Six Hot Summer Nights. Leslie Kelly

filling. And then, her ice bath was ready.

      She stripped out of her nightgown, tossing it aside. Then she stretched herself across the tub, lifting a leg, poising herself for the drop. It was always best to submerge fast. Inch by inch never worked.

      She took a few deep breaths, the pressure to act building in her mind. There was something that clicked deep inside her when it finally reached a certain level. Pain, pressure or just neuroses, it didn’t matter. It was time.

      She dropped herself into the ice water.

      She gasped, her mind going white in shock. Her entire body seemed to seize up, drawing tight to her spine. Even her breath shrunk to nothing as her diaphragm froze.

      Cold. Mind-numbing cold rolled into her consciousness. As if her whole body were lost to one long scream of agony. But if she waited long enough the scream faded. It grew distant, like a train whistle shrinking into the background. And with it went all sensation. What remained was silence. And blessed numbness. She felt nothing but the lingering impression of pain somewhere so removed from her blanked mind as to be completely unimportant.

      Silent.

      Cold.

       Done.

      CHRISTY BLINKED BACK to awareness, realizing that her teeth were chattering and her fingertips were blue. She didn’t have a clock nearby, but she knew it had probably been ten minutes or less since she submerged. Either way, it was time to get out.

      The lower half of her body was numb—which was the point—so she had to maneuver with weak and trembling arms. At home she had special railings installed so she could drag herself out safely. But this was temporary quarters on base. She could still manage it, but it was harder than she thought. Her legs were heavy and barely responsive and the sides of the tub were slick. She managed to haul herself out, but when her right foot was supposed to take her weight, it didn’t. She half slid, half fell, her arms going every which way and the—

      Ow! Her head impacted hard with the toilet and she cried out. Then she was on the floor, still stunned, one arm pinned beneath her, and a throbbing just behind her eye.

       Ow. Ow. Ow.

      She lay on the floor panting, annoyed that all the work of having a pain-free lower half had just been destroyed by a throbbing headache. And now sensation was returning to her lower body. Hell.

      Then she heard it. Jason calling her name. Had he been banging on the door? She didn’t know.

      “Christy!”

      Definitely Jason. She tried to call back, tell him she was fine. Her voice came out as a croak. And then it was too late.

      The door crashed open and he was there, his face going white as a sheet as he looked at her: naked, bloody, and half sprawled on the floor of the bathroom.

       Shit.