Isinglass

Chapter 4

In an endless, swirling darkness I fight to regain consciousness, the pain in my body matched only by the intense, piercing cold. Weightless, I lose all control, any effort to crawl my way back to life punished with the painful twisting of every limb and the merciless buffeting of my body by unseen assailants. And so I let go, and in that moment, the chaos actually begins to settle, the frantic rhythm of my suffering slows, and a gentle warmth begins to quietly embrace me. So this is what death is...

I awake suddenly with a gasp, pushing myself upright, only to collapse again onto my back as searing pain rips through my shoulder, a dull ache throbbing in my head. Curling into myself, I squeeze my eyes shut in a desperate attempt to push through the pain. Slowly, it subsides and I begin to breath more easily. That's when I realize that I am lying in a soft, clean bed, a full pillow beneath my head. More carefully this time, I shift into a sitting position and examine my surroundings.

Where the hell am I? What happened? The bed rests against the back wall of a small bedroom, lit only by the sunlight filtering through a small window high on the heavy timber wall. Next to me is a small night stand with an unlit candle and glass of water. Suddenly aware of my thirst, I reach for the glass and drink greedily. Choking, I force myself to drink more slowly.

Water. I remember in that instant the confrontation with the man who called himself Michael Gibbons, remember being swept away by the mass of rushing water that had torn down the valley from upriver. The dam must have breached, I think to myself. The realization had occurred to me moments before the wave had struck. I am no engineer, but I have little doubt that such a structure would not collapse by accident. Whatever had happened, that disaster had saved me from whatever Gibbons and his men had planned. The more immediate question was who had saved me from the water?

I instinctively reach for my right shoulder as fresh pain pulses in my wound. To my surprise, I find it cleaned and neatly bandaged. Whoever brought me here obviously wants me alive, at least for now. Could it have been Gibbons? Had they found me floating downriver and captured me in the end anyway? The lack of restraints, barred windows, and guards seem to suggest otherwise.

Who knows what is on the other side of that door. I need to know, so, despite wearing nothing but a fresh pair of boxers (which someone else clearly dressed me in), I slip carefully out of the bed and get to my feet. A wave of dizziness immediately sweeps over me and I collapse heavily to the ground, screaming in pain as my shoulder slams into the bare wooden floor.

Lying helplessly on the ground, I hear footsteps outside the door approach quickly. The door opens cautiously and an older woman steps through. Looking to be in her mid-sixties, she is wearing denim overalls with a red and black checked flannel jacket overtop. A shotgun gripped tightly in her hand, she scans the room, a peevish frown on her face when she sees me on the ground.

"What the hell did you do that for?" she demands, not moving to help me. "You gotta get up and get back in that bed." I flinch away from the waving gun, not comprehending anything she is saying, which only seems to annoy her more.

"Wha- what?" I gasp.

"Listen, kid, I'm too old to haul your ass back into that bed. And besides, I trust you about as far as I can throw you. So let me ask you one time: Can you get up off that floor by yourself? Because if you can't, you're gonna have to lay there until the others get back."

Slowly, I pull myself to my knees, then turning, lift myself to sit on the edge of the bed, immediately dropping my spinning head into my hands to steady myself. She nods curtly, satisfied, yet remains at her spot just inside the door.

"Listen," I say, "I appreciate whoever it was that pulled me out of the river and patched me up. I just want to know what's going on. Where am I? Are you with Gibbons?"