Our Baby

Our Baby

My wife’s face glowed from the moment she became pregnant. I swear she had become younger - or fresher. There was something divine about her aura. Perhaps it was the way she stood with her shoulders back and her head held high. When she held her belly, every pore on her face glistened love.

From the first day Lewis was born, our baby had a blue stare of an old wise soul. He studied peoples’ faces when they spoke like he was understanding something deep. Sometimes, when the skin folded above his eyes, I wondered if our souls were whispering secrets to each other.

***

Lewis’ first birthday was in our flat. The lounge was empty; the boxes already moved to our new home. Lucy, that’s my wife, worked as a helper in the local Sure Start centre. As a result, mothers and their babies were all invited. I took the time to play with the children - an activity that is always harder than the last time you remembered doing it. The mothers kept peeking around the door from the kitchen to make sure their child was not misbehaving any more than the others. Then they would go back to their cackling.

***

I was glad when it was cake time. That meant things would soon come to a close. By now, I was flagging a bit, and the screams of play made my tinnitus worsen. Quite frankly, I was sick of the cabbage smell that children emit.

Lucy passed the simple chocolate cake to me. I know the secrets that her smiling and tearful eyes told. After all the hard work and failed IVF, our dream had come true. She sat Lewis in front of the chocolate cake, and together they blow out the candle. Lucy placed the knife handle in Lewis’ tiny hand, and tenderly holding her hand over his; she helped him make the first cut. The jam squeezed out. Lewis’ belly tightened as he chuckled. He turned to his mother to show her the joy on his little round face.

“Just like when mummy was little.”

This is important. Write it down if you have to. Lucy passed me the knife, and I carefully slid the handle into my back pocket. I had backed myself into the corner of the room, so I thought it was safe enough. The other mothers were sitting their children in a circle, ready to receive some cake.

Then out it came, Lewis’ first word: “Daddy.”

I was so proud I gave him a big hug. Lucy was happy too, even though I could see a tad of jealousy in the soft creases of her smile. Kneeling had squashed my bladder. I announced a “wee break” and gave Lewis to a mother, who handed him around like a pass the parcel. Each mother kissed him and wished him a happy birthday.

From inside the bathroom, I heard Lucy calling Lewis “her miracle baby”. The consensus was that she looked better for it. Oh, and I can also attest to the increase in her amorousness.

I prolonged my bathroom break; I really wanted the rest and hoped my tinnitus would die down. The female chatter moved back into the refuge of the kitchen. When I splashed my face with cold water, I saw the onset of ageing. But the long hours at work were worth it.

There was an eruption of crying babies. I took a deep breath. The cries intensified into despair. There was a scream like the opening of hells gates. I burst through the bathroom door.

I could not believe what my eyes were showing me. Lewis had crawled over Margret’s infant child, knife in hand. He giggled at the pooling blood. Margret knocked my son off of her’s in a desperate swing. I can hear her now, screaming: “Todd!”

I checked my back pocket. I checked the un-flushed toilet, and to my horror, no knife!

Baby Todd was silent as the paramedics carried him out. Lewis seemed to smile more than ever. I trembled and twitched, ready to vomit. Baby Todd clung on to life until the exact moment of Lewis’s birth, 11:58 pm. When we found out that Todd had passed on in the late hours of Tuesday, I held my wife’s shoulders and begged her never to blame herself. I held her tight and hoped that the horror would not form an unrepairable rift in our love.

It does not alleviate the guilt, but I was left with questions. How did he get the knife? Hadn’t anyone seen the knife in our babies’ hand? They had all held him. I could not rest. I needed answers. They did not come.

***

Only Lucy, the in-laws and I came to Lewis’ second birthday. My wife had become super-protective of Lewis, even keeping me away. She insisted on maintaining a tranquil environment and often burnt sage. The father-in-law completely messed my head up with a homemade liqueur he called a Micky Finisher. I retired to bed early.

I woke up on the floor, the sun shining through the open curtains. Lucy’s pillow was resting on her face where a beam of light cut through the gap in the curtains.

Lewis was sitting up in his cot, smiling. We made a chimney out of bricks. I picked Lewis up, so he could drop things through the middle and watch them fall out of the bottom. It was the first time we had played without my wife mollycoddling him or watching over my shoulder. It was a truly wonderful moment that I have captured in my heart.

***

I’m going to talk about the interview at the police station now. The weary-eyed CID investigator pressed record then said,

“I remind you that you are being recorded, and this can be held against you in a court of law. - You say you did not know your wife was dead when you were playing with Lewis.”

“No, of course not,” I said.

“-Mr Becket, I must inform you that we know she was suffocated. There were no signs of forced entry into your home. Therefore, the only person who could have killed her was you. I suggest you admit it. That way, you might see the light of day before you're very old.”

“I didn’t kill my wife. I loved her.”

“Loved?”

“She is dead! So yes, past tense. She is not here anymore.”

I heard my voice. Even I was not convinced by it. The officer nodded almost mockingly. Then he slammed a small leather-bound book onto the table. A strange goat-head was embossed into the cover. I leaned forward and undid its clasp. I flicked through its thick pages. It was filled with black symbols and depictions of human-animal hybrids.

I told him, “I have never seen it before. I don’t know anything about occultism, although my wife had an interest before Lewis was born. Just a passing phase.”

I learned the irony in my statement when I discovered the word occult means ‘hidden from view’. The investigator was measured. I had to be careful. Innocent people go to jail all the time.

“Mr Becket, this page was marked. We had a specialist look at it. It’s a spell. I believe you used it so that your wife could conceive. Not a nice one either. It says a life must be paid for every year the child lives, up until his twelfth birthday.”

He left a long pause; I suppose that is how he makes people talk. I stayed silent.

“I must inform you that further to the charge of murdering your wife, we are charging you with the murder of baby Todd. Do you still wish to proceed without a lawyer?”

I could not speak. The words just tossed about in my mouth until incoherent babble spewed out. It was almost as if I was chanting a curse. The officer seemed to see it that way and terminated the interview.

***

Baby Lewis was repeatedly driving the knife into baby Todd.

“David, you are in the room with me, three, two, one, awake.”

I bolted upright, shaking, cold and sweating. The horror-vision vanished to reveal the psychiatrist’s room.

“David, this is a safe space. Focus on me. That’s it, good. - It has been ten years since you saw your child. Do you remember, it is his birthday today?”

“Oh God, yes, I know.”

“David, I have been given permission to tell you that I have been treating Lewis too.” The old man clasped David’s hands in his and studied him over the rim of his bifocals.

“David, your son needs to see you. Can I call him in?” I looked at the oak door, eyes wide with hope. I nodded because I couldn’t speak. The old therapist opened the door. I stood, despite my weakening knees. A man; whose eyes hadn’t changed since I had held him as a child, stood sobbing on the threshold.

Lewis ran into my arms, and I held him tight.

“Dad,” he said, “I know you did not kill my Mum. Every one of my birthdays someone has died. I dared not come to see you sooner; I was scared my curse would kill you, too. I knew it was real when I read it in the paper. But the twelve years are up. It’s over, Dad.”

“It is, my son, it’s over, it is.”

We examined each other’s souls; the therapist said, “Have you considered that sometimes life just hits you with strange coincidences.”

I tried to lift my left arm. I clasped my chest. I fell. I am passing.