The Meridians(5)

"Lynny!" he shouted.

Lynette tried to speak back, tried to answer him and tell him that she couldn't breathe. But no words came. Instead, she suddenly felt her right hand grow numb. Her chest grew even tighter, though now the tightness was of a different sort than the respiratory failure that had been gripping her only a moment before.

"Honey? Honey?" said Robbie, then leapt to her side and grabbed her as Lynette pitched forward violently.

I'm having a heart attack, she thought. Not even thirty years old and I'm having a heart attack!

Then everything went dark for a minute or for an hour, and suddenly she was on the floor of her kitchen, and her feet and hands were tapping a rapid tattoo against her kitchen floor and her husband was breathing into her mouth and pounding his big hands against her chest as he performed CPR on her.

Am I not breathing? she thought.

Then all was black again, and again she could not tell how much time had passed, but when she woke she was in an ambulance, with Robbie holding tightly to her hand as a paramedic hurriedly did things that she didn't understand.

"What's going on?" she heard Robbie say, and her heart nearly broke at the anguish in his voice. Don't worry, she wanted to say to him, but when she tried all that happened was that she managed to exhale a single shallow breath before the paramedic injected her with something and again she lapsed into unconsciousness.

When she woke the next time she was shivering horrifically, her entire body spasming as though she were hypothermic, though she did not feel cold. She was aware she had a terrible taste in her mouth, though she was unaware of where she was. She groaned, and felt warmth pass between her shaking legs. She grew lightheaded at the same time and knew she was bleeding; knew she was bleeding to death, in fact.

A voice said, "She's gone hemorrhagic, get me a transfusion kit, now," and she had the sensation of all sorts of people around her, then all went dark again.

When she woke again, Robbie was there. He was white-faced and wild-eyed, products of the panic she could read in his face, but he was there, thank heaven he was there.

"Hey, hon," he whispered.

"Hey," she whispered back. Or tried to. There was something wrong with her voice. "The baby," she whispered, because she could see that there were bags of blood hanging above her, knew that everything was going wrong, knew that the baby was coming early.

"They're going to help it come soon," said Robbie, his voice choking with emotion as he said it. "Right now, in fact."

"What..." she began the question, but couldn't finish it.

"They said you have something called an amniotic fluid embolism. Some of the baby's cells got into your system, and well, your body didn't like that too much."

"Understatement," she whispered, and Robbie laughed.

The laugh turned into a sob a moment later, though, and she realized that Robbie, gentle, strong Robbie, was crying. "Please, Lord," Robbie said, his head in his hands, with her tiny, frail hand clutched between his strong ones. "Please, save my wife, save my baby."

Then once again Lynette felt as though there was a sudden increase of movement around her.

"What's going on?" said Robbie, and she wanted to reach out and comfort him, take away the pain and fear in his voice. But she couldn't move, couldn't even see much beyond the bright light that hung above her head.

I'm in a hospital, she realized. I'm in an operating room.

Then another part of her wondered if they were going to "help the baby come," as Robbie had put it, because the poor child was already dead. But no, Robbie would not have prayed for God to save the baby if there was nothing to save. Besides, she could hear someone - a doctor or a nurse, no doubt - talking to Robbie.

"Mr. Randall, you have to go now -" began the person.

"No!" shouted Robbie. "I'm not leaving her."

Then there were sounds of a scuffle, and Robbie shouted for Lynette.

Then all was dark again.

She was floating, floating. Floating in a cool place where everything was safe. She was floating in Robbie's arms. She was floating in her mother's arms, on one of the few days when her mother wasn't drunk or abusive. She was floating with her baby in her arms. She looked down and could see the baby, and he was beautiful, which surprised her. Oh, not that he was beautiful - how could he be anything but beautiful, with Robbie for a father? But that it was a he. Both she and Robbie had decided they would rather be surprised by the baby's sex, so had decided against finding out.

A boy, she thought, in the everywhere of her mind, the everyplace of her dream. A boy. His name should be Kevin, after Robbie's own daddy. Kevin Angel Randall. Because he was an angel. She was sure of it.

She looked in her arms, and looked at the baby there, and little Kevin smiled. He didn't look at her, which she thought was odd, but he smiled as though he could see something bright and marvelous just over her shoulder.

Then he reached out and she saw something in his palm. Impossibly, the newborn was holding something. And it was vaguely familiar, though she could not place it at this particular instant. It was small and dull: a dark, matted gray and misshapen object that seemed to suck light into it as she looked.

The baby looked past her still, but spoke then. It spoke, and the words it spoke were almost as strange as the object in his tiny palm. "Keep it," said the small voice. "Keep it, it's important."