Under the Ice - (7 Parts)

[Scion]

Okay, so here goes my second story. I'd just like to say that there is only one sneeze in this first part, because I'm mostly just setting up the characters, but I PROMISE there will be lots of it in the next update, so I hope you can still enjoy this.

Part One:

She was dead and it was all his fault. Nash Archer knocked back another shot of whatever the hell was in his glass; whatever it was, it was green, and it was glowing--or maybe that was simply his brain melting into his eyes. He couldn’t say which, and he didn’t care.

Loud, spasmodic music bombarded him in a dark box of seclusion, despite the fact that he was sitting at the bar of a crowded night club at one in the morning with hundreds of gyrating bodies coalescing around him.

His mind just kept circling back to that one thought: she’s dead. My mom is dead, and it’s my fault.

He brought his refill up to his lips, but before he could gulp, a hand snatched the thing out of his clumsy grip. Scott Holt’s square face hovered before him like a desert mirage. “You know that annoying voice inside your head? The one that’s been yappin’ at you all night long?”

Nash groaned. Couldn’t the guy ever just say what he meant?

“Well,” Scott rambled on, “it’s your conscience, telling you to stop drinking before your brain melts out your ears.”

“Or into my eyes,” Nash grumbled, flailing for the shot glass.

Scott held the damn thing up over his head, shouting into Nash’s ear to be heard over the din. “What in ever-loving hell are you talking about, man?”

Nash gurgled out a laugh. “What am I talking about!? Oh, that’s rich. Now give me back my effing drink before I make you.”

Scott tutted. “As if you could!” His cocky grin made Nash want to slug him one good, but with the way the guy’s heads kept multiplying, he wasn’t sure now was the best time. Nash wondered distantly if Scott were some kind of alien from Mars, but then he decided he was probably just drunk--drunk and festering with black, glutinous guilt.

“I could,” Nash slurred. “But not right now, man. So just give it here, uh?”

“Not a chance, my epically sloshed friend.” Scott smiled thinly. “Not a chance.”

------------

Cheyenne Mason watched with one eye as Scott Holt kidnapped Nash Archer’s latest glass of poison and waved the thing around in the air. It was about time, too. She’d been ready to throw herself at him if he put one more drop of that awful stuff down his throat. She didn’t know the guy very well; they’d gone to the same high school, but he’d been a grade above her and the two had never exchanged words. She was well into her junior year of college now, and she and Nash had only shared a few classes with each other at UMASS, but she did know that his mother had died less than three weeks ago; she’d been found trapped under the ice at Mable Pond, her body the color of the sky just before sunset, or so she’d been told. Word got around on campus--granted, much more slowly than it would have in high school--but Allegra Archer’s death had been big news, mostly because nothing dramatic ever happened in the small town of Hopkinton, Massachusetts, where both her and Nash’s parents still resided--or had resided, in Mrs. Archer’s case.

Cheyenne shuddered just thinking about what it must have been like for the poor woman, and the thought that it could just as easily have been her own mother--who often frequented the pond herself--made her want to vomit.

Instead of puking, she rose to her feet and approached Nash. She wanted to offer her condolences. He looked so unbelievably sad that she could no longer hold her tongue. She pushed up next to him, motioned for him to lean in. He looked dubious, his dark brown eyes hazily curious, but did as she instructed, and his sweet breath engulfed her. Must have been vodka he’s been chugging, she realized. “I’m really sorry about your mom,” she shouted into the shell of his ear.

His reaction was savagely passionate. He jolted away from her, his skin turning gray, except for two spots of deep color on his cheekbones. “Get the hell away from me! Don’t come near me!” Before Cheyenne could react, his hands were on her arms, shoving her roughly away.

She stumbled and went tumbling down onto her rump. Feet immediately trampled her, nearly breaking her fingers. An arm reached down through the mass of bodies and yanked her up. Scott Holt. His expression was apologetic, but she wasn’t having any of it. Stabbing a glare at Nash, she pushed and kicked her way out of the club and into the marginally fresh air outside. She combated with her tears. Nash Archer was so not worth it. Nash Archer was unbalanced scum.

----------

“What were you thinking, man, shoving her around like that? I didn’t know you were a crazy drunk.”

When Nash didn’t reply, only stood there looking green and gutted, Scott sighed and slung one of Nash’s arms across his broad shoulders. “Come on, then. Let’s get you home,” he hollered, still with no reaction from his friend.

Damn, Scott thought. He shouldn’t have agreed to come out that night, not while Nash was acting like a complete nutcase. Too late now.

“I killed her y’ know,” Nash slurred as Scott guided him through the melee. “Isss my fault she’sss dead.”

Scott felt himself scowling. “What utter nonsense is that your dribbling out now, bud?”

“Iss not nonsense. Iss true. I swear!” Nash lurched to the left, and Scott was barely in time to save him from a painful face-plant.

“We’ll talk about this load of garbage later, okay? Now will you start lifting your feet so I don’t have to drag you the whole way? You’re breaking my back.”

“Sssorry,” Nash garbled, his head lolling forward on his neck as he struggled to remain conscious. Three steps later, he’d lost the battle to stay awake, and was therefore swung unceremoniously over Scott’s mile-long shoulder.

“Well,” Scott mumbled to no one. “That was fun.”

-------

It was morbid curiosity that lured Cheyenne to the scene of the crime--or, well, accidental death. It was a snowy Saturday afternoon, and she was unaccountably anxious. She’d finished off her homework early that morning, and had been sitting around ever since, her mind unkindly replaying the confrontation she’d had with Nash last weekend.

Now, as she neared the speck of grey in a sea of white that was Mable Pond, she experienced a weird frisson of dread. She didn’t know what, but she sensed that something bad was about to go down--and she would be in the very center of it. She picked up her pace, the premonition of impending doom roiling like storm clouds in her belly. “Come on, girl! You can run faster than this!” she goaded herself, and sprinted with all she had.

That was when she saw him. A lone, dark figure drifting across the pond like a specter, his blue-black hair a beacon of darkness amongst a landscape of white. His angular profile came into focus then, and she felt her breath catch. Her first thought, though she’d never admit it, was: God, he’s beautiful. And then, NO!

“NASH!” she screamed, now practically flying, eating up the distance between them in a matter of seconds. When she reached the edge of the pond, she jerked to a halt, the toes of her boots crackling at the snowy lip that sloped down into the ice. “NASH!” she shouted again. “GET BACK HERE, NOW!”

The shadowy figure turned toward her, sweep of inky hair dripping into those bottomless eyes. He raised his arms out on either side of him, tipped his head back to stare up into the expanse of gray sky. Delicate snowflakes dusted his mess of dark waves. He wore nothing more than a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and even from so far off Cheyenne could tell he was trembling.

“NASH!” she called desperately, cupping her hands around her mouth. “PLEASE, GET BACK HERE! THE ICE IS GOING TO BREAK!”

Time slowed as a sudden crack, like a gunshot, cut the air. Cheyenne’s vision blurred as Nash’s form dropped into the blackness of the icy water.

Without even realizing what she was doing, Cheyenne tossed herself out onto the ice and began running on light feet. Her only thought was of getting to him before the ice reformed, imprisoning him. Her eyes frantically scanned the prism of crystal beneath her feet, searching, searching… There! A dark shadow moved beneath a slice of jagged ice. As she reached the spot where Nash had gone down, Cheyenne dropped to her knees and delved her hand into the frigid beyond. Her arm flailed about for what felt like hours, but what must only have been seconds, and then she felt the brush of…something. She wrapped her fingers around it and pulled with all her strength. Nash’s dark head emerged from the blackness, and Cheyenne noted distantly that she’d managed to grab a fistful of his thick hair.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled and yanked. More ice started to break, so she skirted to the right and, deciding to just do it, she used her pumping adrenaline to haul Nash up and over the rim of serrated ice. As his heavy body collided with the surface of the pond, thin, black cracks spread out in a spider web all around them.

“NASH! CHEYENNE!”

In the back of her mind, Cheyenne heard Scott’s deep voice calling out to them, but she remained focused on the task at hand. Moving carefully, she began backing her way toward shore, dragging Nash’s inert form along with her. More cracks formed, breeding at a dangerously swift rate. Beneath Nash’s feet, the ice gave way, and Cheyenne had to lug him to the left before it swallowed him. She barely managed the feat, and it left her panting for breath even as she shook with cold.

Meanwhile, Scott, was starting to step out onto the ice. Cheyenne saw him in the nick of time and bellowed, “DON’T! YOUR WEIGHT WILL BE TOO MUCH!” Scott stopped immediately and sent her an aggravated gesture of helplessness.

“Come on, Nash, hang in there, big guy. We’re almost there.” Cheyenne didn’t dare look at Nash for fear he was already gone. Instead, she pressed on. Minutes passed, and the pair was nearing shore. “Just a few more feet,” she gritted. A strong hand reached out, grabbed hold of her arm. Cheyenne skittered back another few inches, and, just as the ice split beneath them, she swung Nash around in a half-circle; Scott grabbed his feet, hauled him to safety, then gripped Cheyenne’s hands and flung her toward him with such force that he stumbled back and she landed on top of him.

“Quick!” she gasped, rolling off him. “Take off your jacket! Nash needs it.” That said, she began removing Nash’s soaked t-shirt. Scott handed her his coat, and she quickly wrestled him into it. “Ambulance?” she said.

“On the way,” he clipped out, pulling Nash into his arms and trying to shake some warmth back into him.

Cheyenne ripped open her coat so that she could press herself up against Nash’s other side to provide much-needed body heat.

He was shaking, which was a good sign. For one, it meant he was alive, and for another, it meant his body was fighting the cold. He would pull through this. Cheyenne whispered nonsense words of comfort into his freezing ear, and together she and Scott rocked him back and forth.

Not until the approaching wail of sirens blasted through the chattering of teeth did Cheyenne let out her breath.

She’d done it.

A moment later, the most wonderful sound imaginable made tears burn her eyes.

Nash’s face was pressed up against her neck, so she felt the soft spray as his nose signaled his place in the land of the living. “H’ishh!”

It was a very weak, tired sneeze, but Cheyenne thought she’d never heard anything so beautiful in her life.

[bless]

I already love your second story as much ad your first. I'm so excited to se were it goes!!

[Butch]

Another story! Yay. I look forward to reading more.

[LetMeBe]

LOVE THIS!

[Scion]

Thanks, everyone! I'm sooo happy you like it! Here's a bit more--and with more sneezing, like I promised!

Part Two:

Cheyenne stood outside of Nash’s hospital room, wondering if she should dare go in. Scott was in there now, leaning in close to hiss something into Nash’s ear. Nash did not react in any way; he remained a motionless lump beneath a lake of blankets. Scott finally flung his hands into the air in defeat, then stalked from the room. He paused when he saw Cheyenne, and his exasperated expression softened.

“I want to thank you again for what you did today, Cheyenne. It was freakin' amazing.” He spread his arms out to the sides. “Gigantically freakin' amazing. Really. If you hadn’t been there…” Scott glanced over his shoulder at Nash. “Well, you know…”

“Yeah, I know. And call me Chey--everyone does.”

He forced a shaky smile. “Okay, then. Chey it is. Thank you, Chey.”

To her utter shock, Scott stepped forward and cocooned her in an enormous bear-hug. He smelled like pine-needles and firewood. “Scott,” she protested halfheartedly, trying not to laugh. “What are you…?”

“That’s how we Holts say thank you when we really mean it,” he confided, one light brow winging up. “It’s an honor,” he added in a confidential whisper.

Cheyenne did laugh this time; she couldn’t help it. “All right. In that case, I’m truly honored to have been nearly smothered to death by a Holt.”

Scott chuckled, but his amusement quickly evaporated as Nash’s knife-edged coughing could be heard halfway down the hall. “Look.” He brought his head down to my level. “About what Nash did before, in the club--”

She shook her head. “It’s fine. Really. He was drunk. I get it.”

Scott looked pained. “That doesn’t excuse what he did, I know, but he’s been…dealing with some shit lately. I just…wanted you to know that.”

She gave a curt nod. “That doesn’t give him the right to treat others like crap, but I do understand what you’re getting at. I won’t cause him anymore pain, I promise.”

Scott’s eyes closed in relief. “Thanks, Chey. You’re one hell of a woman.”

She quirked the shadow of a smile. “I know.”

----------

“WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT!?” were the first words out of Nash’s mouth as Cheyenne stepped into his white-walled hospital room. His face shone ghostly white in the fluorescent light, save for the patches of crimson dotting his sharp cheekbones.

“Why did I do what? Save your life? Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because it was the right thing to do?” Cheyenne prowled the circumference of the room, wishing she could just punch the guy and get it over with--but she couldn’t punch someone in a hospital bed; it went against the laws of humanity, and unlike Nash, she wasn’t yet ready to cross that line.

“I…huh…huhh…” Nash started haltingly.

When he didn’t continue, Cheyenne spun about to pin a glare on him--until she saw the desperate, slightly dazed look on his face that signaled--

“Ha’EXCHUhh! CHOO! Heh’ESHeww!” he sneezed into the open air, his nose wrinkling and nostrils flaring before one final, “Huh’ESHh-ahh!” He jerked slightly forward with the explosion, and then flopped bonelessly back onto the mattress.

“Bless you,” Cheyenne said promptly. “Do you need a tissue?”

“No, I don’t need a fuckin’ tissue!” Nash spat, more splotches of red blooming across his cheeks. “I need you to get the hell out of here!”

Cheyenne gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. I save your life, and this is the thanks I get? ‘I need you to get the hell our of here!’ Really!?”

“YOU THINK I WANTED YOU TO SAVE ME!?” he roared back, struggling up onto his elbows to aim a sinister glower at her.

Cheyenne had to prop a hand against the nearest wall to keep from losing her balance at his unexpected words. “What do you…mean…?” she breathed, her stomach churning.

“I MEAN I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO COME AND PLAY HERO!” he hollered, his shoulders shuddering with each rasping breath he pulled in through his clenched teeth. With that monumental exertion, he fell back flat against the bed, gasping wearily. “I wanted to die--don’t you get it? Or did you really think I was brainless enough to take a nice, leisurely stroll out on the pond that my mother just drowned in!?”

Speechless, Cheyenne could only stare. He’d been trying to kill himself? But…why? She knew he was grieving, but to actually attempt to die the same way his mother had…what had possessed him?

“You got your answer,” Nash wheezed as a tall, brick-wall of a man ambled into the cramped space.

The large man’s outfit announced him as a doctor, his general appearance, however…not so much. He looked more like a pro wrestler or at least a football player. His stone-cold eyes swiveled between the two of them, landing eventually on Nash, who refused to return the man’s stare, choosing instead to bury his face beneath the pancake of a pillow.

Under the pillow, I heard a muffled “huh-ESHh-mmm!” and the mound beneath the covers shook slightly.

“Leave us,” Football Player In Disguise said to Cheyenne without actually looking at her. His focus was still on Nash, who appeared to be in the midst of a stifled sneezing fit; every other second or so, his blanketed body would give a quick jerk, but no sound could be heard to accompany the motions.

For some unknown reason, Cheyenne felt compelled to tell the big “doctor” to shove it; she didn’t. “Okay.” With that, she quit the room, wishing she could explain the lingering feeling of protectiveness hanging heavy on her shoulders.

Nash had made it clear he didn't need or want her protection.

Well, Nash, she thought sourly, wish granted.

[Butch]

So glad you posted another update. Love the story. I feel bad for Chey!

[starpollen]

This is so well written. I'm really enjoying it, and looking forward to more!

[Scion]

Thanks, you all! All your kind comments bring a huge smile to my face! Especially you, Mims! I'm so glad you've been reading! Love you all! Now, for more...

Part Three:

When Cheyenne awoke at three in the morning that Sunday to a pounding at her door, she considered hiding her head under her pillow and ignoring it.

Then the crashing became so loud her entire door juddered, and Scott’s voice could be heard shouting, “Chey! Open up!”

She moaned moodily, having a feeling she knew what this was about.

“It’s Nash!”

Uh-huh. Big surprise.

“He’s missing!”

Great. Just Great. Cheyenne shambled out of bed, running quick fingers through her matted mane of red hair before stumbling over to the door and swinging it open. Scott stood on the other side, his visage a mask of sweaty tension.

“What happened?” I yielded, motioning for him to come in.

He didn’t move. “Nash went out at eight; he hasn’t come back and he’s not answering his cell.”

“Okay,” she reasoned, “so that just means he's out drinking, right?”

“At three AM?” he fired back.

Her mind whirred. “Well, maybe he went back to someone’s room and…fell asleep?”

Scott scowled. “He wouldn’t do that,” he stated confidently. “You don’t know him like I do. Trust me, he wouldn’t do that.”

“What, he doesn’t have any friends?” Cheyenne spat acerbically.

Storm clouds darkened Scott’s eyes. “I’ve talked to all of them. No one has seem him.”

“So, I’m your last resort?”

“You got it.”

“Why?”

He studied her intently. “Because I trust you.”

Cheyenne snorted.

“And you’re the best of the best.”

She sighed, overthrown. “Fine, you win, Holt.” She knew she would regret this, but, “I’ll help you look for him.”

----------

Nash was thoroughly, disgustingly sober, and he didn’t like it. Everything, all his pain, all his guilt, all his regrets, reared up and in his face, orbiting inside his skull, haunting him with every step he took. And on top of all of that, his head was throbbing, his throat aching, and it felt as if someone had poured acid up his nose. And it was fucking freezing outside.

He leaned over the edge of the bridge, glaring down into the snowy breadth of lake. His fingers curled around sharp metal that bit into his skin.

“Ehh’EISSHEWW!” he screamed into the thick wall of night.

“SHUT UP!” some jackass yelled from the other side of the bridge, and his buddies roared with laughter.

“GO TO HELL!” Nash bellowed back, flipping them the bird. God, is that really what he acted like when he was drunk? If so, he was ready to swear off the stuff for eternity. A deluge of vertigo struck him, and he clung to the railing to keep from pitching over the side and into the frigid water. Then again, maybe falling wouldn't be such a bad idea…

He was giving the option serious thought, when a scream fractured his jumble of thoughts. He knew that voice.

“CHEYENNE!”

-----------

While Scott went to pay Mable Pond a visit to see if Cheyenne’s saving Nash had been a complete waste, Cheyenne went to the only spot she could think to check: the place she’d first seen him. She’d been twelve at the time, and she and her parents had decided to hit the lake, which had a sprawling beach of gravelly sand and a murky expanse of water clogged with seaweed and God only knew what else. As they’d driven across the bridge, Cheyenne had caught sight of a boy about her age, running along the edge of the lake, his mop of black hair flying about in the wind as he dashed across the beach, spraying up sand all around him. She hadn’t been able to make out his face, but she’d known he was beautiful; everything about him had been beautiful.

Now, as she parked her car on the side of the road and trekked toward the bridge, she wished she’d had the courage to approach him that day. But that was in the past now, and she had to concentrate on the future.

“Whoa, there, Milkduds!” a slimy voice called out as she stepped up onto the bridge, staring straight ahead. “You’re not out here all alone, are you?”

From the corner of her eye, Cheyenne could make out the sneering faces of three guys who appeared to be in their early twenties, maybe even late teens. Ignoring them, she marched on, her pace picking up when she caught sight of the tall figure hunched against the high, metal railing.

“Hey! I’m talkin’ to you! Don’t walk away from me!” the idiot slurred, obviously plastered. He took a staggering step toward her, but the effort was too much for his tiny brain, and he tripped over his own feet; he crashed right into Cheyenne, who was knocked savagely back, her spine cracking against the metal barrier.

As the drunk punk wobbled, trying to right himself, he elbowed Cheyenne in the chin, sending her reeling backward, headfirst over the railing. She did a one-eighty in midair, releasing a terrified shriek as her hands grabbed for purchase. And then something cold and solid wrapped around her wrist, nearly jerking her arm from its socket. Pain flared in her shoulder as she was hauled up and over the railing and into a broad chest.

She clutched onto the form encompassing her and peered up into the blazing eyes of Nash Archer, already starting to shake from shock.

“What the hell were you thinking!?” he demanded harshly, shaking her shoulders. “You could have been killed!”

“Are you s-serious!?” she stammered, disbelieving. “This coming from the g-guy who walked out into an ice pond he kn-knew would give way!”

“Well, at least I was trying to die!” he shot back, pulling her close and curling his arms around her. “You, on the other hand, are just reckless and stupid!”

She punched at his back. “I don’t have to take your abuse!” she railed, wriggling to escape his tight hold.

He squeezed her tighter, and she felt the weight of his head drop onto her shoulder. “Jesus, Cheyenne,” he breathed roughly. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Join the club,” she grumbled, but stopped her struggle. Something in his voice wasn’t right.

“I have to sneeze,” he groaned pitifully, “and it’s making me really freaking grumpy.”

Cheyenne’s laugh was more like a croak. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Yeah, I am. And it’s really damn tiring, t--too…Hah’ECKSHU! Ihh’ESHeww!” he sneezed into her shoulder, then sighed, happy with the current reprieve. It didn’t last long. “Ehh’NGGSHU! Eh…ah…ahhh…” He smeared his nose against her shoulder, attempting to free his trapped sneeze. A moment later, “Ah’ERSHOO!”

“Wow,” Cheyenne said dryly. “I don’t know if ‘bless you’ is enough to cover a masterpiece like that.”

Nash pulled away from her, expression serious once more. “Let me walk you back to your room.”

She furrowed her brow. Was this Nash being…nice? “Thanks. You should call Scott, first. He’s worried about you. Thinks your dead.”

Nash’s features tightened, eyes growing cold and distant. “Fine. But I want you to swear you stop this whole stalking shit. It’s really not cool, and it’s going to get you killed.”

So much for nice Nash. “Is that a threat?” she asked stubbornly.

He scowled. “Of course it isn’t. What do you think I am? It’s a warning. I’d rather you didn’t get hurt because of me.”

“Uh-huh.” She remained unconvinced. “All right. It’s not like you're pleasant to be around, anyway.”

“Th--Ha’EAISHOO! Thanks.”

“Bless you, jerk-face.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Thanks so much.”

Her smile was wicked. “Any time.”

-----

More, more, more to come soon! I'm praying you all enjoy this, because I've worked pretty hard on it.

[bless]

This is so well written. I'm really enjoying it, and looking forward to more!

thanks so much for the hard work ... I love the result.

you'r a brilliant writher. you'r able to describe the carakters so well that I feel I know them :0)

[linde]

You make me so happy. Love your stories and everytime I check there is a new update. Thanks!

[Aprilcot]

Tell me something, Why on EARTH haven't you written a story before now????????????????

THIS IS BRILLIANT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PLease continue with your speedy updates! I can't wait!

[ichixshiro14]

Haha, the balance between humor and tragedy is great, thanks for sharing, I love this story!

[Butch]

Fantastic! Can't wait for more.

[Scion]

Bless: Thank you, as always, for your kinds words! This is my face: when I read them.

Linde: You make me equally as happy when you leave comments like that. Thanks!

Aprilcot: Hey, I only recently discovered this site! But now that I have, there will be a lot more stories to come, and I'm so glad you enjoy what I've written so far. Thanks for being so awesome!

Sneezelover14: Aww, thank you sooo much! I'm glad I was able to pull off the humor/tragedy thing!

Mims: Thank you for all your amazingly generous comments. You make my life!

And now, for the next part!

Part Four:

They walked together in silence.

Cheyenne was fuming. The way that boy talked to her! He would have to be taught a serious lesson in manners.

He took a sudden jarring step away from her, head snapping forward. “Nn’Gssh! Ugh!”

“Bless you, jackass.”

“Thanks so much,” he returned in a congested voice, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Ehh…ihh…hii…HeeESSHH! Dammit! Uhh’yESH’ahh! Fuck!”

Cheyenne chirped out a mocking laugh. “Feeling a little under the weather, big guy?”

He grunted.

“That’ll teach you not to go diving in ice-cold water--or wait, maybe it won’t, what with that thick skull of yours.”

“If I wanted advice from some hot-headed, impulsive little girl, I’d have asked for it,” Nash growled, pulling his thin sweatshirt more snugly about him. His jaw, lightly dusted by stubble, was grinding from side to side.

She latched onto his arm, tugging him to a stop to glare up at him. “That’s it, bucko. The insults have to stop. I want your apology right now--”

“Or what,” he mocked, looming over her in a threatening manner. “You’ll throw your shoe at me? Maybe glare at me some more? Ohh, I’m so scared.”

She slapped him. She’d never hit another human being in her life, yet she had no qualms about lifting her hand to his face and giving his cheek a good old smack-down. His head snapped to the side, blood marring his newly split lip. A pink welt lay plastered against his cheek; gingerly, he brought his fingers up to the mark, probing for damage.

“I can’t believe you actually hit me,” he said in awe, eyes widening chocolate globes.

“That’s funny. I’d think you’d be used to girls hitting you by now,” she jabbed, still sour over his earlier words.

He looked mildly stung, but then an unyielding calm eclipsed the hurt. “Just shut the hell up, will you? Your shrill voice is making my head split, and I’m seriously tempted to just go on without you and hope you don’t run into any muggers on your way back to your dorm.”

“News flash,” Cheyenne bleated. She jabbed a finger at her blue Jeep Liberty. “I drove here, numbskull. So unless there’s this new type of mugger who can, like, steal your money telepathically or something, then I don’t think there’s any chance of that.”

He blinked sluggishly, swiped the sweat from his brow. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she yapped. “Oh. Not so stupid and reckless after all, am I? Nash?”

He’d stopped moving and was staring into the distance, his eyes wet and roiling with sadness. “Mom?” he rasped, swaying to one side.

Following his gaze, she saw a middle-aged woman with dark, flowing hair pulled back into a loose knot slowly making her way down the sidewalk, dog leash in one hand; in front of her, a yellow lab trotted happily along, oblivious to the turmoil radiating off of Nash in toxic waves.

“Mommy?” he repeated, his voice sounding much younger than usual, young and terrified and tragically hopeful, like he’d suddenly reverted back to ten-year-old Nash.

“Nash,” she began soothingly, touching his arm. “That’s not…” But what could she say? Shattering his illusion just seemed too cruel, and yet not shattering it felt equally as cruel. What should she do? Crap! A tough, rude Nash she could deal with, no problem. But this vulnerable, almost innocent Nash? No. She was lost.

“Mom!” he said again, with added vehemence. He made to go the clueless woman, but Cheyenne held him back. He batted drunkenly at her arms, shouting now, “Mom! MOM!”

The woman glanced up, her fear stamped across her brow, then turned and hurried off in the opposite direction.

Nash made a rattling, gasping noise, throwing himself into a run. Cheyenne sprang after him, scrabbling at the back of his sweatshirt.

“NASH! STOP!” No go. She tried again. “That’s not your mother! Your mom’s dead!”

He ceased moving so abruptly that she crashed into his back, and he stumbled forward a few steps before catching himself--only to sink immediately to his knees, coughing, retching, gasping, sobbing. “Mom!” he wept. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Oh, God, I’m so fucking sorry!” He crumbled back into hacking sobs, pounding his fists against the ground until they were red and raw.

Feeling useless and obtuse, Cheyenne crouched next to him, angled her arm around his heaving back.

“God, no, Mom! I didn’t--I’m so…I’m…hnn…ahh…” His body thrust forward and a wet, squelching sneeze escaped him. “Eh’EXCSHtt!” He clawed at his nose and then his eyes as plump tears dribbled down his chin. Another head snap. “KUSHnnh! URRUSH’ahh!”

“Hey,” she said in a hushed tone, circling his back with her palm. “Don’t…it’s all right.”

The eyes he turned on her were mottled with shame, remorse, and something darker, grittier. “It’s not all right.” The declaration was a thin trickle of air through straw. “It’s all…my fault…” He sagged visibly; Cheyenne cradled him closer, urging his head onto her bosom. His hot tears slipped beneath the collar of her shirt, and the press of his forehead was like a hot iron searing into her skin. She stroked her fingers through his hair, just holding him as he splintered the fresh cloudburst of snow with his relinquishing cries of torment.

Into the stillness, his pain bled, soaked up by the flurry of white powder.

-------------

More soon to come. Hugs to all of you lovelies!

[starpollen]

Into the stillness, his pain bled, soaked up by the flurry of white powder.

That line is gorgeous.

[Butch]

Oh WOW. Wow. This is so good!

[bless]

wowwwwww. I'm speachless and breathless ... you are an magnificant writher. Can't wait for more.

[Scion]

Starpollen: Thank you! I truly, completely appreciate the compliment (I also happen to love that line )

Mims: Thanks times a million! I'm soooo overjoyed that you like it.

Bless: I do believe that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me! Thanks soooo much!

You're all so nice and wonderful! Okay, here we go:

Part Five:

“You should call Scott.”

The two of them were in Chey’s car, heading back to campus.

Nash didn’t look up from staring at his lap.

“Hey.” Cheyenne tapped his knee, breaking for a red light. “Did you hear me?”

His only response was a soft “KSHHnnh” aimed at his lap.

She was about to flip out her own cell and call Scott herself, when Nash finally obeyed her, flicking a button and pressing the phone to his ear. She thought she heard him mutter, “He’s not my fuckin’ mother,” and she was tempted to point out that of course it wasn’t his mother--she was dead--but her need to hurt him had fled with his tears.

Nash listened as the phone rang once, and then Scott’s voice yelled from the other line, “Nash? That you, man? You still alive?”

Unfortunately, he thought. But before he could speak, he felt his nose start to twitch. Exasperated, he pawed at the thing until he could no longer bite back the release. “Rrr’USHAahh! He’YUSH’eww! ESHOO! Huh…ESHAAhh!”

“Jesus. Guess that means you’re still alive--unless that just killed you. Death by sneezing? Nash?”

“Hhh…haa…” Nash closed his eyes, waiting.

“What, more?” Scott inquired dubiously. Who knew one nose could cause so much trouble!?”

“Huu…ahh…fu--hn’EESHU! ESHU! ESH! Heh’ECKSHeww!”

“Bless you! God, man, you okay!?”

“I’m fantastic. Never been better. Called to tell you I’m not dead. Okay? Okay.”

“Whoa, hold on a second there, Windracer. I want to know if--”

Nash ended the call, too dizzy and nauseous from all the sneezing to continue formulating responses for Scott’s interrogation. He was too hot and too cold at the same time; his head felt as if it were filled with marbles, and there was a low ringing in his ears. He felt like a hollowed out pumpkin, his guts having been raked out of him and tossed aside.

“Nash?” Cheyenne whispered.

“Uh,” he grunted, already half asleep.

“What did you mean before? About…um…your mom’s death being your fault?”

Shit. He’d been hoping he’d imagined wailing all that aloud like a friggin idiot. But of course not. “She asked me to come with her,” he said emotionlessly. “She said she didn’t want to go alone.”

“She called you?”

“Yes.”

“Your father--”

“Was at work. He’s always at work.”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “And you said no, to your mom?”

“Yeah,” he said on a sharp exhale. “I said no. Told her it didn’t take two people to skate across a goddamn pond.” The queasiness inflated in his gut and he groaned.

She glanced over at him sharply. “You all right?”

“I don’t…heh…I don’t…ICKSHEW! Hu’ISHEW! Huh’ISHewww!” He sniffled, scraped at his nose. “I feel like shit.”

Putting Nash’s health issues on the back burner, she said, “Listen, Nash. I’m not gonna say what you did was okay, because it wasn’t. You knew she was going out alone, and you let her. But…did you know the ice would break?”

“Of course not!” he barked, incredulous.

“Exactly!” she barked right back. “So you can’t say it’s your fault she died, when you weren’t there!”

“THAT’S THE POINT!” he roared. “I WASN’T THERE!” The screaming scratched against his sore throat like nails on a chalkboard, instigating a round of hacking coughs that bent him double.

Cheyenne was merciless in her reasoning. “Did you break the ice?”

“No,” he choked out, hands on his knees, face bright red. “But I might as well have!?”

“Oh, so you control the weather, then? You made it a little too warm and--”

“NO! Just--Jesus--stop talking!” He clasped his hands on either side of his head. Scare breaths sawed out from between his clamped lips. “Please,” he implored, seeming to cave in on himself until his tall frame appeared vexingly fragile. “My head--I think--hhheh…” He scrunched up his face, lashes flickering, parted lips quavering. “Heehh…ahh…inn.” He sucked in a pulsating breath, thick brows coiling together. “Haa…” He sighed huskily, kneading his fist against his brow, then his nose.

Cheyenne almost felt sympathy enough to cease firing out her questions--but not quite. “Well?” she prompted. “If you can’t control the weather, then how are you responsible? Yes, you should have gone with her, but blame and guilt are such wastes of time. What good does it do, really? Do you think your mom would want you moping about the rest of you life? No. She’d want you to move on with your life. Be happy.”

“Tell that to my dad,” he grumbled lowly.

Cheyenne felt her protective hackles rise. “What do you mean by that?”

He shrugged, rubbing tiredly at his pink-rimmed eyes. “He blames me.”

“Did he say that?” Cheyenne was outraged. What father could say such a thing to his own child!? Certainly not her own. Her father had never spoken un unkind word to her in her life--but that didn’t mean every other child was so lucky.

“Announced it at the funeral, actually. It was all really dramatic,” he said over a yawn he couldn’t suppress.

The fury that boiled through her in that moment actually frightened her; she’d never felt anything of the like in her life! It ate at her, demanding retribution. Nash’s father would pay for all the pain he’d caused his son. He. Would. Pay.

Just you wait till I get my hands on you, asshole, Cheyenne raged, and slammed on the gas.

------

Aaaand lots more drama and sneezes to come!

[Butch]

Scion - Aww, you're most welcome!

I just love reading stories..especially original fiction..and the sneezing is just the icing on the cake!

More more.

[bless]

ohhhhhh ... cant wait for more. your ability to describe the characters so I feel I know them are formidable.

I love the plot

[Scion]

Mims: Thanks again! You're the best!

Bless: I'm soooo glad you feel that way. You can't know how much it means to me!

Part Six:

“Where are we going?” Nash asked as Cheyenne turned down Fruit street, heading away from campus.

“Your house,” she clipped shortly, concentrating on gunning the SUV as fast as possible--within reason, of course.

“You know where I live?” The grogginess had fled his voice, and now he was staring at her warily.

“Um, no,” Cheyenne lied, “of course not.” She flicked a glance at him. “Where do you live?”

“I’m not telling you that!” he burst out.

“Why not?”

“Why the hell do you want to go there, anyway?” he countered stubbornly.

Exasperated, Cheyenne groaned. “Your father and I need to have a little chat.”

“You--what?” he croaked in a confused, disbelieving tone. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw his eyes widen. “No, no, no. What the hell is wrong with you, woman? You’re not--I’m not--we’re not--Goddammit! Stop the car!”

“Not a chance.” Cheyenne’s wrath was too potent. “So deal with it.”

“Fuck you,” he spat, and began pawing at the door handle. Finding it locked, he flipped up the switch and tried again. The car door cracked open, letting in a gust of icy wind and snow.

“What on--are you crazy!? Shut the door!”

“NO!”

Cheyenne rammed on the breaks just as Nash flung himself out of the vehicle and went tumbling down the once-grassy incline that edged the road.

“Oh--God!” Cheyenne shrieked, shoving the car into park and zipping out after Nash. He was nuts. Completely nuts. He had to be. No sane person jumped out of a moving vehicle--at least not outside of a James Bond movie.

“Nash!” she called frantically as she spotted his prone form at the bottom of the ice-slick hill. “You okay?”

Nash grunted, twitched, but remained otherwise motionless, facedown in the snow.

Terrified that he’d injured himself in his stupidity, she tripped and stumbled down to him, nearly slipping and falling twice. When she reached him, she knelt, resting her hand atop his head. “Nash? Can you hear me? I’m going to try to get you on your back, okay?”

She held onto both his shoulders, pulling until he was face-up with his head in her lap. His skin was the same color as the cover of snow all around them. He had a small gash across his left cheekbone, but appeared otherwise unharmed--miraculously. A shiver ran through him like an electrical current, and he gave a soft moan. His thick lashes lifted, revealing blurry, unfocused eyes.

“Don’t wanna go home,” he slurred. “Dad…hates me. Don’t wanna…see him.” His lashes dipped, quivered. “P-huhh--please, Chey. Don’t--heehh--make me…ahh…” He sniffed wetly, a crease appearing between his brows. “Hhh…nnhh’CHUSH! Uh’CHUSSHeww!” He had half a second to gasp for breath, his lips wet and pink, before, “Heh-ESSHEW’ahh!” Drained, he shut his eyes and hid his face against her stomach.

“Bless you,” she murmured, dragging her fingers through his cold hair. She didn’t like the look of the sweat beading across his brow combined with the weak shivers that wracked him every few seconds. Feeling his forehead, she hissed; it was burning hot! “Listen, Nash. Do you think you can stand? We need to get you back to the car before you freeze.”

“Mmnnh,” he groaned sleepily.

“Come on, big guy.” She grabbed him under the armpits and started lifting. “Up you go.”

With her help, he managed to stagger to his feet. She flung an arm around his waist, and he leaned into her, the press of his body like fire.

“Hehh…huh…” he hitched faintly, his cheek resting against the top of her head as they stumbled together up the steep, snowy incline. “Heh’schoo! Shheeww!” Now, even his sneezes sounded frail, and his body shook with each syllable, threatening to send them cart-wheeling down the hill again.

When at last they reached the Jeep, she helped Nash into his seat, quickly rechecking his forehead--Lord, he was like pure fire! Concerned, she gently stroked the hair back from his face.

“You’ll feel better soon, jerk-face. I promise.” She brushed a soft kiss to his flaming temple. “I’ll take care of you.”

And with that, she hopped back behind the wheel and headed

-------------

More in store soon!

[Butch]

Scion - You're a really talented writer.. and I love all the updates. So interested to see where this is headed!

[jezebel215]

this is SO GOOD! i love everything, particularly the romping around in wintry goodness.

Thank-you!

[Scion]

Mims: You're amazing!! Thank you tons for sticking with me throughout! *happy tears*

Jezebel215: Aww, I'm so glad you like it! Your kind words make me go

And...more, anyone? Yes?

Part Seven:

They didn’t quite make it.

A mile down the street, Nash spoke up. “Stop! That’s--that’s my dad!”

Cheyenne set eyes on a silver Audi about fifteen feet ahead of them; it was pulled halfway to the side of the road. A colossal man stood just outside it, waving his cell-phone in the air and glaring at it as if trying to get a signal. A moment later, he chucked the thing away, and it went skidding off into the trees. His mouth opened, flapped, and she could just imagine the foulness that must have been coming out of it.

As they grew closer, Cheyenne’s eyes narrowed. The guy looked familiar--the huge frame, broader than broad shoulders, square face and hard grey eyes. Wait a minute… “Is that…wasn’t he that doctor from the hospital? The one who came in and told me to leave?” Mr. Football Player in Disguise.

His lips tightened, but he nodded. From the tense set of his shoulders and the way his eyes kept shifting about, she could tell he nervous.

She pulled the over a few feet from the Audi, watching as Footba--Nash’s dad--turned his cold gaze on his son and appeared to curse under his breath. Nash flinched, and draped a hand over his eyes, quaking slightly despite the heat pumping out of the vents.

“Let me handle this,” Cheyenne announced frostily, glowering at Nash Senior.

“I think I can handle my own fucking father,” Nash cracked back.

“Really? Is that why five minutes ago you begged me not to take you home to face him?” When the color exited Nash’s cheeks, she immediately regretted her harsh words. “Nash, I didn’t mean--”

He held up a hand. “Yeah, you did. And you’re right, okay. I’m a fuckin’ pansy.” He pushed open the car door and stepped out into the snow.

She followed him out, prepared to jump to his defense if Nash Senior so much as gave his son the stink eye. Still, she planted an unfriendly scowl on her face as she approached the jerk, wishing he weren’t so, well, enormous and…intimidating.

“Dad,” Nash said carefully, edging up next to the man. “Do you…um, need any help?”

Cheyenne hated the tint of fear she detected in Nash’s voice, and wanted to kill his father for it.

“From you?” his father scoffed, looming over Nash. “I don’t like the kind of “help” you give. I doubt your mother appreciates it, either.”

Nash’s hands curled into fists, then flattened out again. “I just thought…do you maybe want to use my…uhh…my…huh…” He pinched his nose and started again. “Do you ndeed to use mby cell-phodne?”

For a beat, Cheyenne could have sworn she saw a flicker of…something…enter Dady-o’s cool eyes, but then it was gone and she was left wondering if she’d imagined it.

“Are you deaf as well as stupid?” Nash’s dad snarled, spit spraying from his mouth. “I said I don’t need anything from you. Now get out of my sight before I decide to make you!” He was breathing hard now, a vein pulsing at his temple, cheeks crimson.

Nash opened his mouth as if to speak, but the only sound that came out was a sneeze. “Hh’ESHhhah!” He rocked forward, tripping a little one side as he started hitching again, both arms going around himself as if to keep his ribs from bursting out of his chest.

Cheyenne arrowed a furious glare at Nash’s dad. “You’re despicable! Disgusting! You have no right to treat him like that. If you have to blame someone for your wife’s death, blame yourself! Maybe if you’d been home instead of at work, she’d have stayed home that night!”

The man’s beefy jaw hung open. “What--” he started, then covered his mouth with a huge hand. His eyes crinkled as though he were fighting off tears. “Who do you think you are?” he hissed eventually, his icy façade shattered like the ice on Mable Pond. “You have no right to make these accusations! You know NOTHING! My wife knew how important the job was to me before she married me! She never--she wouldn’t have…” He struggled for words, his composure crumbling still farther.

Cheyenne scooted closer to Nash, who appeared on the verge of collapse. He was also staring at her like he’d never seen her before. When she laid a hand on his back, she felt as his breath became erratic. She rubbed in soothing circles as he arched forward, panting, features contorting as if in pain.

“Ihh…uhh…uh’ISHAahh! ICHSHeeew! SHOO! Huh-ESSHH’ahh!” Depleted, Nash sagged into Cheyenne, still hitching a little, but too weak for any more explosions.

Nash Senior’s gaze shot to his son, and this time Cheyenne was sure she saw something like concern flash across his face. “Are you sick?” he demanded.

“Nnn…no…” Nash scrubbed impatiently at his nose. “I’m…uh…m’not.” He twisted toward Cheyenne, rubbing his nose against her shoulder until… “H’GSHtt!” Massaging his throat, he swallowed back a cough.

His dad’s heavy brows stretched into a nettled line. “Don’t lie to me, boy. I’m not an imbecile. I know when my own son is bullshitting me.”

“Hey,” Cheyenne said before she could stop herself. “That’s enough.”

Nash shook his head at her, eyes narrowing. “Quit it,” he growled in a hushed tone. “I can handle myself.”

“I really don’t think you can.”

“Jesus God,” he muttered, swiping his hands back through his acre of hair. “You really are a--”

Cheyenne zoned in on him. “I’m a what? Say it,” she dared.

Nash vanished his face behind his hands. “USH’nxgt! Nx’IXCHT! Hu’USHmmm!”

More stifling, Cheyenne thought peevishly. It was because of his brute of a father, she knew. She growled mentally, imagining curling her hands around his throat and--

“ISHnxt! G’chxnt! He’nnt! Nngt!” Nash’s knees buckled.

She grabbed him around the waist, but he was too heavy for her to hold up, and the two of them began slowly descending to the grey ground.

Out of nowhere, strong arms appeared, hauling Nash up and out of her grip. Blinking dazedly, Cheyenne gaped, thoroughly stunned. Nash Senior had Nash curled to his side, arms wrapped almost--dare she think it--protectively---around him.

“Hey,” Cheyenne hooted as jealousy roared in her ears. “Get your grubby paws off him, Grandpa.” She stomped toward the man, gripped Nash’s hood and yanked.

The man loosened his hold, but refused to give completely. “He’s my son!” the man stated indignantly. “He’s--he’s all I have left!” To her shock, the guy’s voice actually cracked--as if he were about to cry. CRY!

“NASH IS A HUMAN BEING!” she bellowed, shaking with ferocity. “He’s not just some thing for you to use at your convenience!”

“I KNOW HE’S NOT!” the man blustered, then closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “I know he’s not,” he repeatedly more calmly.

Nash suddenly pushed away from his father, backing up into Cheyenne’s chest. She caught him around the waist, pulled him to her, felt his heat seep into her. “Come on, honey,” she murmured into his ear, nudging him for her car. “Let’s just get back, okay?”

Numbly, he nodded, and she hugged him to her side as they turned their backs on the sniveling man. Minutes later, they were off again.

“Huh-ESHOO!!!” Nash nearly catapulted through the roof as he finally released a full sneeze after so many probably uncomfortable stifles. “Huh-ESHOO! ESHOO! ESH! H’ECKSHahh! Hhh…Uh’CHUSHOO!”

“Bless you,” Cheyenne smiled sneakily, both eyes still on the road.

“Uhn. Thankgs.”

“Assclown.”

“So bmuch.”

The End.

---------

So, that's that. Hope you liked!

I'll be working on another one soon!

[Butch]

Absolutely loved reading this story..from beginning to end, it sucked me in totally.