID and social.”

  “Identification?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lyrica stared.

  “Hey, I wasn’t always a nurse, okay—don’t judge. Anyway, there’s a Chinese take-out on 5th and Broadway. Small red storefront, you can’t miss it. Go there and ask for Lee. Tell him Nat sent you. You’ll need that stuff to start over. And don’t worry about Sefira. I haven’t recorded her name. She’s baby York to them. But I’ll give you a hospital birth certificate, and you can use that to file for her social later.”

  Lyrica held her hand out, and Natalie took the cue, placing hers on top. The woman’s hands were warm. A lot like her heart. “You do not even know me. Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I’ve been there, and I wouldn’t be where I am today if somebody didn’t help me out. Sometimes you’ve just gotta pay it forward.” She pursed her lips. “Listen, I’ve got to go now—don’t want anybody getting suspicious. Next chance I get, I’ll bring the paperwork for the baby and put it in your backpack along with some extra baby stuff. You just get prepared to leave tonight.”

  “I do not know how to thank you.”

  Natalie squeezed Lyrica’s hand. “Don’t give it a second thought, honey. I’ll be back.” She started to leave and then double backed. “Oh, let’s go ahead and kill the sound on these monitors. No more beeping for you. When you’re ready, we’ll pull out the lines and off we go.” She winked and left.

  As promised, Natalie made her way back into Lyrica’s room later to deliver the documents. She didn’t say much. Just stuffed paperwork in Lyrica’s bag and said, “I get off at eleven-thirty, and there will be a shift change. Be ready. We’re going to get you out of here.”

  13 Minutes

  Thirteen minutes. That’s all it took for Natalie to tell a young lady that her life was in danger and single-handedly propose to destroy her own nursing career. Needless to say, Natalie’s stomach was in a tangled heap of knots.

  After she left Ms. York’s room, she tried to keep herself busy, but all the while she was hashing and rehashing Dr. Witherspoon’s conversation. She’d come to realize that she might have missed something crucial. Witherspoon said that “two of them show promise.” Present tense. She had a bad feeling about this. The only thing she knew for sure was that she wouldn’t be satisfied until she investigated further.

  If I wanted to hide kids, where would I put them? She arrived at one conclusion. PICU. Discretion was of utmost importance at this point; so, she grabbed a pile of paperwork and went to a computer terminal. As she input information, she quietly searched through records to find the latest admits in that unit. According to the computer, there were 13 babies admitted. After doing due diligence, however, she discovered there were fourteen in their care. Not exactly the magic number but it was something. She sighed as she drummed her manicured fingers on her desk. One thing was for sure: she didn’t want to cause this lady anymore unnecessary grief. Before telling her anything, she decided to pay her old stomping ground a visit.

  The Pediatric Intensive Care Unit was always cold, but the hand-drawn dinosaurs and flowers on the walls warmed it up considerably. As Natalie strolled through the corridors, she spotted the usual faces. Some were grave, some tired. There were some new ones too. Normally, Natalie would take the time to make a little small talk. After all, this was her old haunt. She’d worked there during an eight-month rotation and made a number of friends. A few faces nodded in her direction. She nodded back. The good thing about the Unit was that it was super busy. If you needed to blend in, it was a good place to do so. Donning an ID badge, medical mask, and holding a tablet, she entered the wing and headed straight for room 17b.

  As she walked the corridors, she couldn’t help but contemplate how far-fetched this was. Like something out of a sci-fi movie. Any minute now, she expected someone to jump out of the shadows and tell her she was being pranked. A matter of fact, she’d be thrilled if someone jumped out and told her that. No such luck, though. Her heart beat a little faster when she arrived at her destination. This is it.

  The dark room was dimly lit and slightly warm when she entered. The smell of iodine and alcohol lingered faintly in the air. With the exception of the hospital bed cloaked by a curtain, the room appeared empty.

  Good because she could avoid the fake small talk that came with meandering somewhere you don’t belong. Bad because the emptiness spoke other truths. Usually when a child was admitted to PICU, you would see signs of a parent. Bags. Used linen. Trash. Something to show that somebody cared—somebody was checking on the child. But room 17b was absolutely devoid of life. Which was odd, since records indicated the baby had been there for several days.

  Even now, she could hear a voice scolding away in her head. You’ve gone too far this time Natalie. Look at you—barging into this child’s room, unauth
orized. This is ridiculous. You know you shouldn’t be in here and if you get caught—it’s over. Your career, everything is over. Turn around and mind your business. The voice was loud and clear. And it was right. But she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t turn around and leave. She had to know.

  The heavy, tan cloth curtains squeaked and swished as she pushed them lightly aside to reveal a small, white crib. Sweaty palms gripped its railing and she reminded herself to breathe as she peered into the bed. The first thing she saw were tiny white socks bicycling in the air. Perhaps her footsteps, or her mere presence, caught the baby’s attention. In any case, a small head of curls turned to greet her. Large sea-green eyes studied her now, and they were set within a cute little Kewpie-doll face. Natalie’s hand shot to her mouth. That face. She’d seen it before. Yes, there were slight differences—the eyes and even skin color. But the hair, the lips—her look. There was no mistake. This baby belonged to Samantha. She caught one of the baby’s feet. A blush-pink bracelet was fastened around it. A girl. The bracelet read, “Baby Tully.” Lies. All lies.

  It took a minute for Natalie to collect herself, but she did. And as she exited, she was overcome by a new emotion, one that surprised her—anger.

  Now Or Never

  For the last several hours Lyrica racked her brain trying to devise a plan.

  I’ve got to get out of here—quickly. The nurse was nice enough, but she didn’t want to involve her any further than she had. The less she knew, or anyone else for that matter, the better. It was getting late. She rolled over and glanced at the clock. 10:42. According to the whiteboard, no one was scheduled to return before 11:30. As far as leaving was concerned, now was as good a time as any. She detached a line. There was no noise. No alarm. Thank you, Natalie. Confident now, she proceeded to rip out tubes and peel off sticky tape from her chest, arms and hands until she was completely free. She hopped out of bed, retrieved her bags from the closet and set them on the table.

  Wincing, she carefully removed the hospital gown to change into black jeans and a light-grey long-sleeved shirt. After fastening her boots, she reached into a backpack, felt for her sphere, and set it aside. After stuffing the backpacks with toiletries and as much baby paraphernalia as she could muster, she fastened the packs together and put them on her back. They fit like puzzle pieces. Approaching the window, she observed the drop. They were six floors up—higher than she’d hoped. Discretion was paramount, but unfortunately it wasn’t a viable option here.

  The sphere took on a brilliant amethyst glow as she tossed it into the air. It hovered for a second then formed a thin, translucent blade. Blade in hand, she meticulously carved a huge hole in the window followed by a fist-sized hole inside of that. She punched out the smaller hole and carefully pulled the entire cut-out into the room, placing it on the floor. Time to go. She slid the blade in her back pocket and walked over to the bassinet.

  “Alright, love. It’s you and I now.” Gently, she lifted Sefira from the bassinet and planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

  The air wafting through the gaping hole was indeed crisp and filled with an odd mixture of scents, none of which smelled healthy for a newborn. She looked down. There was a long path that snaked between buildings. It was relatively empty with the exception of a couple strolling through. She waited for them to pass and even longer to ensure no one was coming. It was now or never. Lyrica held her child tightly to her bosom, inhaled and leapt from the hospital window. Besides a slight thump, she landed gracefully and discreetly—special thanks to the sparse streetlights glowing like small candles against the black of night.

  A gust of wind stirred the leaves on the ground and Sefira began to whine. You’ve been so good. Just a little while longer. She patted her baby’s back, repositioned her backpacks and proceeded swiftly down the pathway to the street, melting into the shadowy streets of Boston.

  Operation Rescue

  Natalie’s palms sweat like an alcoholic in a liquor store. It was 11:30—time to make good on her promise.

  In truth, ever since that talk she’d had with Samantha, she’d been debating what to do. This wasn’t your average problem. This was a lot. Maybe, too much for her to handle alone. At one point, she was sitting on the bathroom toilet with a finger hovering over the call button of her cell, dithering about whether to call someone. Problem was, whom could she call? If the Feds were in on things, who’s to say the police weren’t? And even if the police were on the up-and-up, what would she say? A couple of well-respected doctors were planning to kidnap a woman and her kids? Yeah, that would go over really well. Nope, no go on that plan.

  Another problem presented itself. Samantha deserved to know about “baby Tully”. But, she had a gut feeling that if she told her, the woman would never leave and all four of them could face grave danger. She sighed. Lying was not her strong suit. But, someone had to make executive decisions, and she decided it was better to execute Operation Rescue as agreed. Samantha and Sefira would go first—baby number two, second. Samantha would just have to trust her on that.

  The lights were off when she opened the door to room twelve and all of the curtains were drawn. She closed the door and clutched her arms, struck by how cold it was.

  “Ms. York,” she whispered, straining her eyes in the dark. Curtains swished as she pulled them aside. The bed’s empty. Her eyes shifted to the bassinet. The baby was gone. Is she hiding? “Ms. York,” she whispered again. She almost jumped when something brushed against the back of her shoulder. Turning around, she realized it was just a curtain. But wait a minute, why is it billowing like that? She pulled a second curtain aside and her hands went to her mouth. A gigantic hole was cut out of the Plexiglas window, explaining the temperature of the room. Natalie wrapped her arms around her chest as her breathing quickened.

  What—How on earth could anybody do this? Where is she? Her eyes searched frantically around the room before returning to the hole. She couldn’t have jumped, we’re six stories up.

  Two steps, and she was directly in front of the closet. It creaked as she yanked the doors open. To her dismay, all of Ms. York’s things were gone and the bathroom was empty. Dear God. Cautiously, she walked back over to the hole in the window and held her breath. A gust of wind greeted her as she looked down. The street was empty. No bodies, no commotion; everything was calm and normal below.

  This—doesn’t. Mouth agape, she stepped back, took off her glasses and wiped her brow with the back of one hand, steadying herself against the table with the other. The wind from the hole gently blew her hair and the curtains alike and for the second time today, Natalie was dumbfounded. I knew I should’ve brought my inhaler…an inhaler—Natalie there’s no time for this. What the hell am I going to do with this baby?

  She drew the curtain and tried to put everything back the way she’d found it. Trembling hands straightened her scrubs and smoothed her hair before she slipped out of the room.

  Remain calm. That’s what she told herself as her tennis shoes swished through the hallway toward room 17b. She couldn’t help thinking about how much her life would change. Every step taken was altering its course. Undoubtedly, things would be very different for her and Fredo—assuming he’d stick around. She sighed. He probably would. He was a good man. Given the same situation, he’d probably make the same call. Natalie, what are you getting yourself into?

  “Hey Nat,” someone said. Jennifer had just rounded the corner and was approaching. Not now.

  Natalie nodded, but she didn’t stop walking. “Hey there,” she said as they got closer. “That thing we talked about—turned out to be nothing.”

  “Yeah? Well that’s good. See?”

  “Yeah, you were right. But hey, gotta go. Fredo and I have a date.”

  “Nice.” Jennifer smiled and gave her a pat on the back.

  “Yep. See ya later Jenn.” Natalie feigned a warm smile and winked without missing a beat.

  Screw this job. I like the West Coast better anyway.

  Show
Yourself

  “She has an ear infection.”

  “How bad is it? Is it affecting both ears?”

  “No, just her right. Any allergies?”

  “None that I’m aware of.”

  “Okay, well I’m going to prescribe some Amoxicillin. As long as she takes it as prescribed, it should knock that infection right out.” Dr. Baisden finished writing his prescription and then handed it to the concerned mother.

  “And her fever?”

  Folding his arms, he sighed. “We’ve given her some Tylenol, and I recommend that you continue with 1.5ml every 6 hours for the next day or so, and then as needed. If at any time it goes beyond 103 degrees, I want you to bring her back in here. I suspect she’ll be fine, though.”

  “Trust me, if it gets anywhere near 103, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re willing to go the extra mile even if it does mean spending a little time in the ER. You can never be too careful.” The doctor started to stack paperwork on the small white mobile desk. “It’s kind of late; if you need to call someone, there’s a phone out front.” His tired eyes lingered over her blouse as her arms slid through the sleeves of her cocoa brown parka. The way they burned, she was left feeling naked. Instead of confronting him, she zipped up her jacket and pretended not to notice.

  “No, we’re okay. Is there a 24-hour drugstore around here?” she asked, attempting to restore the doctor’s professionalism.

  “Um, yes. Over on Eighth and Chester.”