Marvin walks through the doors of the maternity ward at Saint Regina Ben-Ami Hospital. The air smells of disinfectant and sweat. Exhausted mothers on gurneys. Newborns wrapped in pink and blue blankets. Nurses rushing back and forth, carrying metal trays. Marvin carries a duffel bag. Sweat drips down his neck. He wants to leave. Right now. He doesn't have to do this. His head pounds. He doesn't have to do this. But he doesn't leave. All he has to do is set the bag down and walk out. Simple. And then: mission accomplished. Marvin takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes for a beat. Opens them again. He thinks about the babies. New lives. Lives without sin. Babies who didn't ask to be born. Babies who could grow up. Babies who might end up like him. But what if they don't? What if they're different? What if they have a real chance at happiness? At living without feeling invisible? What if these babies are meant to do something important? Cure diseases no one has been able to cure. Make life better for millions. These babies could be saviors of humanity. But they won't be anything if Marvin does this.
"Can I help you, sir?" a nurse asks.
Marvin freezes. His throat tightens. He doesn't know what to say. The nurse watches him. Her brow furrows. Marvin doesn't look like any husband or boyfriend who just had a baby. He doesn't have that anxious, emotional, overwhelmed look of those who've just welcomed someone new into their lives. No. Marvin looks lost. Lost and out of place.
"Who are you looking for?" the nurse insists. "What are you doing here?"
Marvin opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He's about to spill it all. Say what's inside the bag. Scream. Make everyone run. Fifteen minutes. He only has fifteen minutes before everything goes up in flames. Fifteen minutes? No. Less now. Maybe twelve. Maybe eleven.
"Nurse!" someone shouts from the back.
The nurse turns around. Code red! Someone's dying. A mother convulsing. A baby not breathing. The nurse forgets Marvin. She runs.
Marvin stands there, frozen. His legs feel like cement. His hands tremble. "What am I doing?" Marvin thinks. "I don't want to do this." But he does it. He sets the bag down on the floor. Pushes it with his foot until it's tucked against a plastic trash bin. Then he walks quickly toward the exit. Takes one step out of the maternity ward. Just one step. And stops. No. He can't do it. He can't. He spins around. Runs. Runs back toward the bag. Doesn't care if they see him. Doesn't care about anything. He has to stop it.
"THERE'S A BOMB! A BOMB!" he screams.
The words burst through the air like a shotgun blast. But no one reacts. They stare at him like he's crazy. Like they don't understand the words. Like what he's saying doesn't make sense. And then, everything explodes. Everything. The walls burst open in a flower of fire. Glass shatters into blades. Bodies are thrown like broken dolls. Nurses. Doctors. Mothers. Fathers. Relatives. Friends. Babies. And Marvin. And Marvin. And Marvin.