Stranded (25 page)

“So what does this mean? Kevin said. He nodded toward his reflection. “I touch him, are we both going to explode or something?” The mirror Kevin took an involuntary step back.

Noah wished he had a twin he could test the theory with. He knew already that if he reached out and touched any of the men, he'd feel skin and muscle, not the energy of the cosmos or oblivion. He wondered whether, if there was another him standing in the room, he'd have the same confidence. “Anyone up to testing it?” he said. “Somebody want to volunteer?”

“Hell no!” both Jacks shouted out at once. Noah was surprised there wasn't more of that kind of synchrony happening. Like he'd observed earlier, not everything was exactly the same.

The mirror Michael Yeong stepped forward. “I'll do it if he will.” He jutted his chin toward his counterpart, slumped on a couch.

Noah's Michael nodded and held out his hand. “What the hell. I can't feel any worse than I already do,” he said. Connor's Michael crouched in front of the sofa and reached toward his twin's outstretched hand. He moved to grasp it and both men flinched back suddenly.

“What? What is it?” Connor said.

His Michael smirked and said, “He shocked me.”

“I haven't moved.
You
shocked
me
.” Yeong smiled, showing the first glimpse of his sense of humor since they'd become stuck. The smile died quickly, and he reached up again. The mirror Michael rubbed his palms on his jeans and tapped his fingers together, testing for a static charge before extending his hand a second time. The men gripped hands and shook.

“Nice to meet you,” Yeong said. “You know, you're a hell of a good-looking guy, by the way.”

“Likewise,” Michael replied. “But you need a shave.”

The silent room seemed to let out a collective breath no one knew they were holding. Noah wanted to applaud. It felt like a victory even if it didn't move them toward a solution. At least it put to rest a fear. No matter how small it might be, that was one less obstacle to overcome.

The mirror Michael stood and turned. “Okay. That settles that. The world won't end if we bump into each other in the halls.”

“So what now?” Boucher asked. His twin nodded with a solemn look on his face as if he'd just heard someone ask for a vote on the Senate floor.

Connor cleared his throat. “I think we all need to get some rest. These men have been through a lot and it's late. We can rally in the morning and discuss what has to happen next.”

“What makes you think anyone can sleep?” Jack said. “I'm ready for that drink.”

The corner of Connor's mouth turned up. “I forgot I promised that. I think we could all use a nightcap. Anyone want to go grab some cups out of the galley?”

“I got it,” Noah said. As badly as he wanted to lie down and get some rest, he knew Boucher was right. Without a little something to help settle him, he'd lie awake all night thinking about the turn the world had taken. He never gave much thought to what was real and what wasn't, because reality was solid and constant, and the difference between a dream and waking was a bright line, easily seen. Sitting in the Niflheim, however, he had no idea what any of that even meant anymore. The line between original and reflection wasn't just blurred, it was blown away.

“They're in the right bank of cabinets under the serving window,” Holden said as Noah headed for the door.

He pushed through the galley door and reached for the lights. It took him a minute to find the switch. Even though light was spilling through the serving window from the mess room, the galley was dark. He found the switch and flicked it up. The overhead fluorescents flickered to life. Noah waited a moment for the dimly burning lights to warm up, orienting himself to the unfamiliar kitchen. He walked around a tall rack stacked with pots and pans to find the serving window. Through it was the mess room where they'd just eaten. The view was both familiar and strangely foreign. Flat and deep at the same time, like looking into something only partially rendered in the real world.

He crouched behind the counter and opened the cabinet below. Milky plastic glasses sat upside down arranged in rows on a steel tray. He slid the tray out and counted fifteen. There were more of Connor's men than his own in the rec room, but not many. He was uncertain of the total count, so he grabbed four more glasses, making it an even twenty. He figured that would cover everyone who would want a drink—which was probably everyone.

A clatter behind him startled him out of his trance and he spun around, toppling cups on the floor. He felt the heat of embarrassment flush his cheeks. Brewster stood half behind the pan rack, his own face flushed red. “You scared the shit out of me, William! You come in here to supervise?” Noah knew the Old Man hadn't come to help with the cups.

“So, we're on a first name basis now, too?”

“We're not on the ship anymore.”

“And you think that means I'm not still the one in charge?”

Noah didn't say anything. He knew there was nothing he could say that would please Brewster. Not even “aye sir.” Instead, he picked up the spilled cups and restacked them on the tray. Lifting it, he turned to take them to Connor and the others. The Old Man was gone.
Suits me,
Noah thought. As he walked out of the room, he glanced at where he'd caught Brewster hiding behind the rack. On the far wall at the end of the galley hung a magnetic strip holding a row of carving knives. There were no odd gaps between them; it looked like they were all there. He dismissed his dark thoughts and took the glasses to the rec room.

He needed a drink more than ever.

 

PART THREE

The Promise

 

26

He sat beside the bed, holding his wife's thin hand. Her skin looked like vellum paper. It was thin and delicately wrinkled, pale to the point of translucence. She had always been pleasantly tan, looking like someone who got her color from the sun on her skin while she hiked or rode a bicycle to just lie in the park and read a book. Hers wasn't color you bought in a salon or sprayed on. And now it was gone. Along with her hair and her childish plumpness. Chemo had desaturated her and left her ethereal, like a photograph left in the light too long, losing its detail. A fading memory of a person.

“Is he coming?” she asked. Her throat was dry and her voice almost inaudible. She couldn't draw a deep enough breath to say more than three or four words at a time. He picked up a salmon-colored plastic cup half full of water and helped aim the straw toward her mouth. With a gentle hand, he tilted her head forward until she could take the straw between cracked lips. He lowered her head after a mouthful and set the cup to the side. He rubbed a little balm on a finger and spread it over her lips. She kissed at his fingers and smiled when he pressed her own kiss to her forehead.

“I called him again, but he didn't answer.” He wanted to say, “He must be on his way and can't answer his phone,” but he knew better. He knew better than to lie to his wife. As much as he resented William, Abby was dying and all she wanted was to see her father. She needed comfort from the man who'd taught her to ride a bike and put a worm on a hook and how to tell the direction from looking at the stars. She needed her father to hold her hand one last time so she could be the little girl she'd always be in his heart, the one who sprinted away from her favorite show on the TV when she heard the door brush against the carpet in the front room because that meant her father had come back from the sea. He smelled like diesel and sweat and brine, but he smelled like home and love and safety, too. She'd jump into his arms and breathe in a deep lungful of him and feel his powerful arms wrap around her in a hug that could only come from a man who battled the ocean to return home to his little girl. Noah hoped that in those moments, passed out from the pain meds—what he liked to think of as swimming in her dream sea—she was envisioning those things. He hoped she got those final moments with her father, if not beside the bed, at least in another place where William was able to be everything she needed.

In this world, her father said she was giving up. He said she was listening to that god damn fool of a man she married and was throwing her life away. And he wouldn't have any part in it. In her clear moments in this world, he was not there.

Abby squeezed Noah's hand and her smile grew a little wider. Her breath caught and she winced. But the smile didn't falter. He gripped her hand in both of his as tightly as he dared and tried to keep the tears out of his eyes. Not because he didn't want her to see him cry, but because he didn't want his view of her to be marred by anything.

“It's okay,” she said. “
You're
here.” She sighed a tiny sigh.

“Can I bring you anything?”

“No. Stay where I…” a breath “… can see you.” He nodded and held on. She tried to shift in the bed, but could hardly move. He tried to get up to help her shift a little, but she shook her head. “Stay.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said.

“Promise me…”

“I promise.

Her smile faded and her forehead wrinkled. “No. Promise…” a breath “… me you'll never go…” a gasp “… out to sea again.”

“I'll never ship out with William again,” he said.

“No. Out to sea. Never again.” She tried to sit up. Her face contorted with frustration at her weakness. She fell back and breathed, “Promise. Say it.”

He was quietly thankful for the tears that filled his eyes now. They made her face blur and fade and he said, “I promise. I'll never ship out again.” He wiped his eyes and looked at his beautiful wife. She smiled, and for the first time in days it was the smile he knew. The one she'd had when they first made love, the one on their wedding day, the one as she held their brand-new child to her chest in the hospital bed while the delivery nurse snapped a picture.

“I promise,” he said.

Her eyes shifted toward the prescription bottle on the table beside her bed. She nodded. Noah shook his head.

“I'm ready,” she said.

“I'm not.”

“You promised. Everything's … going to be … all right.”

He let go of her hands to pour more water and open the bottle of what the doctor had given them. He shook a few out into his hand. He put one in her mouth and helped her take a sip of water. And then another.

When they were finished, she lay back, and he held her hands until she slipped away. Like she wanted.

*   *   *

A light but insistent knocking awoke Noah from fitful sleep. He felt unrested and frustrated. He'd been as slow to fall asleep as he'd feared he'd be, and had woken up several times through the night, first needing to find the head in unfamiliar surroundings, and second with the beginnings of a small hangover. Even though he hadn't had much, the combination of exhaustion and hunger made the little bit of whiskey he'd had potent enough. And drink had given him sad dreams.

Although the cabin was similar to his on the ship, it was different enough that he felt lost and disoriented. He'd nearly pissed himself wandering the hallway in the night looking for the head before it dawned on him he wasn't aboard a ship and there was likely a toilet in his room. He found the airplane-sized bathroom in his cabin just in time. He figured he'd get used to the Niflheim after a day or two, and that depressed him more. He didn't want to get used to it. His hope had been that once they found the drilling rig, they'd spend a day at most waiting for a rescue copter to come. That there was a crew of starved and haggard men aboard meant that hope was gone.

In the early hours of the morning, he finally fell into sound sleep. Still, it wasn't restful; the groan of the ice that had taken Holden and nipped Connor's ship invaded his dreams, threatening to crush the supports beneath the platform and bring them all crashing down into the water below.

The knocking at the door grew a little more forceful. “One minute,” he grumbled, swinging his legs out of bed. He could feel his feet again. Examining them in his half-drunken state the night before, he found the tips of his toes were dry and hard with frostnip, the first stage of frostbite. It was unpleasant, but not too painful and he wouldn't lose any of them. Not yet. Going back outside for any length of time, however, likely meant a progression from nip to bite and maybe sacrificing a toe or two—or ten. As much as he wanted to, there was no punting this duty; he and Connor were the only ones well enough to bring everyone back safely, if such a thing was even possible.

He grumbled as he opened the door. Squinting through a single blurry eye, he tried to make out the figure standing in the doorway. Although dim, the light from the hall hurt his eyes. “You look as raw as I feel,” Connor said. He stood with his neck bent, massaging at the back of it with a hand. Without asking if he was welcome to enter, he let himself in. He spun the rolling chair by the desk around and sat. The thing protested at the sudden labor of supporting his controlled collapse, but it held together. Noah closed the door behind him and returned to his bunk, flopping down on the mattress. It wasn't the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept on, but it was nicer than the ones on the ship, and he was thankful for it.

“What'd you put in my glass last night?”

Connor chuckled, continuing to knead his neck. “I topped that bottle off with benzene to stretch it out. Was that a bad idea?”

“Whatever was in it, I can't believe we finished the whole thing.”

“It seemed worth celebrating, seein' as how you're alive and all.”