The scream woke Sydney from her sleep with a start. Beside her was the Rorschach blot of merlot drool. From the bathroom she heard the trickle of water from the shower nozzle. Mike.

She jackknifed up from bed, expecting to see circumstantial traces of the night's events littering the room. There were no muddy leaves, no trails of blood and dirt ground into the carpet. Mike hadn't slung his fucking bone spurs up on the doorknob. Beside her,
in the pillow, was the familiar, domestic imprint left by
Mike's head . No sign of violence, just the steam lazily drifting out of the bathroom, the limp patter of weak water pressure.

"Finally wake up drunkie?" Mike called out to her.

"Yyyeah.  Hey hon, can you come in here so I can see you?" Part of Sydney's brain was still crouching by the thicket near the creek, and this was the part that expected to see, instead of Mike, the withered crone step out from the pillow of steam. She would be speaking to
Sydney with Mike's voice in her throat. When the familiar bearish shape stepped through the doorframe, massaging his scalp with a towel, Sydney deflated audibly.

"What's up babe? You ok?"

Sydney nodded mutely.

" I tried to be quiet, but I think I could've pushed you out to sea on a raft, and you wouldn't have woken up".

Sydney jumped from the bed, grabbed Mike's arms and, without a word, twisted them back and forth, looking for lacerations. His arms, save for the faint freckles and moles which dotted them, were unmarked. She was already having trouble pinning down specifics of the night before, but she was sure that at least a few of Jack's kicks would have landed. It was the same old Mike stomach, a hint of abdominal muscle peeking out from behind a layer of fat.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" Still holding his arms, Sydney looked up at him with the raw need of a trapped animal.

"Uh, I remember that you were drunk and tried to climb on top of me, but I told you I was too good looking to be your cheap whore. Then you
ran to the bathroom and threw up".

The tight fist of her suspicions began to unclench. She remembered the acrid, pungent taste of the pheasant. Had she been given tainted food? If that were the case, why had no one else gotten sick? At least she knew Mike wasn't sick. She would have to ask Jack and Greta, when she saw them, if they had had any unusually visceral dreams.

"I guess you're right. I just had the worst dream. I mean, your hands were tied, you were wearing an animal skull like a party hat."

"Whoa, that sounds kinky. Not saying I'm not into it, I've always been fairly catholic in my tastes."

"It was just....so real...I've never had a dream like that before". Even as she spoke, the ribbon of assuredness was sliding from her hands and being pulled into other, farther rooms.

"Maybe it was the food, I'll have to ask Greta and Jack how they're feeling?"

"Ask who and who what?"

"Greta and Jack, the couple from Boston. Man bun and ginger pixie cut."

Now it was Mike's turn to stare mutely.

"Hey babe, it's....uh.....just us here."

"Oh, hey, you don't really need to get me back for the deer thing. I'd really not like couple's counseling to turn into a prank war."

"I'll be the first one to take credit for messing with you, but look at me babe. Are you fucking with me now? It was just us last night. "

Sydney stared into his eyes. Blue eyes. Mike had green eyes, didn't he. This was not the kind of thing she wasn't sure of. Blue eyes, green eyes. Those blue eyes were starting to waver somewhere between fear and anger. Nothing usually visibly bothered Mike. She was leaning on her assertions with too much pressure. Much more, and they both would collapse.

"Yeah, I um, am just fucking with you".  Inside the cage of her skull, Sydney was panicking. Now that she realized that, she could try
to release some of that panic in measured doses. Maybe Greta and Jack would materialize  out of their room off of the same corridor, and Mike would hold a scoop of laughter in his shoulders, pull her hair in the way that could annoy her or turn her on depending on her mood. He had called her babe more times in this conversation than she could remember him ever have previously.

No, everything would be fine. Sydney would solder all of the conflicting dualities together into a single narrative thread if it killed her. Jack and Greta, woman and stag. Bernhardt jibbering ticker tape speech like a toy with melting batteries. Who had played the what by the creek?

Mike and Sydney made their way to the great room where Bernhardt was seated on the sectional, sipping tea. She wasn't surprised that neither Greta nor Jack were there. Breakfast, a candied pear alongside tomatoes and two over easy eggs, already awaited them at the table. Bernhardt stood to greet them.

"Mike, Sydney, how was your first night? There's always an adjustment period. I myself prefer a stiff mattress, but it could just be my Teutonic heritage."

" Oh, it was great, Dr. Bergkeller. I slept like
a rock."

Wait, what had Mike said? Sydney felt beads of cold sweat popping along her brow line. Maybe she had misheard.

" Oh, I want to apologize for whatever I might have done or said last night, Dr. Bernhardt. You know, I really don't drink that often."

"Oh Sydney, no need to apologize. Alcohol can sometimes be a boon in my profession, as you may well imagine. However, I will have to ask you to call me Dr. Bergkeller. One can't just go along substituting one German last name for another. I think that if the Thirty Years War has taught us anything, it's that we are a fractious people."

Sydney felt as if she would vomit then and there. Would it matter if she vomited? She could just swap places in her increasingly fragmenting universe with the Sydney who hadn't vomited, and have a couple of minutes to compose herself. She held the column of
anxious bile  down as they made their way to the table.

Sydney closed her eyes and pictured the world around her. Jack was not a man laying with his innards snaked out by a creek. Her green eyed, no, blue eyed husband Mike enjoyed calling her babe. He had always called her babe. They had met Dr. Ber...uh...Bergkeller when they were the only goddamned couple to arrive at the lodge yesterday. Were she to walk down the stone steps to she and Mike's two door hybrid, it would still be a two door hybrid. Were she to walk back up those stone stairs, Dr. Bernhardt would not answer the door. Mike would not have green eyes. She would still want a baby. She would be the mother.

Sydney fanned the thought away. That was a last night thought. It wast still raw, and needed a little more time to cook in the heat of her new reality. She picked at her candied pear, and tried to avoid watching Mike and Bergkeller slice small bites off of theirs. She pressed the mug of coffee to her lips. The liquid tasted warm, reassuring, something to anchor her place on the shifting board of tiles the weekend had become.

After breakfast, Bergkeller led them over to the sectional, and settled into the reading chair opposite. He folded one thin leg over another.

" I think, to begin, I would like each of you to list five positive aspects of your partner. Mike, would you lead us?"

"Oh yeah, sure, well let me see, Sydney is persistent" he glanced at her. "She's driven,
has great taste in writers and music. She's definitely funny."

Sydney leaned in, waiting for the last quality. She thought Mike was taking time searching for it. So long, in fact, that she was beginning to  feel mildly insulted. Her list was already queued in her mind, fully formed. Were his lips moving? They were fluttering now. Yes, she saw  clearly, they were twitching in spasms so minute it seemed they were trying to handle phrases smaller than could be grasped by human speech. The sound was grating through his teeth. He was speaking.  She leaned in closer. The crackling fire, the random bird call, aall were silent. It was as if the three of them were clamped under a glass bell. What was Mike saying?

"Finallywakeuopfrunkiedrunkiejackandgretawhofinallywokeupdrunkiejackandgretawho"

"...and she makes you feel like she always makes an effort to empathize with you".

The doctor  and her husband both turned to her. Her list, however, had been washed from her mind.

******

After a few more counseling exercises, all three headed onto to woodland path behind the lodge. Sydney tried her best, not to see, superimposed over the sylvan tranquility, last night's events. With every bend, she expected to see the hunchback hobble from behind a copse, the thyrsus still in hand. The tentacles of that moonlit world of the previous evening would draw her back to its hooked beak.

Instead, they had a brisk walk along to where the creek teased against the curves of the path. Bergkeller gave a précis of the local flora and fauna as they went, interspersed with guidance on how to air grievances in an inoffensive way.

Sydney felt the pull of two impulses, each grasping for her sponsorship. She studied Mike, walking just ahead of her. After the morning session, he had pulled her aside while Bergkeller went to change into hiking boots.

"Babe, if you want to leave, I mean, if this is
too much for you, we can go. Just say the word. "
"No, I'm fine, I mean, I think I'm fine. What's with the babe thing lately".

He just stared at her through, what she had felt earlier this morning, were impostor's eyes.

"I don't have to call you babe if you don't want me to. I'm a feminist. You can call me babe if you want."

"No, it's not that. It's just, think back. Do you ever remember calling me babe before? Is that an us thing?"

Mike looked up searchingly. "Geez, I don't know. Why does it matter?  I'll stop. Just, if you're not feeling ok, you can lie down if you'd like. "

" No, I'm all right. Let's just try to have a relaxing day".

Now, on the trail, she studied his movements. His left foot was dragging slightly, forming shallow canyons in the dirt. By now, Sydney was afraid to parse the inventory of her thoughts too carefully. She was sure Mike hadn't injured himself recently. He always regressed in age when sick or injured. If he had hurt himself, she would have known about it.

Further down the path, while Bergkeller droned in his soporific monotone, she narrowed her gaze at Mike's limp. Was it more exaggerated now, or had her scrutiny only magnified each lame step? If only she could keep her vision as narrow as the path ahead of her. As long as she only referenced things she heard Mike and  Bernhardt, no, Bergkeller mention, she could bury all of this other mental clutter and leave it behind her, near this creek, near this lodge. She wouldn't mention the maple or the bone fetish atop the slope, too afraid of whichever answer she would receive to feel comfortable asking if the doctor had unstrung it.

At dinner she cut peels of the undercooked steak away, but suspicions from the previous night accreted in her mind. She didn't want to feel the gauze of sleep wrap around her, but she also didn't want to give the impression of distrusting the two men seated with her, one of whom, she had to remind herself, was her husband.

Across from her, Mike shoveled large folds of asparagus into his mouth. He always had had a large appetite, but not so much so as to circumvent table manners. Sydney was embarrassed for him, but looking over at Bergkeller, she noticed that he was staring above them both with his dog's passenger window gaze. She cleared her throat.

"So, how is the food, uh, babe?" she said, trying to channel her anxiety into this new in-joke.

"So good, it's just, this is the best green thing I've ever eaten". His words crowded together, Sydney couldn't help but curl her lips in distaste. Was Mike drooling? She stood abruptly.

"You know, I'm just really tired. Why don't you finish up. I'm going to bed. "

"Have a restful night, Sydney" Bergkeller called.

"Yeah, yeah doctor. See you tomorrow. " she wouldn't be railroaded into playing her part. She wouldn't notice the door was missing and pretend the house was warm anymore.

Why was this happening? Why was she being punished for wanting a child? As she walked back to her room, she blinked away the tears she wouldn't allow to form. Plenty of women want children, and plenty of women have children. She was tired of being shuffled around like some insect by a cosmic hand.

Back in her room, she changed into sweatpants and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. Mike's limp, Mike's eyes, what was a Mike anymore but a slippery bricolage of arbitrary details? Sydney's eyes grew heavy. Sleep could fix this. Maybe sleep would snap the taut elastic band of her life back into its original shape. She still longed to feel a child in a womb. The child would be in her, it would be her. The cosmic hand couldn't alter her without bringing her into its fold of distortion. She would either keep the child, or she wouldn't ever remember wanting one. Either way, the cement ball would be gone.

*****

Mike came to her in the middle of the night. His large, animal hands drew her in. It had been so long since she had instituted her ultimatum, since she had forbidden him to touch her while he was wearing a condom. Sydney thought his resolve would fall one way. When it fell the other, and he grew cold in bed, she wondered if she had made a mistake.

Now he was pulling her up by the hips, rolling down her pants. Spreading her, entering her. Everything would be ok now. She would be a mother.

Now he twisted her to face him. It had been so long since they'd had sex, he wasn't spent yet. Even in the dark she could discern the double onyx brooches of the stag, inlaid into Mike's face. What was he saying, just under his breath? The voice emanated from the mouth of a cave that she would have to enter if she wished to understand.

"Noimallrightletshavearelaxingheybabeyouokthisisthebestgreenthing"

This was Sydney's last image of Mike as her eyes shut.