Strange Baby part 8

‘Hold still, hold still...oh...it’s just a scratch. Nothing a bit of TCP won’t cure.’
‘Who...what are you doing?’
‘You fell dear, you tripped and fell. Lucky Mr. Almonds knows his first aid.’
‘You’ll probably have a bit of a headache for a while.’
‘Aspirin’s good for that.’
‘Black coffee, that’s what she needs. We gave that to Mrs. Potsdam when she tripped over that manhole cover...worked a treat.’
‘It happened to me once. I’d just finished putting new flowers on my Arnold’s grave...’
‘Grave?’
‘Yes. He’s the one a bit further to the right.’
‘Grave...what are you all talking about?’ Angelica struggles to her knees, the talking heads melting away. She looks warily, right and left...gravestones everywhere, a grey ceiling of clouds above, overcoats and plastic handbags in retreat, a shadowed stone before her, Toby’s last greeting etched in the speckled granite canvas. She lays her hands tearfully on the cold indifferent stone, spelling his name with her fingers, then hugging it, pressing her cheek against the moist surface. ‘Oh Toby...why can’t I lie with you?’
No way Mumsy.
I want to be dead...I want to be dead!
What you want doesn’t interest me. If you think you're gonner spoil my fun by topping yourself, forget it!
Why won’t you let me have a gravestone?
Because I’m not finished with you yet. You’re going all the way girl. I rather fancy the idea of sliding out the way I came in. It’s not every baby who can say that he got his own mother pregnant. Besides, it’s nice sloshing around here, creating havoc, buggering everyone up. When the time’s right I’ll show the world what I’m really made of. I’ll be a phenomenon admired by everybody, until I kill them, of course. So, you’re gonner stay alive and kicking, whether you like or or not, understand?
Angelica sinks hard against the gravestone, sobbing. ‘There must be some way to stop you.’
Don’t bet on it.
‘Ange...Ange.’ Gail’s voice spears through her despair.
‘Gail?’ Angelica looks around to her friend, standing by the cemetery gates.
‘C’mon Ange, Toby’s waiting for us.’
Angelica turns in shock back to the headstone.
‘Stop mocking me, you bastard!’
All part of the service.
Rage takes hold of her again, forcing her up, rushing past Gail, onto the street where Toby is leaning against his old Ford Capri. ‘Hurry up Angelica, we’ll be late.’ She pushes past him, diving into the car, snapping the engine alive then racing off.
‘Angelica, what the hell...’
‘I’ll sort you out,’ she grunts. Screeching 180 degrees at the end of the street, speeding past her bewildered boyfriend, heading for a half demolished house further along the road. ‘Perfect,’ she gasps. ‘A whole wall to splatter you against!’
Some people never learn.
‘At full speed. That’ll sort you.’ She presses the accelerator flat on the floor.
And never listen.
‘Now...now. Die you son-of-a-bitch!’ Heart pounding, knuckles white on the steering wheel, head fatally jerked by the impact!

Swimming in a grey sea filled with eyeballs, broken teeth, fat fingers pulling and prodding.
Turning...twisting...falling...giddy...stubbly chinned fish mouths vomiting words over her.
‘A miracle...a bloody miracle!’
‘Look, she’s coming round.’
‘Did you see it...a bloody miracle!’
‘Is he dead...tell me he’s dead.’
‘No. no, you’re alive...it’s a bloody miracle!’ Halitosis Alleluia. A certain someone smuggling salvation where it wasn’t wanted. Chuckling away in her entrails, snug as a bug...
‘Angelica, Angelica, are you all right?’ Toby’s breathless concern cauterising her hopes.
‘She certainly is. Must have somehow got forced out of the car before it hit. It’s a bloody miracle!’
‘Angelica?’ Toby’s searing touch cleaving her heart.
‘She’ll be fine.’
‘Angelica!’ Toby standing red faced, irate. ‘Look what you’ve done to my fucking car. What the Hell’s got into you!?’
Her tearful mad gaze. Lips trembling in reply,
‘I...think...it’s called...the Devil.’