P. Parrish - Heart of Ice

“Chief,” Louis whispered.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay,” Flowers said. “You’re going to be okay.”

A faint humming. It grew louder, building into a ball of sound rushing toward him until it exploded into a stream of words.

His name. Someone was calling to him. Saying his name over and over.

He could feel the light dancing just beneath his eyelids, but he didn’t want to open his eyes. He was too tired. He was too tired to do anything, even shiver. All he wanted to do was sleep.

“Louis? Can you hear me?”

He forced himself to open his eyes. Bright lights. And pale green amoeba-like things moving around in the lights. He tried to move his hand. Something warm and soft closed over it.

“Don’t move. You’re okay. You’re in the hospital.”

He tried to nod, but his neck muscles felt as if they were rusted shut. His brain felt rusted shut.

“You fell through the ice. You might have some amnesia.”

He could remember Christmas trees. He could remember seeing Joe-no, not Joe, Julie-far away out on the ice. He could remember the crack of a rifle. No, the sound of the ice breaking. After that he could remember nothing but the cold blackness covering him and seeping deep inside him.

A pinprick somewhere on his arm.

“We’re getting a little warmth back in you,” the voice said.

Again he tried to nod but couldn’t. All he could do was feel the awful throbbing pain. It was everywhere in his body. He blinked hard and strained to look down at his left hand. It was dotted with white blisters. In his fogged mind the blisters started to balloon and he could see his fingers and toes turning black and falling off.

“Will they. .?”

“Your hands? The damage looks to be superficial,” the voice said. “They should be okay in a week or so. Your feet, too. You were lucky.”

Louis closed his eyes, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. Slowly, so very slowly, the throbbing in his body began to lessen, and he could feel warmth, wonderful warmth, flooding into his chest. He started to drift off, and he dreamed he was home, the sun hot on his face, the warm Gulf waters flowing over him.

* * *

He swam up from the deep water, resurfaced, and opened his eyes. Warm. . he was so warm, and it felt so damn good. The sensation seemed to be coming from his gut. With difficulty he raised his head and looked. A tube was sticking out from his stomach, the line snaking up to a plastic bag suspended above his bed.

Louis stared at the bag, at the slow, syrupy drip of the fluid into the tube, at the tube going into his gut, feeding him warmth and life. She was there suddenly. They both were. Joe and Lily. They were there beside him, and he knew suddenly the warmth came from them.

Something liquid boiled up from his chest and pushed its way up his constricting throat and out his eye. He wiped away the tear.

* * *

Noises drifted to him, faint and distant, the ringing of a phone and the rattle of a cart in the hall. And the smell of something yeasty like fresh-baked bread.

Louis opened his eyes.

Someone was sitting in the chair at the foot of his bed. He blinked him into focus.

“Hey, Chief,” Louis whispered.

Flowers rose and came to the edge of the bed. “How you doing?” he asked.

“Okay. At least that’s what they tell me.”

“You’ve got hypothermia.”

Louis nodded. “I’m having trouble remembering some of it. I remember going after Ross and Julie on the ice bridge and falling in. I remember seeing you and Cooper.”

“I was lucky I had the snowmobile,” Flowers said. “I’ve had to pull people out before, so I had my foil blanket and hot packs. We had to cut off your clothes.”

Again Louis nodded. He closed his eyes, fighting back the fatigue.

“I thought you’d want this back, though,” Flowers said.

Louis opened his eyes. Flowers was holding the little souvenir knife Lily had given him. When Louis didn’t move, Flowers added, “I’ll just leave it here on the table.”

“How long have I been here?” Louis asked.

“A little over forty-eight hours.”

“I need to call Joe.”

“I already did it for you.” Flowers hesitated. “Was that okay?”

Louis nodded.

“I told her you were going to be fine. She wanted to come up here, but I asked her to wait until you called her.” Again Flowers hesitated. “Was that okay?”

Louis nodded again. He wanted to sleep but there was too much still cluttering up his head.

“Is Julie okay?” Louis asked.

“She’s fine,” Flowers said. “When she saw you go in the water she tried to come back across the ice, but Clark got to her first.”

“Ross Chapman?”

“It was just me, Clark, and Cooper out there,” Flowers said. “While Clark was getting Julie you went under. Cooper went in after you, and it took two of us to pull you out and keep you breathing.” He paused. “By the time I looked up, Chapman was this speck way out there.”

“On the ice bridge?”

Flowers shook his head. “He was off the bridge heading south toward open water. I wasn’t about to go after him.”

“So he drowned?”

“I radioed the coast guard and they’ve been looking for him for two days. I think he’s dead.”

The memory came back sudden but clear-Chapman in his black overcoat growing smaller and smaller in the whiteness. And his own cries for him to come back echoing in the wind.

The door opened, and an aide came in carrying a tray. “You ready for some food?” she asked Louis with a smile.

Before Louis could shake his head, she hit the button to raise the bed. After propping him up with pillows she wheeled the tray in front of him, smiled again, and disappeared.

Louis stared at the cup of juice, green Jell-O, and the gray plastic cover on the plate. Flowers reached over and removed the cover.

They both grimaced at the sight of the limp cheese sandwich.

“Take it away,” Louis said.

Flowers took the tray away and set a basket on the table in its place.

“What’s that?”

“A present from Maisey.”

When Louis lifted up the heavy linen napkin the smell rose up to him, clean and yeasty. Biscuits.

Louis started to reach for a biscuit but then saw the blisters on his hand.

“I’ll do it,” Flowers said. He got a knife from the tray and spread some butter on a biscuit.

Louis took one bite. It was all he could manage.

“Maybe later,” Flowers said, taking the biscuit from him. He carefully broke the biscuit into small pieces and left it where Louis could reach it.

“Thanks.” Louis sank back into the pillows, closing his eyes. “Thanks for everything, Jack.”

The murmur of voices woke him up. It took Louis a moment to realize they were coming from the TV. He reached across his pillow to turn the sound down, but the remote was gone.

“You’re awake.”

Louis dropped his head to his left. Rafsky sat in the bedside chair, comfortably slumped down, ankle on his knee, holding the remote in one hand and a can of Vernors in the other.

“You want it up or down?” Rafsky asked.

“Down.”

Rafsky muted the sound.

“What time it is?” Louis asked, looking to the dark window.

“About six,” Rafsky said. “How you feeling?”

“My feet hurt.”

Rafsky took a drink of the ginger ale. “I would have been out there with you on the lake, but some dumb shit sent me on a wild-goose chase to the airport.”

Louis hit the button to raise the bed. “Any sign of Ross yet?”

“He’s disappeared,” Rafsky said.

Louis was silent, looking at the television. The screen was full of men and microphones. The crawl identified the tall man with a shock of white hair as the Mackinac County district attorney Greg Thom. Behind him were two men Louis didn’t recognize and one he almost didn’t. It was Chief Flowers wearing a blue dress uniform.