Baby

to hoe. Even if they could prove their case of fraud, Robert Doyle now wielded a great deal of influence. He was the Norris County Magistrate. That position entitled him to privileges in Sussex County where the subject property was. The rumor mill also suggested Robert owned many in law enforcement, with those in town on his payroll as they engaged in distributing the bootleg rum made in his carriage house at Sunnydale.
    Wil was not yet deterred. He really needed to discuss things with Netty first. He planned to broach the subject after dinner. He did not want her to stress until after she ate. He rarely saw her put food in her mouth anymore. Well, at least she has not been losing weight.
    Arriving at the barn, Baby slipped down off of Maggie, dashing toward the hayloft. After giving Maggie a quick brush down and some oats, he collected Baby from the hay loft, stopping to admire his kittens, at Baby’s insistence. Scooping Baby up and swinging him up on his shoulders, he left the barn.
Mounting the stoop, he noticed the cabin door was ajar. Not a good idea, Wil thought. I’ll have to speak to Netty about that. Entering the cabin, he choked. The room was filled with smoke, the smell of burnt fruit pies and sulfur. Shooing Baby back out the front door, he shouted for Netty. Running to the ovens, he opened the doors pulling out the ruined pastries. Hearing a moan from the straw bed, he spied Netty lying there. A glowing liquid seemed to spread over the floor and down Netty’s legs. Her tail, with its ominous membrane hovered helplessly over her head. In Netty’s arms lay what was left of their baby.
    “I couldn’t heal the baby,” Netty said in a tiny tin voice. She sounded empty and lost, clearly in shock.
    Tears slipped down Wil’s face as he quickly ran to her side. Slipping down to his knees, he put his hands on her head, smoothing back her hair. Her eyes were open but unfocused. She clung to their infant who was clearly dead, its skin blue underneath a sickly sheen of what appeared to be an effervescent membrane. Netty focused on Wil and seemed to recognize him. Pitifully, she cried.
    “He raped me, Wil,” she whispered. “He hurt the baby. He hurt our baby.”
    “Who was here, Netty? Who did this to you?” Wil’s face tightened bitterly, his guts contracting. He felt like he could not breathe.
    “It was Eli. He recognized me. It was my fault. I should have stayed home.” Netty curled up around her dead child, murmuring to it. Slowly, she sat up, her eyes feverish.
    “Baby, where is he? He can save the baby . He can bring him back.” Scooting to the edge of the bed, she staggered to her feet, weaving to the door calling for Baby. She fell to the floor as she lost her footing, Wil running to her side. The door opened with Baby sitting on the stoop where Wil left him. Netty held the infant in her arms, offering the dead child to Baby.
    “You can do it, Baby, I have tried, but nothing happens. But you can do it Baby, you know how.” Netty dissolved into incoherent tears as Baby just stared, unmoving. Wil tried to drag her back into the cabin, but she resisted. “Baby, please . You have to help me ,” she shouted hysterically. Turning to Wil, she begged, “Please get Baby to help me. He’ll listen to you.”
    Colorful auras flashed, iridescence mixed with pressure. The whispers tried to calm her.
    “Sister, I cannot. The life is already gone.” Netty sat on the floor, limp and stunned. Wil gently eased the stillborn from her arms, holding it tenderly to his chest. He wiped away his silent tears as he wrapped their baby in a blanket and took it to the barn. He would bury his child later, after attending to Netty.
    Returning to the cabin, he found Netty still on the floor by the door with Baby at her side, stroking her face. He poured Netty a cup of water but she pushed it away. Forcing her up, he carried her into their bedroom. He peeled off her damp filthy clothes, pulling a clean nightgown over her head. Slipping her under the covers, he lay down next to her, cradling her in his arms until she drifted off to sleep. The last words she said were, “He hurt the baby.”
    Wil sat at the table in the kitchen while Netty slept. His pain and anger hotly percolated, quickly heading to a boil. His teeth clenched so hard he could feel his facial muscles spasm. Not a man prone to violence, he contemplated only one course of action. He needed an eye for an eye. Reluctant to rely on the legal system with