Resurrection (25 page)

"Doctor, you have to help her." He strode in with Janey cradled in his arms. The doctor rushed from behind his desk.

"You were quick. Yes, right, place her on the table." He was already pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "I need to examine her. Is that all right with you, Mrs. Twyfford?"

"Yes, yes, just, just..." Janey let out another shriek as her body convulsed again. "Please help me. Help my baby."

The doctor didn't bother with the stirrups this time. His internal examination was quick and efficient, conducted between contractions.

"Yes, you are in labour. I'll give you something to try to stop it."

Janey's eyes widened at the sight of the needle and she reached for Ged's hand. "What is he doing?"

"It's okay, sweetheart. Trust me. Trust him." Ged leaned down to kiss her forehead. "He's trying to help you. You have to let him."

She nodded, and barely flinched when the consultant administered the injection. It seemed to Ged that the drug took ages to kick in, though in reality the contractions started to slow and weaken almost immediately. Soon Janey lay still, her expression wide-eyed and fearful as the consultant resumed his internal examination.

It took a while, but when he straightened his expression was purposeful. He addressed his remarks to Jane.

"You have a weak cervix, Mrs. Twyfford. I suspect this would have been the cause for your previous miscarriages. It's not uncommon and is likely to affect all your pregnancies at about this stage."

Janey began to weep. Her despair cut Ged to the core. He grasped her hand as he fixed the doctor with a fierce glare.

"You can do something, though?"

"Indeed. It’s fortunate that you were so close to the clinic when this occurred. We may be able to save this pregnancy if we act quickly." The doctor pulled up a seat next to Jane. "Let me explain. We call this condition cervical incompetence. If the neck of your womb is weak, and I've examined you now and I am certain that this is what is causing your problem, it means that as your baby grows it puts more pressure on the cervix which shortens and starts to get wider. This is what has happened to you, and even though we’ve managed to slow down your labour the condition may cause your waters to break early if we don't do something about it. A small stitch in your cervix is usually enough to provide the additional support which will enable you to carry this pregnancy to full term. I'd like to carry out that procedure now."

Again the doctor looked to Jane for her consent. Her response was a mystified frown.

"Do it." Ged answered for her.

"I understand, Mr. Twyfford, but really, your wife—"

"Yes,” whispered Jane. "Please, do whatever you think is best." She spoke to the doctor, but her gaze was fixed on Ged.

He nodded and offered her a tight smile. It was obvious Janey had no idea what they were talking about, what she was agreeing to, but she trusted him and that would have to be enough. He hoped he wasn't going to let her down.

"Very well, thank you. I'll carry out the procedure under a regional anaesthetic so you won't feel any discomfort. You'll need to remain here at the clinic, probably until tomorrow." The doctor rose and went back to his desk to consult his computer. "We have a theatre slot available in one hour."

Jane clutched at Ged's hand. "Do not leave me here. Please. Can you remain with me?"

"I'm staying. Okay, doctor?"

"Yes, of course. We'll have a double room prepared for you, ready as soon as your wife leaves theatre. So, shall we get on with this?"

The next ninety minutes passed in a blur. Apart from investing heavily in research, Ged's direct involvement with human medicine was minimal and he preferred to keep it that way. Nevertheless, he admired the doctor's calm, competent manner which soothed Janey's fears far more effectively than anything he might have said or done. Mr. Baring-Jones knew his stuff, and although weak cervixes might be commonplace to the experienced medic the whole thing was traumatic for Jane.

Her previous disappointments, her horror that it might all happen to her again, might have been enough to send her into a meltdown. This, coupled with her inability to comprehend the slick, clinical procedures now unfolding with her and her unborn child at the heart of the activity would have been enough to shred her composure. It didn't though. Jane was stoic throughout, determined to protect her baby and willing to trust the clinic, the consultant, the nurses caring for her. She accepted everything that happened with a resigned grimace, and soon enough she was being wheeled along the gleaming corridor with Ged beside her.

Her quiet calm did not last. As soon as the door to their private room closed behind the smiling orderly, she burst into tears.

“
Are you in pain? I can ask them to—"

"No, " she sobbed. "I am fine. It is just… just... oh Ged, will it be all right this time? I so want to be able to give you the child you need."

He sat on the bed and gathered her to him. Now wasn't the time to point out that he no longer 'needed' an heir. This child was important for other reasons, reasons more complex and infinitely more simple. He loved Jane, and he loved his unborn daughter. He wanted them both. For the first time since he heard that shriek from downstairs, he allowed himself to relax and believe it might just happen after all.

Jane laid her book aside and stretched out her legs on the sofa. Ged glanced across at her from the chair opposite.

"You all right?"

The gentle concern on his face never failed to warm her, though it had been months now since the crisis which had sent them hurtling to the clinic for the treatment which she had no doubt had saved her baby. She had Ged to thank, and that wonderful doctor, naturally.

She had seen the doctor several times since then as he insisted on regular monitoring, but on each occasion he had seemed content with her progress. Days slid by, became weeks, and then months, and still her baby grew within her. She ran her hands over her swollen belly. The baby was due to be born in less than four months' time. Three weeks before the due date Mr. Baring-Jones would remove the stitch he had placed inside her, in readiness for the birth.

She prayed that all would go well, though Ged continually assured her that it was rare for women to die in childbirth in this century. Babies, too, were usually brought safe into the world, screaming at the top of their tiny lungs. She could not wait for the day.

Right now, she was particularly restless. Ged tried to insist she spend most of her time resting, and as a rule she was happy to, but today she felt a stirring for activity however mild. She yearned to go outside, feel the sun on her face, breathe fresh air. Ged, of course, had no such hankering.

"I would like to go to the stables. Cassius needs exercise."

"You know you can't ride him."

"No, of course not. But I could lead him out into the paddock and he could canter around himself. Please, Ged, I am sure that will be fine. And I can see you have things to get on with apart from keeping me company."

"I like your company, Janey."

She swung her feet to the floor and sat upright. She waved away Ged's assistance when he came to help her.

"I can manage, but thank you. And I adore your company too, Sir, but I yearn for a little intelligent conversation with Cassius. Please, may I go out?"

"Sassy brat. You think you can get away with goading me but believe it when I say you have such a spanking coming, as soon as this baby's born. You won't sit down for a week."

"Of course, Sir. But may I go?"

"Yes, you can go, but I don't want you leading that bloody horse anywhere. He's too big. Just open the stable door and he'll find his own way well enough. I'll take him for a proper ride later, at dusk."

Jane smiled at him as she stretched up for a kiss. "Of course, Sir. I shall not be long."

She peered up into the sky as she ambled across the forecourt in the direction of the stables. The summer heat was heavy, settling into an oppressive blanket. Clouds were gathering and Jane knew they would have thunder before too long. She didn't mind that. She had always loved the elements and would be happy to watch the storm from the stable doorway.

By the time she reached the outbuilding, large, heavy plops of rain were already starting to spatter the flagstones around her. She could have run, but believed a more sedate pace would be wiser in her condition, so by the time she got the door open and slipped inside the stable she was already quite wet. The huge horse whinnied in welcome and nudged her in the back with his velvety muzzle as she hurried to shut the door and lock out the storm. He would have to wait a few minutes for his canter, and meanwhile she had an apple and a couple of carrots for him.

He relieved her of her gifts quickly enough, nosing at her pockets until she emptied them. She patted his neck as the beat of the rain pounded on the slate roof above them and the horse's ears went back as the storm gathered force. It was but a summer downpour and would soon be over, but it was violent enough while it lasted.

"Easy boy. It is only rain, and perhaps a rumble or two of thunder." The low, rolling sound reached her ears, the centre of the storm still miles away. She glanced up at the small window high in the wall. The sky was darkening as thick cloud blotted out the sun. Ged, at least, would like it though Cassius seemed not to be keen. The large horse skittered in the confined space, his hooves clattering on the stone floor.

Jane reached for his bridle to bring his face close to hers. She would whisper to him until he calmed, a tactic which never failed to subdue Cloud in the past.

It did not work with Cassius. The horse became more agitated as the volume of din from the elements increased. Wind rattled the windows and door, rain beat down upon the roof, thunder cracked and a flash of white light momentarily dazzled Jane as she peered anxiously upwards. The horse reared, almost lifting her from her feet as she clung to the leather bridle.

"Whoa there, hold steady, Cassius."

The stallion backed away from her, his eyes rolling. Jane was astonished. The normally placid horse was deathly afraid of storms. Ged must not know or he would have told her, warned her to be careful. She recalled that he had only owned the horse for a few months so perhaps there was much about the animal he had yet to learn.

She tried again to calm the frightened animal, following him as he retreated into the corner of his stall. It was to no avail. As the storm became closer, louder, his frenzy increased. He reared up, and Jane staggered backwards to avoid the flailing hooves. As he landed back on all fours he was pawing the ground, leaping from side to side as though he could avoid the full fury of the elements outside.

Jane knew when her efforts were futile. It pained her to abandon the animal when he was so scared, but there was nothing she could do to help him. Worse, she was in danger of being injured in this confined space. She backed off, careful to make no sudden movements to alarm the horse yet more, and groped blindly behind her for the door handle.

A sudden, ear-splitting crash burst around them, accompanied by a simultaneous flash of bright light. The entire stable was suddenly aglow, reverberating around them. Jane stood, transfixed, as Cassius went up high on his hind legs. His forelegs careened above her head and the horse let out a shriek of terror before he came crashing back down. Jane was aware, momentarily, of a glancing blow to her temple, then nothing. Her world went into darkness.

*****

Ged grunted in pain and clapped his hand over his left eye. His head hurt, felt to be splitting in two as he grabbed the door handle. The sudden storm had worsened. The squall whipped up out of nowhere and had escalated fast, growing both fierce and dangerous in the last couple of minutes. Jane was out there, caught in it, and daylight or no daylight, he intended to go out and find her. He had grabbed his waterproof jacket from the hall and pulled the hood up to protect him from whatever UV might remain as well as the teeming rain, but the searing pain assailed him before he could get outside.

He shook his head to clear it, puzzled. Pain was not common among vampires unless attributable to an injury. Illness was virtually unknown. Violent headaches did not appear from nowhere yet the throbbing in his skull was enough to make him feel sick. Fear for Jane overcame all of that though as he screwed up his eyes against the pounding in his head and charged outside.

He heard it at once, even above the wailing of the storm. Cassius was still in his stable and crashing about inside in a wild panic.

"For fuck's sake," he muttered as he broke into a run. "Jane!
Jane!
"
 

The shrieks of the stallion rang across the drenched courtyard and Ged's feet splashed through the streaming rivulets. He took in the stamping of frantic hooves, the banging and clattering as the horse charged the door of his stall in his frenzied attempts to be free. Ged reached the stable and wrenched open the door which rattled on its hinges against the onslaught from within.

Cassius shot past him, almost knocking Ged to the ground as he thundered out into the storm. Ged ignored the horse and dived into the stable.

Jane lay motionless, face down in the straw which lined the floor. A pool of blood spread slowly around her head. He hurled himself across and knelt beside her.

"Jane? Can you hear me?"

She made no response, though her heart beat still. The baby, too, was alive.

Ged reached for her shoulder and gently rolled her over. He let out an anguished howl. Half her skull was gone, crushed under the flailing hooves of a horse gone mad. Even as he stared, stunned, at the ruined face before him, her heart faltered, the steady beat slowed, became erratic. His Janey was dying in his arms.

Ged gathered her to him and stood. His first instinct was to teleport to Mr. Baring-Jones' clinic, but he checked himself. The baby was important, but his priority right in this moment was Janey's life. He altered his destination, emerging seconds later in the entrance to the Accident and Emergency Department at the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle. He staggered into the crowded reception area, to be surrounded at once by staff dressed in varying shades of blue.

In moments, Janey was on trolley in a cubicle, tubes running in every direction, dials beeping, lights flashing, grave-faced doctors issuing commands to nursing staff who rushed to do their bidding. Useless, redundant, Ged could only stand back and watch as the emergency team launched into action. Questions were fired at him, a pair of young police officers were inordinately interested in knowing how Janey came by her injuries.

At one level Ged understood their concern, at another he just wanted rid of them. He pushed the truth into their heads, or at least what he could surmise of it from what he had seen and heard. A small, pretty nurse offered to show him to a place where he could wait but Ged shook his head. He wasn't leaving Janey, not for a moment.

An hour later Janey still showed no signs of consciousness. She had not stirred even slightly since he found her. The doctors stabilised her breathing, and Ged needed no monitor to tell him her heart still beat, though no longer under her own volition. The medical staff fought to regain control of wildly fluctuating vital signs, as the baby, somehow oblivious to the tumult around her, slumbered on.

"Tell me. How bad is this?" Ged waylaid the consultant when the man emerged from the cubicle, his features grave. "You can save her, right?"

"It's in the hands of God now, sir, " responded the consultant, a response Ged found far from satisfactory.

"God isn't here. You are. I want to know what you're doing to help my wife." He captured and held the medic's gaze. It wasn't long before the man became more forthcoming.

"Our initial tests suggest that your wife has suffered a serious brain injury, sir. We're doing what we can to keep her stable. Until we complete our tests there's no way of knowing..."

"How long will all that take? These tests?"

"A few days, sir. We need to be thorough, and give your wife every chance to show some improvement. Until then, we can help to maintain her vital systems..."

"What if there
i
s
no improvement? That's what you expect, isn't it?"

"Sir..."

"Isn't it?" Ged's gaze bored into the doctor's, demanding the truth, uncompromising.

Eventually the man bowed his head in simple acknowledgement. "I am so sorry, sir."

Ged closed his eyes, and swayed on his feet. He'd known what he would hear. In his heart he saw it, felt it, heard it in the artificial thump of Janey's heart, the mechanistic hissing in and out of her breath as the machines pumped to keep her alive. Still, the specialist's bald statement came as a punch to the gut, followed by a killer kick in the teeth. Ged took a few moments to collect his wits, then continued.

"And the baby? She's due to be born in four months.
”
Wa
s
due. “Is the baby all right?"

"As far as we can tell, sir, though we'll do a scan as soon as possible to make sure of that. With the life support, it's possible the baby may survive even if the mother, ultimately, does not. The child could be delivered by Cesarean section, closer to the due date..."

"You mean, we could keep Janey alive, if you can call this alive, until we have no further use for her as an incubator? Is that what you're telling me?"

The doctor bristled, but his expression never faltered. "No, sir, that's not it. Not at all. I'm just trying to explain the possible scenarios and what approach might offer the best outcome for both our patients. Please, just allow us to do our job for now. We'll let you know the moment there's any change in your wife's condition."

"Oh yes, you certainly will," growled Ged. He'd heard the platitudes, the false reassurances, the promises that failed to extend any real hope, but he'd been able to go deeper. He knew already what the man refused to say unless Ged coerced him.

Their initial examinations and tests had revealed no discernible brain activity. Janey was, to all intents and purposes, dead.

His mind racing, Ged dragged his phone from his pocket and left the doctor to stare after him as he turned on his heel and marched out into the car park. He found a spot out of earshot of any passers by and he dialed Serena's number.

"Ged? Everything all right? How are Jane, and the baby?"

"Bad. Really bad. Jane had an accident..." His voice broke. He took several moments to collect himself as Serena waited patiently. At last he was ready to continue. "She was kicked by a horse, trampled possibly. She has a massive head injury and..."