9 Months Trilogy: A Novel of Horror and Suspense Page 5

  Does he really expect this can result in a Happy Ever After?

  Next time he comes down here - I’ll talk to him. Make him see this isn’t the way for us to start a family together.

  Footsteps above my head. He’s upstairs again, this is it. He’s coming.

  I wonder, now I know it’s him.... I wonder whether he’ll let me go?

  He must know mum and dad will be looking for me when I don’t go home. Probably, they’re already looking for me. Trying to find where I am. Or did he not think that far ahead? He just thought, after another seven months, give or take, I’d just go home with my new born baby tucked under my arm.

  He must know it’s not going to be that simple.

  Babies need to be prepared for. Clothes, nappies, cots..... health care, even....

  He must know.

  He can’t keep me here.

  He has to let me go.

  Sooner rather than later.

  The footsteps have stopped moving around. All is silent again. What’s he doing up there, anyway?

  I don’t think he’s coming down yet, after all.

  Silence again.

  The silence is doing my head in. I reached over for the controller to the television and switched it on; the sounds of day time television are better than the sounds of silence.

  The first channel the television fires onto; The News. Another dead soldier overseas, in a country where we don’t belong. More misery. Everywhere is misery.

  Why would you want to bring a baby into a world this crappy?

  Wait.

  The silence gets on my nerves. Probably gets on his nerves too - I still think the television is here as merely a ‘silence-breaking’ tool.

  I wonder how he’ll get on with noise.

  Using the remote control, still in my hand, I increased the volume to it’s maximum output.

  Loud.

  Louder...

  Hopefully this will work. Get him to come down here, so I can talk to him...

  The television shuts off, with no warning.

  Silence again.

  What happened? I try the remote but nothing happens.

  Suddenly the door opened, at the top of the stairs, and the power cable for the television flew down the stairs - landing with a bang on the concrete floor below.

  The door slammed shut.

  I guess the noise did get to him too.

  Didn’t hear him walk to the door though, across the floorboards above. Is he sat by the door? Sat there, keeping guard?

  Call out.

  Nothing to lose.

  “Darren....”

  No reaction.

  “Darren.... Please.... I know it’s you.... Please.... can we talk?”

  Silence.

  “Darren...”

  Silence.

  “Please...”

  Again - nothing. No reaction.

  “Please.... We can fix this... I just want to talk.”

  * * * * *

  “You wanted to talk to me?” asked mum, as she walked into my bedroom. “What’s up? I’m just about to serve up dinner.”

  Sat on my bed, my heart was beating harder than it’s ever beat before. I feel sick. Not sure why. Nerves or pregnancy. I’m new to the latter. These past couple of days - nerves are starting to become commonplace.

  “So?” said mum.

  My mouth was dry. Why was this so hard?

  Come on, pull yourself together.

  It’ll be fine. Just tell her - it’s not like it happened on a one night stand.

  It happened with a boyfriend.

  A proper boyfriend.

  Someone I cared about.

  It wasn’t planned.

  It just happened.

  And it can be dealt with.

  Tell her.

  “I’m pregnant!”

  Okay, I meant to break it to her gently. At least she knows now... I sit back and wait for the reaction. What reaction, though.

  A smile!

  A smile?

  “That’s wonderful!”

  Okay, I have to say - wasn’t expecting that.

  6.

  Sat at the dinner table.

  I didn’t have to tell dad - mum couldn’t tell him fast enough. I didn’t mind. Saved me having to break the news to him. More importantly, it saved me having to pluck up the courage to tell him.

  Even though I knew they’d both be okay with it and we’d all pull together to deal with the situation - it’s still scary having to tell them. After all, to them, I’m still their baby daughter.

  “And you’re one hundred percent sure?” said dad whilst pushing his food around the plate.

  “All the tests have been positive....”

  “All?”

  Nine of them.

  Could have been ten.

  “What does the boy think?” continued dad.

  “Darren?”

  He always called Darren ‘the boy’. I was never sure if it was his way of being funny or simply because he couldn’t get used to his name. Dad had always been rubbish with names.

  Half the reason, I think, why he sometimes calls mum ‘the old ball and chain’; albeit in a jokey manner.

  “Yes, the boy.... what does he think? Hopefully he’s willing to do the right thing... it would be a shame for me to have to teach him a lesson.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. The thought of dad getting physical with anyone was funny - let alone someone who was the same height, and build, and about twenty-ish years younger than him. Dad noticed my laugh and I quickly turned back to the topic at hand.

  “Once it sunk in - he’s quite looking forward to being a dad.... he keeps talking about the football games in the park, the lazy weekends on the sofa playing computer games...” I said.

  Mum interrupted, “He needs to think about the sleepless nights, the baby sick, dirty nappies and the heartbreak they cause you as they grow older....” she stopped herself.

  “Heartbreak?” I asked. A little hurt.

  “Of course, some of them can cause you heartbreak.... not that you ever have. You’re perfect,” she smiled and I gave her a ‘sarcastic’ smile right back.

  “Aw, thanks mum.... but....”

  “Have you thought about names?” said dad.

  “Names? Isn’t that getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

  Why would I be thinking about names when I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to keep the baby.

  “Best start thinking these things through.... If I had a son, I always knew what I’d call him....”

  “Now isn’t the time, dear,” said mum in one of the most patronising tones I had ever heard her use.

  Dad took the hint and went quiet.

  “I don’t even know if I want to keep it,” I said.

  They both stopped in their tracks and looked at me.

  I thought I had better go on and explain, “Mum, you’re right... to think about the sleepless nights and the dirty nappies and....”

  “Well, we’d obviously help with that,” said mum.

  “But I’m not sure if I am ready for any of it. I want to get out and about, see the world... experience new things... I don’t want to waste my life....”

  “Waste your life?”

  “You know what I mean.... have kids, sure, but not yet. One day, maybe.”

  There was a long silence as both mum and dad pushed the food around their plates. Both of them looked as though they were in deep thought.

  Finally dad spoke, “And what does Darren think of this?”

  “He doesn’t really know....” I said. Darren did know. He knew very well what he wanted.

  “Well he must have some sort of opinion on the subject,” dad snapped. The first time I had ever seen him snap.

  For a split second I just looked at him, not sure how to respond.

  “Fine,” I said, “he doesn’t want me to get rid of the baby. He wants me to keep it.”

  Dad turned back into the ‘jokey’ dad more or less straight away, as soon
as he heard that, and turned to mum, “See, I always told you the lad looked switched on....”

  “It’s not him who needs to go through with nine months of carrying the baby though, is it? It’s not him who needs to push the baby out of his vagina....”

  Dad’s mouth fell open.

  The first time he had ever heard me say ‘vagina’.

  I continued, “I don’t feel as though I’m ready for this and, at the end of the day, I’m sorry but - it’s my decision....”

  “Well, yes, of course, you’re right, it is your decision....” said mum. “And there’s still time to make the decision too so no need to rush into anything hasty, either way. Why don’t you sleep on it for a bit....”

  Mum was right.

  There was no immediate panic to make the decision. I had time yet. Time to choose whether I should kill it or not.

  Kill it.

  There’s nothing to kill yet. It’s not as though it has feelings or anything, yet. It’s just a thing.... just a thing growing inside of me.

  Keep thinking of it as such.

  A thing.

  There’s time left to decide to terminate the thing.

  Actually, the more I think about it.... the more I want it out of me.

  I looked back to mum and dad - both of whom were avoiding eye contact with me; back to eating their dinner.

  Uncomfortable.

  I thought, after the initial ‘I’m pregnant’ news.... I thought everything else would be easy to talk about. I thought, foolishly I guess, they’d support my decisions. Jesus, a bit of me even thought they’d want me to get an abortion but they both seem dead against the idea.

  Too uncomfortable.

  I stood up, “Excuse me a minute.”

  I left the room. A couple of minutes time out, in the bathroom, to regain my composure. Hopefully, when I return - everything will be back to normal.

  * * * * *

  I can’t hold it anymore and can’t help but cry as the urine starts to leak out; soaking my knickers more and seeping into the already stained mattress.

  It’s warm.

  I try and shift my body to get away from the wet patch but the restraints stop me.

  “FUCK YOU, DARREN!” I scream at the top of my voice as my embarrassment turned to anger. “FUCK YOU!”

  He can’t keep me here.

  He hasn’t thought it through.

  He has to let me go.

  I have to go.

  I can’t stay here for another day - let alone months.

  “DARREN,” I screamed again.

  Pointless, I know, but my anger and frustration were getting the better of me. If I have to, I’ll scream the place down until I lose my voice completely. If he doesn’t want someone to hear me - he’ll have to come down and face me.

  “DARREN!!”

  The door, at the top of the stairs, swung open wildly and crashed against the wall.

  Well, that didn’t take long.

  The hooded figure came down, into the room. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he simply raised his finger to his lips in a ‘be quiet’ gesture.

  “Fuck you,” I hissed again.

  He didn’t react. Just stood there. Almost as though he was willing me to carry on shouting at him.

  “I know it’s you, Darren. You can’t keep me here,” I said, slightly calmer having quickly realised there was no point in getting angry. Getting angry obviously wasn’t going to get me released any quicker.

  He didn’t respond.

  “You can’t keep me here, mum and dad will be looking for me....”

  He shook his head.

  “They will, you know they will..... just let me go now and I won’t say anything.”

  Again, he shook his head slowly.

  I need to get the hood off him. With the hood off, he can’t deny his identity and will have to talk to me. I doubt asking nicely will get the desired effect. Especially now I’ve sworn at him.

  I need him to get angry.

  I need him to come close to me - even if it’s to hit me.

  I need him close.

  Get him angry.

  An idea flashed through my mind. If I’m being aggressive, he won’t have a choice but to subdue me....

  He started to turn around, to leave the room....

  Don’t let him go.

  Do it.

  “FUCK YOU!” I yelled, as I threw the remote controller at his head. Direct hit - right in the back of his head. He grabbed at where the controller hit and spun around on the spot. “FUCK YOU!” I yelled again. “You fucking come near me, I’ll scratch your fucking eyes out, you cunt...” The language coming from my own mouth shocked me, God only knows what he was thinking.

  I carried on spitting various swear words at him - a string of obscenities which made no sense; certainly no meaning behind them other than to be foul-mouthed.

  For a split second longer, he stood there - watching me. I started to stick my middle finger up at him - to go with the randomly spat swear words.

  The final straw.

  He shook his head again and walked towards me... this is it.... have to get this right.... I tried to grab him with my cuffed hand. I knew I couldn’t reach him.... I know I couldn’t get to him to pull the hood off but I could worry him a little.

  Just as planned, he flinched - giving me enough time to lean over with my free hand and rip the hood from his head....

  He stumbled back as I dropped the hood to the floor.

  Silence.

  End of Part One

  PART TWO

  1.

  I stood in front of the mirror.

  This is it.

  Clothes look good.

  This is it.

  Hair looks good.

  This is it.

  I look good.

  Fuck.

  Who would have thought it.

  I look good.

  This is it.

  Dear God, please let this be it.

  Please.

  This has to be it.

  I’m fed up being alone. Alone whilst all of my friends are paired up with girlfriends. Just me, sat at home by myself - only with computer games and porn for company. This has to be it.

  Jessica is definitely the girl for me.

  I just need to trick her into believing it. Fool her into thinking I’m better than I actually am. A better person.... Is it wrong to trick her?

  No.

  Survival of the fittest.

  Does that saying really work in these situations?

  “DARREN?” called my mum, from the other room.

  I didn’t answer straight away - too busy mentally preparing myself for the date to register the need to answer her back.

  “DARREN?!”

  Best answer her. Otherwise she’ll come in and I can’t be bothered with the confrontation.

  “WHAT?!”

  “ARE YOU EATING DINNER?!”

  “I”M GOING OUT!”

  “WHAT?”

  “I’M GOING OUT!”

  “WHAT?”

  For fucks sake.

  “I SAID.....”

  “IF YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME, COME INTO THE SAME ROOM!”

  Jesus Christ. She always does this.

  Ignore her. She’ll go. Or she’ll demand an answer and come and get one for herself. Ooh, mental note to myself - don’t bring Jessica home to meet the parents for as long as possible. Scare her off before she even gets to know me. Before I trick her into loving me. Making her think I’m something I’m not.