Part 3The Gilded Womb

“Don’t sign it!” I screamed in my mind.

“If she signs, we’re finished!” Stella roared back.

But Eleanor couldn’t hear us. We felt her hand tremble as it reached for the pen, a gesture of complete and utter defeat.

“That’s a good girl,” Carter purred. “See how easy this can be?”

Chloe chimed in, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I knew you’d understand, Ellie. Thank you. You’re a truly wonderful person.”

The tip of the pen was inches from the paper. In that split second, Stella acted.

She repositioned herself, gathered all her strength, and delivered a powerful kick directly into Eleanor’s stomach lining.

“Oomph—”

Eleanor’s body jackknifed, and a surge of stomach acid erupted from her mouth.

With astonishing precision, the vomit splattered across the consent forms and, even more satisfyingly, all over Chloe’s pristine, white designer heels.

“AH! My shoes!” Chloe’s shriek could have shattered glass.

“Eleanor! You did that on purpose!” Carter exploded.

Eleanor, looking as shocked as anyone, weakly shook her head. “No… I didn’t…”

“You’re still lying!” Carter grabbed her by the wrist. “I see you need to be taught a real lesson!”

“Carter, sweetie, it’s okay…” Chloe intervened, already back in character, her eyes welling with tears. “She didn’t mean it. The pregnancy… it’s hard on her. My shoes don’t matter. What matters is that she doesn’t get too upset… what if it hurts the babies?”

She enunciated the word “babies” with pointed significance.

Carter’s fury didn’t subside. “Hard on her? Is it harder than what you’ve been through with Noah?” He let go of Eleanor and pulled Chloe into a protective embrace. “You’re too good, Chloe. A woman like her doesn’t deserve your kindness.”

He turned back to Eleanor, his face a mask of cold fury. He barked an order to his security guards. “Lock her in this room. Don’t let her out of your sight. Hire two nutritionists. I want them watching her every meal. I want the things in her belly fattened up like prize turkeys.”

“Yes, Mr. Brooks,” a guard replied.

Carter leaned down, his face close to Eleanor’s ear. “And you,” he whispered, his voice a venomous threat, “pull another stunt like that, and next time, it won’t be bile you’re spitting up. It’ll be blood.”

The door clicked shut, leaving Eleanor alone with her silent, racking sobs.

“Nice one,” I sent to Stella.

“It was adequate,” she sniffed. “Just a warning shot.”

“So what’s the plan now? We just wait here to be harvested?” I asked.

“Of course not,” Stella shot back, her thought laced with fury. “He wants my heart? He’s not worthy of touching it.”

“You have an idea?”

“The idea,” she said, a grim satisfaction in her tone, “is to make his life a living hell.”

That night, I got to work.

I focused all my energy, all the skill I’d picked up in the afterlife dabbling in the art of weaving memories and nightmares. My abilities were more subtle than Stella’s brute force, but far more insidious.

I constructed a nightmare just for Carter.

In the dream, he was the one strapped to the operating table. Chloe, dressed as a surgeon, held a scalpel over his chest, her smile wide and terrifying. “Don’t be scared, Carter darling,” she cooed. “Noah needs a strong heart. And yours is just perfect.”

Then, she sliced him open.

The next morning, we overheard the maids talking.

“Mr. Brooks must have had a nightmare. He was shouting all night. He looked terrible this morning.”

“I know! He screamed at the head of housekeeping, said there was something ‘unclean’ in his room.”