Of Objects and Obsessions

Prologue Beads of sweat covered her forehead. Her light blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, hands gripping the rails of the hospital bed, Fiona pushed. She had conceived the child without drugs, and she would damn well bring this new life into the world without any, either. A small scream pushed its way past gritted teeth. Resting back against the raised bed, she breathed hard. It had been six hours ago that her water broke, and a handful of minutes since the doctor at the end of the bed told her it was time to push, her dilation having reached the magical number of ten centimeters. Years of training for marathons and triathlons had kept her body in shape, though none of it could prepare her for this experience. Before her breath slowed, another contraction had her readjusting her grip on the rails. “Alright, Ms. Casey, stop pushing,” instructed the doctor. A mewling sound was the beginning of a healthy cry. Two nurses crowded around her spread thighs, wrapping the infant in a blanket and clamping the cord. “Congratulations. You have a son,” the doctor said, rising from his wheeled perch and moving towards the door of the hospital room. “I’ll check on both of you tomorrow before you go home. Everything looks fine.” He stripped off his gloves, tossed them in the trash, and disappeared through the door. Fiona barely registered his parting comments. Her attention was solely focused on the infant placed in her arms. Numbers of weight and length were mentioned and recorded. Test scores were written in the chart. His feet were inked and pressed onto the certificate, proving his birth date. “Ms. Casey, who would you like to list as the father?” Fiona’s world narrowed to the tiny being in her arms. His eyes were open, and he looked at her face. Ten little fingers opened and closed in agitation. She pulled the blanket away from his throat, and he quieted. Fiona smiled. “The father, Ms. Casey?” The nurse asked again, her pen poised over the form. Fiona’s finger traced the forehead of her son. There were wisps of pale hair, and she hoped he would remain blonde like her, rather than the color turning brown, such as on the one who sired him. The determination was strong within her to squelch any characteristics of the man that might appear in her son. She hoped if she was a good enough mother, then those personality traits would never emerge. The pregnancy wasn’t planned. She hadn’t informed the man she carried his child. Did a one-night stand with her boss, who then ignored her once he’d had her, mean she was obligated to tell him, or his wife, the outcome of the indiscretion? Since she had discovered her condition, myriad scenarios had flitted through her mind. Knowing the media as she did, she chose to keep the pregnancy to herself. Resigning her position as a member of the Public Relations Committee for the campaign, she had traveled north along the West Coast, and found her choice of jobs. She would raise Ian as her own. His name was picked as soon as she felt the s*x of her child, which was confirmed by her obstetrician in Portland. The delivery room doctor here in Seattle thought she would be surprised. “Ms. Casey? We need to know the name of the father,” the nurse demanded again, frustration now coloring her words. “No, you don’t. His father’s name will not be on Ian’s birth certificate. Ian will be raised by me.” Fiona’s clear, strong voice brought the bustling of the delivery room to a halt. Fiona didn’t care what the nurses in the room thought, or their speculation regarding her situation. She and her son wouldn’t be in Seattle long enough to see any of them once they left the hospital. “Alright,” the nurse replied. She asked the remaining questions in a cool, aloof tone. It didn’t help the nurse’s mood when Fiona refused to have Ian moved to the nursery. “He can stay next to me. I want to be able to see him and be there when he needs me.” More notes were made in the chart. Eventually, the nurses finished cleaning up and set Ian in a place where Fiona could tend to him. She dozed but awoke each time Ian fussed or a nurse entered the room to take more measurements and fill out the forms in the chart. After being released from the hospital the following morning, Fiona and Ian boarded a city bus that took them to the studio apartment where they would stay until the end of the month. Then it would be time to move on to another city and a new job. There were plenty of places to live and an infinite number of PR and marketing opportunities that were out of sight of Ian’s father. Ten Years Later… Joan Corbin, lead anchorwoman for National Network Systems, applied her lipstick as she watched the six-inch LED numbers count down the forty-five seconds before she was on the air. She knew the story, had interviewed Durango’s Sheriff and a few of the townspeople. It would make a better headline if she had been able to have questions answered by Samantha Tanner or Cole Branson. They had instructed their ranch hands to keep quiet as well. She hoped with time, Samantha would agree to an exclusive interview. The cameraman held out his hand, then counted down, “In five, four, three,” then he was silent and held up two fingers, then one, then pointed at Joan. The red light on top of the camera lit up, and she set the shuffled papers on the table in front of her. “Good morning, Colorado. This is Joan Corbin from NNS with your headline news. Ten years ago, Carl Rutgers abducted Samantha Tanner, the middle child of three siblings. After being held for five long days, seventeen-year-old Samantha was rescued from the clutches of a man who later was indicted and awarded consecutive life sentences for the murder of fourteen teenage girls. The manhunt for escaped serial killer Carl Rutgers ended four days ago at a private residence outside Durango, where Cole Branson, the sole heir of the JAR-C Ranch, killed him with a single gunshot. Between the Branson and Tanner families, there have been four funerals in as many months. Darla Tanner, presumed murdered by Carl Rutgers, was the final ceremony, held today at a small chapel in Durango. Last week, in an unrelated illness, Robert Branson passed quietly at Crestview Care Center. Also last week, Joe Summers, affectionately known on Crystal Springs Farm and in the Durango area as Uncle Joe, was laid to rest after his body was discovered in a pasture. Shot in the back, presumed by a hired hit man, who, at the time of this report, has not been named or located. Authorities speculate it’s the same person behind the vandalism and threats that both the JAR-C and Crystal Springs Farm have been dealing with for months. “The first death, that of Bear Tanner, authorities say, began the string of tragedies that have plagued the Tanner family. An active community member of Centennial, Wyoming, and owner of Crystal Springs Farm and Tanner’s Outdoor Adventures, Mr. Tanner was murdered by his long-time friend and former business partner, Ray Foster. “For Carli Tanner, the eldest of the siblings, life begins to settle down as she converts her father’s business, Tanner’s Outdoor Adventures, a former hunting mecca, into a photography safari. With the death of Rutgers, Samantha Tanner, who runs Crystal Springs Farm, can rest easier. Shaun, their brother, the youngest Tanner, and Sheriff in Centennial, Wyoming, has the help of the local FBI as they continue to work on locating witnesses who may have information on the tragic circumstances surrounding the family. “The Tanner family and their employees, reeling from events that have spanned six months, were unavailable for comment or interview. “It was asked, however, that if anyone knows the whereabouts of Councilman Ted Worthington, to contact the number on your screen, as he is a person of interest. When we return, Jim will update us on the weather.” Joan sighed. She wouldn’t give up on her quest for an interview with any member of the Tanner family. Perhaps after the concerns with Worthington are resolved, the family will be more approachable. She removed her earpiece and stepped away from the table and the cameras. If she were Worthington, wanted for questioning in relation to the charges being tossed around, where the hell would she go? Six weeks later…