The Child Savior

The Child Savior

“What I’m saying, Marianne, is that it would be very dangerous for you to have a child,” Dr. Blackstone said, peering at Marianne over the top of his clear-rimmed glasses. He made another note in her chart, and then he continued, “Your age doesn’t help matters, but what I’m really concerned about is your high blood pressure. Our treatments for it just don’t seem to be helping much.”

“So what do you mean by dangerous, exactly?” Marianne asked.

“I mean that the baby, or you, or both could die.”

Marianne was silent for a moment. She looked down at her hands, glancing at her wedding band. Then she looked up at Dr Blackstone. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll remember to take my birth control pill every day,” she promised.

The doctor seemed to be placated, and he dismissed her with his usual wish for her continued health and a warning to be careful out there. Marianne left, vowing to herself to keep this particular conversation with Dr. Blackstone a secret from Joaquin. He worries enough about my health as it is, she thought. He doesn’t need another stressor in his life.

Marianne stopped at the door in order to prepare to go outside. She put on her sunglasses and put her right hand inside her purse, placing it on the Ruger LCP nestled in the concealed carry pocket. She stepped out into the sunlight, looking to the right and left to get a good picture of her surroundings. The doctor’s office was in a relatively quiet and secluded area, so she didn’t anticipate any trouble. However, that’s when a person should be on their alert. She strode purposefully to her car and completed a circle around it, looking under and inside it before arriving at the driver’s door. As soon as she got in, she locked the doors and put her gun on her lap.

Marianne didn’t have any trouble driving to work. That’s not to say that it was uneventful. She saw looting at one of the strip malls on the way, probably thirty people in a gang that broke out windows, dragged employees out on the sidewalk to hold them at gunpoint, and yanked merchandise out to cart away in four vans. Three blocks away, there was a car on fire. Flames rose from windows that had been smashed as a small group of vagrants watched. It was unclear whether they started the fire or someone else did. Marianne barely blinked at either act of violence as these were not unusual occurrences anymore.

At the restaurant, she waited for Gerald, the security guard, to check her in. He said hello, marked her name on his clipboard, and opened the gate for her. As soon as her car cleared it, she heard the gate close behind her. Marianne pulled into her usual spot, gathered her purse and her server’s apron, walked to the barred door, and rang the bell to be let in. Julie greeted her, and the two of them checked the locks behind them before going to the servers’ station.

Marianne’s shift was a long one, made longer by the fact that business was slow. People just didn’t go out to eat as much anymore. Most couldn’t afford to, and those who could generally stayed behind the gated walls of their secluded communities. Some would occasionally venture out for a thrilling trip among the masses, but that was happening less and less as the violence escalated daily.

Marianne counted out $43 in tips at the end of the night. Honestly, the job really only covered her gas and some of the groceries every week. She and Joaquin relied on his paycheck to make ends meet, and that was becoming more and more difficult as the economy suffered under the current administration.

“I’m going to head out, Julie,” Marianne said to her closest friend at work. “Wanna watch for me?”

“Sure,” Julie said. She unlocked the door for Marianne, closing it behind her and keeping a post at the small window until Marianne backed out of her spot.

Once she arrived at home, Marianne fixed dinner–Ramen noodles with canned chicken and frozen vegetables–and went to bed. She was afraid that if she waited for Joaquin to get home, he would ask about the doctor’s appointment, and she would be unable to lie to him.

* * * * *

The dream returned.

It began innocently. Marianne could see a small brick building partially hidden within a thicket of trees. Leaves swayed gently in the cool breeze. Swings in the playground to the left moved slightly with each gust. A pair of squirrels chased each other around the base of a tree near the front door.

Then she saw the men. There were six of them, with matted hair and tattered clothes, carrying shotguns. And gas cans. She almost missed the gas cans–again. They approached the building quickly and quietly. Marianne tried to yell out to scare them away, but she found that her throat had closed up. All she could produce was a cough.

The men opened the front door, and Marianne could see that half of them went in to the left and half to the right. Now she was inside the building with them. They ran down the halls spraying gasoline everywhere. No one seemed to hear them, though, so they soon met up again at the front door. One of them lit a match and tossed it inside before backing away to witness the devastation.

At her vantage point outside again, Marianne heard a whoosh and then shortly after, screams of children and shouting from adults. Some classrooms were on the outside wall, and in those rooms, the teachers broke windows and began to carefully hoist children up and out.

That’s when Marianne saw the men raise the shotguns to their shoulders. They fanned out to cover as many windows as possible and began firing. Marianne tried again to yell, but she merely choked on her own saliva. Horrified, she saw one child that had been lifted out of the building fall backward, pinned against the brick wall by the force of a shotgun blast, red flowers blossoming on his chest and stomach. Adults joined the children in screaming. Smoke began to roll out of the broken windows, and the screaming faded away to coughing and hacking and pleas for help as the students and teachers were overcome.

Then it grew quiet. Marianne began to cry, certain that all had perished in the fire. But then the front door opened, and she saw the girl. She was about twelve years old, it appeared, and she had beautiful dark brown hair that curled around her porcelain face. She looked at the men who had all turned their shotguns toward her.

“That’s enough,” she said, her voice small and light and clear.

The men did not move for several seconds, frozen, it seemed, and then, one by one, they put down their guns and knelt on the ground before her. She nodded, and then children and adults poured out of the building, coughing and crying. They huddled close together, hugging, the adults quickly examining each child for injuries, but finding none.

The girl walked over to the boy who had been blasted by the shotgun. She knelt down beside him, took one of his hands, and spoke quietly to him. His lifeless eyes suddenly focused, and he turned to face the girl. With her help, he stood up, pellets dropping around him and red stains fading to white.

The girl looked at Marianne, straight into her eyes. Marianne realized at that moment that the girl was her daughter. It was Evelyn. She couldn’t believe that she hadn't seen it before. Evelyn had a perfect combination of Marianne’s and Joaquin’s features: his dark coloring and her curly hair. Marianne cried, this time in relief and joy.

That’s when she woke up.

* * * * *

Two hours later, Marianne had made oatmeal and toast for breakfast. Joaquin walked into the kitchen in his blue mechanic’s uniform. “Good morning,” he said. He sat down at the table and began to eat.

“Good morning, honey. How’d you sleep? I didn’t even hear you come in last night.”

“Yeah, you were really out. I slept fine.”

“I’m glad.” Marianne paused. Then she took a chance. “Can we talk tonight about something?”

“Sure. What?”

“I want to talk again about having a baby.”

“We can talk about it, Marianne, but I haven’t changed my mind. This isn’t the right time to bring a child into the world. And we really can’t afford to, anyway. And what about your blood pressure? Can’t high blood pressure make a pregnancy dangerous?” Joaquin said.

“Honestly, there’s never a right time for a baby, right? We can make it work, I know it. I’m perfectly healthy except for the blood pressure. That’s what the doctor said yesterday,” Marianne said, revealing a partial truth.

“What else did he say?”

Marianne hesitated.

“Okay, now I know he said something else. I can see it on your face. Tell me,” Joaquin insisted.

“He said it would be dangerous for me and for the baby if I got pregnant.”

“See? I told you so!”

“Joaquin, it’s a risk, not a death sentence. I would be fine. I take good care of myself. I could do it. I know I could.”

“We’ll talk about it tonight, okay? I have to get to work.”

Joaquin stood up, his oatmeal barely touched, and he left. Marianne sighed and then picked up his dishes. She knew how he felt, but she also knew that they had to have a baby. She knew from her recurring dream that they were meant to have Evelyn, who would heal this terrible, violent world. If only she could tell Joaquin about the dreams. But she also knew how that would turn out. Joaquin was a devout Catholic, and he didn’t believe in psychic abilities. And anyway, Marianne had learned a long time ago that sharing her abilities was a mistake. She remembered being made fun of at school and facing her father’s wrath at home. She would have to find another way to convince Joaquin.

Marianne went to the bathroom to get ready for the day. She brushed her teeth, showered, dressed, put on some eyeshadow and mascara, and then she reached for her birth control pills. It was an automatic motion, as she followed this routine every morning. Today, however, she hesitated.

What if they got pregnant despite Joaquin’s objections? Wouldn’t he love this child anyway? Of course he would. It simply wasn’t in his nature not to. She popped today’s pill out of the packet. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, she thought, as she dropped the pill into the toilet and pushed down the handle. Without a glance, she left the bathroom.

* * * * *

That night, Marianne made a special meal for Joaquin. It was his favorite: macaroni and cheese with hamburger mixed in, and the whole thing covered in ketchup. At least, that was his favorite now that things were so tight. Back in the day, his favorite was steak, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob. Those were impossible to purchase now, as they were either out of stock or too expensive.

She lit a couple of small candles and waited for him to get home. He arrived shortly after.

“Wow! You went all out, Marianne,” he said.

“I just wanted to show you that I love you.”

“I know you do. I love you, too.” He hesitated and then said, “Do you want to talk about having a baby?”

“No. I think you’re right about that. It’s not the right time.”

Joaquin hugged Marianne, saying, “Don’t worry. We’ll have our baby eventually.”

“I know,” she mumbled into his chest. She tilted her head back for a kiss. He obliged, and she allowed the moment to become hungry, urgent. For a moment, she thought about the danger that Dr Blackstone mentioned, and then she pulled away, took Joaquin’s hand, and walked with him to the bedroom.

“I have to use the bathroom first,” Joaquin said after they had quickly and eagerly disrobed. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t take too long,” Marianne joked.

He did take a long time. She was beginning to worry when he came out of the bathroom. He looked angry–brows furrowed, mouth turned down.

“Did you take your birth control today?” he asked.

“Of course. Why?”

“Because I found your pill in the bottom of the toilet.”

Marianne felt a lump in her throat. It burned. “What?”

“You dumped your pill into the toilet. Why did you do that? You know I don’t want a baby right now.”

“Joaquin, we have to have a baby. We just have to.”

“We talked about this. You agreed. I can’t believe you would try to trick me like that.”

She thought briefly about explaining her dream to Joaquin, but with his conservative views, she knew it wouldn’t convince him. She didn’t respond.

“Nothing to say, huh? No good reason to lie to me?”

Marianne remained silent.

Joaquin sighed, and then he got dressed, grabbed his car keys, and walked out the door. Marianne put her face in her hands and cried.

* * * * *

The dream returned.

Marianne saw the small brick building, the swaying trees, the swingset, and the squirrels. The men appeared within her line of sight, dirty, sinister-looking. They opened the front door, sprayed the hallways with gasoline, and gathered outside to witness the devastation. After the whoosh came the screams, the coughing, the pleas for help. Kids were lifted out of the broken windows, and were immediately gunned down by the men. More screams and crying followed.

What didn’t follow was the dark-haired girl. Marianne watched the door for her, prayed that she would come, but she didn’t. Smoke poured out of the windows. The screams and cries died away. The men began to shout in triumph as they walked back into the wooded area.

Marianne woke up crying, reaching out her hand for Joaquin, but finding nothing on his side of the bed. She remembered their fight, and she realized that Joaquin had not come back. She got out of bed, grabbed a blanket to wrap around her, and went into the living room to wait.

* * * * *

Marianne slept again, fitfully, in and out of dreams of fire, riots, beatings–a barrage of violent images that caused her to whimper in her sleep. When the doorbell rang, she didn’t immediately wake up. The ringing worked its way into her dream, and it took a minute for her to claw her way to consciousness.

Marianne was groggy, but she made her way to the door, was present enough to look through the peephole first, and saw two police officers there.

“Please show me your badges,” she said loudly. They complied, and she opened the door, letting them in rather than standing there with the door wide open.

“Marianne Moreno?” said one of the officers, a young one, barely out of the academy, it seemed.

“Yes?”

The officer looked down at a note in his hand. “I’m sorry to bring you this news–”

Marianne paled. She knew what was coming. Her stomach turned, threatening to vomit. She began to see patches of black blinking in her peripheral vision. The other officer took her by the arm. “Ma’am? Are you going to be alright?”

“I think so,” she whispered. She steadied herself. “Say what you came here to say.”

The first officer began again. “I’m sorry to bring you this news, but your husband, Joaquin Moreno, was killed during a robbery at the Kum and Go on Eastbury Avenue a few hours ago.”

The second officer asked, “Is there anyone you want us to call to come stay with you?”

“No. Neither of us had any other family. I’ll be okay. You don’t have to stay here. Actually, I would appreciate being left alone right now. Just leave me a card so I can call later if I need to.”

The first officer pulled out a business card and handed it to Marianne. She glanced at it. Officer Nick Thompson, it said. That’s a good name, she thought aimlessly.

* * * * *

Marianne sat still for two hours, thinking through her dreams and wondering what would happen now that there would be no Evelyn. She didn’t see anything positive happening. She couldn’t be optimistic, like Joaquin. He always used to tell her, “Just wait. The pendulum will swing our way again.” She thought the pendulum was probably done swinging.

I guess it’s up to me, she thought. I screwed up. It’s all my fault. Now I need to fix it.

She waited for a few more minutes, hoping that a better answer would come to her. None did. Marianne got up, put on a shirt and slacks, and picked up the keys to her car. It was time.

* * * * *

Marianne seemed to be driving in a random pattern, but there was a method to her madness. She was looking for something. She slowed down when she saw a group of people standing in a circle, surrounding what almost looked like a mosh pit, but which was more likely a fight.

She stopped the car and walked over to the group. One of them turned toward her. He was a teenager, with a pockmarked face, a greasy tank, and ripped jeans.

“What is your problem, lady?” he said.

“I don’t have a problem. I’m here to solve yours.”

“Get outta here, bitch. None of this is any of your business.”

“I think it is.” Marianne peered between the people in the circle and saw three other teens standing over a young boy, huddled in a heap, trying to avoid the kicks and punches raining down on him.

“That’s enough,” Marianne said. The whole mass of people turned toward her. “That’s enough,” she repeated, this time more loudly.

Voices tumbled over each other. “What the hell?” “Are you crazy?” “Who is this lady?”

One of the three teens in the middle of the circle pulled the boy to his feet. “Get out of here,” he said to the boy. “We have better things to entertain us.”

The crowd parted for the boy to stumble out. He was bruised and bloody, crying, snot running over his mouth and down his chin. Once he was clear of the circle, the teen in the middle turned to Marianne. “Come here, lady. Tell us what you have to say.”

Marianne stepped forward, thinking that this was her chance to make up for Evelyn’s absence. Once in the middle, she turned to face everyone. “This violence has to stop,” she said. “We can’t keep killing each other.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” the teen said. He smiled, showing blackened, broken teeth. “You are very, very wrong.” He gestured to the crowd, waving them forward into the circle. “And that is going to cost you your life.”

The crowd descended. Marianne stood her ground, thinking of Evelyn and Joaquin. When the blows began to rain down on her, she shouted, “That’s enough! That’s enough!” She repeated it over and over, for as long as she could.