She dreamt of Victor. Of the man he was, and of the man she knew he'd become. She heard him sometimes, his new, metallic voice piercing through the frozen veil of her sleep like an ice pick. She heard his curses. His muttered threats. And when whatever new therapy he was working on failed, when cells refused to divide and line up like soldiers on parade, when carefully authored mutations lay stubbornly dormant in unresponsive genes, she heard his harsh, anguished screams.
It had been gradual, this thawing of her consciousness back into something alive.
Something that flowed thickly, liquidly, from a dream to memory and could even snatch in traces of the outside world.
She was trapped, imprisoned in frozen flesh, but not afraid. Fear seemed impossible for her cooled brain, but there was a kind of freedom in this new existence. Freedom from the Huntington's racked body she'd left behind.
"This will work, Nora. This will work."
Victor talked to her most days, worked through scientific problems as if she was his lab assistant, professed his love, reminisced about the early months of their marriage. But the memories were distant now, Nora knew. The details became vaguer every time. She wasn't just a frozen body, Nora had long realised. She was an idealised memory, frozen in time.
Was this love ? Victor said he could save her. But every second's passing drew them further apart.
No, Nora remembered love. Love was warm.
No comments:
Post a Comment