#anywhere

She looks at the text

It's from Bluebell, right on schedule, and... well, she's a pooka. Perhaps she couldn't help making it a selfie, with two fingers up as rabbit ears behind Janice's head. Janice, yes - Dee recognizes her, though she is in a hospital gown and bed, and seems to be deeply asleep, or at least not responding to Bluebell. Bluebell is smiling, one MUST for a photo, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

Then again, she still looks like 'Marla' from reception. Probably why no one has yet questioned her wandering from room to room!

TXT: Greg's 🧠 Chic and Caned. Out of my depth. He thinks she lost baby. Spriggan? again? Not sure

TXT: "No 👶 in here. Janice is empty. I don't smell a rat?"

TXT: Oh my

TXT: See if you can find... the remains?

She looks up at him, "Trina is a good kid. It'll sting, but she.. she loves you, and she'll be there for you"

Bluebell doesn't respond.

Greg nods. “She's… yeah. Trina is the best. She'll understand. Sometimes… I'm not a religious man, but…” he looks down at his hands. “Mysterious ways, right?”

She looks troubled. She's never been that religious. "Did they at least let you say goodbye to the baby? Hold him or her?"

“No, I… I don't remember.” He looks confused. “I don't think so. Maybe… something was wrong, they didn't want us to see.” Reasoning, filling in the gaps with logic.

"What was the name of the Doctor or nurse who told you couldn't see the baby?" SHe is perhaps directing things, but trying

"It was...." Blank expression, and a small frown. "Can't seem to place it. Not surprising. Seen so many doctors..."

"I should get back to my wife. She was stressed out, they had to give her something to sleep."

"I'll go with you" Something is very very wrong here.

And she moves with him before he can really refuse.

He walks in a bit of a daze, heading to the hall with the private rooms, and going into the one marked "SMITH, J".

Inside is a simple accommodation - an adjustable hospital bed, a couple chairs, a scraggly plant in the window that doesn't look like it gets enough sunlight. It's chilly in here - the hospital is kept cool, but also, the banality is higher, away from the chapel, and away from the viewing window where new parents can coo and preen about their new babes.

Janice looks small, in the bed. The oxygen machine, the saline drips and other miscellaneous tubes are pushed aside, not in use - the other thing on her is a blood pressure sensor on a finger.

Greg moves to her side and strokes her hair, and when she doesn't stir, he takes up a chair. Remembering Lavender is there, he offers the other seat with a mute gesture.

"It was touch and go for a bit. They did a C-Section."

Dee looks over the medical chart and such. She actually knows some basic medicine, a skill she hasn't used in a long while, but when you learn how to keep a horse alive, and have a leg that acts up, you research

"And then... you saw the baby? " She pokes at the memory, trying to find the logic "I'm guessing you were in the room"

Janice seems to be sleeping naturally, and there is a mild sedative on the chart. No horse tranquilizers. The surgery was several days ago. Let's see - checked in 2 weeks ago, bed rest - attempted induction - D'Lorean is reminded of walking around a broody mare that just didn't want to settle to give birth, and the incongruity almost makes her laugh. Almost.

Vitals look good - if she wasn't sleeping, Dee would venture that she's healthy enough to go home, at least in the next day or so.

One thing is missing. No birth certificate. There is a 'fetal death certificate', stating that there was a stillborn fetus... but it's not filled out, just slid into the folder as though an afterthought.

She looks that death certificate over.And... god help her, if she can, she takes pictures with her camera sereptiously

It's... blank.

An oversight, to be sure

She texts tXT: BB? You out there?

TXT I would like to go home now.

A blink TXT: Get to room number #..._

Luckily, Dee heard the footsteps - not Bluebell's light taps - and was able to slide the chart and paperwork back into the proper folder just before a brisk rap on the door, a formality as the nurse walks in without waiting for a response. His nametag says 'Brady', and his scrubs have a super hero pattern on them.

"Afternoon Mister Smith-"

"Greg, please." Greg says.

"Greg, and hello there." Nodding to the guest perfunctorily. Back to Greg, "I hope that the chapel brought you some peace. We will recommend post partum counseling for Mrs. Smith as well, the nurses at the desk have some referral pamphlets."

She kens the man, in this cold he should stand ot

He's no fae, nor even a dreamer. Perhaps he might have potential, he's a relatively cheerful seeming fellow, but long hours and hard work, upset patients, billing issues, delivering bad news... it wears you down. He's not banal, no, but neither is he a font of glamour.

"I have your wife's discharge paperwork here. She's as well as could be expected and ready to continue her recovery from home, surrounded by family. I think that would be best at this time."

"Pardon me, but where is the birth certificate?"

Brady pauses, and looks over to her with an expression of soft pity. It sounds like he's had this conversation in the past, and it never gets easier. "Miss..." Glance at her chest, "Miss Lori. In the case of stillbirth, there is no birth certificate issued. Recent laws have changed that allow in many states, New York included, that you can apply to the county to have one issued, it's a specialized form for "Certificate of birth that resulted in stillbirth", it helps some family gain a sense of closure."

"What about the Fetal Death Certificate? What doctor was supposed to sign that? Becasue... they forgot"

"That..." His brow creases a bit, and he reaches for and flips through the chart. "That's odd. Dr. Maheswaran is generally very prompt on her paperwork. She's our head of obstetrics. It may have been an oversight. We'll be sure to have all the proper paperwork filed so that you can request your certificate within 2-4 weeks." He looks slightly concerned, but not overly so.

"I'd like to talk to Dr. Maheswaran. There's a discrepancy." A pause "Did anyone record the C section?"

"Dr. Maheswaran has two deliveries this afternoon, and that's assuming that we don't have any surprise patients. I can ask the attending doctor to stop by if you have questions about the chart." Brady offers.

Even as he converses, he is checking the patient's vitals, updating notes on the chart.

"And yes, of course. It's major abdominal surgery."

"We have the surgical release, the anestician paperwork..." He goes on for a minute or so.

"THen I'd like to see the footage. Something is off here" A look to Greg "And mroe than one folk will want answers"

"RECORD?" He BLINKS. "Sorry, no. This isn't a teaching hospital - I thought you meant on paper."

"Greg, can I see your phone, please?" She says "i know this is a lot but it's been... please"

"My phone?" He sounds baffled.

Meanwhile, a tap at the door - Bluebell has returned! Not 'Marla' the nurse, no, it's just Bluebell, no disguise or mask. Her ears are drooped.

"I'm betting you recorded it. Most fathers would" She tells Greg

But is SO glad Bluebell is okay

He offers it over, but keeps an eye on her. "Can you tell me what for? I do have confidential client information and emails on there."

"Oh, no. No, I didn't. Janice... I didn't want to see her cut up like that, they put up a sheet. I was ready to take pictures of the... of, after, but..." He shakes his head.

Dee is able to click the photos app, and yes, there are lots of pictures!

Any of a new baby dated oh.. in the past week ?

Trina features heavily in the photo stream, along with Frankie - some of Misty as well. Janice, in candids, often with a small smile on her face, a hand on her swelled belly.

That's the end of the photo stream.

But... there. Dee sees folders - Favorites, Albums, Deleted Items... in that last... bingo.

One more recent, yet deleted image. A little squish-faced babe, still wet with blood and fluids but clear of the operation, and little face screwed up as if in mid-wail. Their - pardon, her complexion is a bit pallid, but that certainly LOOKS like a fist being waved in the air, not hanging limp.

She undeletes it

"A living child is missing' She says and shows Greg the picture

"And I think she's yours"