A Visitor to the Future - 0 - Death's Door

After everything I'd been through, the news that there was nothing more to be done hadn't really affected me too much. I had no tears left. I felt dried-out, like a piece of fruit left out in the scorching sun, and just as useful. My hair was shaved short, my limbs thin and emaciated from both my illness and too many months in hospital beds. I had more wires and tubes sticking out of me than I could count.

And the fog. I wasn't even at my sharpest. I drifted in and out of sleep sometimes, and I'd jerk awake from shock in the middle of the night. One night, I rolled onto my side, a gargantuan effort, and stared out of the hospital window, seeing nothing but darkness due to the light pollution in the city. I couldn't even see the stars. I lay there as the sun came up slowly, a sort of creeping numbness circling in as I realized that it may be one of the last sunrises I ever saw. I suddenly felt far too young for what was coming. They'd said that my age would be a strength - that anyone like me, only in my mid-twenties, had a really good chance of beating my illness. But in the end, that chance hadn't been enough.

There was a visitor that morning. Someone I'd seen around the hospital from time to time, but not anyone who'd worked on me. I liked him immediately - when Dr. Grant talked he treated me no differently from anyone else - it really annoyed me when visitors spoke with that pitying voice, like I was something broken. My eyesight wasn't that good any more, constantly blurry, even with glasses. Some side-effect of the medication I was on. It made him look a little ghost-like, only his sharp nose and brown eyes fully visible in the center of my vision.

"What I'm offering isn't necessarily a solution," he had said, "There's a chance it won't work. And even if it does, you'll be saying goodbye to everyone you know. But there's a payment for being part of the trial. Half to be paid to your family now, and half to be given to you - if you wake up, as ridiculous as it seems. And I don't use if lightly - I developed this technology, I believe in it, but I cannot in good faith tell you it will definitely work. This has never been done before, and though the technology to freeze you exists, the technology to recover you does not. Do you understand what I'm asking?"

The words rolled off my tongue with all the finesse of a boulder rolling off a bridge. I had no energy to speak delicately, the words coming out haltingly, "You'll freeze me. For a thousand years. And pay me for it. A medical trial," I said, and then coughed, "Not sure if I'll survive it".

He nodded, glad I had understood, "The only reason I'm even able to make this offer is because you already wanted to donate your body to science. We'd just be expediting the process a little. I... I wouldn't suggest this if my colleagues thought there was any other option for you. The simple fact is that we need a long-term subject who is very close to death from a legal perspective. A thousand years is being chosen for the same reason - you're not expected to survive it. As far as the courts are concerned, you will be dead the moment you are frozen."

I rasped a long breath. "How much?" I asked.

Dr. Grant nodded, "Close to half a million euros," he said, "Half for your family now, half for you when you wake up, with interest."

I shook my head, oxygen tube pushing against the insides of my nose as I did, "More for family now," I said, "Less for... me."

"I'll see what I can do," said Dr. Grant, "But I will also need to get your family's consent for the trial. You may have to convince them."

"Will it help... your research?" I asked, my last question.

"Greatly. You don't know how much," he said, "This could completely change the medical world. A long-term subject will allow us to study and improve the freezing process - and not only us, but also generations of researchers to follow after."

I looked up at the ceiling, at the illuminated panels that dotted the ceiling in a checkerboard pattern. There was nothing else for me to do here. In a way, I'd made peace with my situation. This was a way for something - anything - good to come out of it.

"I'll do it," I said.

It took precious days to talk my family around. In my waking moments, I had nothing to do but think of what I would say. By the time they came to visit, I had my argument well-crafted. Ultimately, I told them that I wanted to leave them something when I was gone - some way of me taking care of them. The money was a way to do that - I had little else to give them. My Mum told me that I'd gotten it all wrong, that I didn't need to do it - that she just wanted as much time with me as possible. In her shoes, I may have said the same. It was my sister that convinced her in the end, told her that I didn't have a choice about what was coming, but I did have a choice about how I faced it, and that if this was what I wanted to do, they should let me do it. I smiled and nodded as my sister hugged my Mum - she'd always known me so well. It was good that I could count on her, even now.

The goodbye was the most difficult part. It had been the hardest thing I'd ever done - more difficult than the failed treatments, the excruciating pain of surgical recovery - everything. But I'd been adamant that my family shouldn't be around for the end. My mum had cried, and my sister had given me the longest hug in existence. But in the end, they had left the room, as I'd wished, and Dr. Grant had gone about his work with his swarm of medical assistants.

"There's just one final form, here," said Dr. Grant, holding a clipboard up for me. His eyes seemed puffy and red. I lifted the pen, an effort worthy of a medal, and signed one last time.

Dr. Grant looked down at me in the bed, one assistant ready to administer the sedative needed to begin.

"Thank you for doing this," he said, "And I'll hopefully see you on the other side."

"No," I said, and closed my eyes, "Thank you." I thought of my family, who would soon be receiving nearly half a million euros. But even as I tried to hold onto that thought, my largest comfort, another overrode it. I thought of them being there for each other, for support. Never mind the money, they'd be alright. In that final moment, I was somehow certain of it.

The hospital lights faded from behind my closed eyelids, the beeps and whirrs of the hospital machinery dying away, and my thoughts tumbled away into darkness and nothingness.


Previous | Discuss on reddit | Next

Subscribe to Chronohawk's Writings

Don’t miss out on the latest issues. Sign up now to get access to the library of members-only issues.
jamie@example.com
Subscribe