BABY
SPECIES INTERVENTION #6609
J.K. Accinni
Skinny Leopard Media
Bradenton, FL
Dedication
I would like to thank my mom, Jane, for her unflagging support. She never once thought to even question my capabilities. I owe so much to my one true love, Wil, whose honest clear sweetness and support gave me something to live up to, and I would like to thank Fate. Without her quixotic magic I would have never met my wonderful, multi-talented editor, Cindy Readnower.
I would like to thank the phenomenally talented artists that granted me the rights to their work for my covers, Adam Taylor, United Kingdom, England—Baby; Larissa Elise Bergsma, Netherlands—Echo; Jonas Jedicke, Berlin, Germany—Armageddon Cometh and The One; Terry Rogers, Gainesville, Florida—Hive.
And lastly, I want to acknowledge my four legged children, Barney, Toby, Molly, Teddy and Echo, and all of my children that are waiting for me over the Rainbow Bridge. They are what bring all the richness and laughter into my life.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
BABY
SPECIES INTERVENTION #6609
J.K. Accinni
A Skinny Leopard Media book published in arrangement with the author, Bradenton, FL.
Copyright © 2012 J.K. Accinni
Editing by Skinny Leopard Media
All rights reserved.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form without permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012947136
Chapter 1
1929
It came to young Netty in her sleep. The first probing finger, an aura glinting under the sleeping eyelids of her brain, unnoticed. She lay under shabby blankets in the primitive bed of her murdered mama, in the tiny remote cabin of a loving childhood. Now, her debilitated physical condition crippled her to the point of numbness. She tossed in her sleep, disturbed by the pain of the injuries that continued to devil her, taking turns with the unseen presence in her mind.
The night passed too quickly as it always does when overwork and fear became your only companion. Rising early, intending to continue the repairs she doggedly hoped to complete, she found herself ignoring the fireplace that begged a spark to stand at the broken door of the cabin. She stared watchfully into the quiet woods at the far side of the field, affected by an unfathomable magnetic pull. Nothing moved; familiar maples and oaks frozen in their leafy majesty. The eerie stillness unaccountably frightened her. She felt goose bumps lift the hairs on her plump work worn arms. Against her will, she stepped out onto the narrow stoop and down the few steps to head across the field.
Netty wearily trudged around the wild blackberry thickets until she came upon the hint of a faint path; all that remained of the well-worn trail she traveled incessantly as a child. The nebulous pathway led her directly through the foreboding woods until she reached a familiar cleft in a rocky outcrop. Looking down at her damaged feet, she saw her open sores blossoming with blood and pus, her inability to stop the infection worrisome. Why, oh why, should I make this needless and excruciating foray into the damp morning fog? I cannot spare the time, and God knows, I plainly did not have the strength.
Only two weeks passed since she made her unexpected escape from the humiliation and abuse regularly tolerated from the evil sick bastard she married. Was this sudden and strange compulsion to take to the woods, a punishment for running away from him? Or did the spirits of the devil invade her in her sleep? Visions of her abusive husband carting her off to the insane asylum at Graystone, near their mansion in Norristown, convinced her she must continue on, hoping to discover the meaning of the annoying compulsion that drove her against her will and wisdom.
Needing a break from the exhausting trek, she rested her feeble body, swiping her thinning, ratty brown hair off her forehead as she contemplated the progress made on her tiny two-room cabin in the last two weeks. She swallowed, trying vainly to choke back a bitter sob. It sure took a mighty big bucket of blood, pain and trampled illusions to get to this point, but she thought she might now be safe from Robert.
She wondered how a pathetic wretch such as herself, had mustered the nerve to leave him with his powerful ability to intimidate and bend her to his will. To reassure herself, she touched the small round object pinned to her undergarments underneath her bodice. Strange how the purloined object could give her a quick shot of comfort. She unapologetically brushed a sudden flush of shame aside. She took the little treasure in a futile and petty attempt at revenge. A sour laugh slipped out alongside the knowledge that nothing in her sadly wasted life could compensate her for the newly discovered premeditated betrayal by her older husband. Her head still echoed with the hateful revelations made by him a mere fifteen days ago.
Steeling herself as she rested, she attempted to concentrate on the progress she made on the cabin in the last few days. Was it only two weeks since she first arrived back on Lily Pond Road? Why call it a road she thought ruefully? Should it not be called Lily Pond Rut Field, as progress clearly failed to reach this far from town, even after all this time? The journey almost defeated her. Her feet bled from numerous injuries incurred on her long trek from the big city back to Sussex County. Her house slippers were clearly not her first choice for the trek, but her husband’s unexpected return as she searched his precious library, left her no choice. Abundantly sure she could no longer bear up under more of his scorn, violence and mocking laughter, she ran. And she ran. And she ran, until her hobbled condition forced her to collapse upon reaching Lily Pond Road. The very road that told her, the beloved home of her childhood could be found around the next bend.
As she approached the dilapidated cabin, she noticed the roof badly sagged. Could she actually figure out how to repair it on her own? She could surely try. Well maybe not, she thought, quickly becoming discouraged as she took in the ravaged fence, broken windows and crushed mailbox, her family’s name still faintly legible.
A wave of despair and loneliness hit her hard. Her lovely mama and her poor papa were gone. Papa, to the flu when she turned fifteen and her mama murdered, shortly after her very own storybook wedding on her seventeenth birthday. She bitterly remembered the halfhearted search for the culprit. Sheriff Hudson eventually decided it must have been the work of one of the gypsies that frequently pass through the countryside, begging for handouts. She understood the country poor from the farm class matter little to the social and economic fabric of the town. They wield no influence and are of little consequence. The sheriff actually told her that something like this was bound to happen with her pretty mama living all the way out in the boondocks with no man of her own to keep an eye on her. Even the surprisingly cooperative intervention of her new and prominent lawyer husband oddly had no effect on the investigation, such as it was. Impotence silenced her as the investigation quickly and quietly concluded.
Two weeks ago she discovered Mr. Woods, her papa’s boss and her mama’s longtime childhood friend had died. A special friend to her since she was just a toddler, she remembered his actions at her wedding with love. He pulled her aside, telling her how beautiful she would always be to him as he slipped a small but plump purse into her hands, whispering to her
to keep it to herself, saying every bride needs a little something for herself in case of emergency. Not that she would actually have an emergency, good heavens, look who she just married.
Yeah, look who I just married. The bile in her throat rose as she thought of him, Robert Doyle, the only son of a large and prosperous Irish family in town. His five older sisters, known far and wide for the thoroughbred horses they raised for the races in Saratoga, sported expensive wardrobes, lavish parties and haughty demands. How did a fancy man like him even discover her? Oh yes, Robert, she thought bitterly; so handsome, so formal, so rich … He surely had his choice of all the young, educated, fancy town ladies. Why did he deliberately pick her, Jeannette Elizabeth Smith?
As Netty picked burrs off her papa’s moth eaten trousers, found shoved beneath her parents old bed in the cabin, her memory drifted back to happier times. She almost felt the wetness on her arm as she remembered the frequency of annoying raindrops that leaked down on her head in the simple single room mission style classroom of her schoolhouse, located a full five dusty and hilly miles from her home. She never became anything but an average student, daydreaming her way through class until she could get back home to check on the latest batch of rescued bunnies or the baby bird knocked out of its nest by greedy nest mates. She attended school until she turned thirteen, big enough to start pulling her weight around the farm, full time. Her education stopped there, even as she continued to read all the storybooks her mother provided from her own precious stores.
Although her papa said she was smart and awfully pretty, she got passed over time and again by all the eligible young men in Sussex County. And even by some not so eligible, judged too young, too poor. When Robert started courting, she found herself non-responsive, unfamiliar with the mysterious intricacies of flirtation. The fact that he was forty years old to her sixteen, naturally intimidated her.
Her mama rapidly convinced her to make an effort with her appearance when they realized his attentions merited serious consideration. All reservations about her tender age flew out the window. Gone, her papa’s hand me down trousers. In their stead, she wore the lovely new dresses her mama stitched, spending hours working late into the night as she herself lay curled up on her straw mat next to the toasty fieldstone hearth of the blackened kitchen fireplace. She gently stroked the silky fur of her favorite doggies, tiny Nip and one eyed Molly, as her mama worked the unfamiliar fabrics that were fondly provided by papa’s boss, Mr. Woods. Her mama and Mr. Woods were clearly intent on making sure Netty did not let this very sudden opportunity slip by, both convinced it might be her only chance off the farm, a fortuitous rescue from the ignoble plight of spinsterhood. God knows, who would come along again with Netty’s perpetual habit of spending every free moment in the woods or wrapped up in her latest creature rescue?
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Mrs. Smith longed for her baby girl to avoid many of her own early mistakes that led to their current circumstances. Mr. Smith was a good, God fearing man, but Mrs. Smith wanted Netty to have the wonder of true love, just like she herself once experienced. She especially wanted her off the farm, wistful hope for an easier life of comfort and security. Every mother in the county plotted to secure the best suitors for their daughters. And Mr. Woods vouched for Robert himself. After all, Robert’s favorable legal wrangling with Mr. Woods’ extensive farm holdings kept him lucratively employed for years.
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Netty felt quite content on the farm with her parents. Mr. Woods often stopped by to consult Papa on farm business. He never failed to bring special treats for all of them, sweets for her, bolts of good strong sack cloth for Mama, books for them both and really horrible smelling tobacco for Papa. She remembered with delight, her mama’s blushes and rare girlish giggles as Mr. Woods surprised her with the occasional store bought pieces of finery, never understanding her papa’s silence, long after Mr. Woods departed.
Far behind the tiny cabin stood a well-built outbuilding previously used to store winter firewood, seeds for the next year’s plantings and the trellises for her mother’s bean crop. After much lobbying to Mr. Woods when she was a child, she finally got him to agree, amid much laughter and hearty encouragement, to allow her to turn it into her very own animal hospital. For it was Mr. Woods who owned the shed, along with the surrounding 2000 acres, and even the little cabin she lived in. Netty thought Mr. Woods was probably her best friend.
So, it was with the jubilant blessings of her parents and Mr. Woods that Netty accepted Robert Doyle’s proposal of marriage, even as she waited in vain for the elusive feelings described by her mama as true love.
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Netty forced her thoughts to return to her present dilemma. She spent every minute since arriving at the cabin moving gingerly on her badly damaged feet, cleaning cobwebs, shooing away harmless black snakes and field mice, stocking in some meager supplies and linens, collecting firewood to buffer her from the biting cold evenings and attempting to repair the dilapidated furnishings still left in the cabin. Upon reflection, she now understood why Mr. Woods failed to rent the cabin after her mother’s death. Robert wasted no time taunting her with the secret he hid from her since Mr. Woods’ sad passing. Too late, it was now perfectly clear why he married her.
Netty tried to stand, wanting to get off the cold damp floor of the woods. Struggling, she doubled over with nausea as cramps painfully contracted her abdomen from the memory of the events that forced her to flee their home in Norristown.
Her escape came on the heels of the expected appointment of Robert as the new county magistrate. How nice for him, she thought, bitterly. She wondered how he would explain her conspicuous absence at his induction and the subsequent ball he planned at Sunnydale, their 10,000 square foot, Renaissance Revival mansion. Thinking of his lavish spending, she found herself wondering, yet again, where all the money came from. His country lawyer fees could not possibly cover the household expenses, along with the house staff, the office staff and Robert’s outrageous lifestyle. A lifestyle he hid from her during their courtship. Not that she cared. As long as she did not participate in his social affairs, she remained safely out of sight and mind.
She also developed an aversion to the smell of the harsh spirits imbibed to excess by Robert and his cronies during their constant late night meetings at the carriage house behind the mansion. Meetings that inevitably turned into drunken brawls, often drawing the attentions of the local law enforcement; who then would do what? Well … join in, of course; so much for enforcing the local laws. Did the police ever bother to wonder where the prohibited alcohol came from? The thought unexpectedly reminded her that she was down to the last few silver coins Mr. Woods pressed into her hands at her wedding. Yes, she encountered many rainy days in her marriage, but none as nasty or as desperate as this. Relief briefly flooded her mind, amazed by her unexpected wisdom when she heeded his wise advice, retaining the coins until she was truly desperate. And yet the cabin needed so much more to become fully habitable. She felt pressured to make every coin stretch three times as far.
Late yesterday afternoon, her feet just gave out, forcing her to rest and soak them as they refused to heal from her self-destructive trek from Norristown. As she soaked her feet, reclining against the unforgiving headboard of her parent’s primitive bed, the harsh, roughly planed wood digging into her plump shoulders, she thought she saw rainbow colors in the periphery of her vision. An aura, gone in a flash, it left behind an unmistakable urge to visit the woods. She fought the compulsion, recognizing the time and effort involved. Her exhaustion loudly begged her to not to go. Clearly, a visit must wait. Chores, dinner and desperately needed sleep come before a break or a jaunt into the wood.
So here she was, a day later. She slowly breathed out a ponderous sigh, knowing she better get a move on if she wanted to climb up into her secret sanctuary and still have time to absorb some of the joyous memories from her childhood. Nightfall could come quickly in the woods.
Netty again tried to get to her fe
et, this time, with more success. She squeezed her large frame into the painfully tight cleft in the rocky hillside. It made her overwhelmingly aware of how her slender figure had ballooned up in the few years since her sham of a marriage. She wondered if perhaps it had been a subconsciously defensive move to dissuade Robert’s occasional drunken late night forays into her third floor bedroom. It was there that he chose to indulge his malicious need to remind her of her powerlessness. Just as he did on their wedding night.
The evening started out full of promise, her innocence perfectly clear, even as her mama tried to prepare her by tentatively discussing the rituals between a man and woman in love. Not grasping the significance of the talks, she came away convinced that her wedding night would prove to be mysterious and wonderful, capturing the feelings of the true love her mama described to her. Delivered to the bridal suite, she prepared for Robert’s arrival, the canopy bed, so sumptuous she dare not sit on it.
Readying herself for her husband, she donned the new nightgown her mama painstakingly stitched for her. She never held anything this elegant, with its delicate lace and silky translucence. As she brushed her long brown hair, thick and gleaming, she casually wondered what was keeping Robert. He pulled away from her after the ceremony to welcome his boisterous friends, barely speaking to her except for an occasional dance. The crowded room consisted mainly of strangers. Robert’s sisters formally congratulated her but quickly moved on to other party guests. She understood his need to play host to his friends and business associates, although the unfamiliar smell of spirits she detected on his breath as they danced left her confused and nervous.
Time passed quickly and before long she nodded off on the petite water silk divan in the far corner of the bedroom, only to be startled awake as Robert stumbled into the room, locking the door behind him. It was very late and her innocent eagerness dissipated with her grogginess at not having properly gone to bed. As she yawned herself awake, she softly inquired as to his whereabouts. Robert stood in front of her, lightly swaying on his feet as he regarded her with what she could only describe as a sneer. Without warning, he backhanded her across the face. The strike, so powerful she fell off the divan. He turned to go toward the bed, turning back as if he suddenly thought better of it, hauling her up off her feet, his face transformed, unfamiliar and strange. Pausing, his hand in midair, he reached out and slowly, so gently, caressed her bodice. Before she could react, he viciously gripped the bodice and yanked it down, fully exposing her trembling nakedness. Lust now filled his eyes as he painfully bit down on her nipple, causing her to scream with shock and pain.