Rebecca Hurbi--Novella

Author’s Note: I have made changes from page 9 onwards, mostly the bullet taking out scene and Catherine’s dream sequence, so it would probably be good idea to reread that section. I made a few minor changes to pages 1-8, but you could probably get away with not rereading them if you don’t want to. I apologize for not ending with more a cliffhanger but I ran out of steam and figured I should turn in what I have. Thanks for your time!

P.S. Please let me know where you find inconsistencies because I am bound to have missed some things when I went back and changed stuff.

P.S.S. For anyone reading this on the blog, I hope you appreciate all the stupid line breaks I had to put in this thing! :)

Rebecca Hurbi ENGL 471 December 1, 2008

He was bleeding all over the snow when she came across him. Sprawled on his back, his limbs at awkward angles, he looked as though he had collapsed. A good five mile walk from her cabin, lacing through trees and around hills, helping him would be difficult. She stood for a long time and watched him breathe and bleed sluggishly into the snow. The thought drifted to her that she could leave him here.

Her feet began to go numb and she wiggled her toes against the cold. She studied her feet, buried in the snow. She studied him. His clothes were wet and molded to his body. His hair, black with melted snow, curled where it lay against his forehead. If she were inclined to, she would have considered him handsome, even injured as he was.

Deep in the woods of a forgotten corner of Montana, it was a surprise to come across anyone, let alone someone injured as he was. The woman puzzled over his prone figure. A hunting accident most likely, though hunters were rare in this area. Still, the deer and elk population were thick enough around here; it might tempt some hunters, despite its remoteness. Though he wasn’t dressed as though he were out hunting. His clothes weren’t even suitable for hiking. He was dressed as though he were heading out to a bar, or a club, not the wilds of Montana.

She shook her head at his prostrate form. He had no business being out here in the first place, but he especially had no business being out here if he couldn’t even dress for it. Out of curiosity she moved closer and tried to figure out what was wrong with him.

He bled from his shoulder, she could tell that much. To know more she would have to touch him, and pull away his shirt to discover what had brought about the interruption of her daily walk. Eyes closed, he looked dead except for the slow bleeding of his wound and the slow rise and fall of his chest. Clearing her throat as though she had a bad case of bronchitis, she watched his face, but no flicker of eyelashes betrayed any consciousness.

Crouching beside him the woman watched again for any sign of movement. When she felt sure he would not be moving under his own power anytime soon, she reached out, her hand hovering over his face. His breath, visible in the cool afternoon, floated around her fingers and curled through the air. Moving to his injured shoulder she wrinkled her nose against the blood that had pooled there. Pulling her pocketknife from her jeans, she used the blade to lift up his shirt where the blood was densest. A particularly large hole marred the fabric.

Eyes flying to his face she sat back on her heels. Just what sort of person was he, lying in a forgotten stretch of woods with a bullet hole in his shoulder? With no hunting gear in sight?

Before she had time to obsess, she leaned forward and began running her hands over his torso, his hips, and down his legs. She could feel the feverish warmth of his skin through his clothes. If she hadn’t seen him lying in snow she would have thought he was fresh from basking in some hot dessert sun. She was thorough and found one gun nestled in his back, another tucked in his boots. Both were loaded, the safeties on.

Her hands had blood on them. The guns too, where she had touched them. Scooping up clean snow she scrubbed until her hands began to go numb and were only red with cold.

Realizing her breath was coming in sharp pants she made a conscious effort to breathe evenly. A few minutes later her shaking stopped and her pulse no longer pounded in her ears. Only a minor episode this time, and she let out a relieved breath.

Knowing full well he hadn’t shot himself in the shoulder, the woman gave the surrounding area a sharp look. There was no sign of a struggle and only his footprints in the snow. She listened for a sign of anyone else, but could only hear the chickadees calling and the wind in the trees. Though it was possible there was someone else in her woods, she felt certain whoever had shot the man had gone.

The guns were lying where she had dropped them in the snow. She picked them up as though they were something that might bite her, and threw them, one at a time, into the woods. She threw them hard and turned away before she saw where they landed. Better lost and buried in the snow than used against her. Unless she were at point-blank range she couldn’t hit the side of a barn, and she knew it. The man before her, at least for now, was no threat to her.

She stood suddenly and paced a few feet away. This was foolishness. Even if she wanted to help him, how would they get to the cabin? She couldn’t carry him. She might be able to make a rough stretcher out of thick branches, but five miles through the woods dragging a man behind her would be slow going and very physically exhausting. There were several hours until the sun set and, if she could, she wanted to be snug in her cabin with a roaring fire before the cold really set in. She couldn’t go for help. The nearest town was over 100 miles away as the crow flies. The winding dirt road added even more miles onto that, and the small town didn’t even have a hospital. The closest hospital was a good 200 miles away from where she stood now.

Feeling the unwelcome weight of responsibility, the woman paced in the snow, driven to uncharacteristic wasted movement. On her third pass the man shifted, a small cry forcing its way past his lips, but he seemed caught between consciousness and unconsciousness. He sounded very young in that moment, and scared. His vulnerability, his helplessness, made her feel a flare of protectiveness despite herself.

Ignoring his slow rising into consciousness, she used her knife to cut off strips from his shirt and tied her makeshift bandage onto his shoulder. When she was certain it was tight enough, she rocked back onto her heels again. Now to get him up. As far as she could tell, it was only his shoulder that was injured. She couldn’t find any other lacerations or broken bones. Which meant there was nothing wrong with his legs and he could damned well walk.

Pausing in a moment of uncertainty, she considered that he may have some sort of neck or spinal injury, in which case moving him could cause further injury. She considered her options for a few moments and decided to risk it.

Patting his cheek with one hand she said, “You need to wake up now.”

He was already coming around, so it only to a few more increasingly harder pats until his blue eyes were blinking fuzzily at her.

“You need to stand up now.” Before he had time to realize how much he was hurting, she grabbed him under his good shoulder and hauled him to his feet. As out of it as he was, he still tried automatically to help her, though he almost toppled over as soon as she had him vertical. The sudden pain of standing brought him mercilessly back to full awareness. His breath hissed out of him, and she could almost see the force of will it took him to keep his pain silent. His good arm was slung over her shoulder and he was leaning most of his weight against her.

Watching his face she saw the minute changes as he shifted from bleary confusion to alertness. She felt his body tense where it was pressed against hers. He turned his head and stared at her with wary blue eyes.

“Who are you?”

Narrowing her own eyes she noted that he seemed to know where he was and what had happened to him.

“I’m the one helping you,” she said, actually feeling a little indignant when faced with his distrustful stare. Sure she had waffled a bit, but she was helping him. It should count for something.

“Thanks for the help. I’ll handle it from here.”

To her complete surprise, he straightened and tried to pull away from her. He actually made it a few steps before she moved from where she stood rooted and followed at his side, waiting to catch him when his strength gave out.

“What do you mean, you can handle it from here? You’ve been shot, in case you haven’t noticed.” The sarcasm came easily. She couldn’t remember the last time she had talked to someone, but some habits never really went away.

“It’s not that bad,” he gasped and swayed a little. She moved closer to his side but didn’t touch him. “Bullet barely nicked me. Camp’s not far away. No need to trouble yourself.”

Staring at him in disbelief, conflicted between relief and her own stubborn nature, she wondered if he really did have some sort of brain damage. For one, the bullet had most definitely done more than nicked him. She was fairly certain it was lodged in his shoulder.

“And how far away is your camp?”

“Ten miles.” He made it a few more slow feet without her help.

“You won’t be able to make it that far.” She left the idiot unspoken, though implied by her tone.

“Please, leave me alone. I don’t want or need your help,” he clipped off his words between breaths.

She stopped and crossed her arms. He ignored her and kept moving, slow shuffle step after slow shuffle step, distracted by the pain in his shoulder and no doubt weakened by blood loss.

Fine then. She stood there until his back disappeared into the trees.

~~**~~

She followed him, after a few minutes of internal debate. The temptation to walk away and forget him was a strong one, but she knew he needed someone to help him whether he recognized it or not. He needed help and she was the only one here.

Liam was actually headed in the general direction of her cabin; it was no hardship for her to trail him when she was going that direction anyway. He impressed her by making it nearly two miles unaided, most of the last mile on sheer will alone.

When his legs finally gave out she caught up to him where he panted in the snow, crushing some unfortunate saplings. His fall had jostled his shoulder and the wound began to bleed again through the cloth. She crouched beside him and applied pressure to her thoroughly ruined shirt, ignoring his hiss of pain.

“Told you to leave,” he gasped out.

Feeling the inane urge to stomp her foot and insist he wasn’t the boss of her; she put more of her weight into slowing his bleeding instead. The man took a deep breath and released it through clenched teeth.

“You’ll regret helping me,” he whispered, almost under his breath.

Feeling that anything she might say in response to that comment would be too melodramatic, she said instead, “My cabin is not far from here. I will fix you up there and then you may go wherever you please.”

He shook his head but gave up trying to convince her not to involve herself.

Waiting for his breath to even out, she lifted her hands from his bandage to check the flow of blood. Satisfied that it had slowed, she applied pressure once more to continue helping it along.

Lifting her head from inspecting the bandage, the man caught her eye. “What’s your name anyway?” He was still breathing unevenly, but the rest, however brief and cold, had helped.

Wanting to shift away from him, but needing to maintain pressure on his wound, she settled for shifting her weight. Pausing a moment too long, the woman glanced into the trees and then back at him, answering, “Catherine.”

He waited, but she fell back into silence. “I’m Liam.”

Catherine nodded to acknowledge she had heard him. “If you have enough breath to talk, we can get going. It’s going to be dark before long and I would rather spend the night in my cabin than in the woods.”

“A cabin? You’re not out camping or something?”

Stifling a flare of irritation, Catherine said curtly, “I live here.”

Liam’s eyebrows twitched. “You live out here? You’re fifty miles from the nearest house, let alone town!”

“Yes, I am aware of that.” Seeing that he was about to open his mouth and ask more questions, she cut him off. “We need to get going now. It’s going to drop at least ten degrees once the sun sets.” Though he still, even with all the time he had spent in the snow, showed no signs of hypothermia, or even as though he felt a slight chill.

“Right.” With a groan Liam pulled himself upright and she helped him the rest of the way to his feet. Liam swayed, but was able to steady himself by leaning against Catherine.

“Next time—” he ground out as they began walking. “Next time I go for a walk in the woods I want to do it without a crater in my shoulder and a few gallons worth of blood loss.”

Crunching through the snow beside him, his good arm over her shoulders, Catherine snorted. “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy.”

He paused, forcing them to a stop, and looked down at her. “So there is some personality in there.”

Catching herself, Catherine got them moving again. “No,” she answered him.

~~**~~

Catherine sat Liam on her bed and he slumped as much as he could without causing more pain. He looked around him but Catherine couldn’t be sure how much he was taking in. All talking had stopped after the first mile. The last two had been agonizing and were dealt with in silence. Catherine felt a huge wave of relief, thankful to be back home.

Coaxing the banked coals in her woodstove back to flame, she tried to see the cabin as Liam might.

She had come across the cabin three years ago. As much a part of the forest as the trees were, it was possible to pass within twenty yards and never know there was a dwelling so near. Catherine sometimes liked to imagine that the cabin had grown in the forest like one of the trees. It was pure chance that Catherine had come upon it. A forgotten cabin in a forgotten nook of the world.

It had been someone’s home, or at least someone’s getaway. It had been at least ten years though, since someone had used it last. Catherine had shooed out the rodent population, repaired the damage done by animals and weather, and made the small cabin hers.

The twin mattress she had wrestled through the woods on a small trailer attached to her four-wheeler lay against the back wall. There was a table and some counters built into the walls, made from the same logs that the cabin had been built with. The woodstove was opposite the table and between it and her bed, Catherine’s one real indulgence: a makeshift bookcase she had constructed herself, the shelves brimming with worn paperbacks.

Catherine dropped onto her lone chair, a smoothed stump that stayed tucked under the table when not in use. Every muscle ached and, not for the first time, she longed for running water. Most modern amenities she could do without, but nothing could quite replace a hot bath at the end of a long day. She allowed herself a wistful sigh before pushing herself to her feet.

She filled a pot with some of her drinking water and set it on the stove to heat, knowing she was going to need it later.

Going over to where Liam sat on her bed, Catherine knelt down and pulled her first aid kit out from under the bed. She called it a first aid kit, but really it was a fully stocked trauma kit she had bought when she first came out here. It was actually designed to be used by policemen and EMT’s and it hadn’t been cheap, but she had known it would be worth the money. She was very aware, especially right now, how far away the nearest hospital was.

The trauma kit was the size of a large purse and held a multitude of supplies. Catherine scanned through the inventory list and began to pull out the things she though she was going to need. Sterile dressings, gauze, blood stopper, antibiotic ointment, pvp iodine, hand sanitizer, ibuprofen, the instrument kit containing two different types of scissors and forceps, and a pair of rubber gloves.

Liam began to look unhappier with every item she pulled out and set on the bed. She ignored him until she had everything she thought she’d need.

“Here,” She handed him four ibuprofen pills and rose to get him a cup of water, but he waved her off and swallowed the pills with a grimace.

Taking a breath, Catherine used her pocketknife to cut away the makeshift bandage, rather than attempt to untie it and jar his shoulder anymore.

Catherine grimaced. His shoulder was a bloody mess. Liam looked down at himself and appeared disgusted. “No wonder it hurts so bad.”

Shaking her head Catherine began to cut his shirt off him, ignoring his protests.

“What are you doing? I’m not going to have anything to wear!”

“Your shirt is ruined anyway, and I would rather not jostle your shoulder and get it bleeding again, if it’s all right with you. Now hold still or I’ll cut you.”

“On accident or on purpose?”

Catherine had to pause and take several breaths. She used her irritation at Liam to stave off the shaky feeling she was starting to get as she her hands got bloody from handling his shirt.

“You ready?” Catherine kept her voice steady and tried not to think of how bloody this was going to be.

“I think I would rather have bleed to death in the snow.” He was eyeing the tweezers and the latex gloves.

“You survived being shot, you’ll most likely survive this.” Catherine squashed her growing sympathy for theadditional pain he was about to go through, not wanting it and knowing it wouldn’t help right now. “I don’t think it’s very deep. I’ll have it out before you know it.”

“Somehow I doubt that. But you’re probably right on how deep it is.” Liam fixated on the wall behind her, not looking at either his shoulder or the bed.

“You’re lucky the shooter only had a handgun and wasn’t close enough to do real damage. If he’d had a shotgun, or could aim a little better, you’d be dead.”

Liam’s gaze darted from the wall to her. “How do you know so much about guns?”

She smiled at him. “Why were you being shot at?”

His lips pressed together. “Hunting accident.”

Catherine’s eyebrows shot up. “You hunt with .22’s? How odd. Must not be very good friends either, to leave you for dead.”

Liam’s voice was cool, “I never said we were good hunters.”

“Apparently not.”

Catherine observed the tense way he was holding himself and decided they’d put off the inevitable long enough.

“Come on, might as well get this over with.”

Liam nodded and clenched his jaw as she snapped on the latex gloves and began cleaning the area around the wound. When Catherine was satisfied it was clean enough, she opened the sterile plastic bag that contained what the inventory list had called splinter forceps.

Catherine took a deep breath and braced herself. “This is going to be the unpleasant part,” she warned him.

“Get it over with,” he ground out.

Nodding once, Catherine set about prying the bullet from his the upper part of Liam’s shoulder. Blood welled up almost instantly, and Catherine had to feel her way to the bullet.

Liam kept up a steady stream of expletives he forced out through clenched teeth. His knuckles where white where he held on to the edge of the mattress.

“Almost there, almost there,” Catherine bit her lip in concentration, then cried out in triumph as she pulled the bullet free.

Liam sagged, his eyes closing. Setting down the forceps and bullet, Catherine grabbed him by his good shoulder and jostled him. “Come on Liam, I still need to clean and bandage your shoulder. Don’t pass out on me yet.”

Opening his eyes, Liam looked like he wanted to glare at her but couldn’t find enough energy to do so. “Good boy.”

She knew if he were in the hospital he would be getting stitches to close the wound, but she had to make do with butterfly bandages. She applied the blood stopper and a thick layer of antibiotic cream before bandaging his shoulder as best she could.

Clearing the bed off, she had him lay down and he was either asleep or passed out within minutes. Catherine took all the bloody bandages she had used to clean the wound and threw them in a trash bag that she would burn later, stripping off the bloody gloves and tossing them in the trash bag as well. Glancing around for anything she had missed, Catherine realized she had forgotten his blood-covered shirt on the floor. She stuffed that into the bag as well and took the whole thing outside.

Catching sight of her hands she shuddered all over and ran outside. She made it about ten feet from the door of the cabin before she bent over and emptied the entire contents of her stomach into the snow.

When she was done, she scrubbed her hands clean with snow for the third time that day. Remembering the hand sanitizer, Catherine ran back to the cabin and grabbed it, carrying it outside. She rinsed her mouth out with snow and spat it out, then cleaned her hands using the sanitizer. She ignored the smell that made her stomach churn, and the burning sting as the alcohol in it found a small cut she had on her palm.

Trembling now with the after effects of having to dig a bullet from someone’s shoulder, and the blood...the blood everywhere...Catherine breathed as she had been taught, as slow in and out. As she calmed down she realized the sun had almost completely set and she was freezing.

Going back inside to her warm cabin, she found Liam as she had left him, still unconscious or asleep, though it was beginning to look more and more like a deep sleep.

Catherine picked up the forceps and the bullet, careful not to get any more blood on her hands, and dumped them into the heated water, along with some soap. She let them cook for a while before fishing them out with a large spoon.

Catherine added more wood to the fire. She cleaned the cabin, putting everything back in the first aid kitand tucking it under the bed. She dumped the bloody water out in the woods, away from her cabin where she wouldn’t see it, though she did, perversely, keep the bullet. It was clean of blood and it gleamed in the moonlight that filtered through the trees. Catherine tucked it in the pocket of her jeans.

When the pot was clean she put it back in its place on the shelf. Pulling a blanket from the foot of her bed, she tucked it around Liam, deciding she’d done all she could for him, for now.

Despite everything that had happened today, it was the warmth that spread though her as she watched him sleep that surprised her the most.

Backing away from him as though he had threatened her, Catherine rubbed her face with her palms, smelled the alcohol on them and lowered them instantly.

“Christ.” Weariness dropped her onto the stump beside her bed. As she watched him she whispered, “I should have left you.”

The dreams that night were unwelcome, but expected.

~~**~~

The bed of the truck is warm against her side. It had been a sunny day; she had stared into the blue sky when she walked to and from her classes just a few hours earlier. She thinks of her textbooks and wonders if they are still where she dropped them on the sidewalk. She wonders if they will be found or if someone will take them and not think beyond their apparent luck. The rumble of the truck’s engine slows and she has to brace herself as the truck turns. Another turn and then the truck is stopping and all she can think about is how perfect the sky had looked.

Cool metal warming against her skin, biting into her wrists. The knot in her stomach tightens and rises to her throat, makes it hard to gasp out a plea. He smiles at her, a lopsided smile. One of his teeth is crooked, crossing over another. She has never seen cold brown eyes before, but the way he looks at her grows icicles inside. They stab in soft places and the coldness spreads.

There is gravel digging into her side, but she does not feel it. There is wind against her skin and it is quiet. Her hands are free and rest within her line of sight, motionless. The memory of metal is on her skin, circling her wrists, hurting in a distant way. She can hear a cricket, and farther away, an owl hoots into the fading night. She can see her hands. There is a clump of dandelions. She sees the green and the yellow. She sees the green and the yellow and the red, red, red of her hands.

~~**~~

Catherine woke up with tears on her cheeks and a sob rising in her throat. She strangled it ruthlessly, pressing her hands against her chest. When she could force herself to uncurl from the fetal position, she wiped her eyes on one of her blankets and practiced breathing.

Her heartbeat slowing, Catherine watched Liam sleep. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His face, relaxed and unlined, showed no sign of pain. He looked only a few years older than her, and Catherine wondered, again, what he was doing so far from where he belonged.

Catherine’s eyes were drawn to one of Liam’s hands resting on his stomach. For a moment, a slow heartbeat, she sees someone else’s hand. The skin changes from warm honey to pallid white. She sees the distinctive scar running across the back of his hand and the way his nails are so carefully even. She can almost hear the coughing rumble of the engine.

Catherine shook herself and rose from the bed of blankets. She had slept fully dressed, and only had to pull on her hiking boots and a warm coat before she opened the door and plunged outside.

The cold was a shock after the warmth of her blanket cocoon and Catherine relished her body’s instant attention to the present. Pulling a pair of gloves and a hat out of her pocket, she put them on and felt the muscles in her shoulders unknot a little.

Heading in the opposite direction of where she found Liam, Catherine set a ground-eating pace. There was just light enough to see where she was going, though for the first half hour at least, Catherine had no eyes for the woods around her. All her attention focused on the burn and stretch of the muscles in her legs and how the chilly air made her lungs ache.

Her body warmed and loosened and Catherine began to take more notice of her surroundings. Without realizing it, she had headed to one of her favorite places: a tree that had once been three separate saplings but they had grown together over time. Catherine had never seen anything quite like it and could spend a long time watching the spiral of the trees and trying to trace one individual tree from its base to the highest leaf. She found that the attempt quieted something inside of her.

Leaning against her tree she could feel the cold of the trunk through her coat. She paused for just a few minutes before moving on. She had no patience for sitting today; she felt spurred on by the restlessness coiling low in her belly.

Catherine lost her steady pace and walked faster, the trees growing into a blur around her. Michael’s face teased along the edge of her mind. The look on his face when he saw her lying in that hospital bed haunted her. She had never seen him look at her with pity before, never like that, the pity and the shame. He had taken her hand in his, careful to apply very little pressure, and she could not recall a time when she had felt more distant from him.

~~**~~

“Everything’s going to be ok,” his voice is as soft as his touch. He has never, for as long as she has known him, treated her like glass the way he is now. Michael always treats her like someone who can take all he can dish out and more, but this...softness is not like him. She hates it.

Anger brings tears to her eyes and he misinterprets it. His callused fingers stroke her hair, careful to avoid the bruising on her face, careful not to touch her too hard.

“I love you and we’re going to get through this,” his voice is soothing but she knows him too well. She can see the uncertainty in his tight lips, in the creases of his eyes. “We’re going to—everything’s going to be ok.”

Every time he repeats it the lines around his eyes deepen. To her horror she sees tears begin to fill his eyes and it’s too much. She cannot handle his weakness anymore than he can handle hers.

Her voice is rough and painful but she forces a quiet whisper, “I’m really tired, I’m just going to sleep for a while, ok? I don’t want you to stay here and be bored. Could you let my family know and maybe keep them company for a little while?”

She would say anything for him to leave, for her family to not come through that door again. Anything to be left alone.

He hesitates but must see something in her face because he nods and pats her hand. “Sure baby, anything you need. I’ll let you rest and come by tomorrow.”

Catherine stretches her lips upward in an attempt to smile and whispers, “Thanks Michael.” Turning her head away from him she closes her eyes and relaxes her limbs as though she were going to fall asleep before he even leaves the room.

The room is silent but for the low hum of machines. After a few moments she hears his footsteps recede and the quiet thunk of the door as he eases it shut behind him.

Catherine opens her eyes and stares at the wall. She stares until her eyes burn, but nothing can erase that look on his face.

~~**~~

Pain bloomed in her hand when she slammed her fist against a nearby tree, pulling her back.

Catherine leaned against the tree, resting her aching head against cool bark. The walks were not helping today. She hated these days. She knew no amount of walking today would ease the familiar restlessness, the flow of memories. Pushing off from the tree, Catherine turned back and headed for the cabin.

The sun was up when she finally reached the cabin door and so was Liam. She opened the door to find him shirtless, but wrapped in the quilt from her bed, sitting on her stump stool and staring at the wood stove.

He glanced at her rosy cheeks and tousled hair but kept any comments about her appearance or where she had gone to himself. Pointing at the woodstove he announced, unnecessarily since she could feel the coolness of the cabin herself, “The fire’s out.”

Sighing, Catherine pulled out her tinder box and began to get another fire going. She glanced over at him.

“You probably shouldn’t be up you know. I’m pretty sure your body could use a break.”

“Nonsense,” he fiddled with the quilt and scrutinized the cabin. “You miss all the excitement when you sleep all day.”

Catherine snorted. “I’m not sure what you think you’re going to miss, but I do know you’re going to get in the way. Go back to bed.”

Liam ignored her sharp tone and smiled instead, not moving from his perch.

Catherine was able to coax a fire in the wood stove and turned her attention more firmly onto Liam. She realized he was swaying a little where he sat and he looked flush. Rising from where she had crouched in front of the stove, she pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. He beamed placidly at her and chuckled a little when she snatched her hand back, cursing.

“Jesus, you feel like you’re literally burning up. Time to get back to bed.”

He leaned against her and she could feel the shivers running through his body. She felt the feverish humor drain out of him.

“Do you think we are punished in this life for the bad things we did in our past lives?” He asked her without warning, suddenly serious.

Surprised, Catherine met his eyes, only to find Liam staring at the floor. A flippant answer was on the edge of her lips when he looked up. There was something in his face that was familiar. A pain that could be seen in the way he held his head, the cast of his eyes. Catherine paused and considered what he had said.

Keeping a hand on his arm to steady his swaying, she said slowly, searching his face, “I don’t know if I believe in past lives. But if they do exist...if we all have lived many lifetimes, the chances are we have all done horrible things. To ourselves and to each other. Meaning we all deserve the bad things that happen in our lives.” Her voice quieted but she maintained eye contact. “I try to believe we don’t deserve the bad things that happen to us. I try very hard. I like to think we deserve happiness more than pain.”

His voice rough, Liam asked, “Why?”

“Why?” Catherine wanted to look away from his eyes. There was an intentness there that she hadn’t earned.

They hadn’t known each other long enough for him to be looking at her like that. “Because... because each life is a fresh start. A second chance. We shouldn’t have to keep paying for our past over and over again.”

Liam shivered hard enough to rattle his teeth but his expression eased.

Catherine hauled him to his feet. “Enough philosophy, you need to go to bed.”

“Yes, Mom,” his good humor restored he stumbled the few feet to her bed and she eased him down, careful not to jostle his shoulder. His short expedition upright had carved lines of pain and exhaustion into his face and into the lines of his body. As soon as he was horizontal Liam’s eyelids began to sink shut.

“Do you think we pay for the sins of our past?” Catherine asked, her hand resting near his on the bed.

Liam gave a short bark of laughter and closed his eyes. “Over and over again.”

Catherine watched him fall asleep, smoothing the wrinkles in the blanket where her hand rested. She smoothed them for a long time after his breath deepened and evened into sleep.

~~**~~

The smell of the vegetable beef stew cooking woke Liam. Catherine glanced over at him when his jaw cracked from yawning. He was careful, she noted, not to stretch. She imagined his shoulder would object to any movement.

“You can cook?” Liam asked as he eased himself upright, a quiet grunt and the lines in his face betraying the pain he was in.

Catherine snorted and pointed to the empty soup cans on the counter. “Hardly. My cooking isn’t so great and it doesn’t keep well, especially during the summer. I eat a lot of canned food.”

Moving from the woodstove where the soup was heating and she’d been stirring, Catherine closed the short distance to Liam and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. Disturbed by the heat emanating from him,

Catherine frowned to herself.

“How do you feel?” Catherine touched his cheek and then his neck with her hand, half hoping only his forehead was so warm.

He laughed, shallowly to avoid jarring his shoulder. “Hurts like a son of a bitch. And I’m freezing.”

The winter days were short and she had already lit the oil lamps in the cabin in order to see. She felt him start to shiver, his chest bare in the soft glow of the lamps.

Catherine pulled away and grabbed a bowl from one of her shelves, filling it with soup.

“Try and eat something. You skipped breakfast and you’ll heal faster with a full stomach.”

He smiled at the certainty in her voice, but accepted the bowl full of soup that she offered him, balancing it in his lap. As soon as she handed him a spoon he used his good arm and began to steadily spoon the warm broth into his mouth.

Catherine grabbed a bowl of the soup for herself and perched on the stump stool. Her spoon poised over her bowl, she paused, feeling a moment of oddness. She realized, suddenly, how long it had been since she had sat down with someone and eaten a meal, even a meal as simple as this one. The last meal she could remember sharing with someone else was the dinner with her family the night before she had left. Her mom had made her favorite, fettuccini alfredo with chicken, in an attempt to cheer her up. For a moment Catherine tasted the warm chicken and smooth sauce before shying away from the memory.

She looked up at Liam, intent on his soup, and found her distraction.

“What were you doing in the woods?”

His spoon hesitated on its way to his mouth, but that was the only sign he gave that she had surprised him.

Without looking up at her, Liam replied, “I told you, I was camping with friends. We decided to do a little hunting and they accidentally shot me.” He looked up and smiled. “Good thing you came along to rescue me.”

Catherine studied him for a moment. “Are you always such a bad liar?”

Liam finished the last of his soup, his expression smoothing away. He looked at her with steady eyes and said, “No. Usually I lie quite well. I’ve just gotten tired of it I think. It doesn’t come as easily as it used to.”

Setting her half empty bowl on the counter, Catherine rose and took his empty bowl and set it next to hers to be cleaned later. She sat back on the stool and rested her elbow on her knee, her chin on her hand. “I found you miles and miles away from the farthest place I’ve come across hunter or campers. You’re dressed in nice clothes, not the type you’d wear anywhere but to a nice bar or club. You were shot, but not with one of your guns unless you reloaded the gun with another bullet after you ‘shot yourself’. And carrying around two handguns you sure as hell aren’t out here hunting anything that runs on four legs.”

They stared at each other for a long minute. “You’re right,” Liam said at last. “It was a bad lie.” With that he laid back down, pulling the blankets up to his neck, and turned his head towards the wall, closing his eyes.

Catherine tapped her fingers against her lips. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a small cabin. You’re not going to be able to avoid me for long. But feel free to take some time to think up another story to tell me. Try and make it more believable though.”

Liam breathed steadily at her, to all appearances already fast asleep. Catherine shook her head before scooping up her bowl and finishing her soup.

~~**~~

It wasn’t until Catherine went out to use the outhouse for the night and to get firewood that she smelled the snow on the air. Catherine paused, inhaling, and looked up. It was too dark to make out any clouds, but it was what she couldn’t see that worried her; no stars and no moon.

Catherine grabbed the armful of firewood, enough to last the night and into the morning, from the large stack she had against the long side of the cabin. After dumping the wood inside by the stove she went back out and brought in two more armfuls.

The clattering woke up Liam, who had fallen asleep not too long after Catherine had finished eating. He stared at her blearily but didn’t ask any questions.

Stomping her feet by the door Catherine knocked off the snow that had accumulated on her boots. “How are you feeling?” She felt the concern, that had been prodding her since she had felt his fever, jab harder.

“C-c-cold.” She could hear his teeth chatter and she said a few words that would have earned her a smack from her mother. Casting a worried look out her lone window at the clouds she couldn’t see but knew were there, Catherine ducked outside and grabbed another armful.

When she came back inside she added more wood to the stove and opened the vents more than usual, allowing the fire to burn hotter. She put another couple cans of soup in the pot to heat up, chicken noodle this time, hoping it would be easy on his system and get some liquid in him at the same time.

Catherine chucked off her boots in the front of the cabin and slung her coat on the hook by the door. Liam had closed his eyes and lay on her bed shivering miserably.

“I’ve turned the stove up and I’ll put more blankets on you in a minute, I just want to see how your shoulder is doing first.”

Liam opened his eyes to glance at her, then closed them again, too far gone in pain and fever to care what she did at this point.

Catherine hesitated, then perched on the side of the bed, carefully lifting the blankets from his wounded shoulder. She peeled the bandage away from the wound, earning a hiss of pain from Liam, and inspected the wound. The area was hot to the touch, though not much more than the rest of him. It had begun to heal, Catherine noted with some relief.

Snagging the antibiotic cream she had left near the bed, Catherine smeared a liberal amount over the stitches. She dug the first aid kit out from under the bed and felt grateful that it at least had bandages she could use. A few minutes later Liam sported a new bandage and Catherine had put everything away. Liam was breathing easier now that the bandage changing was over, and Catherine tucked the blankets around him, pulling the extra blankets she kept folded next to the first aid kit out from under the bed and settling those over him as well.

It was as she watched him sleep under all her blankets that she realized she didn’t have any blankets to sleep with, not even one to put over the splintery wood floor.