It Lives Again Read Free

his wife. He had to say it. He had to put this bizarre meeting and discussion in its right perspective.
    “I have to say this,” Eugene began, looking pointedly at Frank, “for my wife’s sake.”
    “Go ahead, Mr. Scott,” said Frank, taking Eugene’s look straight on.
    Eugene began again. “Have you recovered, Mr. Davis? Or do you just go around to people’s houses and break in on their parties and try to frighten them?”
    Frank, not missing a beat, returned Eugene’s lawyer’s gaze. “If you read about me, Mr. Scott, then you no doubt have heard about the other one, the one born in Seattle,” he said.
    “I remember,” Jody interjected. “It was killed, wasn’t it?”
    “Yes,” Frank answered, “they killed it at birth.”
    “Who’s they?” Eugene asked, less than kind.
    “You really want to know?” said Davis evenly.
    “Listen, mister,” said Eugene, “you’ve gone this far for whatever the hell reason. So you might as well tell us the whole story.”
    A pause—and then Frank Davis answered, “The father did it. The father killed it.”
    A crash! Jody had dropped the dishes she had been holding since the beginning of this incredible discussion. She sank down onto a small couch right behind her, moaning softly. “Oh, Gene,” she said.
    Eugene moved over to her. He held her, trying to comfort her, talking to her softly. “It’s all right, honey. It’s all right. Take it easy.” And then, still on one knee, his arms around his wife, he yelled up at Davis, “You son of a bitch, can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re frightening her! There’s no call for this. This has nothing to do with us!”
    Frank took a step toward Eugene, beseechingly. “Mr. Scott—”
    Eugene got up quickly. “Get out,” he said. “Get out or I’ll call the police.”
    Frank did not budge. Calmly, in control of the situation, he began again. “Mr. Scott, that’s just what you don’t want to do. The police aren’t going to be of any help to you or your baby. Believe me, the only one interested in saving your baby is me, and a few good friends,” he added.
    “Listen, you bastard,” said Eugene, taking a step toward Frank as if he were about to hit him.
    Jody stopped him. “Honey, please.”
    “Mr. Scott,” said Davis, “five minutes, give me five minutes. Surely you can give me that if there’s even the slightest chance that what I say determines whether your baby lives or dies.”
    Jody clutched her husband’s hand, pulling him down next to her on the couch. “Please, honey,” she said.
    Reluctantly Eugene sat next to his wife. “All right,” he said, “five minutes.”
    Frank took out a cigarette, lighted it, and sat down on an end table placed conveniently just to his left. Inhaling deeply, he started his story again, looking mostly at Jody.
    “There were blood specimens taken by Dr. Fairchild, isn’t that right?” he asked.
    “Yes,” Jody replied.
    “They matched up with other samples . . .” Then Davis stopped. He looked at them as if he were afraid to tell them more, as if he would have preferred that they realized what he was trying to tell them without his actually saying it.
    “What other samples?” asked Eugene warily.
    Taking another deep drag, Davis knew then that he must, however painfully, tell the whole story. “The government,” he said, “has been alerting doctors all over the country to be on the lookout for pregnancies that bear certain symptoms, symptoms traceable from the mother’s bloodstream. They’re trying to locate these infants before they are born . . .”
    Davis paused. Eugene picked it up. “For what reason?” he asked.
    “So they can be terminated,” answered Frank Davis.
    “Oh, my God,” moaned Jody.
    “This is all nonsense,” said Eugene, about to get to his feet again.
    “Wait,” said Jody. She suddenly realized something. Something that had bothered her the last couple of days. “At Dr. Fairchild’s office the other day, they