Embraced

1

Before- Nicholas

Charles, I’m sure that you know that this is highly immoral. The hospital administrator Mr. Husted ushers Uncle Charles and me into his office, motioning for us to take a seat.

I understand William, but surely you know the urgency of the matter. I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t an important family situation. Charles is firm but polite. The unspoken terms: This is critical, and I am prepared to donate for your silence.

Yes I realize that, but HIPPA laws… His hands spread in supplicant appeal: How big a donation?

I’m growing frustrated with this double talk.

Mr. Husted, the Grant family is prepared to make a ridiculously large gift to this hospital. You name the project, and we will fund it— fully. Am I clear?

Tell me what I want to know or else.

Yes, of course, Mr. Grant. I’m happy to help. He opens the file on his desk.

Miss MacKenna O’Loughlin was brought into the ER via ambulance after a two-car accident. She wasn’t wearing her seat belt and suffered injuries primarily on the left part of her body — it was the doctor’s opinion that she instinctively curled into a protective position. Miss O’Loughlin was unconscious due to a Grade-2 concussion and was unresponsive for a few hours but eventually awoke. She was missing any identification or personal effects. She was also missing her shoes.

Any other injuries? Charles is horrified, and I can tell he wants to jump out of the chair and find her. Not before me, however.

Yes, she had a dislocated shoulder, a few rib injuries as well as a severe foot laceration. Her face was also bruised in a few places due to the impact.

Did they do any blood tests? She was ill when she was out of the country, —I need to know if she was receiving treatment for it. I hold my breath while he scans the page. He lifts the first page and then the second.

Yes, they did panels to assess if she was on any prior medication. All came back negative. There is a note that she has discharged AMA— Against Medical Advice—and that her doctor was strongly protesting it. He felt that she was emotionally fragile as well as physically and that she should have been monitored for at least another twenty-four hours. However, the fetal heartbeat was strong, and she was otherwise a very healthy young woman. He closes the file expectantly.

Fetal heartbeat? Charles asks. I’m frozen to my chair, and the room spins unsteadily.

Yes, Miss O’Loughlin was pregnant. He opens the folder briefly. Approximately nine weeks by our best estimate and the information she gave us.

Vomiting. Fatigue. Fever. Kenna didn’t have the flu or a disease.

Good god, she was out there injured and pregnant with my kid. Mine.

A brief tingle of joy is quickly replaced with massive anxiety. You’re sure the baby was ok? He nods slowly, no doubt putting two and two together. Yes, the fetus was fine. No signs of injury or trauma. Strong heartbeat and good size, if not slightly larger than expected. He gestures to my generous length.

Our baby.

I’m still stuck in my seat as my Uncle Charles pulls me to my feet and slaps me on the back. Thank you, William. I trust I have your discretion on this matter? He reaches out and shakes his hand. Please be in touch with Carla, and she will get you started on the donation.

Charles shoves me out of the door, guiding my limp body down the escalator and out to the car. Stone is waiting anxiously and stops short when he sees how I’m being drawn about like a small child.

Charles …she’s having my baby.

Yes, son. The important thing is we have to find her.

I hang my head in exhaustion. I don’t know where to start.

Don’t worry, I do. I have a plan…

2

The Search

I need her- the painful ecstasy, the love.

3

Nicholas

Three weeks.

That’s how long it’s been.

Twenty-one days of restless nights. I am sleepwalking through my days with a bleary-eyed determination matched only by my mounting anxiety.

Three weeks.

Sounds like such a short time, doesn’t it?. It’s not even a whole month-a slip of minutes and hours that you can tick off quickly. Not even a full calendar page. A snap of your fingers.

Each time I hear an elevator ding, a knock on a door, the tap of footsteps, my head whips around, and my heart stutters. I keep expecting her to appear: a welcome haunting, a wishful ghost. And every time it turns out to be a stranger or a figment of my imagination, I die a little more inside.

My father keeps asking me what the hell is wrong with me. He comes to my office daily under the pretense of some inconsequential business matter, but I know the real reason is that he’s trying to figure out why I’m so off-kilter. Yesterday he told me I looked hollow. He yanked at his jacket and raised his voice, demanding that I tell him what was happening to me. I just shrugged and spun my chair around to face the window. I could hear him muttering as he slammed his way out of the door, barking at my assistant- a veritable thunderstorm swirling up the elevator to his office.

I check my phone for the hundredth time swiping quickly through emails and briefings. My Uncle Charles hired a fleet of investigators, the best in Illinois. They are under strict orders to report every movement they make- small or large. We are paying them a fortune to look under every damn stone and follow every lead. The first few days seemed so promising, but as the number of days begin to escalate (and the leads dry up) the pressure to break through grows. I have already threatened the lead investigator multiple times-hence the increase of information flow. He sat down and had my Uncle and I make a comprehensive list of all of the places that MacKenna could be. We gave him everywhere that we knew she liked, and wherever she hated. When we told him all of the countries she had visited- he winced. My girl is well-traveled and with an unlimited income- she could be anywhere in the world.

The thing we have working in our favor is that Miss O’Loughlin is pregnant. Everything you’ve told me indicates that she will want to be somewhere with advanced medical facilities and a healthy environment. She will likely also want to be somewhere that English is a universal language. Though Kenna is talented beyond belief- she has no ear for languages.

What is not working in our favor- the fact that we are dealing with someone with a large cash flow, no close family ties, and above average intelligence. A trifecta of setbacks. Rowan Stande is an ex-CIA profiler with a lean rangy build and sharp grey eyes. He pulls no punches and doesn’t flinch whatsoever when I flip out and scream at him. If I weren’t counting on him to put my heart back in my chest, we could probably be friends.

I have all of my partners following leads and my best computer guy on this. There is no way one injured slip of a woman will get past us. Everyone comes up for oxygen at some point. His granite jaw flexes, and he punctuates his words with quick slashes of his hand in the air. When are you going to let the rest of your family in on this? They might have information that neither one of you have.

Charles leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He gave off the appearance of calmness, but I could see the lines of fatigue and worry fanning out from his eyes and mouth. They matched my own. Let’s give it a few weeks. I am loath to set panic in my wife and daughter- and there’s always a chance that Kenna will pop up here at home. I opened my mouth to object, but then closed it. He’s right- the last thing I need is to have my aunt and cousin crawling up the walls. Honestly, I don’t think that I have the energy to deal with their emotions. I’m barely hanging on as it is.

Alright, then I will wait for you to give me the green light. We have plenty to go on right now, starting with obtaining the footage from the hospital and the surrounding area. I’ll let you know when we have it. With that Rowan strode to the door and my housekeeper Alma let him out.

That was three weeks ago.

Now I’m slumped on the floor of my bedroom closet with a half-empty bottle of Japanese Whiskey and one of MacKenna’s Star Wars t-shirts in my lap. Though its a weekday, I’ve pretty much given up on going into the office today. Not only have I been a complete fuck-up, but I can’t deal with the strange looks anymore. My poor assistant has been a rockstar- fending off clients and on occasion, my father. She knows exactly what’s going on and has been an absolute treasure. I’m sure not having my sorry ass in her face will be a relief. Last week she took one look at my haggard appearance and marched me right back to the elevator. She didn’t say anything, just pointed down to my feet.

I had on mismatched shoes. And one of my pant legs was caught in a sock.

Millie ordered me to go home and sleep. I snorted. There would be no sleep for me until I had my monster and mini-monster back in my arms. My driver, Stone, seemed to know that I was coming back down and already had the door open and waiting. He took a swift measure of my body and shook his head. I felt the warm clasp of his