The whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the fetal heartbeat, 165 beats per minute, was a cannonade in the small, silent, sterile room.
It was an impossibility. It was an accusation.
Eunice's insane, desperate, grief-stricken laugh had finally dissolved into a series of ragged, choked sobs. She was still, her hand, her 47-year-old, trembling hand, pressed to the ultrasound screen. She was touching the fact of it.
Karlman, 43, was a ghost. He was chalk. He had staggered back, his hand hitting the metal sink, and the clang had been the only other sound. He was not looking at the screen. He was looking at his wife.
He was not seeing a "miracle."
He was seeing a bomb.
He was seeing the "curse" in its final, most brilliant, most diabolical form. It had waited. It had waited until they were safe. It had waited until they were happy. And now, it had returned. It had materialized a new way to kill her.
Dr. Aris was the man of science. He was the "A-type" who had, five years ago, fixed the problem. He had removed the poison. He had deleted the "curse."
And now... the "curse" was laughing at him.
He was, for a full thirty seconds, useless. His "catcher's mitt" face was slack. His mind... was racing. He was a man who believed in cause and effect. Data. Science.
This... this sound... was a failure of all of it.
"Karlman," Eunice whispered, her voice a raw, strange thing, thick with tears and a terrifying, new joy. "Karlman... look. Look. It's... it's real."
"Get it off," Karlman choked. His voice was a rasp. "Aris... turn it off."
"What?"
"The sound!" he roared, and it was a sound of pure, unadulterated terror. "Turn... off... the... sound!"
Aris, fumbling, hit the button.
The room was plunged back into a buzzing, fluorescent silence.
The silence... was worse. The ghost was still there. The flicker... was still on the screen.
"Karlman..." Eunice began, her voice pleading. "It's... it's okay..."
"Okay?!" he wheeled on her, his face a mask of primal, animal fear. "OKAY?! Eunice... the JAR. The... the JAR... is on... our... MANTEL! We... we look at it! Every... DAY! It... it IS... GONE! Aris... YOU..."
He turned on the doctor. "You told me! You... you showed... me! You... gave... it... to me! You... you SAID... you... 'got... it... all'!"
Dr. Aris, his "A-type" pride now kicking in, his rationality... demanding... a... foothold... held up a hand.
"I... I did," he said, his voice shaking. "I know... I did. The... the pathology... report... confirmed... 'complete... uterine... tissue.' I... I read... it. I... I know..."
"THEN WHAT... IS... THAT?!" Karlman shrieked, pointing at the screen.
Aris's brain... finally... caught... a thread.
The surgery. Five years ago. The memory.
"The... the war," he whispered, his eyes going distant.
"What?"
"You... you called it... a 'war,'" Aris said, his eyes now finding Karlman. "Your... your... IVF... war..."
He... he turned... and ran... out of the room.
"Doctor!" Karlman yelled.
"Don't... move!" Aris shouted from the hall.
They were left alone. Eunice, and Karlman. The flicker... was still on the screen.
"Karlman," Eunice whispered. "It's... it's God..."
"It's not," Karlman hissed, his voice a sibilant, terrified thing. "It's... it's a tumor. It's cancer. It's... it's the infection... back... to... finish... the job. It's... it's Lia. It's... it's come... back... for... YOU!"
His... his guilt. His terror. His past. It... it was all... exploding. He... he was convinced... this was his punishment. The "curse" he... had brought.
Aris... burst... back in. He... he was holding... a... file. A thick... dusty... five-year-old... file.
"My... my notes!" he panted. He... he was... old. He... he was... shaking.
He... he slammed... it down.
"I knew... it," he breathed. "I knew... it... was... a mess. I... wrote... it down!"
He... he flipped... pages.
"Here! HERE!" he... jabbed... a finger.
"The... the operative... report! 'Extensive... endometriosis.' 'Severe... pelvic... adhesions.' 'Tissue... fused... to... bowel... and... bladder.' 'Excision... difficult.' 'Uterine... tissue... fragmented... upon... removal.'"
"What... what does... that MEAN?!" Karlman demanded.
"It means..." Aris said, his voice a... whisper... of awe. "It means... I... I didn't... get it all. It... it was impossible. It... it was a warzone. I... I took... the womb. I... I took... 99.999... percent... of... it. I... I took... what... was killing... her."
He... he looked... at Eunice. His... his eyes... were... wild.
"But... a... a piece," he whispered. "A... a remnant. A... a microscopic... cluster... of... endometrial... cells. It... it must... have... been... left. Adhered... to... the bowel. Hidden. Impossible... to... see. A... a... one-in-a-billion... chance."
"A 'remnant,'" Eunice breathed. The word. It... it sounded... holy.
"It... it shouldn't... work," Aris was muttering, arguing... with himself. "It... it has... no... blood... supply. No... structure. It... it should... not... ovulate. It... it should... not... be... ALIVE!"
"But... it is," Eunice said.
Karlman... the analyst... understood.
"So... so that's... the 'how,'" he said, his voice dead. "A... a one-in-a-billion... mistake."
"A one-in-a-billion... miracle," Eunice corrected.
"It... it doesn't... matter," Aris said, his voice hardening. He... he was back. The doctor... was back.
"We... we... have... an explanation. But... it... doesn't... change... what... we... are looking... at."