The Unbirthing
Smashwords Edition
Bill
Edited by Susan Strict
Copyright 2009 by Bill
Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Cover artwork by Brendan M Baker
Discovery Beginnings
"So, what was the cause of death?" Lieutenant. Dave Peters asked the pathologist as he flipped through the multiple page report.
"Last page," the uninterested pathologist said as he walked towards the door of the lab.
Dave flipped to the last page and tried to read before the pathologist could make an exit. Then he yelled: "Asphyxiation?"
The pathologist ignored him and left, but Dave gave chase. "Hey! What was that fluid on his face?"
"I don't know. Near as I can tell is that it's a substance something like oxygen-rich plasma. It's definitely some kind of oxygenated plasma. I guess it must be what he drowned in."
"Well if it's oxygen-rich, how could he drown in it? Wouldn’t it keep him alive, not asphyxiate him?"
The pathologist shrugged. "I don't know. I could send it into the lab for testing, but whatever the results they’d be irrelevant to cause of death." He turned around, frustrated, and pointed Dave back to the cold examination table where the body of the tall dark man lay.
"Look at him. His capillaries are blue. His eyes are rolled back in the back of his head. Look at the bruising on the face. It all adds up. It’s the classic signs of asphyxiation."
"But that doesn't account for whatever this fluid is. What is he, a diver or something?"
"Look, I got three more dead bodies to examine today and then I'm going home. If you want me to send it in for testing then I will, but it’s going to make no difference to what’s gone into my report."
"No. Never mind."
The pathologist gave a smirk and barged out the laboratory door.
Three more to go. Dave stood there perplexed. As he looked down at the victim's face he closed up the report in his hands and started his own exit. It was only then it hit him. It hit him like a hammer on his brain. Wilkins. Wilkins had the same thing. Wilkins was not, in Dave’s mind, a very good cop, but he had seen something like this before and surely he must have some input on what this might be. At least, he would have more ideas than the pathologist. Dave reached for his cell phone and headed out to his car in the parking lot.
"Wilkins!"
"Yah!"
"It's Peters. Hey, didn't you have a case of asphyxiation a while back?"
"Asphyxiation? What's that?"
"Asphyxiation! You know some guy who got smothered to death? Out at Willoughby, I think it was."
"Yah! I remember that. What about it? Shit, that was months ago."
"What can you tell me about it?"
"Why? Got another?"
“Looks like it."
"I'll have to dig up my files at the precinct. Can you wait until tomorrow?"
"No! Where you at?"
"Look, I'm doing something right now. I'll get back at ya tomorrow." Wilkins hung up.
"Shit."
*
Bill Werner, a good looking 24 year old college student, was working late at Sandy’s, an up town bar at the corner of Brooks and Willoughby. He had been bartending there for going on three years now. The money he made from tips more than doubled his income, which he neatly tucked away to pay for his senior year at the university. He was studying psychology and planned on getting his masters, and the people he met at the bar were perfect for his psychological studies. He got to know all kinds here; rich, poor, white, black, asian, granolas, regulars, and just about a hundred more he had classified throughout the years just by a look. Knowing people was his discipline. His talent. And what better place to know people than an uptown joint like this? With a caring manner he would pour everyone their drink, and they felt like they could talk to him. Just to bullshit. But it was no bullshit to him. On some days he could see the size of the tip in the looks in their eyes, the big one being that little piece of paper.
Light jazz was playing in the background, and tonight the place was hopping.
"Whiskey."
He heard it from his left, and there sat a beautiful brunette. Her long silky hair curved upwards at the shoulders. Her eyes were dark, and so large it was almost like you could get lost in them. Black. Beautiful. And that red lipstick did something else for her that even Bill could not quite pinpoint for the moment. It was a “wow” and a desire and a fear all at once.
"Coming right up."
And as Bill walked over to the other end of the bar, he took in her facial features. Determined. Serious. But there was something sensual and hypnotic in her gaze. She was one of those movie stars you see in the old movies where the lens is fuzzy, or clear, whichever way you wanted to look at it.
"I wouldn't have thought a nice lady like you was a whiskey drinker?" And he poured her drink.
She said nothing. She just looked at him.
"Ice?"
Now she gave a subtle nod. Bill took her as one of those who was just not the talkative type - one of those from way uptown, maybe. So he dropped in a couple of ice cubes and walked away.
Later that night she moved to a table. A tall, balding, sweaty old man was buying her a drink. It was her third. . Bill had seen the guy before. He was pretty much a regular here. An insurance guy, and really slimy the way some insurance guys can be. Bill felt a shiver of jealousy; jealous of this insurance guy sitting next to her. . She would say just a few words, and then he would talk for several minutes. Bill caught some of their conversation not long before they left. It was clear who was in control. They walked out together, at about 10pm, and Bill realized he had hardly taken his eyes off her all night. She was new, and she was kind of lady who never goes unnoticed.
*
"Yup. Here it is. Ha! John Doe. Never identified. Found him under the bridge."
Wilkins threw the report on Peters’ desk. Dave stopped what he was doing and started to read it carefully.
"Cause of death?"
"Asphyxiation. Yup, it's like someone put a pillow over his face. What you got?"
"Same thing."
"No ID?"
"Nope. No wallet."
"Ha! Same hair color. Black. Italian. Almost same height too. Six foot one. What's this stuff on his face?"
"That's what I was wondering. It wasn't on yours?"
"Hmmm. Don't think so. Let me see that."
"Yup. Here it is. They found something in his throat. Same stuff. Oxygen-rich, or something like that. They said it wasn't worth looking into."
"Why not?"
"They said he probably gulped up something when he was on his last breath. Don't know what it was."
"Same stuff, sounds like. Should get it tested."
"What for? You think there's a connection?"
"It's worth looking into."
Wilkins laughed. "It is, huh? What the hell for? Look, there are two dozen dead John Does that go through here a night. What makes this one any more special?"
"The fluid."
"They don't even know what it is."
"That's what I'm going to find out."
Dave picked up the phone, and Wilkins walked away. If there was a connection, it would make him look bad for not looking into it further. But Peters was not going to let that stop him. The guy was worthless. He was no real cop; just doing his time.
"Dr. Faraday, please? Sure. I'll hold." Dave skimmed through the old file. June 2nd, 2001. That was seven months ago. "Yah! Doctor Faraday, my name is Lieutenant. Dave Peters of the 5th Precinct? I'd like to bring up an analysis of one of the John Does you got in there yesterday? No. No. Yah, that's right. OK, when? Sure. I'll be there. Oh, and doc? Make this a good one, OK?"
Dave hung up the phone. Four days. They were not in any hurry at the Coroner’s office, that was for sure. He pulled out the summation at the end of Wilkins report and headed out to his car. He had decided to take a look at the crime scene.
*
Laurie Tremer loaded up the body into the back of her sports utility vehicle. He was over two hundred pounds, but it was no problem to get him down the stairs and out of the back door. He just rolled down the solid hard wood like a rag doll. In her gym suit she closed the tailgate and carefully checked her work. She was meticulous. She had to be. And she was full of energy. After she dumped old man Fred’s body, she was planning on doing a couple miles at the gym.
On the way down the country road she thought about him. She thought about how he had looked at her; about how his eyes had begged her to let him go. It was that look had pushed her towards climax. The misery was sexy, and so was the begging, the smothering, and the feeling of his life, everything he ever was, drawn up into her body as though it were a fountain of youth. His essence was now in her womb. She could feel it there. She would feel it for a month, maybe longer, until the cycle was over.
It was unusual for her to dump her work in the morning. Usually she would wait until night and then bring her gun with her. Seeing a sixty thousand dollar SUV stopped under an inner city bridge was about as conspicuous as it got. She had been planning to buy an older model, just for safety's sake, but she had not got around to it yet. When, two nights ago, she had felt the hunger badly, safety had to wait. Besides, the cabin rent was up, and she found a perfect spot on a trail by a quiet lake.
The SUV negotiated the tiny backwoods road. It was nothing but a fisherman's road. So this was what four-wheeling was like? When she found the spot she had picked out days before, she backed the SUV in and turned the ignition off. For a while she sat waiting, not moving, not even thinking for several minutes.
The silence hurt her ears, but it was a moment that had to be captured. Of course she had to hear whether anyone was following her. Of course she had to hear whether or not there was anyone nearby. But there was more, and her inner instincts absorbed the silence to give her the confidence, the confirmation of all the fantasy that was no fantasy, and the go-ahead to finish it.
Then, as if on impulse, she opened the door and stepped out. And step-by-step, tilde by tilde, she methodically disposed of the body, the only evidence anyone would ever find of her fantasy turned reality. She disposed of the only witness on the planet to her devourous ecstasy.
*
"It's fetal alright. I’ve never seen anything like it. It's almost like he was in some kind of womb."
"Womb? I don't understand. An animal’s womb?"
"Right. He was breathing this stuff. His bronchia are full of it. There's quite a bit of damage, too. There’s a puncture in the left lung. It looks like this is some kind of suction point. Tissue has been drawn here. Where it went to, I don't know."
"You mean something was down his throat?"
"Looks like it. Some kind of suction device."
"How do you know it was suction?"
"Because of the damage. See? It's pointing upwards, like something was drawing it in. There's something similar at the base of his neck."
"Why didn't that show up on the initial pathologist’s report?"
"Because it's internal. External analysis wouldn't reveal it. There would have been no need for the pathologist to look for it. Cause of death, asphyxia, was obvious from all the external signs. This is something else." Dr. Faraday paused a moment to re-read his own report. "Nope. I've never seen anything like this before. You say this might be a serial killer or something?"
"I don't know." Dave was just as perplexed. "How does a six-foot-one man get killed by a womb?"
"I have no idea."
They starred at one another.
"Is it human?"
"Oh. It's definitely human. I even have a DNA analysis. It's female all right. She's probably Polynesian by birth, or at least by recent ancestry. The DNA is unmistakable."
"Well, what kind of a woman can do this to a man?"
"Not any woman that I've ever seen. The fetal fluid isn't even normal fetal fluid. Like I said, I've never seen anything like it. What’s more, it contains an enzyme that’s closely related to morphine, although I’ve never come across any compound quite like it. It’s unique, and I still haven’t analyzed all the components properly. He probably couldn't even move."
"Paralyzed?"
"That's right. I've not received the lab results back on that yet, and that’s probably because the lab technicians don't even believe it's legit. No, he would have felt like his whole body was pins and needles. Paralyzed. Then this thing happened. This..."
The Doctor struggled for the right words, and then they both said it together: "Eating."
*
Bringham and Addle was bustling on this warm city afternoon. The law firm had a big case with one of its most important clients.
Jeffry Adams was the junior attorney assigned to the case. Bringham had high hopes for him. Fresh out of law school and eager to make money, and today was the deadline for the complaint. Adams had not even gone home last night. He stayed in his office all day and all night, preparing the writ was intended to knock a few socks off. As he sat at his desk going over it for the hundredth time, in walked his secretary with a phone call from the defense.
"Who is it?"
"A Miss Tremer, Mr. Adams."
"Ok, put it through." Adams cleared his throat. He did not want his fatigue to be apparent at the other end. He even straightened his tie. "Miss Tremer? Adams here Yes, I'd like to meet with you as well Tomorrow? Well, how about today? No No, that's fine. I'll be on the eight o'clock tomorrow. Sure. Have you...? No. Have you looked...?" Adams looked troubled. "Sure. No, I'll be there tomorrow. Good day."
Adams' office door opened again and in walked an old gray haired man by the name of John Bringham with a wide grin on his face.
"Well?"
Adams laughed. "I think this is a slam dunk, John."
John laughed. "It had better be. What'd you think of her?"
"That's their attorney?"
"That's the one. You never heard of Laurie Tremer? Never lost a case. Unbeatable."
"I've heard of her. I thought West was on this case."
"Last minute change. They're getting worried Jeff, I can feel it."
And with a confident look, old Bringham turned and walked out.
That afternoon Judge Gooding heard the complaint charged against The Wilson and Stockton Insurance company. The plaintiff claimed that compensations were not met, and Wilson and Stochton, represented by a stunning attorney by the name of Tremer, claimed they were. Court date was set for May 18th, 2004. And Jeffry Adams was to have an early breakfast with the defense the following day.
*
The room was dark, barely lit. All he could see was a dim light filtering from outside through the closed drapes. It looked like a hotel room, but he was unable to move his neck to see where he was. It took him a few minutes to even realize what was going on. His whole body felt as though it was one mass of pins and needles; as though he had slept all night lying awkwardly on one arm to wake up and find all normal sensation in it had gone completely.
Then he saw the outline. A navel. Two breasts. A chin, and a nose. What was this? What was going on? He had no idea. It made no sense to him. All he could see was the belly, moving in and out like gently rolling surf, waving itself towards him and away from him. He could not feel the movements on top of him, and he could hear nothing except for a continuous rushing like water, as though his hands were cupped over his ears and held there.
He tried to lift his arm to touch whatever it was on top of him, but his arm did not seem to exist. His body did not seem to exist. As if trying to wake from a dream, he tried to let out a scream and there was no sound, not even a muffled cry.
A tear fell down his cheek. Was he crying? His vision was clear. His eyes turned upwards to the ceiling, and he concentrated as hard as he could to move, or to wake, whichever came, but all he could see was a ceiling, a smoke detector, and a dim light from a window outside. And all he could do was to stare.
A voice came to him as though from in between his own ears, from inside his mind. "Hello Jeffry," said the soft, sumptuous woman's voice. "You're awake."
*
"Look Cap, I got twenty three dead bodies here. They all match. They all died of the same god damned thing. If you want me to drop the case, I'll drop it."
"Hold on. Hold on. What are you saying here? Have you even bothered to figure that out yet? You got twenty-three dead men that you say have been eaten alive by some fucking woman! That's what you're saying."
"That's right!"
"Are you fucking crazy?"
"Maybe..." Dave struggled for an explanation. "Maybe it's not a woman. I don't know. Maybe it's some freak experiment or something. How they hell should I know? All I'm saying is that there's twenty-three men here who are dead from the same fucking thing!"
Captain Reading looked over the files. All twenty-three were the same. They were all John Does with no ID and all found half eaten from the inside. All were found drowned in some sort of fetal fluid.
"Well, that I'd buy. A weird experiment. Maybe some body chop shop is stealing people’s parts or something."
"Or something. Something is going on, Cap. Something we all overlooked."
Reading put his hands to his face and sat back in his chair, letting out a long gaseous fart. "Jesus Christ. This one ain’t going to be pretty."
He thought for a few minutes. "No press,” he said seriously. “If the press gets wind of this I'm shutting you down. No goddamned reporter is going to tell this city that some female monster is out there eating men alive for her one-night stand.
"No press."
"And take Wilkins."
"Cap!"
"Shuddup. You and Wilkins work on this together. And don't let it effect your regular case load."
Dave headed for the door, disgusted. "Ok! Wilkins," he snapped, and then slammed the door behind him. His impossible case just became doubly difficult.
* * *
The Interview
"There is actually quite a lot of myth associated with this sort of thing. You'd be surprised how far back it goes."
"So you're saying you believe this stuff?"
"Lieutenant. Peters, I am a scientist. I only believe in scientific evidence. But if there's anything science has taught me, it's that very few things we find impossible really are." Dr. Lin stood and walked towards her filing cabinet, then pulled out one of the many files she had stored there. "The female anatomy, just like the male anatomy, is prone to defect. What your report is, though seemingly far fetched, is certainly not impossible. Here. Here are the details of one of my old patients. I can't show you this except to say that she had a sexual defect that made it impossible for her to have children."
"What was it?"
"It's technical, but it's an abnormality in the physiology. Here. Here's another. This one actually had a penis."
"What? You're saying is she was male?"
"Not quite. There's quite a bit of difference between a male and a female besides just the genitals. No, her clitoris acted like a penis. It even ejaculated like a penis, but it wasn't at all a penis. It was a vaginal abnormality."
"So in your professional opinion, what would this women be like, supposing she's real and we’re not all getting it completely wrong?"
Dr. Lin sat back behind her desk and contemplated what was obviously a difficult question. "I could speculate."
"Please do."
"My guess is she is unable to have children, and when she found this out it was devastating to her. On the outside she's probably quite normal; beautiful, as a matter of fact. But on the inside she has needs that are very different from those of most other women. She’s probably most unhappy. No doubt you'll find in your investigation that she knows everything there is to know about her anatomy and the differences between her and most other women. She will have made the effort to find out, assuming she is reasonably intelligent – and it’s reasonable to assume she is. If she wasn’t, she would have been caught already. She would have needed to know. Anyone intelligent would need to know. I would. I'd say that she has a mutation on the inside of her womb, and it’s a mutation that’s very, very different from most of those we’ve seen before although not so different it would be way outside normal female anatomy. It just serves a different purpose.
"Yes. It kills men."
"Yes. But this is not some evil animal, Lieutenant. Peters. She's a woman who acts like a woman and lives like a woman and has sex like a woman. She changes it in a very subtle way. She acts out of need, not want."