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I heave the mega-sigh of relief I didn’t know I was keeping in. Kneeling, almost oblivious to the pouring rain, I hold my baby, my beautiful Mia, in my outstretched arms, supporting her tiny head in my raw, scraped hands. My love for her is so great it obliterates the pain. The poor little thing is drenched, the wet weight of her heavy in my blood-stained palms. Still dizzy from my fall, she goes in and out of focus. I blink several times to clear my vision and to get the cold rain out of my eyes.
My sixth sense kicks in. The hairs on the back of my neck bristle. I know I’m at the edge of the property. My fear of heights consumes me. The vertigo, the nausea.
Don’t look down. Just focus on my baby. On keeping her safe.
A blast of thunder rocks the air. So loud and powerful it shakes me.
But why isn’t my baby stirring? Or crying? She looks and feels so lifeless. Oh God, is she dead? On my next blink, I stare into her glassy, unblinking, wide-open eyes.
Then, gasp with a mixture of shock and rage.
FIFTY-EIGHT
AVA
“This isn’t Mia! It’s that fucking doll!”
Marley’s violet eyes stay on me. Laser-focused, unwavering, flickering with madness. She’s figured out my ruse. That I switched out my baby for realistic, lookalike Baby Reborn. I pray Isa’s safe and sound back inside the house.
“You tricked me!” she shrieks. Hanging on to the doll, she leaps to her feet.
Something glints in her other hand. Blinking away the rain, I’m able to make it out. Oh God! It’s a knife! A knife with a thick ten-inch blade.
I should have run. Now it’s too late. Faint from the loss of blood from my gunshot wound, I can barely stay standing. Fueled by her rage, she’ll easily outrun me, despite her tattered state.
“Sooner or later I’ll find my baby,” she shouts above the squall of rain. “But right now, your life is over, Ava!”
I grow queasier. Lightheaded and nauseous. I’m going to pass out. Topple over the precipice of our property and fall to my death. My knees about to buckle, I force myself to stay strong, to stay in the moment. For my baby. I made a vow that nothing would come between us.
On my next strangled breath, Marley lunges for me, the razor-sharp weapon pointed my way. A shot of pure adrenaline torpedoes through me. I bring the iron poker I’m hiding behind my back in front of me, ready to take a swing at her, when a sudden Zorro-like zag of lightning slices through the midnight-black sky. To my utter shock and horror, the fiery bolt strikes her while I jump back and shield my face from the blinding light and blazing heat.
Clutching her rosary with the silver locket, she lets out a scream so piercing loud it echoes in the darkness. Her face turns chalk white and her jaw falls to the ground while her eyes dilate and sink into their sockets. Black and bottomless. Holding the knife high above her hooded head, she’s a doppelgänger for that terrifying, deranged Ghostface killer in the horror movie Scream. Nausea sweeps over me at the ghastly sight of her. I want to scream, but I can’t. My vocal cords are paralyzed.
About to vomit, I watch as she staggers toward me like a drunkard. Swaying, moving side to side like she’s dancing a dance of death when a sudden gust of wind attacks us. I hit the ground, digging my fingertips and the toes of my soaked shoes into the muddy mound. Gripping the earth, holding on for dear life. The rain beating down.
My head slightly raised, I watch with wide-eyed horror as Marley loses her balance and the blustery gale sweeps her over the edge. Silently, she sails like a specter down the mile-high black chasm. With Baby Reborn and the knife.
Another explosive clap of thunder roars in my ears. Then another bolt of lightning flashes, bringing me back to my senses. The pouring rain cools my heated body. With the poker to guide me, I stagger back to the house. Straight to the fireplace.
I fall to my knees…and there she is in the hearth where I left her. My sweet, beautiful baby. Isa. Her little legs kicking, her arms flapping. Her tiny hands fisted. Not a whimper. My baby girl’s a survivor. And she’s going to be a warrior.
Michael Bublé’s still playing on my phone.
With tears of relief, I gather Isa into my arms. And kiss her everywhere I can.
I can’t put the love I feel for my baby into words, but the singer-songwriter captures them perfectly.
She’s my forever now.
FIFTY-NINE
AVA
One Month Later: July
The call comes one month after Marley’s demise. Two weeks after Father’s Day, which I celebrated with Gabe. And mourned Ned.
Sunday, July ninth. 9a.m. It’s the head warden of San Quentin State Prison. He tells me my father is on his death bed and has asked to see me.
