Frostbitten: The Complete Series (21 page)

All the silent lullabies,

The fleeting crowds and faint goodbyes.

No smiling faces spend their time in mourning.

No solace for your painful cries

O’ the moon, your sun will rise!

Don’t falter in this distant early warning.

Perhaps you say we are not tall

Only tender, quiet—but, O, not small!

Of what ocean makes this call?

O, dreary life, what doth befall?

What sweet seduction lies beyond the tell?

Belle voyage, mon beau. Belle voyage, ma belle.

White.

The ceiling is white.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

A consistent metronome leads a complex ambience of the busy bustling hospital behind a cheap white curtain. The chatter of nearby nurses, patients, families and doctors becomes increasingly audible as reality returns.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

White.

The ceiling is white.

When Charlotte’s eyes finally opened fully, she was faced with the view of a plane white panelled ceiling. Sluggishly, she turned her head and looked around the small hospital room. A splitting pain momentarily crossed the back of her tender skull. The pain dissipated, but brought Charlotte’s attention to another lingering aching—in her chest.

Sitting next to her bed was her son, Connor. His eyes were red and heavy, and he was reading his copy of A Tale of Two Cities.

“C—Connor?” Charlotte said with her faint voice.

Connor put his book down and swiftly turned to his mother. “Mom—you’re awake. Are you okay? What happened?”

“I—I don’t remember,” Charlotte said. “My chest hurts. I tried calling, but there was no service.”

“The doctors said you had a heart attack. They said you almost died. Mom—You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Where were you?”

“I got stuck at school—I’m sorry.”

“I was worried sick. You know there’s a crazy person running around killing people, right?”

“I know mom—I wanted to call you—I should have called. I’m so sorry.”

Charlotte turned her head back towards the white ceiling. A comforting wave of relief washed over her aches and pains.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” Charlotte said, not realising what she’d said until after she’d said it.

She laughed the moment she put it together.

Connor laughed for a moment, before the reality sunk in. His expression dropped. He looked over at his book. “I’m going to pull out of the class. This won’t happen again—I promise.”

Charlotte turned back to her son. “Connor—no. You need to finish English.”

“I’ll figure that out later. That’s so not important right now.”

“You need it for the hockey team.”

“I’ll figure something else out,” Connor said.

“No. I won’t have it,” Charlotte said.

“Mom—”

“I won’t have it,” Charlotte said firmly.

Connor looked down at his feet.

“That young woman who saved me—who was that?”

“A girl from my class—you’re lucky she was there when it happened.”

“What’s her name?”

“Hanna.”

“Are you close with her?”

“I don’t know—I’ve only known her for a few days.”

“Why was she out so late?” Charlotte asked before she started to cough. The beeping of her heart monitor sped up.

“Mom—You need to get some rest, okay? Enough questions for now.” Connor stood up and adjusted his mother’s blanket.

“Hanna is really nice. You’re lucky it was her and not someone else.”

Charlotte stared at her son, thinking back to the empty reflection in the car’s rear-view mirror.

“What’s wrong?” Connor asked.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I’m going to be careful. I promise. Get some sleep. They’re going to kick me out in a minute here—visiting hours are long over. I’ll just be out in the hall here if you need anything.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Charlotte said. “Go home to your bed.”

“I want to be here, mom.”

Charlotte sighed, her eyes beginning to feel heavy.

“I’m tired.”

“Get some rest,” Connor said.

Charlotte’s eyes began to close.

“Good night, mom.”

“Good night, honey.”

Keeping her eyes open for a moment longer, Charlotte watched as her son packed his book into his school bag and walked through the opening in the curtain. She watched as Connor met up with Hanna, who handed Connor a coffee.

Unable to remain awake, Charlotte drifted back into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A FORSAKEN TOWN

“Is she okay?” Hanna asked.

“She’s great, considering what happened—I can’t thank you enough for saving her life. I don’t even know what to say.”

Hanna smiled. “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

“Yeah, well I’m forever in debt to you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Connor smiled at Hanna. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat from the cafeteria?”

“I should probably get home.”

“Come on—just a quick bite.”

Hanna was silent as she considered the proposition.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Connor said.

“Okay—sure,” she said.

The two made their way through the busy hospital, following the signs towards the cafeteria. The hospital hallways were filled with people—mostly the families and friends of frostbite and hypothermia victims. The nursing team was understaffed, frantically running from room to room.

Temporary hospital beds had been set up in the hallway corners—an attempt to accommodate all of the facility’s patients. The heavy-eyed doctors looked like they hadn’t taken a break in days as they moved from room to room, seeing as many patients as their exhausted bodies would allow.

The reception area was an even bigger commotion, as the lower-priority patients argued with the nurses about the severity of their conditions. Almost every available seat was occupied.

Unnerving screams were audible throughout the whole medical complex. Desperate, crying families found consolation from whoever could spare a moment out of their busy schedule.

Away from the noise and bustle was the cafeteria—a silent, forlorn space filled with empty tables and cold chairs.

There was only one lonesome person in the large room, dozing off in a back corner as he stared out the window at the empty town streets—probably thinking about a sick friend or family member—thinking about his own complex life, complete with hopes, ambitions, anxieties and difficult relationships.

Connor scanned the room. The cafeteria’s buffet line was closed and concealed by a locked metallic cover. There was a torn sheet of paper taped to it, which read, “Currently out of service”.

Connor walked Hanna up to a series of vending machines, which contained a small selection of pre-made plastic wrapped sandwiches.

“We’ve got Ham and Swiss, tuna, or…” Connor scanned the options. “—That’s it,” Connor said, looking back at Hanna.

“I’m okay,” Hanna said coyly.

“Pick one—Please.”

“I’ll take ham,” Hanna smiled.

“Ham and Swiss coming right up,” Connor said, putting a bill into the machine. He punched in the code for the appropriate sandwich, and the machine did its task, vending the cheap food. Connor handed Hanna the meal, and then he bought another for himself.

The two wandered across the room and sat down at a table.

“Everyone says that hospital food is the worst—I honestly don’t think it’s that bad,” Connor said as he unwrapped his food.

Hanna smiled as she unwrapped her own sandwich.

“Look—I really can’t—” Connor started again.

Before Connor could finish, Hanna cut him off. “—It’s okay. You don’t have to keep thanking me. Anyone would have done it. I just happened to be there.”

“I don’t believe that’s true—I think that a lot of people would have kept on walking. People don’t want to get involved. People aren’t nice like you. You helped—I appreciate that. You’re a good person, Hanna.”

Hanna shyly looked down at the table as she pushed a strand of hair off of her face.

Connor smiled. “Sorry—I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable.” Connor took a bite from his sandwich.

Hanna did the same.

Beep!

“Doctor Flacshner, please call extension two nine three six. Doctor Flacshner—extension two nine three six,” the intercom said, cutting the silence in the deserted cafeteria.

Beep!

“Did you get in trouble?” Hanna asked softly

“In trouble?”

“With Mr. Fenner.”

“Oh—Actually, no. He gave me a break. He’s not actually that bad of a guy. He’s more understanding than any teacher I’ve had before.”

“Oh, good. You finished the test?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Connor laughed. “You know—he’s funny. He sat there marking everyone’s tests, and he did that loud groaning thing every time he came across a wrong answer.”

Hanna laughed. “And then he does that mumbling thing, as if no one can hear him.”

“Yeah! He did that too,” Connor said, breaking into his best Wade Fenner impression. “Hrm... Grhhh... God damned kids—Hrmmm—probably on drugs—can’t even read a god damned book. Grhhh.”

Hanna bit her lip to contain her laughter. “Oh my God, that’s perfect,” she said, admiring the impression. “Or the way he writes on the board—every line goes in a different direction.”

“Yeah—Yeah. And he keeps comparing everything to old hockey games, as if we were all rabid hockey fans in the seventies.”

“He keeps talking about The Seventy-Four Flyers. Everything has to do with the Seventy-Four Flyers,” Hanna said. “And what do they have to do with A Tale of Two Cities? Why does he keep comparing them?” Hanna laughed.

Connor smiled. “He’s a good guy—He means well. Besides, if it wasn’t for him, I would be one step closer to handing out flyers at the local Walmart.”

Hanna smiled and took another bite from her bland sandwich.

“Your writing—Tell me about it,” Connor said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well you told me that you liked to write. What do you write about?”

Hanna thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said sheepishly, receding back into her thick bubble. “Nothing is really finished.”

“Do you write stories? Like, fantasy stuff?”

“Not really.”

“What’s one of your books about?” Connor asked.

“I write poems.”

“Really? Poetry?”

“Yeah—but like I said before, nothing is finished.”

“That’s fine. Tell me one of your poems. I’d love to hear one.”

“I—I don’t know…”

“Please?”

Hanna looked down at the table again. “What do you like?” she asked quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Like—Do you like happy stuff? Sad stuff? Funny stuff?”

Connor thought. “I like everything, I guess.”

“Do you know poetry?” Hanna asked.

“No—I don’t know that I could even name a poem. Just pick anything—Whatever you think I might like.”

Hanna took a breath and hesitated for a moment. “You promise not to laugh?” Hanna asked. “Like I said—nothing is finished.”

“Of course not—Never.”

Hanna nervously turned and reached into her jacket pocket. She pulled out a piece of paper. She looked at it for a moment as she considered putting it back in her pocket. Then, she handed it to Connor.

Connor looked at the page. On the top of the page was the logo and name of the hospital—Hanna had written the poem on hospital stationary. Connor looked down and began to read. It was titled “This Town”.

We live by fate’s subtle vision.

To love or remain, is no one’s decision.

Lonely division.

Prayers and Gods, friendly derisions

say quiet hearts must find their position

It was my own decision.

My waking dreams forced open.

My whole life, here—the veil.

Somewhere under this snow,

my old life lays quietly down.

Eternity sleeps in this forsaken town.

“When did you write this?” Connor asked.

“While you were in the room with your mom.”

“Really?”

Hanna nodded shyly.

“It’s beautiful,” Connor said.

“It’s not really finished…” Hanna said blushingly.

“I think it is—it’s perfect.”

“Really?” Hanna asked.

“Yeah—the imagery, the choice of words—I love it,” Connor said. “I feel like it speaks to me—it’s relatable, you know? I mean—you wrote this about me, right?”

Hanna looked at Connor, slightly confused. She wanted to tell Connor it was about herself, but instead she said, “I—I don’t know.”

Connor smiled. “Maybe I’m subconsciously your muse.”

Hanna blushed as she pushed a fallen strand of hair off of her face again.

Connor read the poem again with a smile on his face. “I feel like you get me better than I do—you know what I mean? Can I keep this?” Connor asked.

“Sure,” Hanna said. “Do you really like it?”

“Yeah—It’s excellent. You’re a fantastic writer.”

Hanna smiled—her face completely red with happy embarrassment.

“Hey Hanna?” Connor said.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to know that I don’t care about your past. Everyone makes mistakes,” Connor said.

Hanna looked up at Connor and stared into his eyes. “What?” Her heart skipped a beat.

“I mean—I heard the rumours, and I just want you to know that I don’t care.”

“Rumours?”

“You know—about the other guys in high school, or whatever. Brittany told me that’s why you dropped out.”

Hanna’s heart dropped into her gut. She awkwardly looked down at her feet.

“But I’m serious—I don’t care if it’s true or not. Your past made you who you are today—and I like who you are, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“There were no other guys,” Hanna said softly.

“What was that?” Connor asked as he leaned in closer to the quiet girl.

“There were no other guys—It was a lie. The teachers wanted me to leave the school after my—after I moved into my foster home. They thought I made the school look bad. At first, I didn’t leave, so they started the rumours, knowing that I would be too embarrassed to come back to school.”

Connor watched as Hanna’s eyes began to water. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Connor said.

“I would have just transferred schools—I wanted to. But when I applied around, no other schools wanted me either. So instead, I just dropped out.”

“That’s awful.”

“When a student starts a rumour, it’s one thing. When it comes from a teacher’s mouth—everyone believes it.”

“What could make the teachers think you were ruining their reputation? That’s so weird.”

Hanna awkwardly looked away from Connor. She was silent, trying her best to keep lingering bad memories out of her mind.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to prod.”

Hanna forced an awkward smile. “It’s okay,” she said.

There was an awkward silence through the large vacant room.

“Have you ever though about submitting a poem to a magazine or a publisher?” Connor asked, changing the awkward subject.

“I don’t know—You’re honestly the first person to ever read one of my poems.”

“Really? The first?”

“I’ve always just written for myself.”

“You should look into sending one out there. My cousin is an assistant editor for a pretty popular variety magazine. If you want, I could send this poem to him and see what he thinks. They publish all sorts of stuff—poems, short stories, articles, and comics… I can’t promise anything, but I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“Do you really think he would like it?”

“It’s amazing. How couldn’t he? Plus, he’ll be honest with you. He knows talent when he sees it.”

A genuine smile slowly began to return to Hanna’s shy face as the conversation carried on.

Before long, the two had lost track of time, and were chatting into the early hours of the morning.