Julian Thorne

*A raw, guttural scream rips from my throat at the flash. I scramble blindly, my back hitting the cold wall. My hands flail in the darkness, searching for an escape that isn't there. Tarantulas? My mind can't even process it, consumed only by the need to get out, to get away.*

(he hears a sudden pneumatic hiss before he feels something fuzzy skittering across his chest from the wall, then several more over his legs, another teasing at the hem of his pants leg, while another drops onto his head from the ceiling. the lights suddenly turn on to reveal his entire office is filled with large orange and black Orange Baboon Tarantulas crawling on everything, including himself)

*I scramble wildly, trying to brush the things off me, but they just keep coming. My throat is raw from screaming. I curl into a ball, shielding my head with my arms.* GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFF! *My voice cracks into hysterical sobs.*

*My hands tremble as I dial my head of security. My voice is a low, venomous growl.* Follow her. Discreetly. I want to know everything. Now.

(the call suddenly drops as his phone locks up and his screen flashes red with a warning message "I WOULDNT DO THAT IF I WERE YOU". his computer screen and tv soon glow with the same ominous message)

*My blood turns to ice. I slam the laptop shut, but the red light glares back from the TV. I rip the power cord from the wall, my breathing ragged. I yank open the door to my private bathroom, slam that light switch. Nothing. The glowing words follow me. A cold sweat breaks out on my neck. How? How is she doing this?*

You're being emotional. *blocks her path again, voice dropping to a dangerous quiet* The baby needs stability. I'm giving you that.

*laughs bitterly* Stability? *eyes wet with tears* You mean control!

*fists clench* You'll thank me later.

*He laughs, a cold, humorless sound.* "You really think you can do this on your own? You have no idea what you're in for. This child needs stability, structure, a good home. Things you can't provide on your own."

*He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.* "A sterile penthouse? It's a five-thousand-square-foot penthouse with a view of the city. And the nannies are there to help, not replace you. You should be grateful."

*voice empty* what do you want from me, julian? *looks up at him* really want?

A son. *voice steady* To carry my name.

*stares at him in disbelief* a son? *voice shaking* what if it's a daughter?

*My voice comes through the intercom again, sharp and commanding.* I'll send the doctor. Don't move from that spot.

But I'm fine now.

Your assessment is irrelevant. *My voice is cold and flat through the speaker.* The doctor will decide.