The Don's Surrogate

I paced my bedroom as I stared at July's medical bill, my brows furrowed and my heart heavy. I'd barely managed to pay a bit from May's and nothing for June. Now July?

My phone ringed beside me, I exhaled, mentally praying for the caller to be someone else. But alas, it was none other than the Marvy's hospital.

I picked, then placed the phone against my ear, preparing myself for the usual.

"Hello, Miss Marlowe. This is Angela from Marvy's hospital. I trust you received our mail."

"Hi... Angela. Yes, I received your mail. Ad before you start, I promise, I will send the money soon," I rushed out.

She sighed. "We're running a business here, Miss Marlowe. And soon isn't a definite date we can work with."

My shoulders sagged. "I really can't make any dated promises, Angela."

"I understand, Miss Marlowe. But If we're going to keep your mother here, we'll need something to work with," she replied, her tone soft.

I dropped to the floor, at the foot of the bed, throwing my head back against the frame.

"Miss Marlowe?"

"Just... give me until month ending, please."

"And how much should the hospital be expecting by then? I'll need a written and recorded statement, please."

Seriously?

"I can't give an exact amount, Angela."

"I also can't end this call unless I get an exact amount, Miss Marlowe."

I stared at the ceiling silently. I'd been taking double shifts both at the club and at the restaurant. Feeding wasn't a problem since the restaurant had leftovers all the time, but I still had my own needs and my salary wasn't going to cut it.

"Miss Marlowe?"

"$500?"

"$500 won't cover even a fraction of May's bill, Miss Marlowe. You paid only $800 from May's bill so you were left with $4,400. June's $5,400 bill hasn't been paid for too and July's $5,600 is here already, Miss Marlowe. At this rate, the hospital might have to take a different decision—"

"Please, Angela," I cut in tiredly. "I work two jobs already and I'm thinking of taking another. I've set aside all my needs for my mother's treatments. As it stands, I can't remember the last time I bathed with a good soap. I had to drop out of school because of this—" I paused, as a tiny sob cracked past my lips. "I'm just twenty two years old, Angela. And I'm two seconds away from giving up on life. I just..."

I couldn't hold it in any longer as tears rolled down my face and tiny cries cracked past my lips.

The line went quiet.

I kept at it for a moment longer. Finally, my cries turned into sniffles.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

“I'll speak to the billing supervisor. If you can give us $700 by the end of the month, I may be able to get them to extend the payment arrangement.”

"Really?"

"Yes. Do you think that is something you can keep up with?"

I sniffled, wiping my tears and the snot away. "I can try..."

“I'm trying to help you, Miss Marlowe, but I need something to take back to them. I can try isn't going to work, okay?”

"Alright. I will have the $700 by month end. Thank you, Angela. Thank you so much," I whispered. "God bless you."

"It's alright, sweetheart. Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will. Thank you again."

The line disconnected and my head dropped to my bed as I stared at the ceiling.

For three years now, this has been my life. At first, I was getting by well since my accounting job at Waywell Capital Group paid me well as a junior financial accountant.

Until, the company underwent a major restructuring and some departments were cut off, including mine.

I trudged to the bathroom, my body aching with exhaustion. I turned on the shower and stood beneath the cold water for a few seconds, too tired to even react to it.

Once done, I dried myself, slipped on a T-shirt before getting into bed. I turned on my phone and began scouring the internet for any odd job that I could squeeze into my already tight schedule. Then a call came in.

"Hey, Amy. What's up?" My coworker, Gregory said.

"Hey, Greg. I'm good, what's up?" I responded weakly.

"You don't sound too good, Amy. Is it your mother's bills again?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Yeah..."

"Really sorry, Amy. I wish I could help."

I chuckled softly. "It's fine, Greg. I'll get by somehow."

"Yeah speaking of getting by... there's something you might want to hear."

I frowned. "What's that?"

"I heard one of the regulars at our club talking about a job, and they need women—"

I exhaled. "Come on, Greg. You know I can't do that—"

No, Amy. It's something else. I don't know the details, but the pay's enough to change your life."

"How much are we talking about?"

"$1 million. Or so I heard."

I sat up abruptly, my eyes wide with disbelief. 

"That is an outrageous amount, Greg. Who are these people and what do they need just women for that they're willing to pay such an amount?"

"I don't know, Amy. Like I said, I overheard them talking—"

"It's ritual," I cut in smoothly. "They're going to use us."

He chuckled. "I don't know, Amy. You could still check it out. I'll send the details to you, okay?"

"Okay."

The line ended and shortly after, a link was sent to me. I clicked on it and it took me to another site.

"Private Contractual Opportunity," I muttered as my gaze dropped low.

"Further details will be provided only to chosen candidate.'

'Application questions'

Full name: Amelia Marlowe

Age: 22

Current Occupation: Waitress at a club and a restaurant

Highest Level of Education Completed: Associate Degree

Current Relationship Status: Single

I bit my lip as I stared at the next question with uncertainty. Work didn't allow me see much of mum anyway, so I guess I could.

Are you willing to relocate for the duration of the contract?: Yes

I frowned at the next question.

Seriously?

Are you willing to sign a strict confidentiality agreement?: Yes

Okay... now this is becoming weird...

Are you willing to undergo a comprehensive background and medical check if shortlisted?: Yes

Do you have any criminal convictions or pending legal proceedings?: No

Are you medically capable of carrying a pregnancy to term?:

I stopped. The cursor blinked back at me. Waiting.

"What?"

Fucking hell. I knew this was shady. They're definitely looking to use us for a ritual.

I threw my phone to the other side of the bed, then I laid down sulking.

($1 million or so I heard.)

I turned to face the ceiling.

That money is life-changing, Amy. That's if it's real. But still...

I could clear all of mum's medical bills, so that full treatment would be administered to her.

I grabbed my phone, the cursor still blinked back at me.

There's nothing to lose, Amy. If it turns out to be a scam, then bummer. If it doesn't, you may end up regretting not applying.

I stared at the question again, then finally—

Yes. Then submit application.

Immediately, the screen went white. The page refreshed, and the entire application disappeared. I went back to Greg's chat and tapped the link again.

LINK NO LONGER AVAILABLE.

“What the hell?"

I refreshed the page. Once. Twice. Three times. Yet the same message remained.

A quiet scoff left my lips. "Whatever," I muttered. I was about to toss my phone aside when it buzzed in my hand.

Unknown number.

APPLICATION RECEIVED.

That was all. No name, no signature, no explanation. I stared at the screen until it dimmed on its own. It was only then that I realized the form had never asked for my number.