Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [131]
The liquorice waft of warlock.
The woman smiled at Creed. ‘My name is Mrs Woodcott,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d never get here.’
* * *
They were going to kill her baby. Justine lay staring up at the clean white ceiling. The stirrups were cold on her feet. They’d been forced to tear up lengths of bedsheet and tie her into the stirrups with them. The Japanese boy was resentful of the extra work but the medical student didn’t want to drug her. ‘Mr Keaton’s orders.’ he said. Then he turned and smiled at Justine. He was baby‐faced, blond and raffishly handsome. ‘And we all have to follow orders.’ She stared helplessly up at him as he shrugged and took out a pair of thin film surgical gloves.
‘This is a straightforward D&C. Let’s not complicate matters.’ Justine couldn’t believe it. He was explaining it to her in a slow patient voice: ‘D&C. Dilate and curette, love. Scraping out the lining of your womb.’
He was talking to her as if she were a child. But Justine was probably a couple of years older than the medical student. He was just a kid. He’d arrived wearing a sweeping black trench coat and a white silk scarf, a can of beer in his hand. The Japanese boy had grinned and swigged it with him and when the can was empty he’d opened a refrigerator and taken out several bottles of Kirin.
They both reeked heavily of beer by the time they threw Justine onto the table and forced her feet into the stirrups. Now the Japanese boy sat back, face flushed and sweating, reduced to the role of spectator. He didn’t seem to mind. He was quite content to watch as the English boy pulled on the surgical gloves and began to probe at her.
Justine would have screamed, but they’d stuffed some of the torn sheets into her mouth and taped them there with flesh‐coloured medical tape.
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ said the medical student, a blond comma of hair dropping across his sweating forehead, ‘I’m completely one hundred per cent in favour of a woman’s right to choose. Normally. But in this case Paulie Keaton has decided that you’ve got to lose the embryo. You know, your sprog.’ He pulled his surgical mask aside so he could take a swig of beer. He wiped his mouth and then tugged the mask back in place. ‘Just about ready to start,’ he said. He patted Justine’s naked inner thigh with his latex‐gloved fingers. ‘Be over before you know it.’
He opened his instrument bag and took out a long glass rod with a small metal blade at the end. He came back and stood between Justine’s legs. ‘You might even say I’m doing you a favour. If you’re stupid enough to make enemies with Mr Keaton then your genes don’t deserve to survive. Any child of yours is likely to inherit your stupidity. And we’re talking lethal stupidity here. Who’d make London’s most powerful gangster angry? Well, you did. And what kind of a life is there in this world for a child as stupid as you? I’ll probably be saving the poor little bugger some grief, eh?’
The medical student glanced up from between her legs and smiled. ‘Think how lucky the little sod is. Never having to be born. Some people get all the breaks.’ He winked at her then bent forward to start working on her.
They were going to kill her baby and there was nothing Justine could do to stop them. She chewed at the choking rags in her mouth, straining until the veins in her forehead stood out, striving to scream.
The medical student paused in his work. ‘Look, love. Just relax.’ He took out a clean handkerchief from the pocket of his dinner jacket and gently wiped her forehead with it. The Japanese boy looked pissed off that the proceedings had been interrupted. ‘If you just relax this will all be over a lot sooner and it will be a lot easier on all of us.’
Neither the Japanese boy or the English boy noticed as the wall panel slid open behind them. The sliding panel made a certain amount of noise as it opened but Justine was deliberately covering that now as she struggled wildly in the stirrups.