Suspense Magazine November 2012

Immersion
By Laura Kathryn Rogers
“You seem tired. You don’t have anything this morning,
You should go back to bed. Get some rest.”
The words bounced off the nothingness that surrounded
Rhonda Norris. She lay, seemingly suspended, in the
darkest dark she had ever known. Despite the dark, she felt
comfortable. At peace…unafraid. It was strange, because
usually, Rhonda was a little afraid of the dark. However, this
dark did not seem to be an enemy.
Unlike being alone in a dark room, her eyes did not pick
up on shades of objects around her. It was as if she was blind,
had been born that way and had never known anything else.
“You seem tired.”
The voice was so familiar. So rich and resonant. A voice
made to give important speeches or to recite great quotes.
The voice of a politician, or an actor…or…
A professor.
Ian’s voice.
As Rhonda realized whose voice she heard, she also felt
something sticking into her hand. She picked it up, using her
fingers to identify it. Prickly, rough, a pinecone like the one
her young son, Jason carried around for good luck.
It shouldn’t be here…wherever ‘here’ was.
But where was she
“Get some rest…”
The voice traveled fluidly in a time that seemed to be
elastic. The words could have been said a minute ago or eons
before.
Perhaps, they were yet to be said.
Though she wanted to know, Rhonda felt no urgency.
She had a hungry mind and loved to soak up information;
however now, she felt sleepy, calm, oddly in a procrastinating
mood. She’d figure it out when she did.
No hurry.
There seemed to be amazing latitude. Everything seemed
to flow. But curiosity was heightening as she lay there. Yes,
she was lying down. In a comfortable place. Something soft
and warm beneath her.
Warm really an odd word to use, because there seemed
to be no temperature. Rhonda was a diabetic and she was
very sensitive to heat or cold. Her husband, Ian, often called
her his ‘little barometer.’
Here, there was no temperature to measure. Warm, for
her, meant that she was comfortable, peaceful, wasn’t hungry,
or thirsty.
And lately, sadly, it meant that Ian wasn’t home.
Images flowed in front of her eyes. She realized that she
was remembering her life. Odd to see it displayed as if on a
movie screen.
Growing up in Pennsylvania, the only child of Marge
and Harmon Phillips. She had been cherished and overprotected.
She went to college on a full scholarship, which
was where she met Ian Norris.
Ian was a doctoral student at the small, private university.
She hadn’t really known him at first. He’d gotten his Ph.D,
and was offered a job in the English department. Rhonda was
an English major. She took his class in Elizabethan literature,
and fell promptly in love with Ian.
Ian was already something of a legend on campus, as
much for his scholarship as his roving eye. He wasn’t really
the type that one would consider a ladies man. He was of
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