Paul Curtin - Gray Snow

Michael snored again. Andrew put his hands on his throbbing temples. The pain became worse when he looked at the fire. His throat was parched, and his bottom lip had split from the dryness. He threw the blankets off, the cold invading the warm pocket under his covers. He shivered and eased himself off the couch, tiptoeing toward the kitchen. It seemed like every third floorboard made a noise with even the slightest pressure.

He opened one cupboard, grabbed a glass, and sank it into a large cast iron pot filled with tasteless boiled water. After taking a towel and drying off the sides, he went for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom upstairs. There were over-the-counter painkillers up there, and if he wanted any sleep, he needed them.

He slinked back and started up the stairs, each step emitting a low grumble. He whispered curses. Sneaking upstairs would appear like only one thing to Sean. If he and Molly had alone time, it was when Sean was chopping wood or counting the reserves. Nighttime was never a good idea. Sean patrolled the house then, almost as if he never slept. Last thing Andrew wanted was to get shot over an aspirin. Not that he thought Sean would really do that.

He hoped.

Panic churned in his gut. He inched forward into the bathroom, settled his breathing, set his water by the side of the sink, and opened the wooden cabinet. There was barely any light at night, and all he could see were shapes, the fine print obscured by the deep dark.

He snatched a bottle off the shelf and brought it close to his face, the words a blur. He traced his hand around the plastic—a prescription bottle with a big cap on top. Over-the-counter painkillers were large-bodied with small caps. He rattled the pills inside and decided it was not the one he needed.

A bright light lit up everything around him, blinding him. He dropped the bottle into the sink, yelping, “Holy shit,” and closing the cabinet door.

The light, like a spotlight on him, shone from the doorway about five feet off the ground, suspended in the air as if held by a ghost. He shielded his eyes, but the light penetrated his aching skull like a spike being driven into his eye sockets. He stepped back.

“You want to die?” the deep voice behind the light said.

“What?”

No response for a few seconds, and then the light tipped toward the ground. The white rays reflected off the linoleum, creating a glow around the bathroom. His eyes adjusted to the decreased luminosity, and the person with the flashlight came into focus.

Andrew could feel his heart in his temples. “Mr. Cain.”

Sean approached him without saying a word, his eyes like dark reflective beads. He picked up the pill bottle. “I asked you if you wanted to die.”

“No, sir.”

Sean had said nothing to him for weeks. Andrew caught his lingering glances, though, penetrating and uneasy. Nothing could stop Sean from raising the huge metal flashlight and bringing it down on his head.

Sean held up the bottle, and Andrew flinched. “Then don’t take these.” He shook the pills inside. “These are Aidan’s meds. You take these things, and you’ll be getting some nasty side effects that’ll put you in the ground.” He put the bottle back. “At least that’s what the doctor told me.”

“I wasn’t going to take them.”

Sean said nothing.

He looked toward the door and then back to Sean, whose gaze was fixed on him. The light from below reflected around and concealed his features so that his eye sockets and wrinkles were black splotches. Andrew diverted his eyes.

“You’re not looking for sleeping pills, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. You get dependent, there’s no more after my supply’s gone.”

“I just have a bad headache.”

“Can’t sleep it off?”

He didn’t know how to answer the question.

“We have a limited supply,” Sean said.

“I just figured—”

“You would use it for your headache.”

Andrew’s mouth formed an ‘O,’ but he said nothing for what seemed like forever. “I don’t know.”

The shadows playing on his face made him look deranged. “I guess that’s what they’re used for, huh?”

He wanted to laugh to break the tension, but he held it in his throat. “Is it okay?”

Sean opened the cabinet and selected a small white bottle with red trim. He extended it. “This’s the one you want. For future reference.”

Andrew took the bottle, his hands trembling and the pills clanking around inside. He held it against his chest to steady it. “Thanks.”

“Don’t touch anything else,” Sean said, staring at him.

The glare insinuated that Sean was talking about more than pill bottles.

Sean turned and walked toward the hallway. It would have been best to end the encounter then, but he spoke before his brain could tell him to stop. “Mr. Cain,” he said. Sean pivoted back toward him. “I know we haven’t had a chance to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

He could think of a million things. “About everything.”

“Everything’s an awful lot to discuss at three in the morning.”

“I was just thinking, maybe I could—”

“Don’t.”

“I just—”

“You even try to justify yourself to me, kid, I will whip you across the face with this flashlight right where you stand. You understand me?”

Andrew nodded.

“I don’t give a damn what you think you know or what you want to discuss with me. I have to tolerate you because my daughter has this misplaced attachment to you, so you count your lucky stars that she’s around. If she wasn’t—” He stopped. “Whatever you think you have to say to me—don’t. I see through you. I see through everything. And let me tell you something, boy, it’s a miracle you’re not already out in those woods dead. You better believe it.”

Andrew stood motionless in the cold bathroom, as if moving one muscle fiber would be the end of his life. He watched Sean turn back toward the hallway and walk out of sight, his shadow stretching across the wall like an ominous specter before disappearing.

He popped the cap off the pill bottle and poured two into his hand. Looked down at them as the last ray of the flashlight disappeared and then he tossed in a few more. He didn’t want to come back for more if he needed them.

Not that night. Not ever again.

“OKAY, I’M GOING for it,” Kelly said, shaking her hips and shoulders as if she were scratching her back on the mattress.

Michael chuckled and nudged her toward the end of the bed.

“Hey, stop it,” she said, resisting him. “I need to do it myself.”

“You do it yourself, you’ll never leave.”

The air in the bedroom was chilly, since no heat was being pumped into it anymore. They were safe from the cold for now, laying under three comforters with a heat rock wrapped in a towel at their feet. But the house grew colder every day, as if each sunset pulled a little more warmth from the air, never to return.

Two candles burned on each nightstand, emitting a soft glow that made the terrible situation almost romantic. Michael kissed her bare shoulder, Kelly looking back at him. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you.” Michael curled a strand of hair around her ear. It would be dinnertime soon. He put his face into the covers above him, blowing into the fabric, warmth spreading across his face. Getting out of bed to grab clothes was brutal. The draft against his bare skin was like a harsh blast of winter.