Chapter 8 - The Phantom Pregnancy
Arthur stared across the table, his mind completely refusing to process the words coming out of the detective’s mouth. The sterile hum of the fluorescent lights suddenly sounded deafening, like a jet engine winding up inside his skull.
“What... what did you say?” Arthur stammered, his voice dropping to a hollow whisper. “My daughter was nine months pregnant. I watched her stomach swell for months. I watched her push against that folding chair in agony!”
Detective Miller opened the manila folder again, sliding a medical report across the table. The paper was covered in technical terminology, but the bold conclusion at the bottom of the page stood out like a flashing neon sign: Pseudocyesis / Phantom Pregnancy.
“The hospital doctors performed a complete surgical scan,” Miller said, her tone devoid of any warmth, though tinged with a strange curiosity. “There was no fetus, Arthur. No amniotic fluid. No heartbeat. Her body experienced a profound, psychological phantom pregnancy driven by severe trauma. She believed she was carrying a child with every fiber of her being.”
Arthur grabbed the edge of the table, pulling himself forward until his face was inches from the detective’s. “That’s a lie! I felt the kicks! I saw her cry out in pain! Are you telling me she faked all of that?”
“Phantom pregnancies are very real, and very powerful,” Miller replied calmly, not flinching away from his intense gaze. “The contractions were real. The physical agony was real. But the baby was a coping mechanism for a mind that couldn't handle reality.”
“If there was no baby...” Arthur’s voice broke completely, a fresh wave of tears spilling over his tired eyelids. “Then why were we out there by that fence? Why did Marcus stop? Why did someone throw a bag of stolen money at us?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, literally,” Miller said, standing up and buttoning her blazer. “Because while Clara was lying in that field screaming about a baby that didn’t exist, the exact amount of money missing from the Oak Creek Federal Reserve was precisely five hundred thousand dollars. And the IP address that uploaded Marcus’s live stream to the internet... originated from an encrypted server registered in your name.”
Arthur sat back heavily into his chair, the world spinning out of control around him. “My name? I don’t even know how to use a computer.”
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“Someone does,” Miller said at the door, her hand resting on the metal handle. “And they set you and your daughter up to take the fall for a massive digital heist. You’re staying in this holding cell, Arthur. And your daughter is under arrest for armed robbery.”
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