Chapter 5 - The Silence of the Second Twin
"Okay," I said, my voice trembling slightly but sounding firm enough to cut through the suffocating tension. "I understand. I'll sign the papers. I'll give Leo to Karen."
Diane’s eyes narrowed, assessing the trap, her hand hovering over the pen on the nightstand. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic beep of the monitor attached to Grace, who slept peacefully in the bassinet nearby.
"But," I continued, forcing my gaze to remain on Diane, "I need to hold him one last time. Just for a minute. I won't try to run. I just want to say goodbye."
The room held its collective breath. Mark shifted his weight, his jaw clenched, but he said nothing. The security guard at the door remained a statue. Karen looked away, feigning disinterest in the drama.
Diane let out a sharp, incredulous breath, but the smug curve of her lips faltered just a fraction. She looked at the guard, then back at me. "Fine," she snapped. "But don't make a scene."
She reached out and placed Leo into my arms.
The weight of him was a grounding anchor. I instinctively pulled him close, burying my face in the crook of his neck. The scent of baby powder and hospital soap filled my lungs. I closed my eyes for a second, pretending to compose myself, my mind racing frantically. I needed to stall. I needed to buy time to look for an exit, a vent, a window—anything. I scanned the room with my peripheral vision. The door was blocked by the guard. The window was barred. The intercom was dead. Think, I told myself. They think I’ve surrendered. Use it.
I took a deep breath, holding Leo against my chest, feeling the rise and fall of his tiny body. I began to hum a lullaby, rocking him gently, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I looked down at him, his soft skin against my fingers, and felt a surge of maternal resolve. I would not let them take him. I would fight until my last breath.
I opened my eyes and looked down at Leo.
He was perfectly still.
It wasn't the stillness of a sleeping infant. It was the stillness of a doll.
A cold prickle of dread shot up my spine, chilling me to the bone. I frowned, shaking him gently. "Leo? Wake up, baby."
No response. No twitch of a finger, no flutter of an eyelid. The silence was absolute, heavy and unnatural.
I pulled back, panic flaring in my chest. I pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, searching for a pulse. It was there, faint and rapid—a frantic flutter against my skin—but his breathing was terrifyingly shallow. A ghost of a breath, barely a ripple in his chest.
I looked at Diane. She was watching me, her expression unreadable, almost bored.
I gripped Leo tighter, my fingers digging into his soft fabric sleeper. "He's not waking up," I whispered, my voice rising in panic. "He's cold, Diane. Why is he cold?"
"He's resting," Diane said calmly.
"No!" I stood up abruptly, rocking the limp bundle in my arms. "He's sedated! You drugged him!"
Diane’s smile vanished. She stood up, her face hardening. "He's fine. He's a fussy baby. Now sit down before I have security restrain you."
"I'm not sitting down!" I screamed, backing away, my eyes darting wildly around the room. "He's not breathing right! Call a doctor!"
The door burst open before I could take another step.
Dr. Chen rushed in, her lab coat flapping behind her, her face pale and anxious. She stopped short, her eyes widening as she took in the scene—me standing with Leo, the rigid posture of Diane and Mark, and the terrified look on my face.
"Oh my god," Dr. Chen breathed, rushing forward. "Diane, what have you done? Give me the baby."
Diane didn't move. Instead, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She held it up, blocking Dr. Chen’s path.
"Dr. Chen," Diane said, her voice steady and terrifying. "I don't think you need to examine him. We have a medical directive."
Dr. Chen stopped, her hand outstretched but hovering in mid-air. She looked from the paper to Diane, then to me. Her eyes flicked to the baby in my arms, and for a split second, I saw genuine horror flash across her face.
"Is that...?" Dr. Chen asked, her voice shaking.
"It's a medical proxy," Diane said. "Signed three months ago. By Mark."
Dr. Chen’s eyes snapped to Mark. He stood there, stone-faced, refusing to meet her gaze. She looked back at the paper, scanning the signature, her breath hitching in her throat.
"No," Dr. Chen whispered. "That's... that's not possible."
"It is," Diane said softly. "It authorizes sedation for the child's safety in cases of separation anxiety. And since you seem to be having a psychotic episode, I think the directive is valid."
Dr. Chen took a step back, her face draining of all color. The horror in her eyes shifted, hardening into a cold, professional detachment. She looked at the sedated baby, then at me, and then slowly turned toward the door.
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"Diane," I screamed, clutching Leo to my chest. "Don't you leave me here! Call the police!"
Dr. Chen paused at the threshold, her hand on the handle. She looked at me with eyes that held no warmth, only pity. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I have to go. There's a trauma surgery in five minutes."
