Pro Choice
By Joe Robinson
Mary-Louise Parker was scared. She knew that if the baby was born, it would be the end of her working life, and with no work, there would be no money to fuel her ever-growing addiction. She looked up at the night sky, barren and starless from the pollution of South Boston.
A friend had told her of the place in Hayden Row. Mary-Louise Parker was at the right address. She looked around for a sign of some sort. There: ‘Alexei Liebstockov, Medical Practitioner, No Questions Asked.’ Her breath hung in the chill November air. She was uncertain, the sign was dirty, cracked and covered with graffiti.
“He’s a professional, everything’s anonymous, you can’t go wrong,” her friend (more of an acquaintance, now Mary-Louise Parker thought about it) had said. Looking at the sign, she wasn’t so sure. She had worked the streets for 11 years now, and was well past her prime. She felt a small kick in her belly, and that made up her mind. She pushed open the door and there was a weak mechanical buzz.
Mary-Louise Parker looked around her.
There was no light in the room, so she could see very little. All she could make out in the murky blackness was a small metal cabinet, and a large dentist’s chair. As she looked closer, Mary-Louise Parker noticed leather restraints on the arms, legs and upper part of the chair. Getting uneasy now, she groped around on the grimy wall for a light switch. Her fingers found what they wanted. A dim light flickered on and Mary-Louise Parker looked around.
What she saw was disturbing beyond compare. There were several dentists’ chairs scattered around the room, and the walls were covered with strange equipment; drills, knives, probes and even something that looked like a cattle prod. Mary-Louise Parker swore loudly and turned sharply to exit.
“Hello.” There was a small man between her and the door. “May I be of service?”
He had shaggy shoulder length black hair and was wearing a lab coat several sizes too large, the sleeves rolled up. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days, his pale grey eyes were bloodshot, large bags beneath them. He twitched.
“Well?” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. Mary-Louise Parker was so petrified that she never saw the chloroform soaked rag coming.
Mary-Louise Parker was scared. She was in pain. Mind numbing, freezing cold daggers of pure pain. She groaned, tried to move but found she couldn’t. She tried to shout for help but her throat was full of warm, thick liquid. Mary-Louise Parker opened her eyes to a freakish and sickening sight. Parallel to her, strapped to a similar chair, was a woman, mid thirties maybe, with dirty blonde hair. The woman’s stomach was split open and her throat was cut. Blood was flowing. Then the reality hit her like a tidal wave of terror.
The woman was her reflection.
Mary-Louise Parker screamed and her mouth filled with blood. Her vision started to cloud over in a red haze. Mary-Louise Parker gave one final spasm and was still.
