ADELINE

 

"WE'RE ALMOST THERE," the driver informs me from the front of the town car.

I cringe at his words and hold back my tears as I stare out the window, watching the city passing by swiftly.  I close my eyes and hold a hand over my belly.  It's still flat, and I'm sure the baby is only the size of a little sweet pea, but I can imagine my stomach growing bigger and bigger to accommodate our little baby.

Sinking my teeth into my lower lip, I say a silent prayer for Lucien to help me get through today.  I need him more than ever, and I hate the fact that he's not here.

I grasp the handle of the duffle bag beside me.  My father had pulled me aside this morning, glared at the bag and had asked, "What's that for?"

"The clinic told me to pack some extra clothes…just in case," I had said, my voice small and weak.

He'd nodded once and then said, "The sooner this is over, the better you will feel.  I promise you that."

Then he had kissed the top of my head and sent me off with a driver and a bodyguard into the city for my appointment.

An appointment that he made for me and is now forcing me to go to.

The car stops in front of the building, and the bodyguard gets out first.  I wait for Marco to open the door, clutching the duffle bag protectively to me as I climb out.

"Murderer!" a voice yells.

"Baby killer!" another shrieks.

I flinch as the words are thrown from either side of the sidewalk.  Protesters standing in front of the clinic wave signs and glare at me as Marco ushers me towards the front door.

I want to scream to them that this isn't my choice and that I don't want to murder my baby, but I stay silent, letting the tears streaming down my face tell my side of the story.

"You have a choice!" an older woman with sandy brown hair yells at me.  Then she glares at Marco beside me and then back to me, her gaze softening slightly.  "Make the right one.  Don't let anyone else make it for you," she mutters to me.

After Marco pushes me inside the clinic and the door closes behind us, I can't help the soft sobs coming from me now.  Marco pats my shoulder in comfort, but I shrug him off.  I don't need comfort right now.

I need a freaking miracle.

The smell of antiseptic overpowers me, and I feel like I'm going to be sick as we walk to the front desk.  The bodyguard gives the receptionist my name, and the young woman with white-blonde hair nods, chewing and smacking her gum without a care in the world.

"Someone will be out in a minute to take her back," she says coolly.

My father paid a large sum of money to do this off the books, no paperwork required and VIP treatment, if you will.  He's willing to do anything and pay anything to get this baby out of me.  He thinks this will solve every problem.  He thinks that not having a reminder of Lucien will make me get over him and move on…right into the arms of Giovanni.

He couldn't be more wrong.

I'll never get over Lucien.  I loved him.  I still do.  And I'll never stop loving him for the rest of my life.

An older nurse with glasses, dark hair and dressed in blue scrubs meets me out front.  When the bodyguard tries to follow me past the door, the woman turns to him and asks, "Are you the father or family?"

When Marco says, "Neither," the woman turns to me and says, "Then it's your choice, honey.  Do you want him with you in the room?"

My eyes widen as I stare at her.  She's giving me a choice?  I shake my head quickly, and the nurse scowls at Marco and tells him to go back to the waiting room and that they'll give him periodic updates on my condition.

Marco spouts off some choice Italian curse words to her, but reluctantly leaves to go sit down and wait for me.  I watch him pull out a cell phone just before the door closes, and I have no doubt he's calling my father to let him know we've arrived.

I follow the nurse through the hallway, looking left and right at the vacant, sterile rooms.  We stop at the end of the hall, and she motions for me to enter a room with an examination table.  Then, she hands me a gown, points to the adjoining bathroom and says, "You can change in there.  I'll be back with the doctor in just a few minutes."

Swallowing hard, I nod and walk to the bathroom.  Locking the door behind me, panicked breaths escape my lungs as I search the room for a way out.  My eyes zero in on a window above me.  It's high, but I think I can make it.

I tell myself that I have to.  This is my last and only hope to escape.

Setting my duffle bag down next to me on the floor, I study the window.  I see that there's a screen screwed into the frame that will need to be removed first.  Then I should be able to just push the window open and climb out.

Reaching into the duffle bag, I produce the tools I packed just in case I would need them — two screwdrivers, wire nips and a hammer.

I pull a small chair over to the window, and it gives me just the right height I need when I step onto the cushion.  I set out to work on the screws.  There are four of them, and they're tough to turn at first, but I eventually get two out before I'm disturbed.

"Miss Valenti?" calls the nurse, followed by a soft knock on the door.

"Just a minute!" I call back.  "I'm not feeling well!"  I add a gagging cough to really sell it, but I don't know if she'll believe me.

I turn my attention back to the task at hand, cursing when the screwdriver slips on the screw and nicks my finger.  I take a deep breath and concentrate.  I need to hurry, but I also need to be careful.

I manage to get the other two screws out before there's another knock on the door.

"Miss Valenti, this is Dr. Rhodes.  The nurse told me you're not feeling well.  Perhaps you should let me examine you?"

"Please just give me a minute!" I call out vehemently.

I hear the two of them discussing things behind the door, and I worry that they're going to barge in here before I make my escape.  Worse yet, what if they tell Marco what's going on?  Then the jig will be up, and I will lose everything.

As quietly as I can, I set the screen aside and raise the glass window.  It squeaks a little, but I cough violently to try to cover up any extra noise.

Reaching down, I grab the duffle bag and throw it out the open window first.  And then I use all of my strength to haul myself up to the window sill.  I can hear the door knob being turned behind me and banging on the door.

"Adeline?" I hear Marco's voice, and it sends icy cold terror straight into my veins.  With all of my might, I pull myself up and look out over the edge.  The drop is not far, which I'm thankful for.

Twisting my body around and grabbing onto the outside wall for leverage, I manage to climb out the window.  I'm hanging onto the ledge with my legs dangling.  And then, as easily as I can, I force myself off the side of the building and drop down.

Pain shoots into my right ankle the moment I land, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.  I put all of my weight on my left foot and test my right ankle by rolling it gently.  I may have sprained it or even broken it from the fall, but it will all be worth it if I can get out of here and keep my baby alive.

Holding onto the wall, I reach down and grab the handle of my duffle bag.  Then I limp and hop my way towards the back parking lot.

Glancing to the left, I notice one of the protesters, the woman with the sandy blonde hair, walking to her car.  Limping towards her, I wave my hands in the air to get her attention.  I don't want to attract any unwanted attention, but I need to get the hell out of here.  And she may be my only hope at this point.

At first the woman does a double-take, and then she glares at me.  "Well, that was pretty quick…for murder," she hisses in disgust.

"Please.  Help me.  I was forced to go in there," I gasp, breathing through the pain and limping closer to her car, hoping that she'll help me escape from my father's guards.  "I jumped out of the window before they could do anything," I cry with relief.

Her eyes widen at my words, and then her entire demeanor suddenly changes.  "Oh, my god.  You poor girl."  She glances at my ankle and asks, "Are you hurt?"

"I think I twisted my ankle," I say, grimacing in pain.  "Could you take me somewhere?  Anywhere?" I beg.

She nods quickly and helps me to the passenger's side of her car.  Opening the door, she ushers me inside before going to the driver's side and hopping in.  "Recline your seat, honey," she tells me, and I do as she says.  Then she cranks on the ignition of the older Buick and floors it out of the parking lot.  "My name's Barbara, by the way."

"Adeline," I reply.  When we're a safe distance from the clinic, I straighten the back of my seat a little bit.  "Thank you for helping me," I tell her with tears in my eyes.  If it wasn't for her, my baby might not be alive right now.  I had been planning on running, but I also hadn't planned on hurting myself in the process.  "I wouldn't have gotten very far if you hadn't been there at the right place, at the right time."

"It was divine intervention," she says with a smile before bringing the cross connected to a delicate gold chain around her neck up to her mouth to give it a kiss.  "I believe that everything happens for a reason.  Don't you?" she asks with genuine interest.

"I'm starting to believe that, yes," I tell her with a watery smile of my own.