~Two years later~
The pain was unbearable.
Caitlin screamed and thrashed against the sheets, her body revolting against each wave of contractions that built to a crescendo, forcing all logic from her mind. Althea and her staff were there, along with a fretting Janice, a supportive Amandine, a shell-shocked Mia, and even a pleasantly surprised Marianne, who’d come by to visit and decided to stay through the ordeal.
Caitlin sweat bullets as she huffed through the contraction. It slowly eased its grip on her body and she could breathe again, but it would only be for a short time.
Kalen’s hand slipped into hers, squeezing gently. “You’re almost there, Caitlin.” His voice was calm, too calm for such a situation. She might have felt better if he’d been disheveled, as she’d heard fathers often were in these situations.
“Ten centimeters,” Althea said, putting a gloved hand near her throbbing womanhood. She hardly felt the doctor’s touch as she was prodded.
A wave of dizziness consumed her, and she couldn’t focus. Kalen’s hand squeezed tighter. “Don’t give up on us, Caitlin. You need to push with the next contraction. I can already see our son’s head. His hair is your color,” he said as if to distract her. “Just hold on for me.”
His hand stroked back her sweaty locks from her face. She’d woken that morning to feel her body rioting against itself, and screamed for help. Nearly twelve hours later, she’d lost a lot of blood, and quite a bit of her sanity with each contraction.
Several times, she’d screamed at her mother to leave her alone. Janice, stone-faced and stubborn, surprisingly did, but she never left the room.
The birth had garnered all too much attention, and she just wanted to be alone. Or, as alone as she could be, in this situation. In the background, that impassive part of her mind knew she was dying. But that was expected, wasn’t it?
It didn’t mean she was ready to die.
Althea had continued to administer blood transfusions, but as quickly as they came, she bled them out, too. On Kalen’s order, she added another bag to the IV stand.
The doctor kept her legs steady and leaned over. “Good job, momma. Another big push, now.”
Caitlin shook her head, her face hot with her efforts. “I- can’t!”
“Yes, you can.” A cool touch on her left felt like Kalen, another on her right, Amandine. Together, their presence allowed her shattered nerves to settle, but only slightly. She closed her eyes and pushed, just as the doctor said, feeling her body riot against her.
“He’s coming!”
Caitlin grit her teeth and screamed with her last efforts, feeling that pressure that had so built up in her release all at once, and she felt a throbbing emptiness settle in. She threw her head back with a weep and closed her eyes, feeling her life’s energy spill from her body.
But she wasn’t afraid.
She knew Kalen, who looked so incredibly worried over her, would not let her fall into the velvety void of death. Not tonight.
A squalling broke through her exhaustive haze, and a parcel was placed in her arms. Kalen held her steady as the package squirmed, little limbs pushing against the bundled blankets. He, their only child, was covered in her blood, his little cherubic features twisted from the trauma of being born. She marveled at his little fingers through her waning attention, seeing those little gums, entirely free of teeth, and a tongue that shuddered with the power of his cry.
Tears fell as Kalen knelt at her side, cradling the swaddled newborn with her. “Shh, it’s alright, little prince. The world isn’t so bad now that you’re here.”
Caitlin opened her mouth to say something, but found that she could not form the words. She looked to Kalen, whose features seemed soft, as he watched their son take his first few breaths.
Someone removed the child, and Caitlin’s vision swam. “No,” she said faintly. “Give him back to me...”
A hand held her down as her vision faded.
“She’s going to code-” someone said.
“I know. Everyone who isn’t my staff needs to get out.”
“But, she’s my-”
“
Everyone
.”
Even Kalen’s hand was gone as she groped in the darkness, not feeling anyone or anything nearby. The gentle bleating of her son, too, was gone, replaced by frantic beeps of a machine she was hooked up to.
Then, a presence bored down on her, a familiar energy she wouldn’t mistake for anyone else: Kalen. “You’ve come a long way. So much you’ve sacrificed.” His voice was cool compared to the swell of heat flooding out of her. “I have to ask you, once last time, for your sacrifice.” A hand caught the back of her neck and lips brushed her collar bone.
Still breathing hard from the birth, and gasping for air from the blood loss, she only nodded her consent. “Will you- stay with me?”
“Forever,” he murmured, his lips finding that hollow of her neck, the sharpness of his teeth brushing against her tender skin. “Forever and forever, my Queen. I promise, it will not take long.” His teeth slid in, making her eyes open involuntarily. She saw the coffered ceiling swirl as the last of her energy was released to Kalen.
Her body reacted to his draw, pressing herself against him as her mind slipped free of its cage. All orientation was lost, swept up in a turbulent nothingness that imprisoned her very mind. It was no sleep she had ever experienced, for this, in itself, was a hell she would not have wished on anyone.
Then, she began to feel a familiar sensation.
That of the void.
Its tendrils curled around her, or through her, for she had no form here. But it still struck with needling precision, bringing horrible clarity to her predicament. The birth may have been difficult, but this was unreal in its agony.
She did not know she could experience such, trapped eternally in its darkness.
And she knew, without any doubt, that Kalen had lied.
He’d only wanted the child, just as Gabriel had warned her. Just as Janice suspected. There was nothing on this side of death but pain and eternal suffering. If she saw a demon, she could understand where the pain originated and blame it, instead. But here, there was no jailor, no warden or torturer to accuse. Nothing, but the impassive, cold burn of a purgatory she’d not been prepared for.
