Even in the deepest sleep, Aaron heard his daughter shuddering in the next room. He stood. With each step through the darkness, he pressed his feet hard against the cold floor, as if gravity might give way at any moment. Sometimes he needed the simplest physical sensations to dispel all the disheveled feelings that plagued his dreaming mind, the walls of thought that closed in on him. He'd been dreaming about Cold Storage, a place without sight or sound or memory or death. Guiding himself through the darkness by the sensation of real walls helped bring him back.
He came to Asandra's door. He would never get used to finding her this way. In the fractured moonlight, in the silver projections of leaves in the trees outside her window, he could see her stomach arched. Only the top of her head and her heels touched the mattress. Spittle snaked from the corner of her mouth, traced her ear, and soaked into the pillow. She looked much younger than her seventeen years.
"Asandra." he said, placing a hand on her forehead.
The small touch calmed her body a little, but there was no way to make it stop entirely. All he could do was let her feel his presence until the convulsing faded on its own. His eyes were drawn to the canvas Asandra had painted earlier in the day. It was propped against the wall and laden with thick streaks of paint. It featured the crumbling church that sat on a hill not far away, the brush strokes smeared so thick one could feel the stone wall by running a finger across the painting’s surface. Once Asandra returned to a more restful slumber, Aaron curled up in bed next to her.
“Aaron.” said a male voice.
He turned, but was somehow not startled. There was a seated shadow in the corner. The shadow spoke again.
“Since you weren’t going to bring her in to Cold Storage yourself, they sent me to gently persuade you.” He stood and handed Aaron a sheet thick with words. “Asandra has the Shudders. We will suspend her body to slow the progress of the illness until there is a cure. She won’t feel pain or time passing. One day a year she will be awoken to do whatever she likes. This process can continue for centuries if needed.”
“You can’t wait until morning?” said Aaron.
The next time she saw his face, it would be a year older. The Shudders were growing more numerous. Something had to be done. But now there were more people in Cold Storage than out of it. They had made its management autonomous, so that residents could be awoken on their chosen day, and then returned, without human intervention. What would happen if there was no cure? What would happen if all the healthy people died, leaving nothing but Cold Storage and a world lived in single days stretched over eternity?
Aaron leaned over his daughter’s calm body and gave her a kiss goodbye.
