No Going Back

From his bed, Steven Dorsey squinted at the glowing rectangle on the wall. The black blanket hanging over his bedroom window was too thin to completely block the early afternoon sun, which annoyed him, but he was too lazy to replace it. His thoughts were thick and slow, his head heavy, as he emerged from the depths of sleep. A viscous film in his mouth gummed his lips together, but with it was the lingering flavor of the pizza he’d eaten the day before, and that reminded him that he was hungry. Though he felt like he could sleep another four hours on top of the twelve he just had, it was worth getting up for food.

With a sigh, Steven rolled his impressive bulk off the bed, taking the sweat-stained sheets with him to pool upon the floor. He was treated to a gust of oddly pleasant body odor and automatically gauged its rancidity to determine whether it was time for another grueling shower. Maybe tomorrow, he thought. Kicking his way through a scrambled pile of comic books and magazines and scratching himself through his dirty gray sweat pants, he used a key to open the padlock on his closet door. Having retrieved a large glass bong and replaced the padlock, he shambled out the open bedroom doorway, down the hall, and up the stairs to the main floor.

He stepped into the bright kitchen and began his daily routine of coughing, a fit that lasted several minutes and prevented him from doing anything else until it was finished. His weight, the exertion of climbing the short staircase, and five solid years of smoking copious amounts of marijuana all contributed to his predicament. At nineteen years of age, he was already resigned to a life of scarred, blackened lungs and limited mobility. He didn’t think much about his own future, but when he did, his vision didn’t include working nine to five and coming home to a house crammed with a wife and a gaggle of screaming rug rats. Steven imagined his life would always be roughly like it was now. When his dad kicked the bucket and stopped paying the bills someday, the life insurance and inheritance would take over.

When he was able, Steven wiped the slobber from his lips with the back of his hand and replaced yesterday’s bong water with fresh, cold water from the sink, then tucked the bong under one arm. He reached into an upper cupboard, which was normally filled to capacity with boxes of Frosted Chocolate Fudge Pop-Tarts. Now there were only two boxes left. He found variety unnerving and an unnecessary complication in life. Every once in a while, his chosen flavor would disappear from store shelves and he’d have to find another favorite. Those times were trying, but in life, one had to learn to cope to survive.

Two shiny packages of toaster pastries in one hand and a warm two-liter bottle of Coke in the other, he trudged into the living room and fell into one of the two couches. The cushions folded around his form with a familiar embrace. He piled his breakfast items onto one side of the coffee table, then powered on the TV and his Xbox gaming console.

Steven pulled his trusty bong from beneath his arm. Within a minute, he had it reloaded from the small baggie of weed he carried in his pocket. Eyes closed, he savored the first good hit of the day, took one more for luck, then tore into the Pop-Tarts packages and began munching the cold pastries as his mind numbed to the harsh realities of existence.

His chocolaty meal complete and washed down with over half his bottle of Coke, Steven took up a game controller and prepared to lose himself in pixilated fantasy until he became hungry again. In the back of his mind, he started compiling a mental shopping list of items he would need to order from the online grocer for delivery. Coke and Pop-Tarts, obviously, and maybe Twinkies instead of Hostess Cupcakes this time, and just as he arrived at baby carrots (he couldn’t help it—he loved the things), the doorbell rang.

The sound of the bell didn’t register at first. He thought it must have come from the video game he was playing, but quickly realized he was intimately familiar with every sound it emitted, and that wasn’t one of them. He never had visitors, so could it really be the doorbell? He was just thinking about ordering groceries. Perhaps it was his delivery. Had he ordered them already? He was sure he was still authoring his list and hadn’t yet made the actual order. Or was he?

Blinking with uncertainty, wondering if he should run and stash his paraphernalia, he paused his game, set the controller on the coffee table, and heaved himself out of his couch pocket with a grunt. Still not positive he’d heard anything at all, but now determined to investigate, he shuffled toward the front door, already dreading the onslaught of sunlight.

It was worse than he’d anticipated. A wave of hot summer air enveloped him, and the light battered his eyes and set them to watering and squinting. The smell of freshly cut grass and flowers and the sounds of children playing, sprinklers spraying, and birds chirping threatened to overwhelm him. Worse, there was no one there. He’d imagined the doorbell after all.

Steven turned to re-enter the sanctity of his air conditioned, dimly-lit grotto when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something sitting on the porch. For a second, he believed he’d found clarity. Someone had rung the bell, and here was his grocery delivery. Right away, he realized the grocers had never before left the goods and run off, and when he wiped some of the water from his tortured eyes, he saw that what lay there on the porch was no grocery delivery. At first, he didn’t recognize the object at all. It was some kind of plastic contraption covered with little blankets, and next to it was a pink and black bag with embroidered cat faces and mice decorating the sides. Then the blankets moved, and it all came together.

The bag was a diaper bag, the plastic contraption was a baby chair, and under the blankets was a baby.

~~

Jackie Warner hunched out of sight in the front seat of her car. One of several jagged rips in the faux leather upholstery was scratching into her elbow, but she dared not move. Her heart hammered in her rib cage, her breathing was shallow and fast, and the tips of her fingers tingled, a sure sign that she was about to have a panic attack. The thought that she might freak out and reveal herself only intensified the internal crisis. She kept her eyes locked on the rearview mirror, which she had earlier positioned to give her a view of the house across the street.

After leaving her baby on the porch, she had sprinted with all her strength back to the old, junky car. It had been a while since she’d done any running, and it amazed her how much that short distance took out of her. She was a slight girl, skinny even, but hardly fit. The pounds gained during her pregnancy had fallen off quickly after the birth, though Chloe was a tiny baby and had never made much of a bump, anyway.

Now as Jackie huddled, trying desperately to keep control, she ignored the wisps of long brown hair across her face and in her mouth. Her breathing was so ragged, so labored, she thought she might hyperventilate or pass out. She concentrated on the rearview mirror, watching her baby sitting there on the porch, telling herself it was for the best, that both she and Chloe would have better lives this way. She had a lot of running to do, practically no money, and no solid plans or prospects. She needed to put some distance between herself and Jeremy. It was the only way to insure she wouldn’t go back to him.

It was hard to believe how far off track a life could get in only seventeen years.

Just as Jackie’s mind was about to succumb to panic, she froze and held her breath. There was someone standing in the front door of the house. She hadn’t seen the door open. It must have happened during a moment of anxious blurred vision.

What she saw was unexpected, very much not part of her plan. She’d driven by this place a hundred times on her way to work. The house had always caught her eye, so nice, so cute. It was exactly the kind of place she imagined she would live in one day, with a fantastic, doting husband, two dogs, and (eventually) three perfect children. The repugnant blob of human excrement who stood at the door, blinking against the sun like he’d never been outside in his life, did not fit her image of the owner of her dream house.

Jackie was immediately filled with doubt. She couldn’t do this. She would have to go get her baby back.

She built up the nerve to act just as the kid (he looked young, probably not much older than she) turned away and moved to go back inside. He hadn’t even noticed Chloe. Relieved beyond measure, Jackie waited for him to disappear back into the house so she could gather herself and then retrieve her baby from the porch. She would have to come up with another plan, maybe try another house, or—

The guy was still there, wiping at his eyes and staring at the bundles on his porch. Jackie froze all over again, her mind and emotions threatening to rebel. She couldn’t move, paralyzed and strangely fascinated, as though she were watching events unfold in a movie and it wasn’t her life at all. After what seemed ages, the huge, disgusting kid bent down and picked up Chloe’s chair and the diaper bag, then entered the house, kicking the door shut behind him.

Jackie took several more minutes to recover her wits and calm down, but retained her resolve to get her baby back and think of another way to solve her problems. She didn’t want a baby, and in fact didn’t feel like she loved it (her!) the way a mother should, but she couldn’t leave Chloe with that thing.

~~

Steven sat on one couch, gaping at the unanticipated arrival on the other, a frown of concentration etched across his broad, scruffy face. Despite repeated bong hits to keep calm, his heart sped up a touch each time the blankets covering the baby chair moved, reminding him that concealed beneath was a little, live human being. He’d seen accounts of babies left on doorsteps in the news, in movies even, but it wasn’t something he would ever have guessed he would experience. In the small gaps between bouts of confusion and shock, he wondered why it didn’t make any noise. No crying, whimpering, or burbling. Didn’t babies cry pretty much all the time?

Another couple of hits from the bong and he’d get up the courage to look at it.

Halfway through a deep inhale, the doorbell rang again. Surprised, Steven spit, coughed, and sputtered, clutching the bong tightly in an effort to avoid spilling its contents. Bloodshot eyes darting around in panic, he rose and crossed to the opposite couch, took hold of the baby chair’s handle, and made for the stairs leading to the basement. Panting with the effort, he trotted down the hall to his bedroom. It was instinct by now to run and stow any contraband in his closet whenever authority figures unexpectedly approached, and this time it was all too likely that the doorbell heralded just such an unwelcome intrusion.

Steven plunked the baby chair on the floor and fiddled through his pockets for his key ring. Quickly, he pulled the keys free, expertly found the one belonging to the closet’s padlock, and jammed it into the keyhole, twisting it and popping the lock clear in one deft move. He pocketed the padlock and yanked open the closet door. Stacks of shelves on the left and right, stuffed with junk ranging from discarded and moldy soda cups to highly valued action figures still in the original packaging, flanked an open middle section of the shallow closet. There, two waist-high stacks of pornographic magazines leaned against each other for support. Steven plopped the baby chair atop them, as it was the only space uncluttered enough to accommodate it. The shifting stacks shuffled unsteadily beneath it.

He tossed his travel baggie of pot onto one of the shelves and carefully placed the bong beside it. Drugs and the worst of the pornography had to be kept out of sight, because while his father was rarely home and paid little attention overall, Steven wasn’t inclined to push his luck. He couldn’t risk being thrown out.

Through all this, the baby made no sound, though it continued to squirm periodically. Steven was beginning to wonder if there was really a baby in there. Before his stoned imagination could conjure an alternative occupant of the baby chair, he decided he’d better take a quick peek. He lifted a corner of the covering and peered inside. A pair of wide, bright eyes stared back at him. No…not at him. Toward him, perhaps. Maybe it was the pot, but it didn’t seem to him that the baby acknowledged his presence. It just wiggled its arms and legs now and then, lost in its own world.

He tucked the blanket back into the chair, sparing himself further exposure to the baby’s creepy, empty expression. As he took an extra second to steady the piles upon which the baby chair sat, he became aware of the doorbell ringing again. Someone knew he was in here, and they weren’t going to leave until he answered the door.

~~

Jackie rapped her knuckles against the door insistently, then rang the doorbell yet again. She stood on tip-toe and peeked through the high, tiny window inset into the door, but the stained glass didn’t offer a clear view inside. With the summer sun riding high behind her, the glare prevented even a glimpse of shadows or silhouettes.

A few minutes of steady breathing had brought her pulse down to normal levels. Focus and purpose lent her a steely calm, which she was determined to maintain. She had tried to come up with a story, some excuse to give when the guy answered the door, but in the end, every idea she had was preposterous. What legitimate reason could she have had for leaving her baby there? If there was one, she wasn’t creative enough to think of it, so she was just going to swallow her pride and ask for her baby. She would apologize for inconveniencing him and leave.

She knocked and rang the bell again, now getting agitated. What was going on? Was that fat guy the only person here? Just as she was about to circle the house in search of another door or window on which to pound, the muffled thudding of footfalls resounded from inside. The sound stopped well short of the door, however, and she paused to listen. When nothing happened for a moment more, she raised her arm to knock, and then heard more walking. The sound stopped again, started more distantly, then silence. Someone was pacing around in there. Was he going to leave the door unanswered?

Jackie balled her hand into a fist and beat upon the door, stabbing repeatedly at the doorbell button at the same time. He couldn’t ignore her forever.

The door suddenly flew open, startling her, and she fell back a step. Refreshingly cool air washed over her, stained by the pungent, sickly sweet stench of marijuana smoke, an odor with which she was all too familiar. An image of her boyfriend (soon to be ex, but he didn’t know that) and her father vegetating together on the scraggly couch in her apartment, passing a joint back and forth and laughing like imbeciles, flashed through her mind. Anger surged within her, and she abandoned her plan for a peaceful confrontation.

“Where is she?” Jackie demanded as she shoved her way past the massive kid at the door. Moving through him required that she put a hand on his midsection, and the way his gelatinous belly collapsed and folded under the pressure, leaving her palm coated with his sticky sweat, made her stomach heave with revulsion.

Thinking only of finding Chloe and getting out of here, Jackie stormed through the foyer and into the living room, frantically looking this way and that for her baby. She heard the front door close behind her, sending a claustrophobic jolt tingling through her nerves. The hysteria and speed of her search redoubled.

“Hey,” the kid called from the foyer.

Ignoring him, Jackie tore through the adjoining kitchen, becoming worried that she hadn’t seen her baby already.

From the living room, the guy spoke again. “Who—what the hell are you doing?” His voice was low and slow. It seemed like he was trying to sound angry and authoritative, but he was too high. “Who are you? You can’t just come in here.”

Returning to the living room, Jackie barked, “Where is she? Where’s my baby?”

The kid’s face was stone. He stood there, mouth closed, breathing through his nose, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jackie’s eyes burst wide with a fresh blast of adrenaline. “I saw you! You picked her up off your porch and took her in here.”

The kid couldn’t hide a guilty twitch. His face flushed red and adopted the pleading but dangerous look of a cornered animal. He crossed his arms defiantly and didn’t respond. In the next moment, another look intermingled with his nervousness as he cast his eyes over her: a desperate, lascivious appraisal.

It suddenly dawned on Jackie that she was shut in here with this guy, who was stoned stupid, gigantic, and lying about Chloe for some reason, and no one knew she was here. Much of her frenetic energy drained away, to be replaced by cold, liquid fear, and she decided to approach the situation another way.

“Okay,” Jackie breathed, lifting her shaking hands in a gesture of surrender. She indicated the couches behind him with her eyes. “Let’s just sit down for a minute and talk. Okay?”

The kid remained rooted, an immovable mountain. He slowly glanced around at the couches, then back at her. After what seemed an eternity, he started backing up, keeping his eyes on her as he moved, still breathing loudly through his nose. Jackie followed after him. Satisfied that she was as good as her word, the ponderous kid sat on a couch, and Jackie sat on the other, as far away from him as she could get.

The oaf was sitting right next to her diaper bag. In her frantic state, and with the disadvantageous angle of that couch, she’d missed it on her initial scan of the room. Her gaze shifted from the bag to the kid, openly accusing.

Her question was even and measured, every word emphasized with menace through clenched teeth. “Where is my baby?”

~~

Steven stared at the girl, trying to puzzle out his next move. His thinking was a dim, chaotic swirl. All the excitement and stress was starting to bring him down from his high, but there remained a lingering sluggishness that prevented the formation of a coherent strategy. Also, he was distracted by an intense, almost painful throbbing in his crotch. He glanced down at himself to find that his erection was plainly visible, and by the look of disgust mixed with fear on the girl’s face, it hadn’t gone unnoticed. His arousal surprised him some, as he typically used pot to dissipate his virginal, teenage desires. Without it, he’d hardly be able to keep his hands off himself. Faced with a flesh-and-blood girl, the drug was unable to quell his lust.

As he continued to ignore her question, the slender girl squirmed on the couch opposite him, becoming obviously more agitated. He watched her legs, the way her worn jeans wrapped her thighs like a second skin. Distantly, he wondered if he was drooling. His mind was slowly beginning to clear, and an urgent plan was taking shape. Perhaps he could use this situation to his advantage. The girl was very young and already had a baby, so she must be some kind of slut. He had the baby. An opportunity like this might never come again.

A moment more of silence passed before the girl took a long, deep breath, and made a visible effort to calm down. “Look,” she said, “what’s your name?”

He answered immediately without thinking. “Steven.”

The girl seemed surprised to have received a response. “Steven,” she repeated. “I’m Jackie, and my baby’s name is Chloe.”

Steven tensed at the mention of the baby, envisioning it sitting atop his magazines in the closet. If it wiggled about, would it topple the pile?

“I made a mistake,” Jackie continued. “I’m really, really sorry. And I’m sorry I just came into your house without asking. I need you to tell me where Chloe is, and I’ll take her and leave. I won’t bother you anymore, I promise.”

“Why’d you leave it here?”

Jackie raised her eyebrows, seemingly encouraged that she’d gotten him talking. “I—“ she stammered. Then, instead of explaining, she stood. “Wanna see something?”

Steven shrugged.

Jackie began unbuttoning her pants, and Steven’s heart nearly stopped. He couldn’t believe his luck. Maybe she was going to bribe him for what she wanted, and he wouldn’t need to blackmail her. With the front of her jeans open, he caught a glimpse of her white cotton panties. His pulse raced, and the throb of his loins multiplied. The girl winced, gripping her pants and underwear at the right side and pulling them down over her hip to reveal an oblong splotch of blue and purple. Steven couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy at the sight of the bruise.

“That’s where Jeremy kicked me.” She seemed satisfied to have captivated her audience and kept her injury on display as she spoke.

“Jeremy?”

“My boyfriend. Or actually, my ex, I guess.”

“Is he a black belt or something?” Steven was having a hard time imagining a situation in which she would be kicked in the hip.

“You mean karate? No, nothing like that. He’s way too stupid and lazy for anything like that.” With another grimace, she buttoned her jeans and seated herself.

Steven’s longing for her only increased. He had to see more. “Let me see that again,” he said.

Jackie started to rise, then her eyes narrowed with suspicion and she remained on the couch.

Sensing she was on to him, he changed tact. “Well, I mean, how’d it happen?”

The suspicious look on her face gradually retreated as she answered him. “He shoved me first.”

“Why?”

“You really want to hear this?”

He nodded, trying hard not to stare at her small, pert breasts, but the outline of her nipples against her white T-shirt drew his eye irresistibly. Jackie either didn’t notice or pretended she didn’t.

“Jeremy and my dad were sitting on the couch, watching baseball, I think, and I was in the other room trying to change Chloe. I got her diaper off and went to grab another one, but they were gone. So she was just laying there naked and she was crying and crying, and I had no diapers. I got really mad and ran in there and started yelling at Jeremy. My dad and him were smoking a joint, like always, and trying to watch the game, but I got in front of the TV and told Jeremy to get off his ass and go get me some diapers. He never does anything. He doesn’t even have a job. I was pissed, and I just wanted him to do something for once.

“They both started yelling at me and telling me to get out of the way, and I was still screaming at them. Well, I was screaming at Jeremy. You don’t scream at my dad, or he’ll kill you. I’m pretty sure he’s killed someone. He was in the Army, and he’s got a real bad temper.”

Steven gawked at her, but kept silent.

“Then my dad told Jeremy to shut me up, and that idiot always does everything my dad says, so he started to get up. I was so mad by this time, I walked up to him and shoved him back into the couch. Oh, that pissed him off, plus it made him look bad in front of my dad, I think. He got up real fast and pushed me real hard. Knocked me right over the coffee table. Then he came around and kicked me as hard as he could.” She indicated her hip. “Man, that hurt. And he was screaming his head off and spitting all over me, and Chloe was still crying, and I started crying, and I got up and ran out.”

Steven sat dumbstruck, imagining the scene as she had described it. An irrational, protective anger welled up inside him. How could someone treat this girl like that? He wanted to kill her boyfriend, and her father too. If he were her boyfriend, he’d be so nice. He would never hit her or yell at her. Girls never appreciated that, though. They always chose good-looking over kind. In the movies, the nice guy sometimes got the girl, but in real life, nice guys always finished last. It wasn’t fair. These thoughts led him to redirect his rage toward Jackie, and he was more determined than ever to get satisfaction from her.

“What’s all that got to do with leaving your baby here?” he groused.

She glared at him incredulously, with a look that said she thought him slow-witted, which annoyed him and shriveled what was left of his empathy.

“I’m gettin’ out! I gotta get as far away from that asshole as I can. I can’t drag a baby around with me everywhere. I’ve got no money. I can’t take care of her.”

“But why leave it with me?”

Jackie looked sheepish. “Oh, well, I didn’t know who lived here. Where’s your mom and dad?”

As ever when reminded of his mother, Steven’s guts twisted, intensifying his foul mood. Jackie’s reaction to his question gave him an idea about why she had suddenly decided to abort her mission and get her baby back, too. She’d seen him take the baby, and she’d been horrified to discover it was he who lived here.

“Mom’s dead. Dad’s working in Hong Kong. Won’t be back for a couple weeks.”

Jackie stared at him for a few seconds, thinking over her response, seeming to become nervous again. “Give me my baby, Steven. I need to get going.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

Jackie was stunned at first, but then her mouth twisted into a knowing scowl, like she’d been expecting this on some level. “What’s that supposed to mean? Where is she?”

“You’re going to stay with me for a while, and if you do the things I tell you to do, I might remember where I put her.”

~~

The determined look on the fat slob’s face told Jackie that he was serious, and panic began its familiar compression of her heart and lungs. Her face flushed and her eyes started watering. She hoped the guy might think she was crying, and that would spark some sympathy, some humanity, in him, but he continued to stare coldly, his expression set, his eyes still only half alive as he came down from his high.

“You can’t keep her hidden,” she bluffed. “She’ll cry eventually. I’ll hear her and find her myself.”

Steven shook his head. “Does that kid ever cry? Looked like something was wrong with her to me. What is she, retarded or something?”

That struck a nerve in her. Why did everyone always jump to that conclusion? “She’s not retarded, you asshole. The doctors say she might be autistic.”

“What’s the difference?”

“It’s not the same thing at all!” Jackie’s anger helped to keep the panic at bay. “Retarded people are…retards! Autistic people can be very smart. Smarter than you.” She wasn’t sure it was wise to provoke her would-be captor with personal attacks, but raging at him kept her focused.

He snorted. “Yeah, she looked like a real genius. Guess that’s why you wanna get rid of her, huh?”

The kid’s willful obstinacy magnified her frustration. “I told you already why I did that, idiot.” Jackie hoped she didn’t sound overly defensive. In truth, her child’s condition bothered her a great deal, and was a major contributor to her lack of maternal affection. “Just give her to me so I can get outta here. Now!”

Steven didn’t respond.

“Fuck this,” Jackie said and jumped up from the couch. She headed for the stairway leading up. Steven made no move to stop her. If he wasn’t worried about her going that way, perhaps it was the wrong course, she reasoned. She veered and started toward the stairway leading down, watching for a reaction.

Now he stood. “Hey, don’t go down there,” he said.

In her rush to descend, she nearly lost her footing on the narrow, dim stairway. She caught herself on the flanking walls and continued her mad dash down. At the bottom was a long hallway with two closed doors on the left, two on the right, and one slightly ajar at the opposite end. She wasn’t sure she’d have time to enter them all before Steven caught up to her (if he was, indeed, in pursuit), so she chose at random to try the second door on the right.

It was hard to breathe in the revealed bathroom, so thick was the odor of mildew and mold. Used towels and discarded toilet paper rolls littered the floor, and the bathtub, sink, and toilet were layered with what must have been the filth of several years. What was with this guy? It was clear there was some money in the family, yet he chose to live like a pig. She could tell at a glance that this was not the location of her baby.

Jackie backtracked into the hall, noting that Steven was not yet following her. She was sure he must be coming. He was probably just slow.

The room at the end of the hall appeared to be Steven’s bedroom. After what she’d seen in the bathroom, she was reluctant to enter, but it seemed the most likely place for him to have secreted Chloe. A blanket hanging over the window made it too dark to see much. Jackie fumbled along the wall for the light switch.

Only one of the four light bulbs in the overhead lit up, and it cast a depressing, shadowy light over the large room. Against the far wall was a twin bed, the mattress bare and stained. Garbage, toys, magazines, and clothing covered the floor, the dresser, and the desk. The smell in here was almost worse than in the bathroom. There was no obvious place her baby could be.

Then she glanced left and saw the closet. She yanked on the door, but was surprised to see it was secured by a large silver padlock, and so came open only an inch. Who the hell put a padlock on a closet door? Angrily, Jackie pulled at the door several more times, creating a terrific racket. She looked through the slim opening. The narrow band of light admitted into the closet illuminated shelves filled with detritus, and closer to the center, she could see her baby chair sitting precariously on top of a stack of…something.

“Chloe!” she shouted.

She tried to jam her arm through the gap, but found it wasn’t wide enough. Overcome by irritation, she stepped back and kicked shut the closet door with a bang, the padlock mechanism clattering loudly. If the noise startled the baby inside, there was no evidence of it.

Flustered and fuming, Jackie put her hands over her face and started to cry, falling back to sit on the edge of the bed. Beating her fists on the mattress, she screamed a few times just to feel the release.

“I’m gonna call the cops, you fucker!” she shrieked at the open bedroom door. She hadn’t noticed a phone in the house (who had a landline these days, anyway?), and her own cell had been shut off a few weeks ago for non-payment, but it seemed like the right kind of threat. “Open this door and—” Her sobs reached a crescendo, cutting off her voice. Tears cascaded down her red cheeks, and she began to hyperventilate.

Jackie sat there a few moments, mind racing, heart thundering, and concentrated on her breathing. Eventually, she spent all her energy, and a dry calm came over her. Tired now, she contemplated her circumstances, tried to find another approach to the situation.

Here she was in some freak’s house. The guy’s mom was dead, his dad gone, and he had a serious hard-on for her. Her baby was locked up in a closet, probably starving and marinating in her own mess, though silent because she wasn’t right in the head. Jackie’s plan had been to abandon Chloe, then drive off to…where? She had maybe twenty bucks. Even if she spent it all on gas, how far would she get? She really hadn’t thought through any of this.

Looking up, she saw that Steven was standing in the doorway, watching her curiously.

“All right,” she said, her tone heavy with defeat. “I’ll stay.”

His eyes lit up with astonishment and a disturbing delight.

“But we gotta get her outta there and change her and feed her, at least.”

~~

A vision of leaky diapers all over his prized porn collection convinced Steven that it was time to pull the baby out of the closet. He was relieved to find the vision wasn’t reality, yet an awful stench emanated from beneath the baby’s blankets, an indication that he had agreed to this course of action none too soon. Baby in hand, Steven led Jackie back to the living room.

On the couch across from his, the girl took a long time changing Chloe’s diaper, and her sour expression made it clear that the mess was unusually sizeable and rank. Steven estimated Chloe must have been getting very uncomfortable sitting in that for so long. Even so, Jackie didn’t act consoling or concerned toward the child, but went about the task like a maid disinclined to scrub a particularly vile toilet. Steven wondered if holding the baby hostage would end up being effective in persuading the girl to cooperate with his demands. Did she even love the kid? She had tried to dump it.

During the whole process, Chloe kicked and twisted, but never made a sound, and her eyes refused to focus on anything in particular. It reminded Steven of the distant stares of the blind, and he said so.

“No, she’s not blind,” Jackie responded.

“How do you know?” he asked, rising and standing over the child. He snapped his fingers over Chloe’s face, then waved at her. The baby’s eyes moved as she squirmed, but did not settle on his moving hand.

“Because she’s not. Don’t you think the doctors would’ve told me that?”

He shrugged.

“She can see. It’s just hard to get her attention.”

Steven huffed and returned to his seat.

“Chloe,” Jackie called, then she lightly smacked the baby’s face. Steven didn’t have a chance to register his own surprise at this before she did it again. “See? She looked at me.”

“Huh.”

Jackie noticed his discomfited look and rolled her eyes. “What? You think I’m abusive?”

“Well, she is pretty small to be knocking her around like that, isn’t she?”

“That’s nothing,” Jackie said. “Jeremy used to get so pissed off that Chloe wouldn’t look at him, he used to flick her ear until she started crying.”

Steven flinched.

“Took a lotta flicks, too. Her ear’d be all red and swollen. I learned not to say anything about it, though, ‘cause if I did, he’d hold me down and do the same to me.”

Jackie made a show of sniffing the air. “What do you want me to do with this?” she asked, pointing at the dirty diaper on the coffee table.

“There’s a garbage in the pantry,” Steven said, looking toward the kitchen.

When she returned, she said, “Don’t you ever empty your garbage?”

“Sometimes.”

“You should think about it soon, ‘cause it’s overflowing, and that diaper is gonna stink up your kitchen pretty bad.”

Steven made a mental note to add janitorial services to his list of demands for her.

“Where’d you get the idea for a weird-ass name like Chloe, anyway? Sounds like a Bratz doll or something.”

Jackie looked embarrassed.

“Oh, my God, are you serious? You really named her after a Bratz doll?”

Looking yet more uncomfortable, Jackie said, “What’s wrong with that? It’s better than a stupid name like Steven. How many Steves are there in the world? Like, a billion?”

“Hey, a billion Steves can’t be wrong,” he said wryly.

The girl laughed. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but whatever.”

“Besides, it’s not like I named myself. So that’s not fair.”

“I guess so.”

Jackie took a full baby bottle from the diaper bag and shoved it into Chloe’s mouth. She had to wiggle it around the baby’s lips for some time before Chloe acknowledged the bottle and began to suckle it. The girl stared at her feeding child for a moment, lost in thought.

“You’re a bit young to be a mom, aren’t you?” Steven asked, pulling Jackie from her reverie.

She looked up at him. “I’ll say. It was quite a surprise.”

“So what happened? Condom break? You were drunk? Forgot to take your pill?”

Jackie frowned. “Something like that.”

“Don’t wanna talk about it, huh?”

“Would you?”

“I don’t know. Nothing like that’s ever happened to me.” Steven smirked.

“Funny, jerk. Let’s just say it was drug related. I don’t really remember what happened. I mean, I do, but I don’t. You know?”

He nodded knowingly.

“Just like every mistake in my life,” she continued, drifting into memory. “That was the last time, though. Haven’t touched anything since I found out I got pregnant.”

“Yeah, it’s best not to do stuff when you’re pregnant.”

“That’s true, but it isn’t why I stopped. I was just sick of fucking up. Sick of wondering why my life was going wrong and not being able to remember how I got there. From now on, if my life sucks, at least I’ll know I chose it.”

Steven’s head tilted at this unexpected bit of wisdom.

“My mom’s a worthless fuckin’ junkie. And a whore. Haven’t even seen her since I was six or so, but I guess I took after her anyway. Not anymore.”

The conversation was reminding Steven of his own approaching sobriety, and he longed for another hit of weed. Jackie’s tone made it obvious that she now looked unfavorably upon those who chose to partake, so he resisted the urge, even as he mentally flogged himself for allowing her opinion to dictate his behavior. Perhaps it was about time for another kind of high.

“I’ve got condoms,” he blurted.

Jackie’s eyes widened.

“Strong ones.” Steven thought of the time that, out of boredom, he’d filled a few with water and flung them at some neighborhood kids. That had been disappointing, because none of them would break, though he had blackened one especially obnoxious kid’s eye.

“Why would you have condoms?” the girl asked, her mouth a cruel, jagged line.

Blood rushed to Steven’s face, a hot mix of anger and humiliation.

Heedless of his reaction, Jackie went on without looking at him. “I’m not fucking you,” she said simply. “You’re…disgusting.” She pulled the half-empty bottle from Chloe’s lips and tossed it into the diaper bag, then lifted the baby to her shoulder and began to pat her back.

Steven was speechless.

“I think I would rather die than let you touch me.” She looked at the baby chair, at the back of the couch, at her patting hand, anywhere but at Steven. Chloe burped, and Jackie carefully placed the baby back into the chair.

By the time he felt like he could speak again, most of the shame had dispersed, leaving only boiling resentment. He opened his mouth to yell at her, to remind her who was in charge here, to demand that she do what he needed, or else—

But then she spoke. “Let’s talk about that later, okay?”

Steven rose, crossed the distance between them, and grabbed the baby chair. Jackie moved back with alarm. He went back to his couch and sat Chloe beside him, placing his huge hand on her tiny chest.

“Let’s talk about it now.”

~~

Jackie shifted with discomfort, knowing the guy was glaring at her angrily. She swallowed hard. As long as she kept her gaze averted, she could stay in control, maybe even keep up her defiance. He was going for the kill early. She had thought she would have more time to prepare for this conflict.

“I just told you I’d rather die than be with you. What makes you think threatening her will work?”

“Jesus,” Steven said, “you really don’t give a shit about this kid, do ya?”

She gave a small shrug. “I do, I guess. Maybe I just don’t think you’ve got the balls.” She fiddled with her hands, watching the huge guy only in her peripheral vision.

“The hell I don’t. I could snap her neck right here.”

“So do it.” She was only slightly surprised to find she was almost hoping he would. Her problems would vanish just like that, and someone else would face the consequences. But she truly didn’t believe he had it in him. He was big, and he had a little temper, but she suspected that deep inside he was a pansy.

Sneering, the guy said, “God, you are one cold bitch. I guess I can see why, though. What good is a retarded kid?”

That got Jackie’s ire up again. “She’s not retarded, jackass! Ugh! Would your mom have been a whore to save you? I doubt it.”

The guy sat silently for long enough that Jackie eventually looked right at him. His face was blank. He was in a trance, staring straight ahead, one hand still resting on Chloe, who was now fast asleep. Jackie couldn’t tell if he was hurt, pissed off, embarrassed, or some combination. Whatever he felt about his mother, it was substantial, and it provided a good opportunity to change the subject.

“What happened to her, anyway?” she asked quietly. “Your mom.”

He turned to look at her then, but his eyes remained glazed and vacant. “She fell off a cliff.”

“What? She did not. How?”

“We were camping. I was playing at the edge of this ravine, just dickin’ around. I don’t really remember what I was doing. She saw me there and freaked out. She came running over and tried to pull me away from the edge. I didn’t wanna go.”

He stopped a moment, took a deep breath, then continued. “One second she was there screaming at me, and the next she was just gone. A piece of the edge crumbled off and she fell. Guess I’m lucky she didn’t take me with her.”

Jackie was stunned. She didn’t want to believe him, and certainly thought him capable of telling such a lie, but he was so solemn, so serious, she believed.

“Did you see her fall? I mean, really see?”

“No. I heard her. She kept screaming, and that would get cut off every time she hit a rock or tree or something.”

“God, that’s horrible.”

“I dream about it sometimes. Of course, now my dad hates my guts. He thinks I killed her. Or it was my fault, anyway. I think that’s why he doesn’t come home much, just keeps travelling for work. He can’t even stand to look at me.”

“But that’s crazy! It wasn’t your fault. You were a kid.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The two sat in silence for a time, Steven appearing to relive the tragedy in his mind and Jackie imagining it.

Eventually, he said, “But yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I think she would have been a whore to save me.”

Jackie huffed. “Oh, really? Well, you must’ve been a lot cuter as a kid, then.”

“Not retarded, either.”

“You’re retarded now!” she shot back. “And fuckin’ fat, and smelly, and probably a virgin.”

Steven winced.

“And I’d rather you kill me, Chloe, the President, and the Pope than have to see you naked, or let you touch me. So kill her! Do me a favor. Just whatever you do, shut the hell up!”

There was no question about the kid’s state of mind now. His cheeks drooped, framing a heart-breaking frown. His eyes oozed pain. He sat staring at his knees, a picture of hopelessness.

Blood pounding in her ears, Jackie watched him, and slowly a sense of regret came over her. Maybe she had gone too far. Before she could calm down and apologize for her harshness, he mumbled something under his breath.

“What?”

“I said, why don’t you just kill her, then? You obviously don’t want her.”

Jackie blinked. “That’s a good question.” The truth was, she had thought about it. The baby was too much for her to handle and she knew it. Even a perfectly normal infant would have presented a nearly insurmountable challenge for her, and if Chloe turned out to be autistic or worse…. Babies died all the time. SIDS, sometimes.

She remembered sitting next to the cradle late one night, nursing a fresh bruise on her jaw. It seemed so quiet, like she and Chloe were all alone in the world. The sounds of Chloe’s wet breathing, the creaking of the cradle rocking, Jeremy’s drunken snoring from the other room, and the occasional car passing on the street did nothing to break the stillness. It was indeed quiet, outwardly peaceful, but inside she raged. If it weren’t for the baby, Jeremy’s fist to her jaw would have been the last straw, the final insult. She felt like she would have left forever that night, but not with a baby, and she couldn’t leave Chloe here with that prick. The baby was odd, unresponsive, maybe autistic, the doctors said. What kind of life would Chloe have? There was no question that Jackie’s life was ruined. It would be the easiest thing in the world to take a pillow and press it to her sleeping child’s face, hold it there until the little girl stopped moving.

She saw that Steven was studying her and realized she had lapsed into silent contemplation. She didn’t know how long it had been. “I’ve wanted to kill her. Believe me.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know.” She paused, thinking. “Hey, did you ever hear about that lady whose baby got kidnapped, and one day the kidnappers brought the baby back, only the baby was dead?”

“No.” Steven sat up straighter, listening.

“Yeah, they just left this dead baby in a box on her porch. Of course she finds it and freaks out. And they never found out who did it. Why would someone do that? I mean, what’s the point?”

“I never heard about that in real life, but I saw something like it in a movie before. I watch a lot of horror.”

Jackie smirked. “I never would’ve guessed.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, the guy asked, “How’d they kill it? Was it all chopped up and shit?”

“Ew! I have no idea.”

The pair sat quietly a moment, pondering the story.

“You know,” Jackie said, “that would be the way to do it. Don’t you think she’d be better off dead?”

Somewhat taken aback by the abrupt question, Steven glanced at the baby, then back to Jackie. “Uhh, sure. If she’s all retarded and whatnot.”

Jackie chose to ignore the word this time. “I need my own kidnapping. That way it’s clean. Baby shows up dead, no one knows who did it, no one to blame. It’s happened before, so it’s not all that weird, right? It’s perfect.”

“What…you gonna kill your own baby and leave it on your own porch, then?”

“No. You are.”

He gasped, and the timing must have been bad, because he started coughing and hacking. When he was finally able to speak again, he said, “Bullshit. Why would I do that?”

She donned her most provocative smile. “Because if you do, I’ll do whatever you want.” She cast her eyes overtly toward his crotch as she said this to be sure there was no mistaking her intent.

Doubt creased his features, and he said, “You said you’d rather let me kill her than touch me.”

“Yeah, I did, but this plan changes all that.” She rose and walked toward him, trying to maintain a desirable posture. “I need you.”

Steven was clearly torn. He was actually thinking about it! Jackie almost retracted the offer right then. Had she really expected him to consider it? Would she let him go through with it? Should she?

Yes, she should. Suddenly, it all seemed so clear. He kills the baby, then they lay low for a few days, let everyone wonder what’s happened to her and the baby both. They would have to hide her car, of course. She was pretty sure the house had a garage. Then, once Chloe was nice and rotten, Steven could drop the stinking corpse on the doorstep of her old apartment and run. That would be a nice surprise for Jeremy. Ha! A few days after that, she could show up, battered and confused, with tales of being assaulted at a gas station, wondering where her baby was…or something. The end didn’t matter yet. She could figure that out later. For now, she just needed to get Steven on board, so she told him the whole plan.

“This—this is insane,” he stuttered. “You’re nuts.”

“Maybe a little,” said Jackie, then she licked her lips suggestively. “We can do this. We can get away with it. You’ve seen all those movies, right? You know how people get caught. We’ll be smart.”

“I dunno. Maybe.” Something lit up behind his eyes, and she knew she had him. Then he said, “I need proof you’re gonna do what you say you will.”

“What kinda proof?”

“Show me your tits.”

Jackie sighed. “Fine.”

She gripped her shirt with both hands and pulled it and her bra up over her small breasts. It was oddly exhilarating. For a moment, she thought she knew how a stripper must feel, and it wasn’t so bad. Enjoying the look of shock and ecstasy on the guy’s face, she even wiggled about a bit and moved in closer to him.

“Is that good?” she asked as she pulled her clothing back into place.

He nodded, eyes like saucers. “It’s good,” he whispered. “How should we do this?”

“Who cares? Just grab a knife.”

The massive kid hauled himself up from the couch and lumbered off toward the kitchen.

It was happening.

~~

Steven Dorsey hovered over the infant, a large kitchen knife clutched tightly in one fist, his knuckles bone white. Sweat stung his eyes, and his pudgy cheeks vibrated with tension. He thought it would be easy, thought he could just come in here and sink the blade into the baby’s chest and be done with it. In his mind, he could see it happen, like in a movie…maybe “Psycho”.

It wasn’t so easy when it was real. As he stared down at Chloe’s serene, sleeping face, watched her chest rise and fall with the slow cadence of slumber, he wished idly for a save spot. Playing through his favorite video games, save spots allowed him to try things on for size without committing himself fully to any particular course. He could save the game, gleefully kill the innocent shopkeeper with a chainsaw, and then find out if there were any consequences. If the game’s police came charging in and took him out with a storm of righteous gunfire, he could simply reload from the point at which he’d saved, unscathed and ready to try another path.

If he killed this baby, there would be no going back. The finality of the act stayed his hand.

“Come on, “ Jackie hissed from behind him. “What are you waiting for?”

He’d been paralyzed with indecision for so long, her voice, though quiet, startled him terribly. Steven’s heart leaped straight into his throat.

“Jeez! I’m thinking!”

“What’s there to think about? Thinking about it won’t make it any easier. Just do it.”

She was right about that. Mulling it over wasn’t going to bring him any courage. He had to keep his eye on the prize. He glanced back at the girl, looked her over for the hundredth time, imagining his hands all over her lithe little body. Maybe she would let him undress her. He’d never unhooked a bra before. Would he know how, or would he look like an idiot when he fumbled it? Ah! His mind was drifting again. Eye on the prize, eye on the prize….

Without a save spot to give him a retry, he had to be sure of himself. Killing Chloe was the best thing for everyone, he thought. Best for Jackie, to be sure. She wasn’t ready for a baby. Hell, would she ever be? Best for Chloe, definitely. What kind of chance did she have at a life? A stupid child for a mother, an abusive, drug-addled asshole for a father, a mean old bastard for a grandfather, and she was retarded. He would certainly be doing the baby a favor if he slammed the sharp steel into her tiny, beating heart, giving her the abortion she was denied as a fetus.

But was it best for him? He needed to get laid, without a doubt. Though he was shaking with apprehension, his loins burned. Steven had to be realistic. Would he ever have a chance to be with someone like Jackie again? Prostitutes, perhaps, but that idea didn’t appeal to him strongly. Newscasts, movies, and comics had given him visions of crusty, used-up vaginas crawling with vermin just waiting to hitch a ride into his underwear. He might rather masturbate.

Chloe started wriggling and smacking her lips sleepily. She lazily opened her eyes, turned her head, and looked right at him. Like she knew…and approved.

~~

“Jesus! Stop being a pussy and do it already!”

Jackie was fed up with the kid’s hesitation. If he didn’t kill Chloe soon, she was going to lose her nerve, then they’d be back to square one, with no plan, no future, and nothing to look forward to but frustration and hopelessness.

Screw it, she thought, I’ll do it myself.

She stormed off into the kitchen to get her own knife.

~~

When he saw Jackie leave the room, her patience spent, Steven knew he had to act. The moment of truth was upon him.

It was now or never. No going back now.

~~

In the kitchen, Jackie riffled through drawers looking for a knife suitable for infanticide. When she finally found the silverware drawer, she saw that it contained only a few large spoons and a butter knife. A knife block sat on the counter beneath the overhanging microwave oven, all its slots empty.

Nothing clean. Of course. God damn slob. How was she ever going to have sex with that freak? She wasn’t, probably. She would have to find a way to break her promise.

Moving to the sink, she found it full of filthy water, with dirty dishes and chunks of food floating around in it like debris from a shipwreck. She wasn’t going to put her hands in that.

Several more minutes of searching yielded nothing, but instead of becoming tense and anxious, she was surprised to realize she was losing energy. What the hell was she doing? She was going to kill her baby with a knife? Really? Had she lost her mind?

A deep, draining sadness began in the pit of her stomach and pushed outward, filling her chest like a suffocating liquid. A living fog of dejection overtook her limbs and clouded her mind. Her eyes filled with tears and her legs gave way. Jackie collapsed against the refrigerator, slid to the floor, covered her face with her hands, and cried. She sobbed into her hands quietly but forcefully, sad that she had seriously contemplated killing her child, but equally sad that she had failed to go through with it.

Jackie took a moment to pull herself together, then stood and wiped the tears from her face with her shirt collar. She went back to the living room to tell Steven he was off the hook, full of a strange and pleasant tranquility.

As expected, Steven was still hunched over Chloe’s chair, frozen with fear. He heard her approach and turned toward her, a look of stricken, dumb horror on his face, and a spot of something red on his chin. Oh, God…she was too late! He was such a loser, so useless and timorous, it really had never occurred to her that he might find the strength to do it before she returned.

Something deep inside her snapped. A primal, maternal instinct switched on and roared to life within. Without thinking, she strode up to Steven, stuck her hand in his face, and shoved him aside. Steven’s knife protruded from Chloe’s upper chest, the blade partially in her neck, and blood spurted from the wound with each of the little girl’s final heartbeats. The baby’s eyes were open, staring at nothing, as usual. Jackie watched, horrified, as the glimmer of life faded from those eyes and winked out.

Grief, pain, and anger took over. Before she knew what she was doing, she had pulled the knife from Chloe’s body, turned, and plunged it into Steven’s chest with a wet splat.

The move was so sudden and unexpected, it took the kid a moment to realize what had happened. He slowly looked down at the blade in his chest, at the red pool forming around it, then his face crinkled into an ugly, anguished caricature. He began to whimper like a frightened puppy. His mouth opened wide and issued a keening, blood-curdling screech. Steven scrambled from the couch and stumbled around the room like he could run from the pain and the fear, but there was no escape. He barreled into the entertainment center, still screaming and crying. He clutched at the knife, but the sharp edge sliced his fingers, and he abandoned his attempt to remove it.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually Steven fell onto the coffee table, flattening it with a crash, and quieted. Jackie stood watching the whole escapade, scarcely breathing. She was glad when he finally stopped making those awful noises.

But now what? She’d lost everything. Her baby was dead, her plan in tatters. There was no explaining this to the police. Her life was ruined…again.

Now sapped of all feeling, Jackie formed a new plan. Like a zombie, she dug around in Steven’s pockets. He didn’t move or make a sound. He must be dead, she reasoned. When she found the key to his closet padlock, she made her way downstairs to his bedroom. He had to have something in there that would do the job.

Next to his baggie of weed sat a prescription pill bottle. The name on the label was Jack Brewster, whoever that was. Hydrocodone. Fine, that’ll do. Was there anyone who wasn’t abusing pain pills these days?

She popped the cap and started swallowing pills dry, unfazed by the chalky texture and medicinal tang, even chewing them up when it became difficult to get them down. Once she’d taken the whole bottle, she lay upon Steven’s repugnant, odiferous mattress, closed her eyes, and waited for oblivion.

In time, nausea, drowsiness, and confusion rolled over her in waves. She tossed from side to side, unable to think, unable to lift her head, her vision swimming. At least once, she sat up partially and vomited on herself. Not even this could be easy. Ah, well, she thought, I guess it’s what I deserve.

Eventually, blessedly, she lost her grip on consciousness, the world retreated, and darkness claimed her.

~~

Jackie woke slowly, her eyes fluttering. She was in unfamiliar surroundings, and there were people looking down at her. To her right, a man in a white coat. A doctor, surely. A woman in a blue uniform stood at a respectful distance off to her left, a police badge prominently displayed on her breast.

That brought it all flooding back. She was still alive! No!

“Jackie?” the doctor said as he put aside her chart. “Can you hear me?”

“I—“ Her mouth and throat were dry, and she choked on the word.

“Here, try to drink this.” The doctor put a Styrofoam cup to her lips, and she gulped water greedily. “Do you remember what happened to you? Do you know where you are?”

The only thing she could think to say was, “Steven…. Is he…?”

“The boy that was with you? He’s in surgery. He’s in rough shape, but it looks like he’ll make it.”

Jackie’s eyes snapped open and she struggled to sit up. He’d tell them everything! Not only was she not dead, but she was going to jail. How could things have turned out worse?

“Whoa,” the doctor cautioned, placing his hands on her shoulders to hold her down, “be careful. You’re not ready to be up and about just yet.”

The policewoman stepped forward then. “Jackie, can you tell us what happened? What happened to Steven?” She came even closer, leaned into Jackie’s face and asked, “What happened to your baby?”

Jackie Warner opened her mouth and started screaming, determined never to stop.