Page 175 of Sinister

“It’s just a power outage,” Sin whispers next to me, squeezing my hand. “We’ll be fine.”

But as the technician mutters to himself about backup generators, I start to feel a tightness in my stomach—a strange pulling, prickling sensation that makes me inhale sharply.

“Um, I don’t feel so good,” I say in a shaky voice. “I think I’m—” Before I can finish speaking, a sharp pain ripples through my lower belly, and I moan loudly and clutch at my stomach.

“Petra!” Sin cries out, his eyes darting all over me in urgent panic. “Petra, what’s happening? Talk to me! Are you okay?”

“It hurts, Sin. I think—” Another bout of tightening muscles, like my pelvis is trying to expel something . . . and then it hits me. “It feels like—” I begin in a stronger voice, but Sin is already looking to the doctor for help.

“Do something!” he yells fearfully.

“Umm, Petra, what are you feeling?” the doctor stammers. “Where does it hurt?”

“It feels like contractions!” I finally manage to hiss through gritted teeth. “I swear to God, I’m having contractions.”

51

PETRA

Before Sin or the incredulous-looking doctor can reply, tremors hit the walls around us, and the building starts shaking.

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” I gasp even as a fresh wave of pain rips through me.

The technician looks up, his face contorted with some unseen fear.

“Let me check the heartbeat,” he says in a hard-edged voice. But the display flickers and plunges into darkness while the shaking motions get more intense.

I grip Sin’s hand tightly, my breathing becoming erratic. “Sin, I’m scared.”

“You’re going to be okay. I’m right here.” He leans closer, his eyes filled with fear and determination. “Just focus on me, Petra. I won’t let anything happen to either of you.”

As the tremors in the building grow stronger, I can only cling to his words, my heart racing with fear, my breath caught in my throat.

All around us, the physician’s tools—scalpels, forceps, scissors, injections—clatter and rattle in their trays while the overhead light flickers uncontrollably. The curtains swish and billow around us, and the windowpanes jangle in their frames.

“Sin, the baby—” I groan.

“The baby’s fine, Petra,” Sin replies in a steady tone, cupping my face with his hands and whispering sweet nothings into my ears. “You’re gonna be just fine, my sweet girl,” he croons so lovingly that my pulse starts to slow down despite my rising panic.

In the next few minutes, the tremors stop.

“Phew!” says the technician, who had been cowering next to the examination table. “Been years since we had one of those hefty earthquakes,” he says while fussing over the screen and retrieving the ultrasound wand. “Ah, now, where were we?” he continues, turning toward me with the same oblivious smile that he had worn at the beginning.

The ride home from the clinic passes by in a blur of exhaustion and discomfort, Sin’s hand in mine anchoring my wandering mind. He drives with a focused intensity, brow furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line.

I want to say something to reassure him, but fear still gnaws at my insides, and I end up floundering around for the right words.

When we finally reach my house, Sin practically jumps out of the car to help me inside.

“Take it easy, Petra,” he says softly, putting his arm around my waist while he leads me up the stairs. “You need to rest. I won’t hear any arguments.”

“Good, I wasn’t gonna argue anyways,” I reply somewhat tartly, but he just gives me a low, throaty chuckle that makes me tingle.

Once inside my bedroom, he helps me into bed, tucking the covers around me, and fluffing up the pillows so I’m tightly wrapped like a cozy burrito.

“Now you just make yourself comfortable. I’ll get you some water, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” I reply in a teasing voice and send him a flying kiss. He flushes with pleasure and returns the gesture.