Marked

By the time the laboring young mother was being led in, hunched over and crying, Desi knew it was far too late for the birthing to go well. She rushed a wobbly wheelchair over to the girl and helped her ease down in it, offering a few words of comfort while doing a visual assessment. The sweet mother looked so young, far too young to be having a baby by her own choice, but she had a hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. She was beautiful still, even with the sheen of sweat on her pallid face and pain creasing her forehead. Desi quickly wheeled the girl through the facility, taking care to avoid the bumps caused by uneven floor tiles. The girl let out a sharp cry of pain, slumping over in her chair for a few moments as she clutched herself desperately. As the shaking hand came away slick and red with blood, a strangled sob escaped the young mother. Desi quickened her pace to a trot.

She left the wheelchair outside one of the many rooms, beneath a light that flickered occasionally. Most of the girl’s weight was on Desi as she and another nurse nearly carried her into the clinic’s room. As quickly as possible between the girl’s awful contractions, clothes were stripped away and a too-large gown was placed over her thin arms. Getting her up on the table and situated took surprisingly little time and there were no complaints to be heard.

The doctor and his assistants rushed in almost immediately, looking weary with dark eyes that had seen too much death. As he checked up on things and issued the necessary orders the room began to hum with activity, and everyone was busy. They had no monitors or beeping machines here, no IV drips or medicine for the pain – the place was far too poor. The best that could be offered was a modest, run down facility kept alive by foreign donations and a charity doctor from overseas with a staff of unschooled men and women to assist him. They helped the people and increased their quality of life in ways that wouldn’t be otherwise possible, but some things they just could not do.

Desi took a cool, damp rag to the young girl’s forehead to wipe the beads of sweat and move aside the strands of dark hair sticking to her face. A deep gasp followed by a soft groan showed another wave of torture coursing through her body. The girl’s light colored eyes found Desi, and their sight locked. Intensity burned deep in the young mother’s gaze and her cracked lips parted as if to speak – it looked as if she felt it to be the most important thing she could ever say. But then her eyes went wide and her jaw fell slack as she let out a piercing shriek. Her back arched up off the table, and Desi clasped the girl’s shaking hand in her own, trying to will her strength into the poor mother.

There was commotion at the other end of the table, one of the doctor’s assistants frantically saying more than once that there was too much blood. The girl kept screaming and all Desi could do was whisper soothing words, pat down her sweat, and hold her hand. “Please,” the girl was sobbing now, “Oh, God, please!”

“Neither will live at this rate,” the doctor murmured, too quiet for the girl to hear over the sounds of her own pleading. Louder, he said, “You must try harder, girl, for this child to live.” And she did try, bless the girl. It was a long, arduous labor that only looked grimmer every moment. The girl’s strength began to give out; her face was so pale and tired, and sometimes her head lolled to the side lifelessly for a few moments before she was able to rouse herself. Desi kept gently encouraging her, but she knew that they would lose at least one tonight.

“Please,” the girl whispered weakly, “Miss, please…” Desi leaned down closer to the girl, running the rag over her forehead yet again. Their gazes locked and that same intensity was there, beneath the pain but just as strong as before. “You must save her,” she pleaded, sounding so desperate and hollow and full of love all at once, “Save her. Give her a good home. Please, miss.” Desi’s heart broke in two and only her years of seeing grief kept her from crying for this poor, sweet young mother. “Will you promise me?”

One firm rule to live by in the world Desi worked in was to never make promises to people. The scales of life and death could tip one way or the other so easily without warning and change everything. But looking down at the dying girl, so young and frightened, yet determined and hopeful even now… how could she say no? She must offer at least some peace in the final few moments.

“I will do everything I can,” Desi whispered solemnly.

The girl shook her head and weakly squeezed the hand of the woman above her. “Promise me, miss? Please.” Tears once again began to leak out of the girl’s already red-rimmed eyes, her pale lips quivering.

It took a few long moments for the answer to come, but finally Desi said, “I promise.”

A smile found its way to the girl’s lips before for just an instant, and it was beautiful. Then her face twisted and her eyes squeezed shut as she braced herself against the table. She did not scream any longer, but surely the pain was only greater than before. The life was fading from the girl, leeching out of her so cruelly that it was hard to watch, yet she persevered and gave all her remaining strength over to bringing her baby into the world.

On the other end of the table the makeshift medical team worked frantically, doing all they could to save at least one life. Finally, agonizingly, they pulled the new child from the young mother’s womb. The doctor frowned sadly behind his mask, holding the still baby girl in his gloved hands as no infant cries pierced the somber mood in the room. Desi looked over at the girl, whose eyes were half lidded as a small smile played across her lips. There was a fever in her eyes as she looked to the doctor. “Give my precious girl to me, please,” she rasped weakly, “Hurry, so that I can see her before…” The realization came to them that the girl did not realize her daughter didn’t live.

The doctor looked to Desi as his assistants tried to resuscitate the child, then he shook his head very slowly. They would lose two tonight. The assistants ceased their vain efforts, and Desi went over to gently lift the tiny baby. Her mother would not know, she was so far gone from this world already. Very carefully she placed the still girl in her young mother’s arms, and saw such incredible love flow from the girl that it was heart wrenching. One last beautiful, radiant smile lit the girl’s pale face as her eyes closed and her body fell slack.

Then the piercing wail of an infant’s first cry resounded through the room. Stunned for only a moment, the doctor and his assistants leapt into action to tend the child. Desi stood there shocked, looking at the baby girl with a stricken expression on her face, something now bordering horror. Her family had always been superstitious, and her grandmother’s witchcraft and spirit healing had taught her many things when she was young. Surely, this wasn’t what it seemed.

Just to be sure, Desi went to the table where they tended and cleaned the child and peered over the shoulders of those working diligently. The tiny girl’s eyes were open wide, peering right at her, and they were a shade of light blue so striking it was unnerving. Fresh born children did not open their eyes so soon, but that could always be a coincidence. Her eyes traveled down. There, on the infant’s left hip was a symbol etched into the skin in an angry red line, a birthmark that would stay forever. It was the mark of a cambion, the child of an unholy pairing between a demon and a victimized human woman.

Desi’s hand fluttered to her heart as she struggled not to faint. The child had to be killed. Just born, and already it had stolen the life of its mother just so that its own heart could beat. But she had promised that poor, sweet girl…

A hand thudded down heavily on her shoulder and Desi whirled around in fright. The doctor stood behind her, looking exhausted but at least smiling crookedly now that he had not lost both. If only he knew that the tiny thing was a monster. “Desi,” he said in his foreign accent, “I will arrange for the girl to go into care in the states. I have a friend who owes me a favor. Will you care for her until then? I know you live with your mother and grandmother, so they can help you.”

The world around Desi seemed to spin as she spluttered, “I… I…” She paused for a moment to suck in a breath, fearing she might vomit all over the doctor. Her grandmother would know what to do with the unholy demon child. “Yes,” was all she managed to squeak as a warm, weary smile spread across the doctor’s face.

Yes. It had to be done. There was no other way.