The Long Deep Freeze, Part 2

I set about tidying up.

To dispose of the body, I simply placed it into an empty pod – one body amongst hundreds of fake ones, all with no connection to me. The pods were clean, and the finances securely anonymous. I had covered my tracks carefully.

After turning off the generators, I removed the last evidence of my presence – the paperwork and medical equipment I would burn elsewhere – and locked the warehouse doors. Who would notice one deserted warehouse? The body would probably rest there for years before it was discovered.

Only after all was secured did I suddenly find myself sitting down on the steps, laughing and crying as my body shook. How fortunate it was that the warehouse occupied a deserted street! It took me some time to recover sufficiently from the flood of adrenaline to make my way home without appearing to be a madman as I sat on the bus.

I will admit to an uncomfortable few months and the occasional bout of nausea from the time the first pictures of my client appeared in the media. But gradually the interviews with the tearful family ceased and newspaper articles became smaller and less frequent, and I began to rest easier. After some time she became just another missing person. 

Now I felt free to effect my own escape. I started to complain of a range of symptoms, to grimace at fake pains and make sudden dashes for the bathroom. I pretended to visit a number of medical specialists and to undergo testing at the hospital. I showed my wife fake scans and medical reports. 

Finally I broke the news to her that the doctors could not cure my malady. I held her while she wept, but inside I felt my tension drain as a satisfied warmth filled me. I’d convinced the person who knew me best. We agreed to soften the blow as much as possible but ultimately it had to be shared with our children.

I explained to my wife that my ending would not be peaceful. I could expect a prolonged and agonising struggle with months of suffering, and I would deteriorate and lose all dignity.

As we discussed alternative care plans, I brought up the possibility of cryosleep. I explained it to her, watching her eyes slowly widen and brighten. Beth grabbed at the proffered hope, innocently convinced that the treatment was proven and affordable. Too distressed to read the literature, she trusted me to arrange my own inclusion in the programme.

I picked up my mobile and punched in the number from Cryodreams. The receptionist answered almost immediately and sounded professional. I made an appointment to visit their clinic, take a tour, and view a brief video detailing their services. Only after this introductory experience would I be personally interviewed and possibly accepted as a suitable candidate.

The viewing hardly surprised me. I had seen both the facilities and video previously when doing my research as the ginger-haired Mr. MacDonald. Now as myself, John Baker, my blonde hair gave me a totally different appearance. 

I had to concentrate to remember all the questions that might be expected of a first-time visitor, while also continuing my ruse of being in considerable pain. My fears distracted me – the legal authorities might close down this operation before I got my chance. I felt the start of a headache beating around my temples. 

They offered me a consultation appointment for a week later to give me time to consider, and they requested my wife’s presence, contrary to my hopes. But the interview turned out to be straightforward. The medical team examined my records and questioned me at length, not only about my own wishes, but also those of my family. Then they produced the forms. 

I nodded at Beth as my gut twisted. What if she refused to sign? But my dear wife, nearly speechless with nerves, picked up the pen. Her hand shook as she signed, and she sobbed quietly. I signed the final papers and handed over the payment, carefully ensuring that Beth did not see the amount. The date, at my request, was to be as soon as possible. 

Two evenings later, hardly believing the reality of the moment, I kissed my children goodbye, crying and holding them tightly as I wished them long and happy lives. My heart ached for them. Later I was torn with guilt as I made love to Beth for the final time. We spent the rest of the night entwined in each other’s arms. 

When I woke again, I kissed her gently while fighting back tears. Before I left I told her to declare me dead and remarry if she found the right man. I felt a final, cleansing wave of relief as I said this. My blameless wife would have a better life. Then as dawn broke I slipped out of the house and made my way, alone at my own insistence, to the clinic via public transport.

The door opened almost as soon as I rang the bell. The receptionist showed me through to the same consulting room as before. The doctor – if one might call him that – held out his hand to shake mine and drew me into the room. I stood near the centre, unsure whether to lie on the examination table or sit at the desk. The doctor gestured to the chair, and I took a seat.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

I thought about all I had gone through to reach this point: all the planning, lying, deceptions, and even the murder. With a widening smile, I concluded that I felt happier than I had for years.

“Relieved. Calm. Determined,” I answered, taking a deep breath. “I’m fully ready to proceed.”

“Very well. Please lie down on the bed there and make yourself comfortable. Would you like some music?”

I pulled from my pocket my phone, pre-programmed with Mozart’s ‘Ave Verum’. I put my earbuds in place, pressed play, and gave him the signal to start the process – a gentle squeeze of the hand. I barely felt the prick of the needle before a warm, pleasurable feeling swept over me and I drifted into sleep.

***

“John! John! Breathe.”

I struggled to sit up, confused and disoriented. What had gone wrong? Why the hell was I here and still alive?

The room was full of people, but my vision was too blurred to make most of them out. A doctor sat beside me, and on the other side of the bed were two strangers: a beautiful, dark-haired woman in her fifties and a slightly younger man, with the same dark brown hair sticking up in tufts.

“Dad,” the woman said. “It’s me, Ruth, your daughter. This is Johnny.” 

I stared at them. How could these two possibly be my children?

“Beth,” I said, “Where’s Beth?” Surely my wife could sort things out here.

The two looked uneasily at each other, then at the doctor. For the first time I noticed that the people standing by the door were guards, not assistants or nurses, and a chill swept over me. 

Ruth seemed to stare through me, her eyes blank as she said, “It’s been years, Dad. Mum’s been in a nursing home. She has dementia, and there’s still no cure for that. She was distraught when she lost you and never really recovered.”

My stomach churned. I swallowed, trying to soothe it, and said, “Then why am I here? Why did you wake me? Do you have a cure for me, or—”

One of the guards stepped forward. “Mr.Baker, you have been woken from Cryosleep because you have been found guilty of murder and fraud. You and your family are now due to receive the summary judgement.”

My palms began to sweat and my pulse raced.

“My family?” I stammered. “I don’t understand.”

Jonny glared at me. “Of course you don’t. Laws have changed while you’ve been asleep. You never thought about that, did you? The penalty for murder now is that you and your immediate relatives get evicted from Earth. That means us.”

I froze. “What?”

Ruth said, “They’re sending us to a Sleep Ship in space.” Her eyes still avoided focusing on me, but Jonny’s bored right into my temples.

“Oh yeah,” he said, crossing his arms, “we’ll all get to sleep now, just like you, until whatever planet they send us to is reached. Then the pods will open, and out we’ll all go, along with however many others are on board and with whatever supplies they see fit to give us.” 

Ruth’s voice lowered to almost a whisper, and her hands clutched at her skirt. “They’re dumping us, Dad. And there’s no coming back.”

Jonny sneered. “All because of you.”

In that moment, the main door opened, and I saw my once beautiful wife, aged and bent and clearly confused, shuffling in between two more guards.

“No,” I gasped. “No, you can’t do this! They’re innocent! I’ll go, but leave them alone, please!”

The guard beside me smirked, and beckoned to the others. My children backed away from me to stand between their guards without a struggle. The doctor melted into the background. 

I fought, but I had no chance. My body was weak from the decades of Cryosleep. As the guards pulled me from the bed and toward a side door to face a judge, I realised that my only hope had been a vain one all along. Cryosleep would not save me. Now at last, I finally understood what depression truly meant.

---

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