In from the Cold

Sam parked the car in a frenzy and bolted up the steps. He had tracked his wife to the estate apartment on the outskirts of town. This had been going on for quite some time. She would turn off her phone for three hours every Tuesday afternoon and disappear. Then she would come home, cool as a cucumber, as if nothing had transpired. Her skin would have a translucent glow. She would amble around the house as if in a dream state. And that indescribable musky smell on her clothes and body. Every Tuesday afternoon. Sam was no fool. He was sure.

He felt the cold steel in his pocket as he climbed the stairs. Alert as a hawk, listening for any sign. He did not know which of the six apartments was the one in which his wife was ensconced. He started on the top floor and hammered on the first door. No answer. An elderly couple came to open the second. He apologized gruffly and descended one floor. “Dr. David Filmore,” read the sign. He had seen the name before!! One of his wife’s contacts. He banged with all his might.

The door opened slowly and a portly, stooped elderly man wearing a white coat and stethoscope stood grinning before him.

“Please come in,” he said gently. “Are you my three o’clock?”

“Is my wife here? Ms. Sylvia Hopps?”

The doctor nodded. Sam pushed him aside brusquely and barged in. The clinic was empty. His wife was not in any of the rooms. “Where is she?” There was threat in his voice.

“Your wife is in the walk in freezer,” said the doctor. “She will be out (he looked at his watch) in exactly four minutes.”

“The freezer? What have you done with her? “

“It’s a new form of cryotherapy. We use it to treat malaise and anger. Have you ever noticed that Inuits never get depressed or upset in the winter? Twenty four minutes at minus twenty and my patients come out with a new lease on life.”

“Mr. Hopps,” continued the doctor, “You look like you might need it yourself. Shall we just tell your wife that I’ve invited you over for a free trial?.”