Glimpses: The Best Short Stories of Rick Hautala by Rick Hautala Page A

certainly not,” Doctor Scott said with a sympathetic smile. “Actually, we prefer to wait until the third trimester. It makes it all that much easier.”
    “Easier?”
    Sheila was confused. Maybe it was the drug, and she hadn’t heard him correctly.
    Doctor Scott grabbed some electrode leads and, after smearing them with a thick, clear jelly, lifted the edge of her gown and taped them to her swollen abdomen. He adjusted the array of dials until he was satisfied, then walked behind the chair, out of sight. Sheila heard a clatter of glass and a high-pitched squeaking sound as he rolled a cart over beside the chair. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw a large bottle, that was filled with a clear yet heavy-looking liquid. It reminded her of the fruit syrup in the desserts they serve at the soup kitchen. Several metal bars stuck out from the top lid and were connected by wires to the machinery.
    “Whaz’ that?” Sheila asked, surprised by the thick drag of her voice.
    “All part of the preparations,” Doctor Scott said. “You don’t have to concern yourself with it.” He covered one of her hands with both of his, squeezing it\desperately. “Tell me. How are you feeling?”
    Sheila shrugged but found the effort to be too much. The light in the room was growing dim and blurry around the edges, shattering into shifting blue splinters. Every sound she or the doctor made was oddly magnified. Her breathing sounded ragged and irritating, like someone was crumpling tissue paper close to her ear.
    “If you’re absolutely certain that you want to continue ...” Doctor Scott said.
    Sheila nodded but then barely reacted when he took another hypodermic needle from the cabinet, filled it with a clear liquid from a vial, and then slipped it into her arm.
    She didn’t feel anything this time, but within seconds, a strange, dull leadenness embraced her body. She knew it was futile to try, but if she had, she was positive she wouldn’t have been able to raise even her pinky finger. Her lower jaw felt like it was made of iron when she said, “This ... won’t ... hurt ... now ... will ... it?”
    Doctor Scott smiled reassuringly and said, “Oh, not at all. The immediate pain is over. There’s a sedative in the first injection I gave you.”
    He walked over to the intercom beside the door, pressed the red button, and said into the speaker, “Nurse Becker. Please report to O.R. 22.” Then he went to one of the cabinets, pulled open a drawer, and withdrew a scalpel. After peeling off the protective plastic covering, he held it up, turning it back and forth in his hand so the blade caught the light. The reflection hurt her eyes like a sudden flashes of lightning. Her throat felt like it was packed with sand when she asked, “What’s ... that ... for?”
    Doctor Scott looked at her, his bushy eyebrows rising with concern.
    “Why, to cut the baby out, of course,” he said.
    His voice seemed to be coming from the far end of a long echoing tube. It took several seconds for the meaning of what he’d said to penetrate Sheila’s mind. Realization dawned slowly, rolling over her like the deep growl of distant thunder.
    “Didn’t they review the entire procedure with you at the clinic?” Doctor Scott asked.
    Sheila wasn’t sure if her head moved or not, but she tried hard to shake it back and forth in denial.
    “I—well, you see, that first shot I gave you was to relax you, for the operation,” he said. “The second needle was the suicide solution.”
    “Su ... i ... cide?”
    “Yes ... Of course,” Doctor Scott said. “All that’s left to do now, once Nurse Becker gets here, is to make an incision in your uterus to take out your baby.”
    My … baby …?
    A rush of sadness filled Sheila even as a dull stirring of panic spread through her as she stared up into the doctor’s glistening eyes. She tried to lick her lips so she could speak, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make a sound.
    “You