by Lex Sinclair
When they arrived at the luxurious Indian restaurant, they were kindly ushered to their table at the far end next to the exotic fish tank built into the wall. They read the menus and discussed what they were going to order. Tom wished he and Kate would always talk the way they doing now, all the time. January had been an extremely arduous month for him. The whole corpse fiasco had just made everything ten times worse. He felt as though he might be losing Kate.
Fortunately that hadn’t been the case.
After two weeks of hardly speaking to one another, Kate appeared to have returned to her normal-self again. Nevertheless, it still didn’t change the fact that they had a dead body in their garage. It’d been so long since Tom had seen the corpse, and sometimes it seemed as if he had dreamed the whole thing.
Kate looked stunning in her blue outfit, which accentuated her sinuous, sexy curves. Tom told himself to think of something other than his wife’s amazing body, which no one who had seen her since they’d stepped out of the car had failed not to notice. He was a very lucky man. The young, handsome Indian waiter returned to the table when he saw they were ready to order. Then sauntered into the kitchen once he had written their choices down on his notepad.
Kate rested her hand on Tom’s thigh, and said, ‘Are you all right, hon? You look awfully hot.’
Although he couldn’t see his face, he knew she was right. Heat licked up his smooth cheeks. He knew it was because his mind kept picturing himself having passionate sex with Kate once they got home - but he couldn’t tell her that here in the restaurant. Tom was always quiet and coy when in public places. ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ he lied. ‘Just a bit warm, that’s all.’
The drinks were placed on the coasters shortly before the food arrived and as soon as the waiter left again, Tom picked up the glass of Coke and gulped down half the contents. He asked for another Coke when the waiter put the exquisite looking food in front of them less than five minutes later. The ice-cubes clinking at the bottom of the Coke glass helped Tom’s blazing cheeks cool down. He gazed at them, and said a silent thank you, as if they were alive. Then, abruptly, the ice-cubes in the glass brought his attention back to a cold, snowy day in early January, when he, his wife, Charles, and Carlton had strolled into the forest, and first laid eyes upon the Frozen Man.
Kate could see her husband staring vacantly at the ice-cubes. It was obvious there was something troubling him. She reached out and touched Tom’s arm.
He flinched, stared at her for a moment until he understood where he was.
Somehow, Tom had been able to finish his Indian food, and drink the last of his Coke. Then he asked for the bill, giving a five pound tip. He felt a lot better when he stepped outside in the fresh air.
‘Are you going to tell me what happened in there?’ Kate asked wrapping her arms around her chest, chilled.
Tom shrugged. ‘I was just hot, that’s all. Maybe they had the heating on high or something.’ Saying that reminded Tom of the heating in their house being turned up as high as it would go, so the block of ice shielding the corpse would melt a lot faster.
They ambled back to the car and drove home.
***
Tom sat on his side of the double bed and unbuttoned his suit jacket. The thermostat on high in the restaurant; the ice-cubes clinking against the glass; his wife asking him if he was all right every couple of minutes, brought him back to that fateful day one month earlier. For three weeks, Tom thought it might be possible to forget about the corpse and get on with a somewhat healthy, normal life. Yet that clearly wasn’t going to happen. And why should it? He and his wife had done a terrible, terrible thing. His conscience would never allow him to forget what he’d done. The difference between being insane and sane was the crazies didn’t know what they were doing was bad - he did. That was why it gnawed away at him, heart beating rapidly, and he could taste the bitter adrenaline overflowing in his mouth.
Maybe he should bring the subject up with Kate again. Hopefully, now that time had passed, she would come to realise what she’d done was wrong, and there was no such thing as frozen men and frozen women, whom had extraordinary powers no man could wield, in reality. Tonight wasn’t the time to bring it up, though. Tonight was supposed to be fun. Also, Tom didn’t fancy another argument when it could be easily avoided by not talking about it.
Ever since they had taken possession of the corpse he’d taken a keen interest in the news programmes and newspapers in case any articles of missing people had been reported in North Wales. There was nothing of the sort. The only missing persons’ story Tom read about in the newspapers was that of a boy aged seven, who to this day was still unfound. He didn’t read any further. The body in the loft wasn’t a child’s, it was an adult’s body. What neither he nor Kate knew was if the corpse belonged to a man or a woman. To his recollection, when they first discovered the body hanging in the pine tree in the forest, no one had asked or mentioned about the dead person’s gender. It never came to anyone’s attention. They were so shocked by the body itself, it completely slipped their minds. What difference did it make, if any? A corpse in the garage - male or female - was not good.
When Kate entered the bedroom, Tom realised he was still sitting on the side of the bed with just two buttons undone, because of his reverie. He stood up, took his watch off and laid it on the bedside table and crossed the room to the window where Kate stood closing the curtains, and wrapped his arms around her slender waist, pressing his groin against her bum.
God, she feels incredible. He slid his hands up the silk material and cupped her accentuated breasts. He gently pinched her erect nipples. Kate moaned, as he softly ran his hands down her body and up the insides of her smooth legs.
She turned around, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fully, passionately, on the lips. Tom’s male organ responding, imminently. He found the zip on the back of her outfit and slowly undone it and watched as it fell to the floor around her ankles. Kate stood in her black silk underwear and matching bra. Her breasts looked even larger than their usual abundant size in the push-up bra. Tom wasted no time getting out of his clothes and going to his wife again so their fervent bodies touched. Kate unfastened her bra and let it fall on the carpeted floor where the blue outfit laid, somewhere in a heap near Tom’s black suit.
They threw themselves under the quilt, naked, ready to make love. Tom lay with his head resting on the pillow and watched with excitement. Hot breath forced itself out of his quivering lips. They hadn’t had physically connected for a month, ever since they brought the corpse back home with them from North Wales. It was like being eighteen all over again and discovering the joys of intercourse. Also, they didn’t have to concern themselves with using protection any more because Kate was unable to conceive.
It hadn’t take long for Tom and Kate to simultaneously reach a mind-blowing, rampant orgasm, and panted forcefully now that the act was finished.
‘Fantastic!’ Kate had exclaimed, out of breath.
Tom chuckled. As far back as he could recall it was the best sex he’d ever had. And judging by his wife’s broad smile, Kate agreed with him. They did it again once more, before eventually drifting off to a dreamless sleep embraced in one another’s arms, sweaty and naked.
***
The next day, Tom whistled a harmonious tune and felt euphoric throughout the day. Last night had been precisely what both he and Kate needed after so much quarrelling and tension in the house since late last year. The sun shone radiantly.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and Tom was happier than he had been in a very long time. Tom finished work before Kate on every day except Friday, when she only worked until lunch time. Today was Wednesday.
When Tom got home he washed the dishes and dried them, putting them away in the cupboards. Then he got dressed into his casual clothes and checked the answering machine. A red blinking light indicated there was one message, una
nswered. Tom didn’t think anything of this until he pressed the Play button and listened to the husky voice. ‘Hi, Kate, Tom: it’s me, Charles. I just thought I would phone you and see how you were doing. You’re not there, obviously. I’ll call you some other time, maybe, and we can have a chat or meet up. I’d really like that. Anyway, I’d better go. I’d just thought I’d tell you who it was in case you didn’t recognise my voice. I’ll speak to you soon, hopefully.’
When the message was finished, Tom didn’t hesitate to hit the Delete button.
He stood unmoving by the answering machine, wondering why Charles had phoned them out of the blue, for what sounded like no reason at all.
He couldn’t remember even giving Charles their home phone number. Kate must have given it to him before they made their departure. They had been very close ever since they’d hid the corpse in the boot. Tom despised Charles ever since then. It was because of the old man’s yarn that they had a dead body in their garage. He had manipulated Kate into believing every word of his fantasy tale so that she would agree to take possession of the frozen corpse. For all he knew, Charles and Carlton could have murdered whoever it was in their loft and hung them from a pine tree, having told the tale in advance, knowing Kate would do what they asked of her because she believed every word. Perhaps the whole thing had been contrived from the start. Or maybe they were all in on it, even Derek? Or the corpse was a fake?
The deliberating dread crawled up his spine, tickling the hairs on the nape of his neck and stabbed into the forefront of his thoughts like ice-picks, as though it had never really left him; just rested awhile, like pure evil. Pure evil never went away or died. It rested, that’s all.
Half an hour from now, Kate would come walking through the door. He wasn’t certain what to do. On the one hand he could not say anything about Charles’s message and carry on as if everything was normal - which he desperately wanted to do. Or he could risk informing Kate of the message and pray she didn’t go straight to the phone and call the old man and find out what he wanted to discuss, or if he merely phoned to catch-up?
Charles had given them his home phone number, but Tom didn’t have a clue where it was. Up until right now he didn’t care, either. More than likely, Kate kept it in her purse, along with Carlton’s number.
Tom moved to the front window in the living room. A neighbour walking her dog saw him as she walked past and waved. He returned the gesture and faked a cheerful smile for her benefit.
Just when he supposed everything was going to be normal again, another new problem sat atop the other ones he had worked hard to push out of his mind. By the time Kate brought the car to a halt on the drive, Tom had made a choice. If he couldn’t trust his beloved wife, then he couldn’t trust anyone. He dearly hoped that when he told her, she would make the right decision for them both.
He was still loitering at the front window gazing at the peaceful street outside when Kate arrived home.
‘What are you standing by there for?’ she asked, putting her purse down on the table.
‘No reason.’
‘Were you waiting for me to come home?’ she said, smiling.
‘Yeah.’
Kate’s smile faded. ‘What’s the matter?’
Tom felt his stomach moving in eddies. He prepared himself for what he was about to say. ‘There was a message on the answering machine when I came home.’ He paused. ‘It was Charles.’
Kate’s eyes fixated on his. ‘What did he say?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Nothing. He just said he called on the off-chance that we were home. He said he would phone again another time to catch-up.’
Kate marched over to answering machine, and then glanced at Tom. ‘There are no messages on here,’ she said, looking at him.
‘I know... I did consider not telling you at all.’
She contorted her face. ‘Why?’
‘Because of that thing we’ve got in the garage is all thanks to that man - that’s why!’
Kate didn’t reply. Instead she stood motionless. She understood her husband’s emotions to a certain degree. He had every right to dislike Charles after his suggestion to hide the corpse in their home. Yet Kate knew Charles better than Tom (or thought she knew). She knew he was a gentle old man, who only meant well. It was a shame Tom couldn’t see that.
‘What’re you gonna do?’
‘Well, we ought to call him in case it was important,’ she said ‘If it was important he would’ve said so, surely.’ Tom could sense another dispute developing.
‘Or it could’ve been so important that he couldn’t say it unless we were here to answer his call.’
‘Fine, call him,’ Tom said, and sighed with vexation. He knew Kate would with or without his consent. ‘But I wanna listen to what he’s got to say, too.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in the ‘Frozen Man’ story?’
‘I don’t. But I want to hear what he say’s, okay?’
‘I don’t know what you’re getting all worked up about. He’s probably just calling to have friendly chat. I know you don’t like him, but Charles was fond of both of us.’
‘Yeah. He liked us so much he insisted we take a corpse home with us.’
‘That’s not fair.’
Tom nodded, ‘No, you’re right there, Kate. It isn’t fair. It’s not fair on us or to the family of that poor soul in our loft, either. How would you like it if someone you never knew hid your body in their home?’
Kate opened her purse, took out a piece of crumpled paper, unfolded it, then picked up the phone and dialled Charles’s number.
8
Charles’s residence was situated on a gentle slope in a stone-built, low-ceilinged moss-covered cottage two miles north of the Travellers Pub. He had never married, and had no living relatives. He lived alone on the brow of a grassy knoll away from the rest of the world - the way he liked it. As much as the old man liked company, especially with his good friend Derek, he also enjoyed time on his own to enjoy the tranquillity, which only those who resided in the countryside could comprehend.
The cottage had only one floor. His bed was placed against the far wall, which he also used during the daytime as a living room and a dinning room.
Charles lounged in his recliner chair in front of the cavernous coal fire reading an aged, black leather-bound tome roughly the same density of a Bible, which had his full concentration. He wore horn-rimmed, myopic spectacles to read the small, ancient print. Whatever he was reading, was being absorbed with excessive gluttony. His eyes drifted slowly over every word in the text, carefully; unlike a casual reader, who merely runs their eyes over the words till they reach the end of a page.
As he turned another flimsy page, the old man’s hands trembled.
Apprehension warbled his strained, haggard face. Charles had been so immersed by the text he had completely neglected his coffee. At long last he put a bookmark on the page at a chapter stop, closed the immense book, and rubbed his red eyes that were sore from too much reading in one sitting. He took the mug of coffee off the table, sipped it, and put it back down right away. Cold. It would be poured down the drain as soon as he got to a vertical base, ambled under the stone archway leading into the small kitchen.
Anyway, coffee was the last thing on his troubled mind at this moment. What he had just read gave him a cold sweat and goose bumps, in spite of the heat emanating from the crackling hearth. Charles didn’t feel very well. His brow was soaked in beads of perspiration, and his eyes looked as if they’d been swallowed into the back of his skull.
‘Oh God,’ he muttered. ‘What’ve I done?’
A couple of days earlier on a Saturday night, Charles retired to his bed to get some much-required sleep. However, what he got wasn’t an uninterrupted slumber, but a harrowing nightmare he would never forget. He woke abruptly, skin pricklin
g, screaming at the top of his voice, the sheets saturated in sweat, heart beating maddeningly, not knowing where he was for a couple of minutes, until the shock ebbed. His heart soon relaxed, although he remembered nothing of the harrowing nightmare, except that it had something to do with the Frozen Man that he, Carlton, Kate and Tom found in the forest a month earlier.
On Monday Charles had driven downtown to the local library and borrowed the book he was now reading. The book was about ancient occult beliefs. It was over eight hundred pages long. Charles had gone straight to the section relating to ‘Fallen angels and humans with supernatural talents.’ In this chapter, the text referred to men and women - who like Christ after them - had been known to perform miracles. And just like in the yarn his father bequeathed to him, Charles read about how this had induced comprehensible envy among other ‘ordinary human folk’ years later.
Charles could scarcely believe what his father told him, was in fact true. As he’d told the group of campers on that cold, stormy night in January, he believed the story was part fact, part fiction. That was his belief, until the following day when they came across the body in the block of ice, sheathed in a nest of silvery hair hanging from a tall pine. Then it all became far too real.
What started out as an eerie tale to tell to some strangers, he assumed he would never see again, had back-fired on him big time. For a short while, Charles had even contemplated that it was his fault entirely. If he hadn’t told the tale in the first place then the body they discovered in the forest probably wouldn’t have been there. It was as though telling the tale had made it true, and now he suffered from the repercussions. Even his thoughts things didn’t make sense any more. Yet what terrified him most was he wouldn’t be alone, because he wasn’t the only one who had seen the corpse. As far as he was aware, Kate and Tom still had possession of the corpse. That had been the reason why he had called them earlier on. If anything had happened to either of those two benevolent people, Charles would probably take his own life. He already felt fully responsible for everything that took place that day.
