10 May 2013

A reluctant guide, seeking, as he broke trail, some means by which he might throw the search off Einar and Liz’s tracks—and his own—Kilgore found his answer as the day drew to a close.  At some point in the little group’s descent—three quarters of the way down to the trailhead, Bud noted with nearly as much consternation as relief—the storm had apparently grown in its intensity, wiping out nearly every trace of the trail they had up until then been following only with difficulty.  Might have gone on following it anyway with Bud’s help, tracker that he was, piecing together little clues from beneath trees and guessing at the routes the little party had taken, only Bud seemed to lose the trail fairly quickly, leading them down a rough gully and into a nearly impassible section of steep, icy rock where he said all sign of the fugitives seemed to have vanished… 

The agents spent the following hour and half struggling to get themselves and the gear they were carrying back up out of that cliffy, dead end gully, two of them losing their footing in the attempt and nearly cascading down over the ice to what would have been certain death waiting below.  By the time they regained safe ground it was nearly dark and very windy, and with snow being whipped up from the ground and hurled sideways with a fury strong enough to entirely prevent anyone seeing where they were going in that steep, dangerous terrain, a hasty camp had to be made in the meager shelter of an island of stunted firs, only their tops protruding through the snow. 

Rolling up in his sleeping bag and bivy sack as the others huddled somewhat miserably behind the crinkly, wind-whipped cacophony of half a dozen metalized emergency blankets, the bulk of their supplies remaining up at the base camp, Bud had to suppress a chuckle at the ironic justice in these men having to spend a cold and fireless night away from their tents, when Einar and his family had spent so many that way.  Wished Asmundson could be there to see it in person, crouching behind a tree and grinning fiercely into the night at the misfortune of his pursuers, as surely he’d done more than once since the beginning of the search.  Just as well he wasn’t there, though, Bud told himself.  Scrawny old fool would like as not freeze himself solid in that wind, enjoying every moment of it, of course, but probably not waking in the morning.  And then he’d have a lot of explaining to do, both to Liz and to his own bride.  Be lucky to come out of that one alive, I would!

The way the wind was blowing, Kilgore knew that little ought to remain of the fugitive group’s trail come morning, and what signs might linger would not likely be noticeable to any but the most experienced tracker in the group, who happened to be none other than himself.  Helpful details, helpful weather, but he and those in his charge were still in one heck of a mess, now that the mystery tracks had been discovered, the mitten, cloth scrap, blood evidence…wouldn’t be too long before they had that back to the lab, tested and confirmed as Asmundson’s, and then the search would really go hot again.  

Good thing you’re not out here right now, fella.  Gonna be my job to try real hard and keep them up here looking, rather than focusing on their suspicion that you may have skipped the area in the car of some mystery guy who may have been up here with Juni…though that could have its advantages, too.  Send them off to California, stir things up and draw them away from here once and for all, and we’ll all more or less be in the clear.  Huh.  Not real likely, but there’s your assignment, Kilgore.  Supposing they don’t find one scrap of evidence too many, and shift the focus of this whole thing onto you, and the fact that it appears you were traveling with them disreputable characters.  At that point, things get real interesting, real fast…

*  *  *

Finally managing to talk Einar up out of the hard kitchen chair and onto the couch with her—seemed such a simple thing, and reasonable, too, when one is dealing with an injured hip and tending to get pressure sores just about anywhere he came into contact with a hard surface for more than a few minutes, with all his bones so near the surface, yet Einar seemed intent on resisting the more comfortable seating arrangement—Liz settled herself with Will on her lap, content for the moment to eat while she sat with his father.

Quiet for a while, pondering, Liz could not help but be glad Einar was finally eating, but she expected it would all start over again, the pattern that had got him into this trouble in the first place, wanted very badly to interrupt it, end it, and knew that the only way to do that likely lay in his past, in his allowing himself to let it go, as much as was possible…  She’d tried that before, tried talking it through with him and it hadn’t seemed to get them anywhere, had perhaps caused a temporary easing in whatever sequence of dreams and rememberings seemed most to be troubling him at the time, but always the difficulty returned. 

A fact of life for him, she supposed, something that would never really go away.  Some things are like that.  But somehow or other he’d got to make his peace with it, even if that peace consisted of nothing more than an uneasy truce.  Had to find ways to live with the thing, before it finished killing him.  She didn’t know how to help him with that.  Had tried patience, and though he seemed greatly to appreciate the patience, and sometimes was even able to let her know this was the case…well, here they were, just a day or two away from his very nearly having died as a direct result of the sort of life he’d resorted to living in an attempt—admirable, if perhaps misguided—to manage the memories, and the rest of it.  Just wasn’t working, but she was at a loss as to what else she could do about it.  Nothing, really, as he had to be the one to decide that something needed to be done, and so far as she could tell, he had yet to really make that decision.  Back to the patience, then, and with it the hope and prayer that for the time at least, he would continue on his present path, drinking, starting to eat again and allowing his body to grow a bit stronger for the next round.  Whenever it would come.  She sighed, glanced up to find him watching her curiously, as if wondering what could be on her mind.  A good opportunity, perhaps, to try and bring the subject up, see if they could make some sort of progress, but she stopped herself.  Not now.  He’s eating, trying to work his way through this difficult spot.  Better that we should keep it that way for a day or two if we can.

To which end she eased the sleeping Will down onto the end of the couch, rose and went into the kitchen, beckoning for Einar to follow, which he did, rising with some difficulty and moving quickly on the theory that he might thus sooner reach his destination and have less chance of falling on the way there.  Liz had taken eggs from the refrigerator, retrieved an onion, a sweet pepper and some ham that was left over from the making of one of Susan’s recent casseroles, wanting to make Einar feel useful and also hoping that he’d be more inclined to eat, if he’d helped prepare the meal.  “Help me fix some lunch?”

Einar shrugged, took the knife she was offering him, and began chopping onions.  “Sure.”

“It’s not exactly the half-thawed wolverine steak, bear fat and avalanche lily bulbs you’re used to, but it’s good stuff nonetheless!  And ought to make a fine lunch.”

A chuckle from Einar.

“You’d probably like to live this way, wouldn’t you?  All the time, I mean.”

“Oh, I won’t deny that I’m enjoying the change right now, but no, I like our little cabin, the life we’d made up there, even the wolverine steaks and bear fat.  Though I do definitely prefer elk to wolverine!  Yeah…I want to get back home!  When we can.”

A slow smile from Einar, who could tell she meant it, found himself once more amazed at her existence. 

9 May 2013

No chapter for tonight, back with another tomorrow.

Thank you all for reading.

8 May 2013

Tracks leading to the slide area the searchers had expected—though not yet discovered, some function, they could only conclude, of sun angle and snow conditions over on that slope leading to more rapid decay and/or concealment of whatever markings had existed—but the discovery of three sets of tracks leaving the slide and heading downhill…that was a major revelation.  It had snowed since the making of those tracks, been snowing, in fact, at the time of the slide itself, and but for the sheltering action of a few clusters of low-growing firs which had buffered the wind and caused most of the new snow to drift up behind them, there might have been nothing left of the trail upon which the searchers now found themselves. 

None of the indistinct tracks, obviously, were Juni’s, the reporter having been found dead in the middle of the debris field, and though somewhat obscured by the action of sun and blowing snow, it was clear to all involved that the tracks consisted of one smaller set and two larger.  Two males and a female, it appeared, one of the males walking with a pronounced limp and at times even dragging his foot on the injured side, leaving behind smears of blood wherever he stopped.  Under a spruce not far from the slide path they came upon a place where the injured man had clearly collapsed in the snow, more blood visible when they kicked away the wind-blown top layer of white, and with it another bit of torn, bloodstained cloth. 

All of this evidence the agents collected, labeling, organizing as Bud struggled to come up with an alternate story to the one that was making itself plain before his eyes and theirs, trying to find a way in which he might bring about the destruction of all that evidence before they could get it back to the lab and confirm the growing suspicion that their fugitive had been traveling with the reporter, and had emerged alive if injured from the avalanche which had claimed her life.

In light of their new discoveries and wanting to thoroughly investigate the area before moving on along the trail, agents returned to search and probe the slide area once more, this time coming up with part of a broken snowshoe and a mitten hand-sewn of what appeared to be bobcat fur.  Bits of encrusted blood on the inside of the mitten would, they were fairly confident, match that of their fugitive.  Slide debris reasonably exhausted and a fair amount of new and exciting evidence in hand, the party set off along the broken and indistinct trail of the mysterious trio who had walked away from the slide, Kilgore in the lead an wishing with every step that he might find a place to leave the trail, lead them astray, but knowing he could not do it without great caution and forethought, lest they realize what he was about. 

Already he’d had a near miss with their discovery of the marks made by the hauling of Juni’s travois.  He had previously told them that he carried her out on his back, a story which no one had been given reason to doubt.  The drag marks, he speculated, must have been caused by some arrangement the little group was using to carry their gear…  And as for the lack of his own trail leaving the slide scene, that was explained by his route, which, he pointed out, had taken him through the gully just to the side of the area—safe, since it had already slid—where the force of the wind had obscure all trace of his passage.  So far as he could tell no one was doubting his narrative, a fortunate thing indeed, with all the various troubles already demanding resolution on this trip.

When the trail led beneath trees, there were here and there more distinct impressions, Kilgore reading plainly the slightly peculiar walk of a man missing all the toes on one foot, seeing it even through the heavy limp an hoping the agents couldn’t do the same, though he could tell from some of their conversation that it was strongly suspected they were on the days-old trail of their fugitive.  And rather confused by the fact that he was heading down.  Just not something he did, they said amongst themselves, not very often and not for some time, at least, and as they walked, the wondered and speculated about his possible destination.  And about the third man in his party, the smaller tracks having been assigned to Liz, who was so far as anyone knew still traveling with him.  Perhaps he was, they reasoned, someone who had been with the reporter in her travels, the photographer who had previously met Einar while in her company, for example. 

Whoever it was, he had not reported her death.  Perhaps had not even left the high country, and might even then be traveling with the fugitive family.  Or might, the speculation went, have given them a ride out of the area.  That seemed as good a reason as any for Asmundson to have broken with long-established tradition, and started heading down towards the valley.  And if that had happened—the fugitive and his family spirited out of the area by a partner of the dead reporter and secreted away who knew where in a misguided quest for an exclusive story or some such—there was no telling how far wide they might need to cast their nets in order to get him back.  This line of thought brought a halt in the search as agents radioed headquarters with a request for more information on all known associates of the late Juniper Melton, with a special focus on any who might have recently been traveling.

Bud, unable to redirect the search away from such an obviously significant find as the scattered but continuing trail through the snow, could only breathe a sigh of relief that he had worn different boots that day than on his previous expedition, and hope ideas would come to him as things progressed.  Not looking good.

*  *  *

With the departure of Susan they were alone in the house, Einar, Will and Liz, and Einar was glad.  The constant presence of another person an exhausting thing for him, even if that other person had every right to be there, and was entirely friendly, as in the case of Susan.  In the quiet after she left, Liz feeding Will on the couch, he let his forehead rest on the table, and slept.  The nap did not last long, Einar—still boycotting the wearing of anything warmer than his buckskin vest—soon chilled and shivering despite Susan’s having added a log to the fire before leaving for town, injured hip hurting badly there on the hard kitchen chair, and when Liz tried to drape a blanket around his shoulders, he quickly woke.  She sat down beside him.

“How about you come and finish that little rest on the couch, where it’ll be more comfortable.  And we can try to come up with a plan for the next few days, maybe even the next few weeks…”

He took her hand, didn’t answer, but for the first time since coming down off the mountain she thought, when she looked into his eyes, that she almost recognized the man staring back at her.

6 May 2013

The remainder of the day passed fairly uneventfully, except for Little Will’s surprising everyone by standing on his own for fifteen or twenty seconds when he let go the couch and held himself in perilous-looking balance as he watched the raven.  Einar, who had silently drawn Liz’s attention to the happening, was sure the little guy was about to take off tottering across the room in pursuit of the iridescent black tail feathers of that bird, but instead he sat heavily on the floor a few seconds later, ready to stand, but not quite to walk.  That time would be coming, and then, Liz had to think, she had no idea how she would keep up with him.  Already he could crawl so quickly as he went from one fascinating sight to another that she hardly knew where he’d gone, half the time, and once he was up and walking, and running…well, she’d just have to assign Einar to watch him, sometimes.  That ought to keep the both of them busy, and out of trouble.  Or, more likely, in it together.  She smiled, shook her head.  Life was destined to be interesting, that was for sure. 

Only first…she glanced over at Einar, still staring in fascination at Will as the little one struggled to pull himself upright once more, we’ve got to make sure we’re all going to be there together to see it.

Through the day Liz and Susan kept urging food on Einar, who at least made an effort to try everything they put before him, though both he and they knew he must be cautious, take it slow, lest their efforts end up doing more harm than good.  While he continued struggling from time to time with a propensity for gagging an choking when he tried to swallow, this difficulty was far less pronounced than it had been the day before, leading Susan to suspect that his problem in that regard had related more to muscular dysfunction brought on by severe electrolyte imbalance than to advanced wasting of the muscles, themselves.  Good news, more or less, as it meant he’d probably begin to improve fairly rapidly, if he could be convinced to continue taking in nutrients at a reasonable pace.

Already Liz thought she saw a bit of color returning to his face, cheeks perhaps slightly less sunken, hands not quite so hollow and skeletal—a result, she knew, primarily of his having finally managed to take in a bit of water—and the silent desperation she had seen staring back out of his eyes whenever they met hers fading just a bit, beginning to lose its intensity.  Though cheered by the improvements, she knew he had rather a long way to go still, weeks before he was out of danger and a month or two before he might begin resembling, either physically or in slightly less tangible areas, the robust and spirited mountain man she had first come to know.  For the moment, though she did not like to admit the fact, he remained on the brink of physical dissolution and might still very well succumb to the damage which had already been done.

Though eating, Einar went on refusing to take other steps which would have allowed him to be warmer, and after a time Susan gave up pressing him on the matter, seeing its futility and knowing that the nutrients he continued taking in were more important than just about anything else, at the moment.  No sense aggravating him too greatly with continued arguments over whether a person was better off shivering all day, or not.  If he wanted to freeze, let him.  So long as he went on making an effort to eat and drink.

The following day was Sunday, and Susan, though reluctant to leave her guests, thought it wisest to go to church as usual, followed by her usual weekly meal at the house of her son and daughter-in-law.  Considering what was at stake, it seemed unwise to change her routine in any way which might make those around her ask questions, so Liz, Einar and Will were left alone for the morning.

*   *   *

Meanwhile, Bud was having a fairly eventful day up on the mountain with members of the Task Force, who were busy searching the slide path, probing for any additional evidence and, to Bud’s dismay, finding a fair amount.  In his violent tumble down the mountain he had inevitably managed to lose a thing or two which had been on his person for the descent, and though the three of them had searched the slide path before heading down that fateful day, they had not found everything.  Thus it was that searchers discovered an atlatl dart—broken, but well enough intact to clearly show its workmanship and origin—and below it by some fifteen feet, a section of torn wolverine hide with stitching that appeared to all involved to be some sort of natural sinew.

All fascinating discoveries which indicated—though the final proof would come only with the DNA and other tests planned when they returned to the lab—that the dead reporter had at some point in her wanderings had contact with the fugitive, had been carrying things that he made and which had belonged to him

Their biggest discovery though, and the one which really turned the focus of the investigation, involved a scrap of fairly freshly blood-stained green plaid cloth picked up by one of the searchers…on the far side of the slide.  The downhill side.  Since Juni had been found in the middle of the conglomerated mess and had not been wearing anything of that description, it seemed highly unlikely to everyone that the bit of cloth had been hers, and though not equipped to do the tests there in the field, the general consensus was that the blood would prove to be the fugitive’s.  Which meant, of course, that not only had the reporter managed to contact Asmundson, but had in all probability been traveling with him at the time of her death.  The recent closeness of their target—and the possibility that he might still be out there somewhere in the immediate area, lurking, watching, likely as not planning another slide or some other nasty surprise with the intention of taking out as many as possible—made the hair stand up on the back of more than one neck that morning as they went on with the search.

Bud, wanting very badly for another slide to come, in fact, and save him the trouble of having to try and reclaim that cloth before the agents could reach Task Force Headquarters, and their lab, watched the search with a face expressionless, revealing nothing as he went from group to group, offering advice here, doing a bit of digging there and generally gathering information as he worked on an already half-formed damage control plan.  Not the best of situations, to be sure, but he was fairly confident he could handle it, steer the interpretation of the newly-discovered bits of evidence, and thus the future course of to search, in a direction which would be favorable to the fugitive family

But then they found the tracks.

4 May 2013

While it didn’t help much with the remembering, past day or two remaining something of a blur in his mind, Einar’s breakfast of banana, peanut butter and milk did help a great deal with his present ability to remain awake and sitting upright, so he tried some more, struggling a bit to get it down but more or less managing the task without inhaling too much of the stuff.  As Susan had predicted, the thicker texture really was easier to swallow without accidentally ending up in a choking fit

Liz sat with him feeding Will, who was then awake and wanting to be part of the action—really wished to be chasing and harassing the raven, but for the moment his hunger was winning out—and making sure Einar’s mug stayed reasonably full, replacing what he drank.  She knew his arms would be needing attention, ankles, back, the various places where Bill’s “hospitality” had left its marks, but of more immediate concern seemed to be his need to have some additional hydration and a bit of the nutrition that he so badly needed if the situation was to begin turning around for him.  So long as he was busy at eating and drinking, she had no intention whatsoever of disturbing him with other matters.

Einar, however, needed no help being disturbed with other matters, proving more than capable of doing the job himself.  Mug not even halfway empty he rose, fighting a wave of dizziness, winning, going with as much speed as he could muster over to the nearest window and scanning the encircling dimness of the timber.  Susan was beside him.

“What do you see?”

“Just checking.  Don’t know how long I’ve been…seems a while since I’ve been out to check on things.”

“Things are Ok out there.  Bill’s keeping an eye on them for us, remember?”

Einar looked at her strangely, did remember, running a hand over the bandages on one arm and finding himself for a moment slipping back into the strangeness that had claimed him after that night.  Fought it, blinking hard and focusing on little Will.  Had to stay in the present.  The entire situation had already spun too far out of any semblance of control; the last thing he needed was to lose what remained of his connection to the immediate events around him.

“Bill.  Yeah, fine fellow, that one.  Doubt he’ll miss much, when it comes to watching the place.”

“But you’d still like to be out there making sure, wouldn’t you?”

“Sure.  Never did care too much for being cooped up in a house.  Always preferred half-collapsed old mine tunnels myself, if I had to be cooped up somewhere.”

“I know, I know.  You’ll be back out there soon, no doubt.  The more you can eat now, rest and start to get back to your usual self, the sooner you’ll be ready for all that.”

“I’m ready for it now!”

Susan quite disagreed, wished, actually, that he might still let her do the IV to help him catch up on fluids lest he end up very soon in a desperate situation once again, but saw no benefit in saying so.  “Well, the world’s not ready for it, not the way the search is going.  Give it a few days, see what Bud says when he comes back, and maybe then it will be time.”

Einar nodded, dizzy, sat heavily back down at the table, suddenly feeling all of his injuries, feeling immensely weary and a little desperate.  Seemed he really did have no more than two or three good minutes in him just then before he had to sit down again, or risk falling.  Not a particularly reassuring set of circumstances, especially when one is down in unfamiliar territory and all but surrounded by those bent on one’s capture…  Up in his own territory, in the high country, it wouldn’t have been so bad.  Not as long as there was plenty of food for Liz and Will, and he didn’t urgently need to go out on the trapline.   A fellow could just hunker down and wait it out, under such conditions, and he’d done so more than once.  But here…well, he figured he’d better be having some more of that breakfast.  Had to get his strength back.  And prevent too much more of it leaving him while he was living the easy life stuck in this house, too.  Could imagine that happening, and then where would he be once they were able to leave and head up into the hills, again?  Wouldn’t be ready for it.  Had to keep working on that, be on his guard against the complacency and softness he felt sure could easily overtake a man living an existence such as this.

To which end he got up and moved to another chair, further from the stove.  He was still pretty chilly, seemed to have managed to get himself into a state where he was perpetually cold, of late, but it couldn’t hurt to give himself a bit more of a challenge in that regard.  Worked quickly, as he was wearing a t-shirt Susan had given him, his elkskin vest but no sweater, left him soon shivering and clearly freezing even there in the warm kitchen, as he worked to finish up his mug of banana concoction.  Susan brought him the sweater he’d been wearing before.

“How about you go ahead and put this on?  You’re not going to be able to heal and get stronger very fast if your body is having to put all its energy into simply producing enough heat to keep you alive.  And hypothermia isn’t going to do anything good for your blood pressure, either, or your ability to stay awake...”

“Thanks.  Fine like I am.  Plenty warm.  Wide awake.”

“You’re turning purple.”

“If I was up in the basin…would be normal, all of this.  Nothing to do about it.  Be good if we could apply the same standard down here.”

“You’d prefer we just leave well enough alone and let you freeze to death right here in the kitchen, then?”

“Not going to happen, but yeah.  That’s it.”

“Not in my kitchen, we won’t!”

Which created somewhat of an impasse, a potential problem had Einar’s adversary been a person less calm and steady than Susan, but as it was, the dispute appeared likely to remain good-natured, if somewhat serious.

3 May 2013

No chapter for tonight, but I do have one nearly finished, and will post tomorrow.

This has been a difficult week for keeping up with things; a lot going on.

Thank you for your patience.

1 May 2013

Not sure at first whether Einar was sincere in wanting breakfast, or whether he might simply be making light of his situation as he so often did, to his great hilarity and her usual distress, Liz simply sat down beside him and took his heart rate for starters.  Still far too low—in the 20s, and she wondered how he was managing even to sit up—nearly impossible to find a pulse at the wrist, hands a bad shade of purple and feeling like ice, but at least he was alive and conscious.  And apparently quite serious about wanting food, for she saw how his eyes lingered on Susan’s basket of fruit as he scanned the kitchen, remembering, perhaps, the concoction which he’d managed to get down before falling so fast asleep that past evening.

“You can have breakfast, can have whatever sounds good, but let’s start with some more tea, Ok?  Just something to drink.”

A nod from Einar as he rose to retrieve the mug which had ended up on the kitchen counter, but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  “Sit.  I’ll get it.  Have to make some more tea, anyway.”

Will still slept on the couch which he and Liz had shared for the night, but Muninn the raven, who had spent the night perched on the back of the dining room chair nearest to Einar’s sleeping mat, was wide awake and ready for some breakfast of his own, tilting his head and rasping in seeming displeasure when Liz brought nothing but a mug of tea.  Not exactly what the bird had been picturing, and Liz soon returned with a heel of bread, which proved far more satisfactory to the hungry creature.  Einar could smell the bread, wanted it, watching intently as Muninn devoured every last crumb and pressing an elbow into the great hollow of his stomach until it nearly met his backbone, seeking unsuccessfully to dull the suddenly overpowering sensation of his own gnawing, twisting hunger.  Hadn’t felt that for a while, had not allowed himself to acknowledge it, anyhow, and the strength of the thing alarmed him some.  Needed to make it go away again, just for a little while, so he could concentrate on what was going on around him and take stock of the situation. 

His memories of the past day or so seemed unduly fuzzy and intangible when he tried to bring them to mind, the familiar presence of Liz, Will, Susan’s kind, concerned face framed with its silver-dusted black curls all jumbled up with images which he knew had no place there in the house of his friends—darkness, a terrible thirst, chains on his arms and a desperate but fruitless struggle to free himself before his captors could come back again and do to him the things they had been threatening—memories all tangled and superimposed upon one another until the entire things was one convoluted and terrifying mess, perhaps best forgotten.  Yet he must not forget, not until he’d got it all sorted out.

                                

The tea was ready, Liz returning with a mug and setting it in front of Einar as she shooed away the raven, not wanting the bird to interfere.  Einar started at the stuff, knew he’d have some trouble getting it down, could tell by the way he was feeling that morning, the responses of various muscles when called upon to act, figured he might well have to resort to drinking it the way he had previously done, allowing each sip to run down his throat like a bird.  For some reason he didn’t want Liz to see this—which made no sense really, considering that she had been well aware of his complete inability to get anything down, the day before—so tried drinking normally, but with little success.  Frustrated but determined, he kept at it until his choking and coughing brought Susan hurrying in from the other room to find Liz clapping him on the back in an attempt to help get his breathing going a bit better again.

“Whoa there, fella.  You Ok?  Let’s slow down, take it easy and see if we can’t avoid drowning you, alright?”

A nod from Einar, a grin—seemed to Liz she was seeing an awful lot of that grin, between the previous evening and that morning; she’d missed it—as he eased the mug down onto the table, worn out but not particularly discouraged.  So.  Not working that way.  No matter, he knew what to do.  Hadn’t wanted them to see that he’d been reduced to such a thing, but if it was the only option, well, so be it.  “No drowning.  Found a way to…make it work.”  With which he grabbed the mug in both hands, got some of the liquid in his mouth and tipped his chin up towards the ceiling so that the tea ran down his throat.  No gagging or choking this time, Liz and Susan watching in silence as he finished nearly half the mug before wearing out and having to take a break.  Susan was fascinated by his ingenuity, if a bit taken aback that he would have to go to such lengths just to manage a sip of liquid.

“Is that the way you did it before?  Yesterday?”

“Yeah.  Only way it works.”

“That’s not a real great sign, you know.  I’m very glad you’ve found a way to get some fluids down, but the fact that you’ve got to do it that way…”

He shrugged, but she didn’t intend to let him get away with it.  Could not afford to.  “Well, what do you think needs to happen so you can drink normally again, start to get enough and see some improvement?”

“Stick my…head in a pail of water for half an hour?”

“Smart aleck.  I’m serious.”

“Tried to have some breakfast, but Liz said…”

“I only said you ought to have a drink first!  Breakfast is a great idea.  How about some of that banana stuff Susan made for you last night?  Seemed it was a little easier to swallow, and maybe wouldn’t require you to look at the sky every time you need to swallow…”

Einar did not remember anything about bananas, and that really alarmed him.  What else had he forgotten?  The session with Bill stood out clearly in his memory, but everything after his return to the house had gone all ephimeral and slippery.  Had perhaps some of the things he’d dismissed that morning as nightmare-images perhaps been real, after all?  Not liking the thought, he eyed the women suspiciously, studied the un-bandaged portions of the backs of his hands, arms; hard to tell what was what, but it certainly did appear that someone had been poking around there, and then he saw the unused IV bag hanging from a nearby kitchen cabinet.  

So.  Some of that had been real.  Which realization seemed to bring with it the memory, fuzzy and indistinct, of a conversation, Liz’s voice, low and urgent as she did her best to convince him, his own weary consent…  Hated not knowing the details, not remembering.  Wanted very badly to be outside at that moment, holed up under some rocky ledge or wedged in the center of a cluster of friendly, sheltering little spruces, but here he was, here he would be staying, and now they were saying it was time for breakfast.  He nodded, shook his head in an attempt to clear eyes suddenly gone blurry, sat up a bit straighter.  Why not?  A fellow needs to eat every two or three weeks or so, and it had probably been…oh, he couldn’t say for sure, but had been quite a while since his last real meal.  Better have something while it was available, see if the nutrition thus acquired—provided he could get it down without choking to death, first—might help clear his head some, allow him to remember.