The following are discarded scenes from Transmission. It is no longer being used since I had a change of heart and decided not give Jane the axe. Instead something else bad is going to happen to her, but something she can survive. It isn’t something I am terribly proud of, but it is interesting. I save my best for the manuscript.
Anyways, the following involves a little bit of gore and involves the death of an infant. You’ve been warned, but it isn’t a lot of gore in my eyes.
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“Please?” Jane asked with wide eyes, her full weight falling back against Jovie’s arm. Her legs laid on the ground motionless.
Blood dripped over her lips and from the left side of her mouth. The words didn’t need to come out and Jovie lifted the gun to just above Jane’s ear.
“But what about the baby?” Jovie whispered.
“If I’m infected, the baby is infected. Her head is downward and lower. Please?” Jane’s voice grew hoarser with every syllable.
She nodded in response, pressed the gun closer to Jane’s head and squeezed the trigger with her eyes closed. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she lifted up Jane’s loose shirt and felt for the head of the baby. It moved against her hand, precisely where Jane had shown her in the past. Jovie forced a deep breath and tears poured down her cheeks quickly as she positioned the gun and pulled the trigger. Jane’s body slumped and fell against the ground with a thud. She dropped her hands to the sides and rested the gun on the ground. Her tears stopped at once and heart rate remained accelerated. Jovie tried to even her breathing to slow the drip of anxiety pushing past all of the logical emotions and reactions.
Ash shouted for Jovie, but she remained unmoving over her sister’s motionless body.
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“It was weird, you know? Without the long hair I’m a dead ringer for her, save for the scars and difference placement of moles. I held her there and she asked me to end it all with only one word…” Jovie trailed off and took a long sip of wine. “So I did it. It didn’t matter how mean she was to me over the years, it still hurt to pull the trigger. It’s amazing that someone can go away with the pull of a trigger.”
The flames of the candles on the coffee table flickered wildly with the wind blowing through the fly screen of the window by the front door. Paul entered the room and sat down in the chair between his remaining children. He reached for each of their hands and laced his fingers through theirs. Eli offered a weak smile, but Jovie stared at the flames as they danced to their own patterns slowly and the way the yellow of the flame ate up the orange.
“What you did was very brave, Jovie,” Paul began with an even and quiet voice. “I can’t imagine how difficult that was for you.”
Her lip quivered and the sting of tears threatened. Jovie held it back with a dam she wasn’t sure would last for long. Paul squeezed her hand and all she managed was a nod with a passive expression in place.
“Would you have pulled the trigger?” Jovie inquired hesitantly.
“She was infected and asked you to do it. If she did the same with me, I’d be in your shoes now. You were very brave, V.”
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