circulate around her face. I fumbled to straighten the visitor’s gown over my belly. My movements were so numb and inefficient, I worried whether I could pull off any escape that required gross motor skills. I wondered what the hell I was doing—why I was ruining my life in the span of a single night and day. But then I thought about Poppu in his bed, his beautiful eyes becoming shadowed pits in his skull, his scarred body all knobby joints and loose, ashen skin. I thought about what it would mean to him to kiss Ciel’s baby. And then I thought about how Ciel acted like he wasn’t part of our family anymore, like this baby wasn’t part of our family, wasn’t Poppu’s flesh and blood, and the anger gave me strength.
I looked at Day Boy and the male nurse. Both were leaning over their crying patient, hard at work. I had one last moment to cover my tracks, and to buy myself some time to leave the hospital undetected. I snatched the stethoscope from the bassinet on my right. As I shoved it into my back pocket, I noticed that the sliding door of the metal box was open a crack, and a fragment of something blue was peeking out from the stack of diapers. I didn’t have time to dawdle, but there was something familiar about it. I pushed the door open, lifted the stack of diapers, and pulled out a blue-and-white lanyard strap.
It had a Day maternity nurse ID attached to it. The photo was of a Japanese woman, Yukie Shiga.
It was like finding a diamond ring on the sidewalk. It seemed impossible that a nurse could have lost it, yet there it was, a gift from the universe; it was the only lucky thing that had happened to me in years; and it was suddenly absolutely essential to my escape. What would I have done without it? Maternity ward security is notoriously high. I put it over my head with shaking hands and tucked it inside the neck of the visitor’s gown.
I glanced out the window of the nursery: the nurse was still on the phone at her station. I finished my task quickly: I picked up the baby boy—Baby Number Two—and gently tucked him into Ciel’s baby’s bassinet, so that it wouldn’t be empty. All newborns look pretty much alike, right? All were wrapped in the same pink-and-blue-striped blankets and wearing striped hats. The switch would only be discovered when they were unswaddled and their ankle bands checked. And then, since Baby Number Two’s bassinet was the last one in the row, I ripped off the blue patient-information card that was taped to it and stuffed the card in my front jeans pocket, hoping that it looked more normal for the last bassinet to be empty. I braced myself and closed my eyes, dizzy.
“You okay, Plus One?” I heard Day Boy’s voice.
“No, I…” I looked over my shoulder at him and the nurse, trying not to turn my body. “I think I’m going to be sick again.”
“I’ll get you someth—”
“Can I go to the restroom instead?” I said, before he could finish his sentence. “I saw one next to the nurses’ station.”
Day Boy made a quick decision. “Sure. I’ll come knock on the door in a second.”
“Thanks,” I said, heading out—bent a little as if I were sick, but really to hide my new baby belly. If I could get past Day Boy, maybe I could get past anyone.
“Plus One!” he called to me.
I froze. I put my hand on my sweaty forehead and looked over my shoulder at him. Had he seen the bulge? My heart was exploding inside my chest.
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” he said.
The Morazan
For the two years after Ciel was reassigned, drawing on my desk helped to keep me from going mad in school. My sketching partner in crime never failed to have at least one classroom in his schedule that overlapped with one of mine, and to sit at the very same desk. I always sat in the back, and apparently so did he, although I couldn’t figure out why. I did it to hide from teachers, to avoid being called on, and to catch up on lost sleep without being noticed. But it
I looked at Day Boy and the male nurse. Both were leaning over their crying patient, hard at work. I had one last moment to cover my tracks, and to buy myself some time to leave the hospital undetected. I snatched the stethoscope from the bassinet on my right. As I shoved it into my back pocket, I noticed that the sliding door of the metal box was open a crack, and a fragment of something blue was peeking out from the stack of diapers. I didn’t have time to dawdle, but there was something familiar about it. I pushed the door open, lifted the stack of diapers, and pulled out a blue-and-white lanyard strap.
It had a Day maternity nurse ID attached to it. The photo was of a Japanese woman, Yukie Shiga.
It was like finding a diamond ring on the sidewalk. It seemed impossible that a nurse could have lost it, yet there it was, a gift from the universe; it was the only lucky thing that had happened to me in years; and it was suddenly absolutely essential to my escape. What would I have done without it? Maternity ward security is notoriously high. I put it over my head with shaking hands and tucked it inside the neck of the visitor’s gown.
I glanced out the window of the nursery: the nurse was still on the phone at her station. I finished my task quickly: I picked up the baby boy—Baby Number Two—and gently tucked him into Ciel’s baby’s bassinet, so that it wouldn’t be empty. All newborns look pretty much alike, right? All were wrapped in the same pink-and-blue-striped blankets and wearing striped hats. The switch would only be discovered when they were unswaddled and their ankle bands checked. And then, since Baby Number Two’s bassinet was the last one in the row, I ripped off the blue patient-information card that was taped to it and stuffed the card in my front jeans pocket, hoping that it looked more normal for the last bassinet to be empty. I braced myself and closed my eyes, dizzy.
“You okay, Plus One?” I heard Day Boy’s voice.
“No, I…” I looked over my shoulder at him and the nurse, trying not to turn my body. “I think I’m going to be sick again.”
“I’ll get you someth—”
“Can I go to the restroom instead?” I said, before he could finish his sentence. “I saw one next to the nurses’ station.”
Day Boy made a quick decision. “Sure. I’ll come knock on the door in a second.”
“Thanks,” I said, heading out—bent a little as if I were sick, but really to hide my new baby belly. If I could get past Day Boy, maybe I could get past anyone.
“Plus One!” he called to me.
I froze. I put my hand on my sweaty forehead and looked over my shoulder at him. Had he seen the bulge? My heart was exploding inside my chest.
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” he said.
The Morazan
For the two years after Ciel was reassigned, drawing on my desk helped to keep me from going mad in school. My sketching partner in crime never failed to have at least one classroom in his schedule that overlapped with one of mine, and to sit at the very same desk. I always sat in the back, and apparently so did he, although I couldn’t figure out why. I did it to hide from teachers, to avoid being called on, and to catch up on lost sleep without being noticed. But it
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