“It’s not uncommon for bleeding to occur throughout pregnancy, especially when there are changes in your cervix.” The doctor turns her attention from Daniel to Kelly. “It can be quite common after sex, for example.”
Daniel’s face turns a bright shade of red as a wave of nausea hits me. I scan the room for a bin. The last thing I want to think about is Daniel and Kelly having sex, but knowing the baby is safe is the main thing here.
“Hold on,” the doctor says as she turns her attention back to the screen. She moves the transducer back and forth again, and then stops.
“What! What is it?” Daniel and Kelly glance at each other before they both turn toward the screen.
“I can see what gender the baby is. Would you like to know what you’re having?”
“You wanted to wait until the birth, right?” Daniel asks Kelly.
Kelly looks at Daniel, then toward me.
I nod enthusiastically, eager to find out and finally have some good news after the last couple of months.
“What are we having?” Kelly squeezes Daniel’s hand as they both draw a breath.
Our jaws collectively drop when the doctor shares the news.
3.Alexander
Saturday
Brian lies motionless on the floor, his eyes rolled back.
Somehow, the remnants of his skull and brain matter have scattered across the tables behind us. Above us, a piece dangles from one of the chandeliers.
You did this to me.
You did this.
Samuel’s voice permeates my brain. My mind starts playing tricks on me—Brian’s face disappears and is replaced by Samuel’s.
Does the guilt ever subside? Would Samuel’s family want revenge if they found out I was in the car with him when he was flung to his death? That I was responsible? Would they do to me what I just did to Brian?
“And cut,” Alfonso shouts through the megaphone.
“Great job!” Brian says as he rises from his position. He picks congealed fake blood and silicone brain matter off his shoulder, which looks way more realistic than I was expecting. My stomach does backflips at the sight. The warm sensation of vomit slowly rises up my oesophagus.
“It’s fake. It’s fake. It’s fake,” I mumble under my breath.
I feel rude looking away, but if I don’t try and calm my stomach, I’ll spew my guts everywhere. There’s a reason I never watched Grey’s Anatomy or any of those medical procedurals.
“What’s fake?” Brian asks as he stands up and rests a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m squeamish.” I lock my gaze on the crew moving around the set.
Another wave of nausea rises to the back of my mouth, reminding me that I’m skating close to the edge with this, and I’ve still got three more murder scenes to go with this film.
You’d think that with the amount of time I spent in hospital growing up—a sprained this, a torn that, and a fractured something or other—that I’d be accustomed to the graphic sights of the body. But no. My eyes detest what they see. My mind even more so.
“That’s a wrap on Brian,” Alfonso says, making his way in between the two of us, like a hot dog sliding effortlessly into a bun. He pulls each of us in tightly. My assistant, Lucy, comes in behind him, passing me my phone and a blueberry slushie.
The crew bursts out into a round of applause. The first assistant director lets out a whooping sound, while Laura, Brian’s on-screen sister and off-screen lover, makes her way over from the director’s chair toward us. Twirling her long blond locks, which fall halfway down her white crop top, she goes up on her toes to hug Brian.
“You were amazing, bubs.”
I don’t know what makes me want to puke more. The sight of the blood and brains still clinging to Brian’s shirt or the fakeness emanating from Laura’s words. Her Valley girl accent feels like nails down a chalk board.
