The Ice House

by Ray Ouellette

  “In a minute,” said Lawrence

  They led her over to the great dart board and clamped her hands and legs in metal braces with a large metal brace around her waist. Then they removed the blindfold. She looked over each shoulder and saw her predicament.

  “Deano knows where I've gone. At least he knows who I'm with. If you hurt me he'll have the cops on you. Or his friends, That'll be worse for you.”

  “Deano has been well paid to forget he ever knew you,” said Scott, followed by a tormenting laugh.

  The woman struggled. Scott and Lawrence stepped back behind a line on the floor. Scott went over to a shelf and came back with scissors. He walked over to the woman and cut her clothes off leaving a pile of sliced rags on the floor. Then he put the scissors back on the shelf and took a red marker from the shelf and slowly drew concentric circles around her nipples occasionally stopping to enjoy the expression of terror on her face.

  Scott stepped back behind the line and lifted his arm, a dart in his hand ready to throw. The woman closed her eyes and screamed. Frank awoke with his bed sheet in the shape of a small tent, noticeably throbbing from the dream. Then he found that little bit of Frank that still existed in Lawrence Lowell's skull and expanded it, pushing any of the Lowell thinking from it completely. But he knew he couldn't sleep anymore that night. He got up, went downstairs, and spent the rest of the morning sitting in the library in a big comfortable chair, thinking and planning the day ahead.

  CHAPTER 35

  The newly resurrected corporate giant placed a briefcase on the table in the board room. He looked at his animated figure now sitting inanimate and Lowell laughed. The releasing of the case's latch echoed through the room, amplified by the silence. Lawrence Lowell paused, gave each person a glance, accompanied by a strangely-formed smile, as if each of the twenty-one muscles necessary to forming a normal smile was not quite doing its job, an empty smile that caused each person present to watch the briefcase uneasily as it opened the final few inches. They couldn't see the contents, the top blocking their view. Lowell reached in and hesitated, making them wait a moment longer. He locked eyes with Hill. “That was bad science. I don't know much about science or medicine, but I know that you're not a scientist or doctor...not a good one anyway. But I can see why you were hired. Someone was needed who would bend the rules of medicine to satisfy the needs of this project. Hill looked uneasy, unaware of whom he was listening to, his mind was running through the possibilities about why he was receiving this lecture. He slowly started moving toward the door.

  A few more side steps toward the door by Hill. The others were leaning forward or on their elbows gazing expectantly at the briefcase waiting for checks to emerge.

  Scott Lowell was probably getting used to Lawrence acting a little different than the Lawrence he remembered from forty years ago but now Scott was sitting in his seat rigidly, eyes narrowed, obviously hoping that he was listening to Lawrence Lowell, because if he wasn't, then he had to know it wouldn't be checks that would be coming out of the briefcase.

  “No, you're not a scientist and you're no better than a murderer and Scott you are one. It was you who blew up my car...Frank's car, and it was you who killed Alison Crossfield or had it done, wasn't it?” He pulled a handgun out of the briefcase and emptied it into the ceiling and walls as the staff and Scott dove for cover behind chairs or ran for the door and a storage closet. One gun was emptied and Frank, inside Lawrence Lowell's body, pulled out another. Shots tore open the neck and face of the animated figure of Lawrence Lowell, exposing wires, and leaving a mere stub holding up the head. Another bullet destroyed what little was holding the head up and the head tumbled forward, hanging against the figure's chest by a lone wire.

  Hill stopped short of the door when a bullet shattered the door knob. He froze and squeezed his eyes shut. He must have been wondering what the bullet that would kill him would feel like as it tore through his body. It never came. The room fell silent, except for some labored breathing and some whimpering from Hill.

  Now that he had them completely terrified, he ordered, “Move over close to the wall.” He explained that they were to revive Lynn, but first they were to tie up Scott. The members of the staff who were not necessary to reviving Lynn were to be locked in the tomb. He led the others out to the room in which Lynn was kept.

  “Begin,” he commanded. Lawrence Lowell, or Frank in control of Lowell's body as it was now obvious to all present, noticed a smell of urine. Hill had lost control when the shooting began. Frank wrinkled his nose at the smell. He'd have to put up with it. He'd also have to put up with about five hours straight of guarding the staff. He couldn't relax until Lynn was revived and able to help out.

  Frank had been experiencing strange feelings. The moment that he would relax, the moment he would stop concentrating on being and thinking like Frank Tilton, he felt thoughts enter his mind that were unfamiliar to him. He found himself feeling sympathy for Scott, found himself thinking about Lynn and wondering what it would be like if she were imprisoned in the rooms at Scott's cabin and bound in one of the devices. He fought off the thoughts by concentrating on who he really was or intended to remain...Frank. He wondered if the discussion he and Lynn had about personality being a product of the genetic structure of the brain was in fact accurate. Now that his spirit was in Lowell's body he found himself having to struggle to maintain his personality and having to fight off reverting to Lawrence Lowell.

  “Will there be any cell damage, any problems?”

  Hill replied that there shouldn't be any., that she was only in dry ice for temporary storage, a relative piece of cake on their cryogenic revival scale of difficulty. Hill loved his profession and in spite of the situation, he began a one-sided discussion with Frank about how there would be no cell freezing because Lynn's temperature was maintained at 34 degrees Fahrenheit and never allowed to drop below that. “Surgeon's constantly use cooling of the body,” he continued. “To prevent cell damage during brain surgery where they need to divert the flow of blood for operations on aneurysms. They stop the flow of blood to the brain to facilitate the operation and the cooling allows them to operate for an hour or so without oxygen being supplied to the brain by blood flow. Of course they don't cool the body to anywhere near the temperature we've cooled her to but it gives you an idea of what can be done by cooling the body without letting it get below freezing.” Then he shrugged and re-emphasized, “No cell damage. The dry ice doesn't touch her, it just cools the air near her.”

  One member of the staff butted in on Hill's lecture. “I've got to go to the bathroom.

  “Like hell,” said Frank/Lawrence calmly. He looked around. “There, that disposal basket that says medical waste. Take it over behind that instrument panel. You can use that.”

  The sound of urine splashing into the metal container seemed louder, due to the fact that everyone was listening. There was a pause in the sound and when it resumed it was barely audible. The staff member had probably stopped and kneeled down to minimize his embarrassment. He returned with a sheepish look on his face.

  There was a panel with digital thermometer readouts. Randolph Hill moved over towards it and took what appeared to be a dozen color-coded leads and attached them to various parts of Lynn's body. When he went to insert one in her most private place Frank was about to protest but didn't, figuring it must be necessary to monitor the temperature of certain parts of the body to make sure they were all up to proper temperature before she was revived.

  “The head,' Hill said, “is the most critical. It can't be allowed to go too much above freezing. A temperature in the mid thirties is ideal until we're sure the circulatory system is okay.”

  The cooling of the head, that we maintain throughout, prevents brain cell death. You may have heard of children drowning in icy ponds and being dragged out an hour later and surviving? Same principle. When everything is just right we stimulate her heart and she's as good as new. She'll just be groggy...tired, and have stiff muscles a
nd joints for a while.”

  Four hours after the procedure was started. Lynn could sit up with help, but had to be held in order to remain upright. A sheet of thin, flexible, cloth-like aluminum was bundled around her to insulate her, keeping her body heat in as it rose.

  “Her clothes?” said Frank.

  “In another room,” said Hill. He appeared to be trying to trying to hold back a grin, probably thinking that someone would have to be sent to get them.

  “Here, put this on her,” he said as he took his shirt off, or rather Lawrence Lowell's expensive shirt, and threw it to Hill. The shirt tails would hang down to somewhere around mid thigh and provide the necessary modesty.

  Hill removed the aluminum sheet, crumpled it and threw it toward the area where the medical waste container used to be until it had been used behind the panel to serve as a make-shift toilet. The crumpled mass rolled to a stop against the wall and crinkled a little as it tried to expand back into its original shape.

  Frank looked at Lynn sitting there with his shirt on and recalled how it used to turn him on the way Allison, after having sex with him, would commandeer his shirt and wear it, nothing else, and lounge around the room in it.

  CHAPTER 36

  Mrs. Lowell arrived back at the house after her absence. She didn't bother to bring any baggage in or the gym bag that she had added to her luggage on the trip. The chauffeur glanced at it on the back seat and wondered, but it was none of his business. She had instructed him to wait in front of the house.

  She stood in the room she loved most, the small library, the place where she had spoken to Frank and Lynn. A picture entered her mind of what the house might look like closed, white sheets over all the furniture and art work. She grabbed some note paper and her checkbook and some envelopes. Each envelope was inscribed with the name of a member of the household staff or garden staff and a check was inserted. The small pile was clipped together and left on the table.

  Mrs. Lowell took a long look and said out loud to the house, “Goodbye.” She walked out, got into the car and told the chauffeur to drive to the Ice House. “But first, a stop at the bank, I've got quite a bit of business there first.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Five hours after the procedure was started, Lynn was walking around groggily, slowly stretching her muscles to make sure everything was operating properly. She didn't want to use anything suddenly and end up discovering too late that it was stiff and crack a bone or tear something. She occasionally gave Frank, or Lawrence Lowell's body with Frank's spirit in it, inquisitive looks followed each time by Frank nodding and saying, “Yes, I'm Frank,” to reassure her that it was his spirit in there and completely in control. Her face was still quite pale, partly from thawing and partly because seeing Lawrence Lowell standing in front of her brought back memories of the dream or maybe the actual experience of being Candy and being murdered by Lawrence Lowell. She found it difficult to be near Lowell, even if it was Frank in there. Lynn felt like a rape victim facing her attacker at a parole hearing, having to listen to the rapist telling the parole board that he's a different person, but still looking like the person that raped her.

  Lynn kept looking at Frank doubtfully, wanting to share the comfort of being close to him but being repelled by the body and face she was seeing. She felt less cold, as every cell warmed up to proper operating temperature, and the feeling of fear subsided. Being cold and being scared was twice as bad as just being scared.

  Fr...ank?” she finally felt confident speaking to him, and confident about moving her jaws.

  “Yes, it's me Lynn. Are you able to keep a gun on these men for a few hours while they do a favor and return my body to me?”

  Lynn nodded, then gave Frank a questioning look, reluctant to ask if some of the things they experienced were real, or dreams. She shook her head, as if to nudge Frank's answer to her impending question in a positive direction. “My brain is foggy right now,” she said. “Is Allison really...?”

  Frank shook his head. “Dead. Scott killed her or had her killed.”

  Lynn had to grab the table to avoid collapsing. Her legs felt like they'd been pulled through a wringer of an old fashioned washing machine and then expanded back to their normal shape with the muscles nearly useless.

  She regained her balance and stood without help again. Then she noticed the clothing she had on.

  “I like your shirt, Frank. Nice taste. And it's comfortable,” she said.

  “Looks good on you too.”

  “What about my...” She looked down at the area where her panties would have been. “Couldn't get to them I guess, right”

  “You could go now I guess,' said Frank. He asked where they had put Lynn's clothes, then about his too.

  Lynn asked if she might get some coffee for the two of them. She thought it might help. Lynn's olfactory sense swung back into operation and she wrinkled her nose, looked at Frank, then back toward Scott who was tied up.

  “They can't leave the room...naturally. I couldn't figure any other way to do this. There's a bucket just over there behind that panel. I left Scott tied up. He's not necessary to the procedure,” He looked at Scott. “I think it's a small price for him to pay considering what he's done. I thought of locking them in so that I could close my eyes for a minute or two or get a bit to eat, but I figured it was best to watch them.” He sighed. “God, am I tired. It'll be nice to just let go.”

  Lynn got the coffee and returned. Frank acknowledged her and said to Hill, “Let's begin then, immediately.”

  Lynn still had Frank's shirt on. Having only replaced her bra and panties. She looked at him apologetically “Mind?”

  “No. Like I said it looks great on you.”

  “I can change back later,” she said. “I guess I just like the way you look in a t-shirt.” Lynn put Frank's clothes down on a nearby table.

  He smiled and said, “Keep it, complements of Lawrence Lowell. You deserve the best anyway.”

  “We're tired.” Hill complained to Frank, but with respect, staring at the barrel of Frank's gun. “We might make a mistake.”

  Frank was exhausted. His nerves were shot. “You make a mistake and you're dead! You'll end up in one of your God-damned tanks waiting for someone to figure out how to undo a bullet between the eyes.”

  “Okay,” said Hill setting the instruments.

  Frank gave the gun to Lynn. “I'd give you a kiss,” he said. “But I'm not quite feeling myself tonight.” They managed a depleted laugh and Lynn gave Frank/Lawrence a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good luck,” she said , hugging him with her eyes closed so she wouldn't have to look at the face of Lawrence Lowell. Frank had his eyes open, keeping an uneasy watch on the scientists.

  Frank, in Lawrence Lowell's body, walked over, sat down on the table with his legs dangling over the edge, and tried to relax. The scientists had started thawing his body about half way into the thawing of Lynn's body, so there wouldn't be as much of a wait to complete this procedure. Frank knew from experience that nothing seemed to happen until the last few hours, when his spirit would begin to be free from Lawrence Lowell's body. Lynn had to remain on the other side of the room to keep safely away from the staff.

  Frank got undressed and a sheet was given to him to cover himself. He let Lawrence Lowell's clothes fall to the floor.

  Frank glanced over at Lynn and she could see in his eyes that he was about to ask the question that became mandatory since she hadn't yet spoken about her experience.

  “What was it like? I hope there wasn't a body somewhere that your spirit went back to.”

  “No, thank god.” She wasn't sure however that what she had learned while lifeless hadn't been worse than what Frank experienced. “But...”

  “What?”

  “I heard the voice too.”

  “The same one?”

  “I don't know,” she said. “I wish I could have recorded it to play back to you. I saw the...substance...physical... no not physical...but the visual being that went along w
ith it. I learned that there's a plan, a group of spirits that accompany each other through eternity sharing incarnations together. Sometimes one will be the father and one will be the son, or one will be the husband and one the wife. In the next incarnation they may not ever know each other until they come together for some purpose, maybe for some historic event or even as...victim and perpetrator of a crime.”

  She continued. “'I learned that I'm part of a group of spirits, I was told that certain events are planned in advance so that the spirits can interact with each other in a sort of script.”

  “Predestination?”

  “Not in a strict sense,” she said. “It can be changed, or redirected, sometimes in an unfavorable way. In our earthly bodies we don't know about our previous lives or our purpose, so sometimes we mess up the script. This is what they're concerned about. The freezing of Lawrence Lowell has thrown a cog into the works.”

  “The freezing of Lawrence Lowell? You mean he's part of the group of spirits that you're a part of?”

  Lynn remained silent waiting for Frank's mind to draw the connection.

  “Oh...no. My spirit! Right!. I'm Lawrence Lowell and Frank Tilton. My spirit's a part of this group too.”

  “Kindred spirits,” she said.

  “What else do you know? What else did you learn? Who was the spirit you saw?”

  “My grandfather...or the spirit that had been my grandfather. He told me these things. As I came back to life he just said that was all he could tell me but that it was important to go back and resolve this Lawrence Lowell situation once and for all.”

  “You're sure it wasn't a dream?”

  “I was dead. The dead don't dream.” Lynn shook off one last shiver at this thought.

  “How big is the group? How many spirits?” He gestured toward the staff. “These creeps. Are they in it?”

  Lynn shook her head slowly, indicating she didn't know. But she remained silent for a moment. Then she said, “I wonder...if what we talked about...life having about the same amount of significance as a novel was right on target. Maybe...” She was reluctant to talk about an unpleasant subject.” Maybe Allison's death was part of the script. Unavoidable. Maybe Scott is in it too and his whole purpose in being born was to reach this point in time to kill Allison. Maybe it would have happened anyway, even if Lawrence Lowell hadn't been kept in the picture longer than his scheduled time.”