The lone light bulb hangs from the ceiling and casts its dim light over the room, with it’s cracked plaster and worn carpet.  It also casts light on a rickety crib and the squalling child inside.

Infants don’t start making tears until they are around 4 weeks old, and so, this baby, being all of 17 days old, has yet to shed a tear.

Though not, of course, for lack of trying.

She was bright and colourful.  Her driver’s licence said she was 23 and that her name was Elsie.  She called herself Mummy.

He, in direct contrast, was dark and, while not quite gloomy, bordered on depressed.  His driver’s licence said his name was Fred and that he was 24.  He called himself Fred.

She heated formula - which he had picked up, under protest, from the grocery store - in bottles – which he had also bought, along with some beer.  They set up an old crib, which they had never expected to use, in the bedroom they had formerly used for storage.

They regretted then that they had never done the room over.

Silence. The child has found its fist and is, for the moment, willing to forget the fact that it is hungry, cold and wet.

For the moment.

Angela, age 14 and ˝ days, according to her proud parents, was a beautiful baby.  Blue eyes, small scraps of blond hair, soft skin and adorable, kissable cheeks all conspired to make her the cutest little baby the visiting Youth Group had ever seen.  She was the sort of baby you want to pick up and take home with you.

So Elsie did.

The wails have started again, louder and more desperate this time as the infant tries to summon from the ether someone to feed, clothe and cuddle her.

 The walls, however, have been soundproofed.  Alas, there is no visitor from Beyond to save the poor child in distress.

 Fred was not at all pleased when Elsie came home with a crying infant.

 “What are we going to do with it?”  You could hear the italics dripping off his words.

 Elsie opened her eyes wide.  “We’re going to look after it, dear.”

 They had their first fight then, because of the little baby who had no wish to be there.

The cries sound more and more like screams as the baby abuses its throat in an effort to remedy the wrongs that are happening here.

No baby should be left on it’s own.

Having looked after this ill-gotten child for nearly three days, Elsie and Fred had to get out.

“Just for dinner, darling,” Fred said.

Elsie didn’t want to leave the child alone.  “Couldn’t we get a babysitter?”

Fred frowned.  “No-one is supposed to know that there is a baby living here.”

“Then…” She hesitated for a second before continuing, “Couldn’t we bring her?”

“And announce it to the neighborhood? No. Now come on.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her out the door.

Throat hoarse, our little baby has to be quiet. Her only way of communicating, having left her in a lurch, is now thumbing its nose at her.

She will wait a few minutes before trying to cry again.

Elsie and Fred, having finished dinner, are feeling much better.  Walking home, Elsie twirls and laughs in a way Fred hasn’t heard since before they became criminals: not only kidnappers, but thieves as well.

Lost in thought, Fred doesn’t notice the dark figure until it’s too late.

“That’s the last time you bail out on us,” says the stranger – but, no, Elsie recognizes that voice – as he pulls the trigger.

She screams and screams, until another gunshot is heard and her scream stops forever.

Throat rested now, the infant takes in a lungful of air and resumes her screaming.

The police have blocked off the area.  They are confused.  Dusting for prints has garnered them little. Mentally, the cop in charge relegates this case to the Random Gang Shooting file. He wants to return to his coffee and doughnut.

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This is copywritten to me.