Spliced

The sliding door into Baz’s makeshift clinic was wide open but there was no sign of Baz, not anywhere in the house. He rarely had jobs during the day though so if he wasn’t sleeping or doing maintenance on his motorcycle there really was only one other place he was likely to be.

Cat walked into the bush south of Baz’s shack. She followed a winding skinny path through thick undergrowth. It was well-trodden and easy to follow. After a few minutes of walking the path opened up to a grassy bank near the edge of a large pond. Some might call it a small lake. Cat wasn’t sure what the difference was. It was maybe a little less than an acre in size. A steady flowing stream on the far south side carried fresh water in and old water out. Most of the lake was surrounded by dense bush and few people ever came here other than Baz. The path continued winding around the edge of the water and Cat knew that it eventually split off into several paths that weaved all through the forest on the southern side of Little Rock. You could follow them all the way to the sea if you wanted to, or the other direction, up into the hills. Nearer the sea the forest was narrower and there were many exits back into civilisation, through back streets and backyards but this far inland, up where Baz lived, people were rarer and the bush easy to get lost in. It was a nice place to run in dry weather but a muddy mess after the rain.

Baz liked to fish here sometimes when the weather was nice. The waters were full of salmon and trout. Cat could see his little dingy out there on the water now, fishing rod sticking out the back. Baz was leaning back, book in one hand, enjoying the day.

Cat eyed the water warily. Baz had offered to take her out in the boat several times but each time she’d refused. She didn’t even like getting too near the water’s edge. The pond was a murky green and who knew what lay down there other than the fish. Whenever he’d asked she’d just told him she didn’t like the idea of sitting still in a boat and just waiting for something to bite. Baz had never questioned it. She did like the fish he brought back though and her mouth watered at the thought of one for lunch. She wondered if he’d caught any today. He was an amazing cook and always offered her food if she hung around long enough.

She stood on the bank for a moment hoping he’d see her there but he was facing away from her and engrossed in whatever it was he was reading. Somehow the peace of the place made her not want to yell out. Instead she found a stone on the ground and pitched it out into the water. It made a satisfying plopping sound and Baz spun around at the noise. He smiled when he saw her standing there and then he set his book down, pulled in his fishing line, and started to row into shore.

“Afternoon,” he said as he stepped from the boat and back onto land.

“It’s morning,” she told him with a slight smile.

“Huh,” was all he said, followed by a grunt as he pulled the dingy up the bank and stashed it upside down among the undergrowth. When he reached her he added, “Guess I was out there less time than I thought. Felt like an eternity, in a good way.” He gave a satisfied sigh. His gaze ran up and down her body.

“You sent a message.” Cat couldn’t explain why that made her feel so anxious. Baz didn’t usually make her feel anxious.

“Oh right.” He rubbed his shaggy brown hair.

Cat frowned. He didn’t appear too concerned. Perhaps it wasn’t important after all.

But a moment later his face deepened into a frown. “Right,” he repeated in a completely different tone. One that was far more serious. “Let’s go up to the house.”

“You hungry?” he asked once they got there.

Cat was but she could also hear the strain in his voice. She didn’t want to wait until after they’d eaten to find out what it this was all about. She shook her head.

“Grab a seat.” He nodded toward a chair then he sat himself down on the stool he often sat on while tending to patients.

“What’s this all about? Why’d you message?” Cat asked. The waiting was getting to her. Her stomach churned with apprehension. Outside she tried to keep a cool and calm front.

Baz gave a large sigh as if prepping himself up for something. “Last night Coal called with a body dump.”

As the content of his words filtered in Cat relaxed. So this was work related.

“The body he wanted me to dump was Natasha Crimson’s.”

Cat blinked at him. It took a moment for what he said to sink in. “Wait, what?”

“He said it was an accident. That she was killed by a malfunction in an item that she had bought from him. Normally he doesn’t tell me so much but I think because it was her...”

Cat was only half listening. She was imagining Natasha limp in the back of Baz’s trunk, just like dozen or so other bodies he’d cleared away for Coal or one of Coal’s higher paying clients over the years. Cat saw Natasha in a hole, an unmarked hole in the middle of the forest, with dirt being thrown down on top of her. Did she have family who would wonder where she had gone? Why had Cat never asked her about her family? They’d been friends, not best of friends but something more than strangers. Natasha had often come and watched the races next door to her garage. She hadn’t been particularly into engines, she just liked the way cars looked but that had been fine, she’d enjoyed the races. For an aristocrat she’d been more than friendly, always with a bit of a gossip, willingly sharing information from an entirely different class of people over lunch, and she’d loved clothes. Not the way Indi loved clothes, all brand labels and trends. No, Natasha had appreciated quality. She liked subtle and stylish outfits. The sort that lasted. She knew the difference between French Seam and an Overlock Stitch. Despite being upper class she was down to earth. Cat had appreciated all of that. She imagined Natasha’s fine threads decomposing slowly, unseen, beneath the soil, alongside her flesh.

She was suddenly very glad she hadn’t taken Baz up on his offer for food. She surprised Baz by getting quickly up from her seat and running to the bathroom down the hall. She dropped down over the toilet bowl. She hugged the seat which was thankfully down, and vomited up the contents of her stomach. A minute later she felt gentle hands at the nape of her neck, pulling her long hair back into a ponytail.

Baz didn’t ask if she was alright. After tying back her hair he just sat back against the hallway wall and waited until she was done.

Once she was certain her stomach was well and truly empty, she crawled out into the hall and sat there opposite him.

He was frowning at her with concern.

For a moment she considered crawling into his arms, letting him hug her, just lose herself in his big protective hold. Would he let her? She was certain he would. They often fell asleep like that after sex, but that was different. The sex made it different. It was a tenderness preceded and hidden by animal desire. It was easy to blend the two into one. Sex didn’t scare her. Vulnerability did. She was scared if she gave in now, she’d never be able to find her feet again. Scared of the power it would give him over her. What would he think of her then? If she ever became so weak. The fear made her mad and in rage she found strength. She hated the pity in his eyes.

She shook her head. “It’s not what you think.” She wanted to explain why she was sick, that it wasn’t some emotional reaction to her friends death, no matter how justified that might have been. But what better excuse did she have except for the other truth? Was there really ever going to be a good time to tell him? She shook off the remains of nausea. By the time she got to her feet she was relieved to find the feeling had fully passed.

He remained on the floor for a moment longer, looking up at her with a hint of confusion. At least it was better than concern.

She sighed. “I’m pregnant,” she explained. She didn’t wait for a response. She didn’t want to see his reaction and she was done with sitting still. But when she reached his front door she realised that leaving without seeing his reaction would be much worse. She turned back to face him and found he had followed her down the hallway.

His brown eyes were wide behind all the hair on his face. They scanned her expression as if checking for some kind of joke. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean I’m up the duff, cooking an egg, got a bun in the oven, knocked up, however you want to put it. Congratulations, it’s yours, probably.”

“Probably?” The poor guy looked stunned and perhaps a little confused.

Cat shrugged. She was being mean and a little snippy and she knew it, but much like a runaway cart she found herself unable to stop. Mean was better than weak so she leaned into it. “That or it’s a miraculous conception.”

“You’re sure?”

“About being pregnant or that it’s yours?”

“Both.”

“Yes. Pretty darn sure.”

He looked her up and down again, several times, until Cat felt like she’d been stripped naked in public. “Okay. Enough.” She frowned at him.

He jerked his gaze back up to her face. “How long have you known?”

Cat shrugged and shook her head. “Does it matter? A few weeks.”

“Are...” he hesitated. There was a slight tremble in his voice. “Are you keeping it?”

Was that fear in his voice? Because he wanted it or because he didn’t? Cat wasn’t sure. She shrugged. She could see his face tightening, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. His gaze dropped to her belly again.

She turned and started walking out toward her car.

“Where are you going?”

She spun back and thought about her answer. But before she could get her reply out he crossed the short distance between them.

“Listen,” he said quickly in almost a hush. “I want it.” He glanced between her face and her belly. “If you do I mean. I want it if you do.”

His eyes were gentle, caring, pleading even. Cat didn’t deserve a single bit of that. She knew that too. Perhaps she should have felt warm and happy at his admission, but she didn’t. She just felt distant. And numb, and terrified, like she’d just jumped feet first into icy water. She didn’t want to be here. She needed something else to focus on and she found it easily in the reason he had called her here.

“Noted,” she replied with measure of steel in her voice. Then she turned to continue on her new mission.

“Where are you going?” Baz asked again, more casual and simply curious. He knew when to let her go. That was why she always came back.

Without turning around Cat replied, “To murder Coal.”