Deadly Embrace

believe he had no intention of taking her to see a doctor, even though she begged him to do so.
‘No!’ he said sternly. ‘An’ stop naggin’ me, woman.’
Lucy attempted to elicit help from Dashell’s two other wives.
‘What makes you any different from us?’ Olive demanded, an unsympathetic curl to her thin lips.
‘I…I just thought—’
‘Well, don’t think,’ Olive snapped, while Mona looked on. ‘You’ll be fine. Dashell takes care of delivering our babies round here. He’s done it seven times already.’
When Lucy finally went into labour, it was in the middle of the night. With no nurses or a doctor to guide her through the pregnancy, she had no idea what to expect when her waters broke.
The lack of knowledge threw her into a panic. And when her contractions started, she began wailing aloud in pain, waking Mona, who slept in the same room along with Emily, her youngest child.
Mona sat up in bed. ‘Be quiet!’ she commanded. ‘Stop that horrible noise. You’ll wake the dead.’
‘I…I think my baby’s coming,’ Lucy stammered, frightened and confused.
‘You can’t have it now,’ Mona said, as if her very words would stop the baby from entering the world. ‘Dashell’s gone into town. He won’t be back till morning.’
‘Then you must get me to a doctor,’ Lucy gasped, as another contraction swept over her with an intensity the like of which she’d never felt before. She screamed, feeling as if her whole body was being torn apart.
‘Can’t,’ Mona said flatly. ‘Dashell took the truck.’
Olive came bustling into the room, tying her bathrobe, a grim expression on her plain face. ‘Bite on this,’ she said matter-of-factly, thrusting one of Dashell’s leather belts at her young cousin. ‘And, for the love of God, stay quiet, you’re frightening the children.’
‘Please…’ Lucy whispered, unbearable pain sweeping over her. ‘You…you have to get me to a doctor.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Olive said, stripping off the bedcovers while Mona shepherded little Emily from the room. ‘You’re not the first woman to have a baby.’
‘Please!’ Lucy begged. ‘I…need…a doctor!’
‘Open your legs an’ push,’ Olive said sternly. ‘And stop making such a godawful fuss.’
Baby Dani was born twenty-five minutes later.
Her mother bled to death.

Chapter Four
Michael: 1960
‘How old are you?’ the girl asked.
She was nineteen, Michael knew that for a fact. Nineteen, with big breasts, teased black hair, and the faint shadow of a moustache. Her name was Polly, and she lived a few blocks away. He’d made it his business to find out everything he could about her because he thought she was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.
‘Eighteen,’ he lied. Actually he was fifteen, but he looked much older and was confident that he could get away with the lie.
‘Yeah?’ she said, not quite convinced.
‘Yeah,’ he confirmed, blinking rapidly–long, thick eyelashes curling over deep green eyes.
‘Hmm…’ Polly said, checking him out with an appraising stare. He might not be eighteen, but he was certainly the best-looking hunk of flesh she’d ever encountered. Her sometime boyfriend Cyril didn’t come close.
‘So you’re really eighteen, then?’ she said, convincing herself.
‘Sure,’ he answered confidently, adding a cocky ‘Why? You think I look older?’
They were standing on the street corner outside her girlfriend Sandi’s apartment. Sandi had thrown herself a birthday party. Michael had heard about it and promptly crashed. Nobody had questioned his presence, so after a while he’d started making a move towards Polly. When she left the party he was right behind her.
The sound of Elvis Presley singing ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight’ came drifting down from Sandi’s apartment–maybe it was a sign.
‘So…’ he ventured ‘…wanna get an ice cream?’
‘Ice cream!’ she snorted derisively, turning up her nose. ‘You’re not eighteen.’
Actions spoke louder than words. Grabbing her by the arm, he pinned her up against the side of the building and began kissing her–shoving his tongue down her throat.
She started to push him off.
He wasn’t giving up so easily. Working on instinct, he went quickly for her big breasts, fingering her nipples the way he’d seen some ugly guy do it in a porno movie he’d watched with a bunch of his pals.
Bingo! She stopped struggling and gave a little moan.
He felt an erection grow in his pants, and prayed to God that tonight he’d have somewhere to put it. Somewhere, anywhere–he was tired of his hand, and Grandma Lani lurking outside the bathroom door, yelling, ‘What’re you doin’ in there? It better not be anythin’ dirty or I’ll smack you silly.’
He pressed his body against Polly’s, making sure she could feel his excitement. At the same time he kept up the hand action on her big breasts while wondering if he should manoeuvre his other hand under her sweater, or was it too soon?
By this time she was kissing him back with a great deal of wet tongue and plenty of enthusiasm. This was a good sign.
Deciding he had nothing to lose, he slid his hand under her sweater, pushed up her bra, and grabbed a handful of soft, warm flesh.
‘Cut it out!’ she giggled, surfacing for air. ‘We’re on the street, anybody can see.’
‘No, they can’t.’
‘Yes, they can.’
‘Let’s go somewhere else.’ He gulped, hoping he wasn’t about to come in his underwear.
‘Like where, Mr Smarty Pants?’ she asked, pulling her sweater down and recovering her composure.
‘How about a hotel?’ he suggested.
‘What kind of a girl do you think I am?’ she said indignantly.
A girl I’m gonna fuck, he thought, or die trying.
She threw him another look. He was so damn handsome. And hot. And big where it mattered. All the things that Cyril was not.
‘You got money for a hotel?’ she asked. ‘’Cause I live with my parents, which means we can’t go there.’
‘I got money,’ he boasted, trying to control his excitement at what might lie ahead.
‘Then what’re we waiting for?’ she asked, slipping her arm through his.
Holy cow! He was finally about to get laid. He couldn’t believe it. The furthest he’d got before was with a girl