Surrogate Page 4

  The Hardwicks had a welcome-home party for Anna, inviting their closest friends, who were surprised by the news—none of them had the slightest idea the couple was adopting.

  “We weren’t sure it would happen and wanted to wait until we knew for certain,” Rebecca told people.

  She held Anna the whole evening, not wanting to let her go, but allowed Tom a minute with the child as well as a few select friends. It was hard not revealing the truth behind Anna’s creation, but it was worth keeping the secret to have her. Rebecca ate up every compliment uttered from every mouth that evening, wondering what the hell had taken her so long to decide she wanted a family.

  She had finally achieved something she wanted more than anything. True, it took having that chance taken away that made her realize how stupid she had been, putting her career ahead of a family, wanting it more when she couldn’t have it, but guessed that was normal. People always took things for granted until it was too late. For her and Tom, it almost was.

  The money they paid to the Agency was worth every single penny. Anna was priceless. With their savings, Tom’s business thriving, and the remortgaging of their home, the payment to the Agency was made without much worry, and the repaying of loans and their new mortgage was affordable.

  The Hardwicks were now a complete family unit.

  12

  Jane Nurelle stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom. Her lower lip was cracked and bleeding. She turned her head slightly to get a better look at the side of her face. The skin was bright red, the darkening of a contusion settling in. It wasn’t the first bruise either, not by a long shot, but it was the first in such an exposed area not easily concealed by clothing.

  Usually, Ken punched or kicked her in the stomach, chest, back, hips, or legs. Or he’d grab her by the arms and squeeze, leaving marks. The only safe place was her face. He had left her stomach alone while she was pregnant, but then last week he’d punched her in the gut. She’d gone down, worried he’d hurt the baby, and maybe he had, but he didn’t let her go to the hospital. She’d had pain and a little bleeding for the next few hours, then felt fine.

  “You see,” he had said. “I didn’t hit you that hard. You’re fine. The baby’s fine. My daddy used to hit me, and look how I turned out. Good, tough genes.”

  Ken knew just where to hit her. He couldn’t have the people in town knowing their business.

  Jane opened her mouth and winced. A deep pain resided in the muscle. Looking down at her rotund belly, she placed her right hand on it. “As soon as you’re born, we’re out of here. I’m not letting this psycho hurt you anymore.”

  That’s right. Jane was going to leave him. Once she had the baby, she’d sneak off to a women’s shelter. They’d take her in, hide her and help her get a divorce and move on with her life. Right now, she was too worried he’d kill her. At the hospital, she’d tell the doctors about the abuse, and the police would protect her. She hoped.

  She was no angel. She’d been a drinker, had done drugs, and cheated on Ken a few times, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t cheated on her. Now that she was pregnant, things had changed—she was ready to be a mother, and live a cleaner, straighter life. Mothers protected their children, and that’s what she was going to do. She watched countless television shows, read magazines, and was tired of seeing how great people had it. She deserved the life the TV people had.

  Anger and sadness coursed through her as she stared at her tummy. She was only twenty-five, still young with much to offer her baby.

  “Get out here,” her husband yelled from the living room, causing her to jump.

  “Be right—” Her words were cut short. Her stomach rumbled. Water soaked her thighs. She backed away from the sink and looked down. The tile was shinier than usual, wet. It took her a moment, but then she knew—her water broke.

  She grinned, happiness spreading over her. It was time. Time to go to the hospital. Time to deliver her child. Time to start a new life away from the monster.

  “Ken,” she said, running into the living room. “My water just broke. It’s time.”

  “You sure you didn’t just piss yourself?” Ken said, sitting in his recliner, his attention on the television. He upended the beer can he was holding, then tossed it across the room and burped.

  “I didn’t pee myself. It’s here. The baby’s coming. I’ll drive, you’ve been drinking.” She moved to walk past him. He jumped out of his seat, grabbed her and shoved her onto the couch.

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  She turned over and looked up at him. “What?”

  He sat back down as if nothing had happened. “You heard me.”

  Jane sat up, her long brown hair covering half her face. She swatted it out of the way. “What’s the matter? You don’t want people seeing what you did to me?”

  He pointed at her and growled, “Shut your mouth.”

  Jane got to her feet. “I’m going. Give me the keys.” She held out her hand.

  “Fuck you are.” Ken popped the top on another can of beer, and brought it to his lips.

  “You’re crazy. I’m having our baby.”

  “Plenty of people have kids without going to the hospital. You’ll be fine. If something goes wrong, I’ll bring the kid in.”

  Jane headed over to the small table by the front door where her purse was resting. She opened the bag and pulled out her cell phone. She managed to dial the numbers 9 and 1 before the phone was ripped out of her hand.

  “Give that back,” she demanded.

  Ken turned and threw it at the wall, where it shattered. He turned back to her, grabbed her by her arms in a vicelike grip. “You’re testing me, girl.” He backhanded her, then muscled her across the room and into the bedroom, tossing her onto the bed. He walked up to her and hammered her in the stomach. Pain exploded across Jane’s abdomen, then down her legs and up into her head. “Stay here,” he yelled. “We’ll go to the hospital in a day or two.” He shut the door and left.

  Jane lay there until the pain subsided. She couldn’t believe it. A day or two? Ken was crazy, had totally lost it. She couldn’t have the baby here. What if something went wrong? She needed to get to the hospital.

  She tried sitting up. Sharp pain sawed through her gut and up her spine. She arched back, then hunched over and rolled into a ball. This couldn’t be happening. Her baby was in trouble, maybe dying.

  She waited a few minutes. Fighting through the pain, she sat up, then stood. “Please, kid. Hold on.” She grabbed onto the dresser and steadied herself, grimacing from the ache in her gut. A few steps toward the door and she stopped. She would never get past Ken. Her and her baby’s lives were in danger. She needed a weapon.

  Glancing around the room, her eyes settled on the closet. She scurried over to it, using the bedposts as support. Opening the door, she had hoped his shotgun or rifle would be inside, and then she remembered they were in the pickup truck. It was hunting season.

  Moving some jackets and other articles of clothing aside, she saw a baseball bat. It would have to do.

  Jane grabbed the Louisville and headed over to the bedroom door. She turned the knob slowly, then pulled the door open a crack and peered through. The hallway was empty. She heard the television chatter and Ken’s laughter. Good. He was in the living room, and most likely in his chair, which faced away from where the hallway met the living room. She went to open the door all the way, but hesitated. Even though he was down the hall and distracted, she was afraid the hinges would creak and alert him. Face-to-face, she’d never be able to take him.

  The constant pain in her stomach sharpened, as if her unborn child was telling her to move. Slowly, wincing, she pulled the door open. When it started to creak, she stopped, then moved the door again, slower.

  Finally, she had it open enough to fit through, and slid into the hallway.

  She choked up on the bat, held it close to her body like a kid with a security blanket, then tiptoed toward the living room.

  Her
hands shook. Her chest ached from the pounding of her heart. Her mouth was dry, but the pain in her stomach was steady. Her baby was behaving, dealing with the agony and discomfort, knowing Mommy had to be quiet. She had a dangerous job to do.

  Jane stepped into the living room. She put one foot in front of the other, holding her breath with each step. She came within striking distance of him. She had to hit him hard, make sure he didn’t come after her. She took one more step, wanting to get a little closer, make sure she bashed him good, when the floorboard beneath her foot squealed.

  Jane’s breath caught in her chest, the bat raised above her head.

  Ken turned his head around. His eyes went wide. “You fucking—”

  Jane brought the bat down as fast and as hard as possible. She thought he’d move out of the way, that there was no chance he would just sit there. Maybe it was the alcohol, or him simply refusing to believe she would do such a thing, but the bat connected with his head. A dull thud echoed over the sound of the television. Jane’s arms vibrated with the impact. Ken’s face went blank, his mouth opened. She thought he might have brain damage, be nothing but an idiot for the rest of his life, but then his eyes focused. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead. He wiped at it with his fingers, then held his hand in front of his face, staring at the digits. He looked up at her, his anger clearly returning.

  Jane brought the bat down again, and again, connecting each time with his head. She couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t stop. This was it. Her shot. If he didn’t go down now, she and her baby were as good as dead. Blood shot from each wound that had opened on his scalp. His eyelids flickered and he fell off the chair, collapsing to the floor, arms and legs bent at awkward angles.

  Jane trembled, still holding the bloody bat over her head, ready to bash him again. She stood next to him, ready to strike. He wasn’t moving. Knifelike pain jabbed her abdomen. She bent over, clutching her stomach. She needed to move, but she couldn’t let him live. Something told her he was still alive. He’d come after her.

  Jane saw red. The piece of shit on the floor needed to die. She raised the bat, screamed, letting all of her anger out, and bashed her husband in the head, over and over. His skull cracked, blood spewing everywhere, covering her and the room. She continued to beat his brains in, until his head was nothing more than a pulpy mess of skull fragments and gray matter.

  Jane collapsed to her knees. The bat rolled away, pieces of scalp and hair caught in the splintered wood. She rummaged through her husband’s pockets and grabbed the pickup’s keys, then hurried outside to the vehicle and drove away.

  Jane raced down the one-lane backcountry road. The truck’s engine roared. The road twisted and turned. The tires screeched. She needed to be more careful, to slow down, but her foot refused to listen.

  The old truck continued to tear down the road, taking turns too fast, but somehow Jane managed to keep it under control. The hospital was a twenty-minute ride across town.

  The pain in her stomach sharpened. She cried out, unable to hold on to the wheel. The road turned up ahead. She bent over, the gas pedal still pressed to the floor. The truck veered off the road. Jane sat up, grabbed the wheel and hit the brake, but it was too late.

  The pickup slammed into a telephone pole, the speedometer reading seventy-five miles per hour. The truck’s front end crumbled as if it had been constructed of tin foil and toothpicks. Metal and glass flew. Jane crashed through the windshield, stopping abruptly when her body smashed into the telephone pole.

  13

  “I think I’m ready for another,” Rebecca said, as Tom approached their bed.

  Tom paused, one knee on the mattress. “Another?” he asked, confused.

  “Child,” she said.

  At the age of five, Anna was the spitting image of her mother. Rebecca glowed every time she laid eyes on her daughter. She loved being a mom, and couldn’t believe how she had almost missed out on it.

  Tom climbed the rest of the way into bed and lay on his back.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  He looked to his right and met Rebecca’s stare. “I haven’t thought about it.”

  “Don’t you want Anna to have a brother or sister?”

  “I guess. Anna’s five, and if she’s going to have a sibling, I don’t want them too far apart.” Tom smiled warmly, rubbing his wife’s leg through the covers. “Let’s do it. Let’s grow our family.” He wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea, but he wanted his wife to be happy and wanted Anna to have a sibling.

  Rebecca threw the covers off, revealing her nakedness. Tom’s eyes brightened. “I want to feel you inside me,” she told him. “I want to make a baby.”

  Was Rebecca role-playing? Pretending to conceive while the baby came from her clone? He felt his heart sink a little, worrying for her. Was it healthy for Rebecca to think this way? Seeing the joyous, yet sexy, look his wife was giving him, he decided to ignore his unease about her mental state and enjoy his wife’s sexuality. He slipped his shorts off and scuttled over to her, his erect penis rubbing against her smooth thigh.

  Rebecca went to embrace him, but Tom’s body went rigid.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them. “I have to be honest with you about…something.”

  Tom was usually carefree about most things, letting Rebecca have her way. He loved her too much to see her disappointed, but with certain things he was bull-headed, almost to a fault. When something was on his mind that he couldn’t shrug off, it was hard for him to concentrate on anything else. If he brought it up, it was certain to destroy the moment, but he had to get it off his chest. His timing was terrible, but it was poking him in the forehead and he needed to get it out.

  “I want to have a DNA test performed,” he said.

  “What?” Rebecca gasped. She sat up swiftly, pulling the covers over her breasts. “What are you talking about?”

  “If we’re going back to Dr. Kotrich, I want to make sure…that Anna is truly ours. From us, I mean. Of us.”

  Rebecca’s eyes went wide. Her mouth hung open and she remained speechless until she was able to muster an angry “no.”

  “Sweetie—” Tom began, but Rebecca cut him short.

  “Tom,” she scolded. “Absolutely not. Anna is ours.”

  “I’m not saying she doesn’t resemble us; she does, but I want to make sure. It’s something we should’ve done when we first got her.”

  “I can’t believe you’re harping back to that,” Rebecca said, shaking her head. “You saw the file from Dr. Kotrich, including the DNA and blood test sheets.”

  “I just want to be sure.”

  “I can’t believe this.” Rebecca threw up her arms. “You’re back to wondering if the whole thing was a con.”

  Tom looked away.

  “Anna is a miracle. Our miracle.” Rebecca’s voice was on the verge of cracking. Tears would soon follow.

  Tom faced her.

  “I love Anna,” he said. “More than anything. And I would do anything for her. I don’t give a shit if she’s from us or not. I love her. She’s my daughter. Our daughter. But I have to know.”

  Rebecca lay down, turning away from Tom. “I see,” she said, through sobs. “Want to make sure you got your money’s worth…an adopted kid just isn’t worth as much?”

  “No,” Tom said, running a hand over his head, frustrated. “I just want to make sure. For Anna and for us.”

  “Why didn’t you feel this way when we got her?”

  “I fully intended to have DNA testing done, but when I saw her, and saw how happy you were, it didn’t matter. We had our baby. I didn’t care anymore. I was overjoyed.”

  “And now?” she asked.

  Tom told Rebecca how he’d seen a report on the news about baby-snatching in the United States and how it was on the rise. “Infants,” he said, “being sold on the black market to couples, regular happy couples, like us. I would never give up Anna, but I want to mak
e sure we aren’t a part of something so awful.”

  Rebecca took a moment before turning back around to face Tom. She wiped tears away and smiled. “Is that what all this is about?”

  He nodded.

  “Anna’s ours,” she said, taking his hand in hers, staring into his eyes. “Can’t you see that?”

  “Yes, but…”

  Rebecca put a finger to his lips. “Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t. Dr. Kotrich said it was strictly against the rules—that it could alert someone’s attention.”

  Tom looked defeated, his body seeming to deflate.

  “Hadn’t really thought about that. I mean what could anyone do if they found out? Anna’s ours, and Dr. Kotrich can’t take her away. I’m sure he doesn’t want an investigation on his hands.”

  Rebecca looked at him, her face stern, eyes threatening.

  “I won’t do anything to jeopardize our family.”

  14

  Without Rebecca’s knowledge, Tom went ahead with the independent DNA test. He used samples of Anna’s, his, and his wife’s hair, giving the strands to a private detective who would have the results back within a week.

  Two days into the wait, Tom received a phone call.

  “Mr. Hardwick?”

  “Yes?”

  There was no reply and before Tom could ask who was calling the person on the other end hung up.

  Later that night while he, Anna, and Rebecca were eating dinner at the kitchen table, the doorbell rang.

  “Expecting anyone?” Rebecca asked.

  “No.” Tom put his fork down, and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Ding-dong,” Anna said. “Doorbell.”

  “Yes, sweetie,” Tom said, smiling. He loved Anna’s voice and the way she pronounced words clearly, but still a little babylike. “Someone’s ringing the doorbell and Daddy’s going to see who it is.”