How Not To Plot: MCRW's Retreat Round Robin, Part 2
Author: Jody Wallace
Original Publication Date in Love Notes: May 2005

THE BABY AND THE LADYKILLER

1.

Carrie woke to whiteness.

White walls, white equipment, white sheets, white bandages on her arms.  The white noise hum of electronic machinery and distant murmur of voices.  She lifted an unbandaged hand to her face.  Gauze circumnavigated her skull, holding back her long, dark hair.

She wondered briefly if they'd shaved her under the bandage on top but left the sides so she now resembled the comedian Gallagher before realizing she had no idea who 'they' were---or where she was.

Had she been in an accident?  The last thing she remembered was waiting for the subway at the Canal Street station and then, nothing.  This didn't resemble any hospital she knew in New York, and she'd been in quite a few of them in her line of work.  Everything was so...white.  And what were all these machines?  They looked like white computers.

The only spot of color in the room was a single pink balloon tied to the foot of her bed.  She sat up, her body feeling stiff but not injured, and swung her feet out of the strange, narrow bed.

2.

She stood and the earth moved.  Carrie flopped back onto the bed, prone and boneless.

My God--what's the matter?  Carrie's hand crept up to search through all the tape and gauze.  A tender lump made her flinch.

She stared at the silly pink balloon wondering what said.  For what seemed like hours she watched it flutter until finally--finally!--the balloon twisted so she could read the saying.

Carrie's mouth popped open and her hand covered her mouth just before the scream slipped out.

3.

"It's a girl!"  What the hell?  She knew for certain she wasn't pregnant. How long had she been here?  Had to be nine months--obviously.

How in hell had she not known she was pregnant?  How had she ended up battered and bruised and, dear God, delivering a baby, a daughter, without knowing how she got there?

Just as she started to feel her pulse accelerate in panic, she heard the door hinges creak.  She raised her unbandaged hand, one of the few unbandaged parts of her body, to pull herself up and face the door.

A man stood in the doorway, backlit from the hallway. "Hello, darling," he said.  "Congratulations."

4.

"For what?" Carrie murmured.  "I don't exactly remember doing anything.

He frowned.  "This is no time for jokes.  You're lucky to be alive, much less have a healthy daughter."  He forced a smile and stepped forward to clutch her hand.  "We should be celebrating."

"So you would be the proud papa?"

He stared at her a moment.  "You're serious."

Carrie took a deep breath, which told her at least three ribs were broken. "I don't even remember being pregnant, much less how I got that way!"

He opened his mouth to respond when the sheriff pushed open the door, followed by an orderly with a wheelchair.  "Change of plans," he announced.  "We have to get you out of here.  Now!!"

5.

How could they expect her to move?  "I've just given birth and I'm not ready to hit the fields just yet."

"Carrie, listen to the sheriff."

"Is the sheriff a post partum nurse?  I don't think so!  My ribs are broken and...."

The sheriff scowled over his wire rimmed glasses.  "Little lady--"

She gripped the side rail.  "No."

"Hon--"

"Don't 'hon' me.  As far as I know you're a serial killer who specializes in killing newly delivered mothers."

Her purported spouse's face turned a deep red.  The muscle in his finely turned jaw twitched.  He opened his mouth and sucked in a deep breath.  "That's enough!"

6.

"I don't think you get it.  Your life is in danger and every minute you sit here bellyaching is wasted time we could be using getting you to safety. Women all over the world drop their kids and get back to work.  So take an aspirin and get over it."

Carrie gritted her teeth, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and lowered herself to the floor.  There was a killer on the loose, and she needed to trust someone.  Not that her brother Earl was the best judge of character, and the sheriff looked a lot like a bald ferret, but at this moment, they were all she had. 

And a newborn--let's not forget she was now responsible for another human life.  No more partying.  No more staying out ‘til dawn and sleeping ‘til noon. Of course, maybe it was time to change her lifestyle anyway.  It hadn't served her very well; it got her where she was now.

On the verge of dying at the hands of a sadistic Maniac with a vendetta.

7.

Her brother Earl buzzed a nurse, who bustled into the room to help her attend to her "girl stuff", as Earl put it.  The sheriff adjusted his large gun belt and walked into the hall.

Then the matronly nurse led Carrie on a slow, painful walk down the gleaming hallway to where her daughter lay cradled in the clear plastic bassinet. "There she is," the nurse said proudly.  "Your little angel."

Carrie felt an odd rush of motherly love as she peered through the glass at her daughter's perfect sleeping face with its green skin and darker green flushed cheeks.  Two adorable tentacles sprouted from her peacefully slumbering head.

"Holy crap!" Carrie said.  "WHO did you say my baby's father was??"

8.

"You tell us.  That's what we need--no, we have to know."

Carrie stared at the sleeping baby.  "I thought it was supposed to be Bobby's baby.  I mean, I know it’s Bobby's baby, but Bobby doesn't look like this.  You've seen him.  He's adorable.  Blonde hair, blue eyes.  My baby doesn't have any hair.  And what...."  Carrie paused, took a breath, turned toward the nurse.  "What color are her eyes?"

The nurse laid a hand on Carrie's shoulder.  "They're red, of course.  Well, a sort of reddish-orange, like the last blaze of a sunset."

Carrie felt her knees growing weak and saw the industrial green block walls begin to spin.  She felt strong arms around her, then she was lifted against a solid chest and carried to her room.  After the nurse got her all tucked in, the sheriff stepped around the end of the bed.

9.

"Carrie, I need to ask you a few questions."

"But I'm tired," she protested.

"It will only take a few minutes."  He waited for her to nod.  "When did you last see Bobby?"

"The night before the baby was born.  He left the house just before midnight."  She bit her lips and paused.

"What?"

"Well, when I woke up the next morning his clothes were soaking in the washer.  It looked like they had bloodstains on them.  And the dog was missing.  He told me not to worry, but I couldn't help but worry.  Why do you ask?"

"Some of the graves at the cemetery have been dug up and someone said they saw Bobby heading in that direction the other night."

10.

"Was the dog with him then?" Carrie glanced out the window toward the woods behind the cemetery.  She wondered if the dog was back at the unmarked grave.  She had tried everything to keep him from digging in the soft soil, but he kept returning there.  Night after night, she could hear his mournful howl.  The memory of the sound sent a chill up her spine.  Her secret had been safe for a decade, then the new section of the graveyard opened, with the machinery moving mountains of earth each day.  She had had to move the buried trunk before someone discovered it. 

Was it possible Bobby had remembered the truth about that September night so long ago?  Perhaps the birth of the baby brought it all back.

"Carrie?"  Carrie jumped at the voice.  "Carrie!"

11.

"Dammit, I told you to get rid of that dog.  Don't bode well, him crying and digging up that new grave."  The man limped towards her, turned to the dog, and shot it.

"No!" she ran toward the animal.  "You cruel bastard!"  Carrie wiped the tears away.  Soon she'd have the trunk, open it, and he would pay.  He'd rue the day he was born.

If her memory was correct, the truth would unfold and many of NY's highest powers, from the mayor to the director of the vast waste sewer system, would fall.  She snickered.  Yep, justice would be served and Carrie would be there to watch.

12.

"You watch it, girl, or you'll be next."

Carrie pulled herself together.  She refused to let him intimidate her. "You don't scare me--and you certainly can't get rid of me.  You need me."

"Yeah?  Well, there's lots more where you came from. Whores are a dime a dozen on lower Broad."

Is that why you killed Sheila?  But Carrie couldn't ask the questions that kept her awake at night, the questions that made her pretend to do what she never would do--sell her body to the highest bidder of the night.

13.

Taking a deep breath and reaching for the top button, Carrie said a quick prayer that she would find a way out of this before the deed was done. Opening her shirt, she reached for seductive.  "Come on, baby, you know you want it."

He grabbed her and threw her to the bed just as the door was jerked off its hinges.

"Remove your hands from that whore!"  The giant of a man barged into the room with Sheila trailing along behind him.

"Sheila!" Carrie screamed.  "I thought you were dead!  I saw your body, lying there....with all that blood!"

14.

"For heavens sake, Carrie.  Stop being so dramatic.  Don't you recognize cranberry juice when you see it?"

Carrie's lip quivered uncontrollably at Sheila's accusatory tone. "Cranberry juice?"

"Yes, you blithering idiot, cranberry juice.  I had an awful bladder infection and was trying to get the jar of juice open when I spilled it onto the floor.  I slipped, hit my head on the cabinet, and there I was, unconscious when you walked in," Sheila replied.  "I could have used some help, you know."

"Sorry. So who is the giant guy standing beside you," asked Carrie.

"Ummm, I dunno", replied Sheila.

Suddenly, Mr. Seductive stepped between Carrie and Sheila and took Carrie's hands in his.  He batted his eyelashes, seductively, and asked, "Hey, am I still going to get laid?"

15.

"Not tonight, pal." Carrie couldn't believe his nerve. He might look like Adonis, but he had the manners of a cave dweller.

"If I ain't getting laid," Mr. Seductive said with a glare toward Shelia, "then I want my money back."

"Look here, mister." Shelia had that temper tantrum look she always got just before she really fired up that acid tongue of hers. "You paid me for a belly dancing lesson. No one said anything about getting laid. What I do is a professional business."

"It's a profession I'm looking for, honey. The oldest one." The giant waved his hands in an hourglass shape and leered. "I was given your number by Jack Parham. He assured me you would deliver!"

Carrie and Shelia both gasped with outrage, but it was the volatile Shelia that launched into the man with fists flying.

Unfortunately, the Adonis appeared to be enjoying it way too much. Carrie couldn't stand it.

"Stop it!" she screamed.

The stranger looked at her over Shelia's head, nostrils flared with blood lust and a feral gleam in his eyes. A stab of fear shot clean to Carrie's toes. This was no ordinary man, something was deadly wrong here. He just played with Shelia, her blows barely fazing him.

Things changed then. He became the hunter, the aggressor, and threw Shelia off him. She landed in the puddle of cranberry juice, slid into the refrigerator and fell to the side, stunned.

Suddenly, Carrie stood face to face with terror. She no longer thought him gorgeous. His broad shoulders looked menacing, his dark eyes malevolent. She grabbed for the cross that hung around her neck and held it outward, to ward off his evil.

He just laughed. "Come give me a kiss, sweetie."

Carrie backed up, and with every step backward he advanced one forward. Then the kitchen counter was behind her.

"Do you love Italian food?" she asked.

The question seemed to confuse him.

"No?" She reached one arm behind her. "Cause I love it, eat it every day if I could." Quick as a wink she grabbed an orange and threw it at him.

He tossed up an arm to ward off the fruit and the two second distraction was all she needed to grab the mega bottle of olive oil and brain the vile
stranger.

He didn't move for a split second and their eyes locked. Then he began to crumple and fell to the floor on top of the orange.

What a waste of good fruit, she thought with a sigh.

Just then the cops came bursting through the kitchen door and she looked up in surprise. She forgot about her call to 911.

"What's going on here?" The most beautiful man she ever saw stood looking at her with warmth and concern. "You all right?"

"Just fine, now." She looked at the bottle of oil in her hand. "Thanks to Italian cooking."

Shelia groaned from her spot on the floor as she began waking up, and another officer ran to her assistance. Meanwhile, her cop rolled over the evil Adonis and whistled loudly. He immediately handcuffed the unconscious man.

"You are two lucky women."

"How's that?" She still stood there, unable to move.

"Because this," he pointed to the man on the floor, "is the notorious Ladykiller. We've been hunting him for six months."

Carrie felt her limbs go weak. She almost dropped her life-saving bottle of olive oil as she staggered against the counter. The beautiful policeman jumped to her rescue, grabbing the oil and setting it aside then supporting her to the kitchen table where he pulled out a chair and helped her sit down.

"This has not been a good day." Carrie closed her eyes on a sigh.

"I could make it better."

Her eyes popped open and she found the cop looked at her with interest.

"You want to have dinner with me?" he asked.

Oh, my. Something good just might come of this after all.

"As long as it's Italian," she replied with a smile.

****

The MCRW Retreat Round Robin is a classic example of How Not To Plot. Be sure to also check the Romantic Comedy Round Robin that also has the introduction to this little exercise in wack writing. 

If you enjoyed participating in the round robin, especially now that you see what a hoot it is, contact me about the MCRW Round Robin "A Write Time for Love" because it really needs your input! In this one you get to see what came before, so you won't be fumbling around in the truck of a car with an alien corpse.

***

MCRW member Jody Wallace has several full and partial manuscripts making the rounds and keeps her chaptermates entertained with her wit and grammar wisdom.

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