Besides, it might be too late.
The Other Emily has been drinking an awful lot. The damage might already be done.
Just before midnight, my phone rings from the bathroom, rattling on the porcelain.
“Em?”
There’s a long silence, and then: “I did it. I filed a report.”
“Oh.”
“She took it too far, Dave. This is the only way for us to keep the baby safe.”
“I know. I’m just … it doesn’t seem like the best timing. The Others are about to take over. I’m worried about what Emily will do. You know how she can get.”
“That’s why I’m not home. I already turned myself in. They’ll make sure that nothing happens.”
“Where are you?”
“It’s better if you don’t know. There’s no telling what the Other David might do. I’ll be back in three weeks, though, I swear it. We’re going to have this baby, and it’s going to be goddamned healthy if I have to die making it happen.”
“Don’t say stuff like that.”
“I love you, Dave.”
I drain my smoothie and walk out to the recycling. One of the bourbon bottles has a couple fingers in the bottom, and I pour it in my empty glass. I hear booze delays the transition. I wish we never had to let the Others back in at all.
*
The sun is out, the snow is melting, and the bathroom is mercifully free of vomiting sounds. Emily’s imprisonment has made me a free man for five months now. In fact, if the pregnancy goes awry, it’s quite possible I’ll never have to see Emily again.
Freedom, for the first time in almost a decade. And yet, something isn’t quite right. I feel something gnawing at the edge of my consciousness, some sort of nagging anxiety or concern. I walk out to the balcony and smother it with a cigarette. It’s not enough.
Instead, I put on my Vector’s running clothes and race down along the Mississippi. I’m in better shape than I thought, despite the cigarettes, and I make it almost all the way downtown before collapsing on a bench and catching my breath.
My phone vibrates as I admire the ice drifting along the river.
“Hello?”
“David Delacroix?” The woman’s voice is rushed, like I’m the first name on a long list.
“That’d be me.”
“We’re calling today about your child, sir. Is …” the voice trails off and I hear a muffled conversation on the other end of the phone. “Sir, pardon me for asking, but are you the original David Delacroix or his Vector?”
“I’m a human being. If that’s what you mean.”
“Er, yes. All right. You may want to sit down, Mister Delacroix.” The person on the other end clears her throat. “Your partner Emily passed away at nine am this morning.”
“What? How?”
“She’d been hoarding some of her prescriptions. She took them all at once today, after breakfast.”
“Aren’t you supposed to prevent that sort of thing from happening?”
She clears her throat again. “We’re still not sure how she managed to keep them secret. But that’s not the end of it. Your wife passed, but we managed to save the child.”
I said nothing.
“Mister Delacroix? Hello?”
“Yeah. What does all this mean for me?”
“Excuse me?”
“What do I need to do?”
There’s more muffled conversation on the phone, and then: “You need to perform a positive identification on Emily Delacroix’s body, as well as take custody of your newborn.”
Oh. Right. The kid. I’d figure that out, I guessed. Couldn’t be worse than living with Emily. “I’ll be right along. Just let me run home and shower.”
“Goodbye.” The voice on the other side sounds disgusted. Probably just tired of having to call people.
At the hospital, I confirm Emily’s identity, and pick up the kid, a boy.
Back home, I wrap him in flannel and hold him on the couch while I watch TV. Looking down at the wrinkly little bugger, I can’t help but feel good. He’s more proof of my fresh start. A perfectly Vector-less human being.
I’m a father.
