Snowstorm

Snowstorm
Part Two

I looked up to see concern etched across his features. "I have to put this away," he said, when a look of panic must have flashed across my face, "I'll return. I promise."

As I waited for him to come back, I saw, again, in my mind's eye, all that had transpired over the past few hours. The thought that I would never again speak to Katie; my pretty, sometimes goofy, kind-hearted little sister...nor share dirty jokes with her husband, Tom, who had been like a brother to me...smashed into me all at once and I couldn't stop the tears from leaking. It hurt so bad. So horribly, horribly bad.

I hadn't heard him re-enter the room, my eyes were squeezed tight and I sobbing silently. I felt him settle down in the chair he'd been occupying earlier. I heard the scrape of wood against wood as he pulled it nearer. The touch of his hand upon my own startled me and I opened my eyes, turned my face towards him, blinked at him through a watery haze of tears.

"It's all my fault..." I said, and burst into a fresh round of hiccupping sobs, feeling more than foolish for weeping so openly with someone who didn't even know me! "If only...if only I'd insisted on the seat belts... they'd still be...Oh, god..."

"Shhh,” I was aware of his hand stroking my own, comfortingly, soothingly, "It's not your fault...whatever it is...just try to rest now...try to get some sleep..."

"I can't!" I cried, sniffling and glaring at the ceiling now, "Every time I close my eyes...I can see...I can their faces..."

"If it would help," he said, and I knew he was sincerely trying to aide me, "You can talk to me about what happened...You were in some kind of an accident, weren't you?"

"Yeah..." I sniffed again, swiping my free hand across my nose, "I was with my sister...Katie... and her husband Tom...Oh!" I exclaimed, suddenly realizing that I hadn't even introduced myself, "I'm sorry...I...I'm Elizabeth...Elizabeth Michalson. But, people normally just call me Beth."

"Alan," he said, as if I didn't know, "Alan Rickman... Are you the only...survivor, Beth...could they have…Are you quite certain...?"

"Are you asking if I knew they were dead, Mr. Rickman?" I didn't know if I should be formal with him, or not. I saw him cringe slightly at my words and he said, "Please. Just call me Alan. I don't mean to imply that you don't know what you saw...but, you could have been in shock..."

"They were dead, Alan," I said, dully. His hand had never left mine during this exchange, "They were cold...and dead...and..." I choked and began to cry again, not able to help it.

"What am I going to tell my family....what am I going to say to them...?" I cried, not expecting a reply, "They'll all say it's my fault...I'm to blame...why wasn't it me who was killed...not them...not them...Oh, god...Katie...Katie...Katie..." I cried out my sister's name, over and over. A mantra, a curse, a prayer... anything. As if by saying her name I could keep her from being truly dead.

As I wept, screamed and sobbed, he just sat near me, in silence, touching my hand. I wasn't aware of the exact moment I turned my hand towards him and entwined my fingers with his own, but I held onto him as if he could keep everything in one piece. I felt overwhelmed that his man, a perfect stranger to me if truth were told, could display such sincere concern for me.

I must have slept, for the next thing I knew the sun was streaming in through the window. I could also see the snow hadn't let up. If anything, it seemed to be falling harder. I looked, and saw that my host had fallen asleep in the chair, a blanket pulled up around his shoulders, his head lolling to the side against the chair, one arm dangling, the other curled beneath his chin.

He looked so peaceful as he slept, I noticed. My vision was still a bit blurry, but I assumed that was due to the bump on my head. It must have been early. I felt chilled and drew the blankets upwards, shivering against the cold as I curled myself onto my side and closed my eyes...cringing at the images which sprang to life behind my lids. I wondered when, if ever, I'd be able to close my eyes and not see the mangled death mask faces of my sister and Tom?

~*~*~

I stirred when he brought me something to eat. Though my stomach was in knots and my throat felt too constricted to swallow, I forced myself to eat the breakfast of toast and jam, at least it was strawberry, I was partial to strawberry, and orange juice, chewing and swallowing with robotic monotony. "Beth," he began, as I took another slow bit of toast, chewed, swallowed, "The snow hasn't let up...I'm afraid we're pretty much stuck here for the time being..."

"Oh," I said, dully, nothing really mattered anyway...anymore...did it? "Really? For how long? Do you know?" Not that I cared. I set down the crust of the toast and leaned back against the pillow, turning my face to the wall. I felt him remove the tray and sigh.

"For a few days, at the very least... Beth...I'm sorry...I wish there was something more I could..." I didn't let him finish, my body shook with silent sobs and I heard his footsteps as he retreated from the room, leaving me to my misery and grief. I knew that it would get much worse before it got better. I knew and, in my heart of hearts, wished I could spare him, he who had been so kind to me, the first row seat he was going to occupy to my hurt, anger and overwhelming sorrow.

I felt the need to use the bathroom soon afterwards and pushed the blankets down from my body. I realized I was still dressed in my shorts and tee shirt. My feet weren't bare however. I felt a sudden pang of gratefulness at the pair of loose-fitting men's white socks dangling from my feet. "I didn't want you to catch anything," he said, from the doorway, as I glanced up from my feet, swinging from the edge of the bed near the floor, "I know they don't fit...but, it was the best I could do..."

"It's fine," I said, touched by this small gesture, "Really... Thank you...Uh...could you...show me where the..." I flushed and wriggled a bit and he got the hint at once, showing me where I could wash up and relieve myself. I thanked him again and closed the door, turning to flip on a light.

I was thankful that this place seemed to have all the luxuries of home. Electricity, running water... I found this out when I turned the tap and hot water poured out over my hand... and toilet that flushed. I was afraid I would have to trek to an outhouse like at my grandparent's place in on the St. Joe river.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to tame the tangles, after using the facilities, and opened the medicine cabinet in search of a brush or a comb. Surely, he had to have one! I found a small, black men's comb and used it to put my hair into some order. My dark eyes were bruised purple from crying so hard...and red...I ran the water and splashed my face, scrubbing my eyes to rid them of the crust which had gathered in the corners.

A knock on the door caught my attention and I turned off the water. "There are towels below the sink, Beth," he said, his voice was muffled by the door, "If you wish to have a bath. I've been trying to get in touch with someone, but it seems the lines are all down..."

"Because of the storm," I said, a bit loud due to the door between us, "I'm going to...get cleaned up and I'll be out soon..."

I heard him walking away and turned bend down to open the cupboard. I felt within and pulled out a fluffy, dark maroon bath towel. I noticed that the look of the cupboard wasn't really that well put together. It was as if he'd just gone through the motions of folding and putting them away. Typically male, I thought, and unfolded the towel, placing it on the edge of the sink as I turned to ready the bath. I needed this, I realized. I needed to feel the warmth of the water surrounding me...enveloping me. I needed to forget....for a few moments...everything.

I turned the tap off and pulled my shirt over my head. The air was not chilly in the room, yet the brush of my tee-shirt over my breasts had hardened my nipples. I hadn't been wearing a bra. Though my breasts were around a modest C-cup, I had been washing my undergarments and my bra had still been in the washing machine when Katie, ever spontaneous, had decided that we'd all have fun on a little outing.

I didn't think I'd need it just to go for a little drive. I unbuttoned my shorts and drew them down over my hips. I couldn't believe that once a not so long time ago the only thing I was worried about was losing about ten or twenty pounds. It all seemed so stupid right now as I pulled off the socks he'd loaned me and stepped into the warmth of the bath.

There is a kind of healing to be found in a hot soak. Don't ever allow anyone to tell you different. I would be lying if I said I didn't cry while I was submerged. I did. I couldn't help it. Afterwards, I reached up to swipe soapy hands across my face, feeling drained in more ways then one, weak from crying all the time and from the heat of the water, which made my limbs feel like rubber.

I knew, as soon as the water began to get tepid around me and my fingers and toes to wrinkle, that it was time to get out. I sighed, not wanting to leave the sanctuary of the steamed-up bath but reached for the towel anyway and drew it around myself as I stepped out of the water.

My hair was wet as I'd decided to take the opportunity to shampoo it, and it hung now in tangles down my back. I had added the shampoo and rinsed my hair once before realizing that there was nothing to condition it with. I knew it would be hell to comb now. Maybe, I thought, as I rubbed myself dry, I should just chop it all off.

I slipped back into my old clothes before emerging from the bathroom and padded down the hallway towards where I now knew the guest room was located. I noticed that he'd been considerate enough to lay out something fresh for me to wear. An oversized sweatshirt and another pair of socks. I heard his low, husky, accented voice in the doorway once more; "It's all I could come up with..."

I looked over my shoulder as I held the sweatshirt to see his hazel eyes flicking downwards over my body and back up to my face, a slight blush across his features. I smiled softly and said, "Don't worry about it. The shirt's big enough...it should cover me..." He made an excuse to leave me to my privacy and I stripped off my dampened tee shirt to change into the soft, warmth of the shirt he'd loaned me. It smelled nice. Like soap and aftershave....and the outdoors. I inhaled the fabric and realized that it was a decidedly male scent I was smelling.

I was right. The sweatshirt, which was gray and white with the logo for the National Autism Society scrawled across the front, was large enough that I had to roll up the sleeves a little ways in order to use my hands. The hem touched the tops of my thighs and I tugged it downward a bit. I didn't want to wear my old clothing right now anyway, even if they hadn't been filthy.

I didn't want to look at anything that would remind me of what had happened. I even drew off the shorts and rolled them up with my tee shirt, both of them were filthy, I noticed, and tossed them into a wicker hamper I realized was situated near the closet. I sat down on the side of the bed. It was remade and turned down. He must have done that while I was bathing, I realized, and began to try and untangle my hair. I whimpered as I caught another snarl.

"Beth?" I turned to see Alan entering the room once more and he sat down next to me on the side of the bed. I didn't resist when he took the comb from my hand, his fingers touching mine for a brief moment, and offered to untangle the rest of my hair, "Be still...I'll try not to pull..."

He was true to his word. I felt him lifting my hair from my shoulders, his knuckles brushing the back of my neck, as he ran the comb gently through my tresses, carefully unsnarling each lock and laying the untangled hair across my shoulder. He worked slowly and carefully, and only yanked on my hair a few times on accident. "Your hair's so long...how do you carry it around all the time? It must be horrid to have to go through this every day of the week..."

"Well, normally, I have a bottle of detangler and conditioner on hand," I said, as he ran the comb through my hair, using his fingers to find and unknot the places the comb missed. It was extremely relaxing, "So that it doesn't take too long or much effort to comb after I wash it..."

"Hmm," he said, and continued combing my hair, even after I was sure all the tangles were gone, in silence. After a while, he did speak, softly, "Beth...what happened...the accident...it wasn't your fault." I stiffened but didn't pull away.

He hadn't stopped the steady movement of his fingers and the comb through my hair, "You do know that, don't you?" Did I? I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure of anything at the moment. I murmured something under my breath and hoped he take it for a reply. Of course he didn't. "Beth...answer me, please..."

"I-I don't know!" I cried. Fuck! I told myself, No more tears! Crying doesn't do any good! Stop it! Stop it! Right now! It took an effort, but I was finally able to speak around my burning eyes and trembling chin.

"Why aren't I dead then? Why aren't I sprawled out there in that wrecked car...being snowed upon and...and...just....dead...why?!" I turned to look at him and he laid the comb aside, waiting and watching me, "Can you tell me why, Alan?"

I'm not exactly sure when, but sometime over the past few hours, I had gotten used to addressing him by his first name. Probably because he had no qualms about calling me 'Beth'. He shook his head, finally, and said, slowly, "You know I can't, Beth."