The Wolf Came on Christmas (Johanna and Alexander) novel Chapter 71

Chapter 71-1

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He looked at the wolves with a certain mockery, and especially at Alexander.

Alexander lifted his chin a little, proudly. I frowned slightly and handed the card to Andre, who was asking for it with a little tug on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. Did Luke know who he was dealing with, or did he suspect something? With that shrewd look, I could swear he did, but I didn’t want to say anything that would tighten the situation again.

After all, he and Kaylee were cops. They had ways to clear up almost any doubt.

The felines left after exchanging a couple more words with Alexander, but not before making Richie take the tiger’s corpse out of the back of their patrol vehicle. They said something about taking it to my incinerator and turning it into ashes as soon as possible. I felt like I couldn’t stay to watch that, to watch how they carried it over the shoulders of that big man with cheerful blue eyes as if it were a sack of vegetables nobody cared about. It was Ajay. I had known him, and suddenly my stomach twisted at the thought that the same guy who had shared a joke with me more than once tried to kill me on my own doorstep.

So I stayed on the porch, with the two children.

Yes, Ajay might have been that huge white monster who tried to attack me, but I still couldn’t be indifferent to what was happening on the other side. Luke himself said it: he had a wife. He was an ordinary person with an ordinary life, in a reality where he wasn’t covered in fur and didn’t have five-to-seven-centimeter claws on his hands. There were people who would miss him. And what if’Sanjay wanted revenge? How was Alexander better than Ajay, if you put them both on the same level? Each one thought the other was the enemy. And what if poor Ajay had been forced to do that, to hurt me, the way they had tried to force Luke?

Why did Ajay have to die almost anonymously, and Alexander could stay alive?

If the situation had been the other way around…

I started to feel hatred for the first time since all of that began, and the feeling went once again toward a man whose face I didn’t know, but that I knew was crossed by scars over one of his eyes. It was his fault. All of it.

I wasn’t feeling well. My head spun and I realized I found everything hateful, repulsive. Suddenly I couldn’t look at anyone, because no one was what they said they were or what I believed they were. It felt like I couldn’t trust anyone, and what I needed most was to be sure of something of anything! I saw the trail of bright red blood on the white snow, the gray sky,

–

the cold. My soul trembled, and I hugged Sasha tighter against my chest.

Well, the baby’s warmth was real. Her tiny body in my arms.

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Andre’s presence at my side, watching that whole spectacle, was real too. At least I could still believe in them, in their innocence. I’ll always say it: those children were what kept me sane, what forced me to stay there and endure. I went into the house with both of them, determined to wait until the vehicle disappeared down the snowy road. I took Sasha into the living room and laid her down to sleep wrapped in her blanket inside the portable crib, and then Andre asked me for something to eat.

After I made him a sandwich with the last strips of ham, a generous bowl of cereal with what yogurt I had left, and an extra glass of warm milk, I realized we were in trouble. How was I going to feed those people if I had nothing but a few canned goods and fruit candies in my pantry? I had two cartons of milk left, a box of cereal I’d already taken a handful from, and some eggs. The meat on hand would surely be enough for the night, same with the bread and cheese. I had no more ham, no butter, no cookies of any kind. My main concern was the children – both had to eat well, and the baby especially; she was going to need more diapers. At least I had half a can of powdered formula to feed her, but…

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<Chapter 71-2

Chapter 71-2

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I think that was when I reached my “limit of extreme situations I could handle in a week,” and I started to collapse. Good thing Andre had taken the tray into the living room to eat calmly

and make sure his little sister slept well, because he didn’t see me like that.

“Yes, you helped me, and for that I owe you so much. You know I don’t see it as help toward me, but toward my children, more than anything. And you’re completely right about that too: Anya died because of me. But I think you should understand my situation here.” he said, serious. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, and I won’t stop until I do. It’s the last thing I can do for her. And it’s almost the only thing I can do so that you stay alive.”

“That was your intention from the start, wasn’t it? Turning my house into a fortress.”

“No, Johanna, what are you saying?”

“What am I saying? I don’t know.” I let out a hysterical laugh. “The first thing that comes to mind. Don’t forget I’m a journalist, and journalists like to conspire. Why don’t you tell me what you intend, so I don’t have to make up ideas on my own.”

”

“… Are you sure you feel okay now?”

“NO! Of course I don’t feel okay! I haven’t slept properly in days and we’re running out of food; and besides, you lied to me from the very first moment! I’m not okay! I don’t know if I can trust you, Alexander! What do I do now? What other secret are you hiding?”

“You’re very stressed, you need to rest. You’re going to have a nervous breakdown if you keep going like this.”

My confession seemed to affect him, because the confused-and-angry expression on his face softened, and he looked at me with anguish. He came slowly toward me again, and since I didn’t back away or reject him, he gently placed his hands on my shoulders. His palms felt big, heavy, and warm through my clothes, and feeling their weight was like a relief. It made him REAL. The essence of him wrapped around me like a warm mist, clouding my

senses.

He was there, with me, and nothing worse had happened yet.

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I suppose that by then I was already so wrecked that I couldn’t find anything better to do than cling to him. I replay it over and over and I don’t know how I could do it; I barely knew him and I was never a person of basic impulses throwing myself at a man wasn’t on my list of things I’d do in full possession of my faculties. But it seems I wasn’t thinking, because I did it. In that moment, I needed to believe in him again, and my only possible reaction (among so many other things I could have done, I imagine) was to stretch out my arms and wrap them around his waist, to hug him. To press my cheek against the warm fabric of his shirt, and hide my face in his chest. And I pressed myself against him, without thinking.

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