By Shane Alexander Greenhough
Copyright 2012 Shane Alexander Greenhough
been close to a decade and still he hadn’t come back. It had
taken that long for Jennifer to even begin doubting that he ever
It could take them years more to fix what took him, she thought, if they ever do at all.
Bradley was gone and he might never come home. The “might”, the uncertainty of it, was the real killer though.
Jennifer had had her husband frozen. Cryonics, or cryogenics, or whatever it was they’d called it – he was, for all intents and purposes, suspended on ice. The scene of his freezing had played a thousand times in Jennifer’s mind. Though she had not been permitted to witness the procedure itself, her thoughts wouldn’t stop from playing back to her what it must have been like. The imagination, after all, can only toy with what the eyes cannot see.
There had to have been a vat, she believed, a giant test tube filled with some quick-freezing liquid of scientific nomenclature, his nakedness (could they freeze you with your clothes on?) swathed in swirls of icy air – very Demolition Man. science’s promise of a better tomorrow.
Or maybe just a modern sacrifice to that contemporary, if jaded, god?
Who’s jaded now? She asked herself.
The sales guy she’d spoken to all those years ago had told her that Bradley wasn’t really dead, he was simply beyond the reach of modern medical technology. The opportunity afforded by his company (Cryotek, or something equally clichéd, she couldn’t recall off-hand) was simply to make him available to the touch of tomorrow’s technology.