The Hunters



The Hunters

It is now 2002, over 20 years after Eli and Oskar left Blackeberg. Oskar is dead, and Eli has come to the United States to start a new life. Grieving over Oskar's death, he is befriended by a solitary woodsman named Jed. With his help, Eli attempts to regain his humanity.

Disclaimer:

The following is adapted from the novel Let the Right One In by John A. Linqvist and the film bearing the same name. The characters in this work are those of Mr. Linqvist and no copyright protection is asserted to this work.

Chapter I

It was near dusk and he had waited only 45 minutes when the doe stepped into view from behind a screen of heavy scrub and saplings about 175 yards down the snow-covered mountainside. She moved cautiously, approaching him at an angle. She was big as does went, and had no fawns. He would have preferred a buck, but was hunting for food so it did not matter.

The light wind was blowing the flurries up the mountain and she could not smell him. She did not look up and see him in his tree stand when silently he raised his rifle, established his sight picture through the scope, and clicked off the safety. When at last she turned and presented her flank, he took her with a single shot which he was pretty sure went in just behind the front leg. The wooden comb bucked against his stubbly cheek. The report was like a thunderclap in the cold November air.

But she did not go down. Instead, she leapt up as if struck by lightning, showed him her tail, and bolted away, crashing down through the brush. He marked the spot of the hit in his mind, listened and watched as long as he dared, then unloaded his gun and climbed down.

When he reached the place, he picked up her blood trail and began to track her. He was fairly certain he had gotten her in the lungs, and didn’t think she’d go too far. Hopefully he would be able to find and field dress her before it got completely dark. The sky was slate gray with low-hanging clouds pregnant with snow, and the flurries picked up as the wind blew harder. The gloom deepened as the sun, somewhere behind the cloud layer, started to slip behind the top of the mountain at his back.

He tracked her path for a good five minutes, picking his way through the brambles from one spot of blood to the next. He enjoyed tracking, and relished the smoky, autumnal air. He had always loved this time of year.

When he was beginning to fear that he had lost his doe, he spotted her lying down in a shaggy patch of undergrowth a stone’s throw from the little stream that meandered down the mountainside; Brehman’s Brook, his grandfather had called it, although no one knew who Brehman was, even in Granddad’s time.

He waited, watching for movement, and when he was certain there was none, he approached. She was dead. He checked the entrance and exit wounds and was pleased with his shot; was a little surprised that she had managed to get as far as she did. But then, you never knew about deer; they could do strange things. He pulled her out, tied one of the back legs to a tree, and eviscerated her.

He saw it after he had cut the esophagus free and was taking a breather: a small, cave-like opening beneath a dark granite ledge, nearly hidden behind a thick tangle of juniper. He had not seen it at first because when coming down the mountain it was well-hidden from view; in fact, he doubted he would ever have noticed it had the deer not laid down to die so close by.

Curious, he rubbed his bloody hands clean in a patch of undisturbed snow and took out his flashlight. Then he pushed his way through the brush, stooped down and peered in. Froze; and then looked again, harder.

A body.

There was a body in the little cave in its farthest, back-most reaches, wrapped up in a blanket or sheet of some kind. No movement, so it must be dead. But there was no odor of decay. Because of the angle of the crevice, he was not able to see all of it at first, so he crouched lower.

He didn’t know what to do, and for a considerable time he just squatted there, the tendons in his calves beginning to protest, slowly shining his light up and down the mysterious, shrouded figure, as if doing so would provide more, much-needed clues about the situation. But it didn’t. The only way he was going to find out more was to . . .

He debated whether to do it. Was it a crime scene? Should he just take his nice big deer back to the cabin, and report what he found tomorrow?

He rejected the idea. He had to see; to know. That was the way he had always been. So he ducked down even further and crawled in.

There wasn’t much clearance--maybe 25 inches at the mouth and becoming less and less as he reached the back. He barely had any headroom at all and, forgetful, knocked his cap off as he started in. It was dry and even colder inside, and the body was surrounded by drifts of leaves. He thought about rattlesnakes and how they would like a place like this.

Finally he was close enough to touch it. The body was quite small—a child, wrapped up from head to toe.

He nudged it with his flashlight. It didn’t move. Of course not, he chided himself—why would it? It had to be dead; why else would it be here? Someone had killed this person and had decided to stow the body on his property. He shook his head. Some man’s evil, reaching out to touch him--right here.

He figured out where the head and the feet were by the contours under the cloth, which turned out to be a piece of old canvas, not a blanket. He prodded the body again, harder this time, and when it still did not move, he grabbed it where he figured the ankles must be and began to pull it out. The body was very light, and he had no difficulty dragging it into the open. A child, no doubt. And what horrible things had been done to her? Or him?

He released the body when it was halfway out, and used his feet and hands to break down the bushes at the entrance of the cave and make some room. He wanted to see it first, before he picked it up and moved it into the clearing where the deer lay on its back with its chest laid open. He wanted to know what he’d be holding close to himself. The body was not tied in any way and was only loosely wrapped, moreso now that he had moved it.

Once he had made some space, he moved the body the rest of the way out. Then he got his flashlight in hand, braced himself for the worst, and pulled the canvas away from the head.

It was, indeed, a child. He was not sure if it was a boy or a girl. Couldn’t be more than twelve, by the looks of it. And no sign of any injury.

The child looked for all the world like it was asleep. But deathly pale, not moving; the paleness of the skin accentuated by the rich blackness of the hair.

A spider crawled across its forehead and instantly he brushed it away with a twist of revulsion. There was no reaction to his light, or to the touch of his hand.

He frowned; then pulled the shroud away a little more, exposing the upper torso. She was wearing a dark blue sweatshirt, and her arms lay loosely between the chest and stomach. He couldn’t remove any more of the canvas without lifting up the body, and he was not ready to do that.

He knelt by its side, completely puzzled. The cold, wet snow began to seep in through his pants and chill his knees. He studied the features more carefully, and decided it was a she. Could be wrong, but that was preferable than continuing to think of her as an it.

Snowflakes had begun to adhere to her eyelashes. Tentatively, he reached out and touched one cheek. It was cold, but not frozen hard. And flawless, he realized; like the skin of his daughter when she had just been born over thirty years ago.

He move his hand slightly and put it under her nose; waited to feel movement with the hair on the back. Nothing. Carefully he took ahold of a forearm and tried to move her arm. It moved freely. Can’t be, he thought. She should be stiff with rigor mortis, but she wasn’t. His frown deepened.

He gently touched the center of her chest with two fingers, but there was no rise or fall. He carefully grasped one slender wrist and felt for a pulse. Waited . . . and waited. Nothing. She had to be dead, but—wait. There it was: a single beat. Or was it? He wasn’t sure, so he waited some more, trying not to press too hard on the artery with his fingertips. Almost an entire minute passed for before he felt another, very faint.

Incredible.

He scooted a little closer, shined his light directly into her face, and hesitantly pulled back an eyelid. The black eye beneath was pinpoint but not glassy, and it reacted a little as the photons struck the retina. He let out a little gasp and dropped the lid back. Straightened, and began to think.

Must be some kind of drug. A paralyzing agent. He tried to think of what might do it. What was that stuff called--Curare? The indians with their blowpipes. But wasn’t that a poison? It was the only thing he could think of, but he didn’t think it was right.

It was now completely dark. He would have to abandon the deer—the child was more important. He gathered his gear, put his miner’s lamp on, and slung his rifle over his shoulder. He wrapped the canvas back around the girl and, worried about keeping her warm, was careful to leave only her face exposed. Then he picked her up and began to find his way back to the cabin in the inky, snowswept blackness.

Chapter II

11/23/02

Sunrise 7 a.m. Temp. 34 (unusually cold—last yr was 45o)

Split firewood after breakfast from big maple I took down last wk. New splitter works good, now ~1-1/2 cords. Didn’t finish & will do some more tomorrow if wx permits.

PM - into town - pick up supplies. Snowing again on way back. Still some accum. from yest.

3 p.m. - Frito Bandito here w/her kits. Looking for some cat food as always. They sure are hungry! Watched them eat and thought about new painting.

4 p.m. - Going hunting.

11 p.m. – Shot a doe down on southeast slope. Spotted a small cave while field dressing. Child’s body wrapped up inside. Not dead, but not breathing. Slow pulse, eyes reactive. Paralyzed? Very bizarre. Tried to take her to county hospital but instead put pickup into the ditch @ turn in that sunless hollow. Didn’t think I’d need weights in the back this early! Carried her back to cabin. Don’t know what to make of this.

Plan for tomorrow – winch out and take her in--if she’s still alive.

He got up from his rickety cot, turned up the oil lamp sitting on the table, and went to the sleeping form in his rustic bed, feeling on his bare feet the cold draft coming in under the old door as he crossed the small room. He diverted to the door and kicked the mat up against its bottom edge. Better.

The bed creaked as he sat down on the edge and looked once again at her in the yellow light. This was the fourth or fifth time he had checked her, and she looked the same. Once again he checked her pulse, this time the carotid; pressing his fingers gently under the soft curve of her jawline while he looked at his watch. It was still about one beat every 70 to 80 seconds, so he left her. He chucked another piece of wood into the stove, stirred the embers, got back onto his cot and pulled the blanket up over himself. His 52-year-old body missed his bed, but that was tough. Suck it up; no whining.

He thought about how he had laid her on the floor and unbundled her after the ill-fated attempt to take her to the hospital. As far as he could tell, there were no signs of injury, although he had not stripped her down to look. Her little feet were dirty—she had no shoes, he noted--and somehow he could not put her into his bed that way; so he had warmed some water in a pot on the stove and had used his washcloth to wipe them clean. Her hands had looked dirty, too, especially her fingernails, and he had felt compelled to wash them as well. As he had performed these small tasks, his eyes had continued to return to her tranquil face. He told himself that he was looking for any signs of waking, but that had been only partly true.

He stared up at the darkened ceiling and thought. He was quite certain now that she was not in danger of dying. Despite his best efforts he could detect no respiratory effort, but she was not turning blue, so she must be taking in oxygen somehow. As a medical corpsman he had seen alot of dead bodies and unconscious men, but he had never heard of a person being in some sort of suspended animation. Yet, this was what he thought was going on.

He adjusted his pillow as he considered what those quacks over at Memorial would do with her. The last time he had needed to go to the ER, they hadn’t been able to tell him what was wrong—he had a case of walking pneumonia, as it turned out—and the pharmacy had misfilled his prescription to boot. They’d probably kill this kid, trying to figure out what was wrong with her.

Maybe it would be better, then, just to keep her here awhile, and watch and wait; see if she snapped out of it. If it was from a drug, it wouldn’t last forever, and she seemed stable. Then he could find out who she was--he was surprised at how much he wanted to know that--and return her to her family. And so, as his thoughts faded and the darkness of sleep crept in, he made up his mind: that was what he would do.

†

He awoke abruptly the next morning, stiff from the night spent on his old army cot. At first he could not remember why he was on his cot; then everything came back—the deer, the girl, his bed.

There was a peculiar odor in the chilly air, and it took him a second or two to realize that it was the smell of singed hair. He sat up and looked around the dimly lit room. The thin, wintry morning sun was just starting to come in through the windows. There were only two, one in front and one in back.

He was surprised to see that his bed was empty. The black and red indian blanket he’d had since he built the cabin hung askew with its edge down on the floor.

Where was the girl? He looked around the room in confusion and did not see her. Then he looked again, more carefully, and saw something under the bed, partly hidden by the blanket. Slowly he got up, went over, and kneeled to check. At the bedside, the smell of burnt flesh was stronger.

It was her, all right. The bed was against the wall, and she had crawled in as far as she could go. Her back was to him; she did not move. She smelled like smoke. He glanced up in confusion at his lantern. It sat where he had left it the night before, unlit.

She had moved, so she must be awake.

“Hey, kid.”

“Little girl. You awake?” There was no response.

He reached under the bed and touched the center of her back. Nothing. He paused, uncertain of how to proceed; then touched her again, a little harder this time. She did not move. In the dim light, he couldn’t tell if she had started breathing or not.

He lit his lantern and brought it to the side of the bed. He studied her back carefully for several moments, looking for the slightest movement. Nothing.

He swore softly. What the hell was going on?

He decided to try and put her back into the bed. Then, after he got his truck unstuck, he would definitely take her to the hospital, because things had become just too damn weird. He didn’t understand what was going on with this child, but obviously she was very strange, and the circumstances were well outside the realm of his experience. There was an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He almost never felt that way, and he did not like it.

He pondered the best way to get her out from under the bed. He didn’t want to drag her face over the bare wood floor. Finally he decided he would take her by her exposed arm, roll her over onto her back, and then pull her out by her arm and leg.

Her right hand and forearm were the first to emerge into the pale, gray light. Immediately the exposed skin on either side of his hand began to smoulder and smoke. Instantly she writhed like a snake, yanked her hand out of his with surprising strength, and crabbed back into the shadows. Her eyes never opened, but her mouth opened soundlessly for a few seconds, as if she were yawning, before she rolled away from him.

He stared dumbly down at his hand in disbelief, feeling the heat dissipating from the heel of his palm, and from the outer aspect of his index finger around to the inner surface of his thumb where he had grasped her wrist seconds before. Then he stood and backed slowly away from the bed, all the while keeping his eyes on the thing underneath. He got all the way to the opposite wall, slid down to the gun rack, opened it, and removed his hunting rifle. As he continued to face the bed, he reached out and to his side to the shelf on the top of the rack and retrieved a box of 30-06 ammunition. He crouched, put the box on the floor, and without looking at the gun, released the clip. Quietly he laid the gun on the floor and then loaded the clip, doing everything by feel and memory. He inserted the clip, pulled back the bolt, and chambered a round. Then he stood up straight and waited.

Nothing happened. She didn’t move; just lay there under the bed. Gradually the smell of burnt flesh disappeared, replaced by the old, familiar cabin smells of dirt and wood that he had come to love. After five long minutes, he moved forward to his cot, sat down, and continued to watch her. Still nothing.

With the odor gone, he began to wonder whether he had imagined the whole thing. He knew that was bullshit, but is was easier to believe a falsehood than to accept the truth: that the kid’s hand had almost burst into flames when the sunlight had touched her skin. He had never heard of anything like that. It was impossible—the stuff of fiction. And yet . . . it had happened.

He looked at his windows; the light was brighter now. More confident that she wasn’t going to do anything, he got up, went to the front window, and looked out through the dirty glass. There was about three inches of snow on the ground, and it was still coming down. The little thermometer hanging from its wire bracket read 31 degrees.

The thought suddenly came to him: cover the windows; then see what she’d do.

He stopped and pulled on some thick wooly socks, then put his pants and suspenders on over his union suit. He had to take a piss, but that would have to wait. He got a couple of quilted blankets, yellowing with age, out of his blanket box, found his duct tape, and got to work. After he covered the front window, he lit his lantern and then did the back. The blankets were thick and completely blocked the light. Once he was finished, he went out and did his business—taking his rifle with him, just in case—and then came back in. Everything was the same.

Once again he hunkered down next to the bed. He took a deep breath, ran a worried hand through his short, grayish brown hair, and then gingerly reached under and pulled her out. This time, nothing happened. He stood up with her in his arms, once again marveling at how light she was. He checked her wrist. There was no sign of a burn. Maybe he really had imagined it.

Without understanding why, he found himself reluctant to put her back in the bed. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he enjoyed holding her. She was so small and, let’s face it, beautiful—yes, beautiful--that he just stood there, looking down at her. Somehow, the bizarre events of the past sixteen hours now did not seem very important.

How long had it been since he had held a child like this? Since Julianna, of course. Before he had divorced Bev, and before Julie had died of leukemia. A long, long time ago. He had used to carry her up to bed sometimes when she’d fallen asleep on the couch watching TV with him or her mother, back when they had lived in Rockville. She had lived a mere five years before God had taken her away.

His feet moved him to the rocking chair. He turned, sat down carefully so as not to tip her, and began to rock while he studied her face. He imagined what she would look like with a smile and her eyes open, and thought about what a pleasure it would be to do a sketch of her face. Had he really pointed a gun at her?

He rocked peacefully and listened to the wind blowing around the eaves. Who are you, little girl?

He had lost track of time and was still rocking in a blissful stupor when he heard a motor, growing louder as it growled up the hillside. Quickly he rose, carried the girl over to his bed, and put her down. She didn’t stir as he pulled the blanket over her. Soon a big, brand-new silver Landcruiser pulled up and its engine died.

Carson. Shit. Out in his driveway, a driver’s door clicked open and then shut with the muted thunk of a well-engineered vehicle.

He looked around for something else to cover the girl. He didn’t want that nosy bastard to see her, and God only knew what might happen if sunlight came in through the front door. Just as there was the sound of booted feet treading on the wood of his front steps, he grabbed the canvas sheet from where it lay wadded on the floor and threw it over her. At this point, he saw no harm in covering her face.

The knock came. He tried to relax as he unlocked the door and swung it open a few inches, squinting a little as his eyes adjusted to the bright white of the unseasonably early snowfall.

“Mornin’, Roger.”

“Hey there, Jed.”

Roger Carson, his closest neighbor, stood on his porch in all of his glory. He was a walking advertisement for L.L. Bean, what with his spotless, brand-new tan field coat and dark brown corduroy pants, snugged down over a pair of expensive hiking boots. The most ludicrous thing was the cowboy hat. It clearly had spent its life in a closet at Roger’s McMansion, except when he grew bored with life in McLean and retreated to Faquier for a weekend in his fancy “cabin” at the foot of the mountain.

Jed opened his door wider as Roger extended his soft, pudgy, K Street lawyer hand, which he took into his own calloused paw and gave a healthy squeeze. Roger’s neatly trimmed little moustache twitched as he concealed a wince.

Jed dropped his hand and for a moment they just stood there, looking at each other. Jed knew he looked like hell. He hadn’t shaved for a few days and had last bathed on Thursday night, so he probably smelled, too. He remained behind his door; didn’t open it any wider.

“So what brings you out this early, Roger?”

Roger glanced from the blanket-covered front window back to Jed. The spark of curiosity in his heavy, corpulent face was readily apparent. “Oh, I uh . . . didn’t realize it was that early, Jed. He glanced down at his wrist and pulled his coat sleeve back to peek at his glittering Rolex. “It’s 8:45, actually.”

Had it really been almost two hours since he’d gotten up? What had he been doing all that time--rocking? Shit.

“Yeah.” His laconic reply conceded nothing. As far as this conversation was concerned, it was still early. And it was Sunday, after all.

“Losing alot of heat through your windows?”

Jed looked to his left toward his front window, then back at Roger. “Dunno, but it does seem to keep the place warmer.”

Roger cleared his throat. “Well, I came up to see if I could borrow your chainsaw. And then I saw your truck in the ditch down in the hollow, and figured maybe you could use a little help getting it out.”

The thought flitted quickly through his head: should he accept help from a guy he secretly disliked? What would it say about him, as a person? On the other hand, there was no point in being needlessly rude. Neighbors were neighbors, after all.

“Mmm. Well that’s mighty kind of you, Roger. And of course, you’re welcome to borrow my chainsaw. Let me get my coat on and I’ll grab it out of the shed for you.”

“Mind if I come in and warm up a little? Surprised that we got all this snow last night.”

“Yeah, me too. But you know, I just got up and I haven’t brewed any coffee yet. If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll just be a minute.” Without giving him the chance to reply, Jed pulled the door to.

He glanced over at the lump under the canvas and was relieved to see that nothing was different. Quickly he pulled on his boots.

He was shrugging on his jacket with his back to the door when he heard a creak and realized that the room lightening. He turned around to see the door opening. Fortunately it swung inward toward the bed, and at half mast, the sleeping child remained in shadow. Before it could open any further, Jed hastily grabbed the edge and halted its progress. Nosy Roger, ever curious, had stepped up to the threshold, but couldn’t see her. Jed held his breath, wondering if the diffused light was sufficient to cause smoke to begin billowing up from his strange guest, but it didn’t.

Roger sensed Jed’s nervousness and raised an eyebrow. He wanted to lean in and look around, but couldn’t because Jed was now guarding the entrance. Before Roger had time to speak, Jed stepped out, forcing Roger to step back, and closed the door firmly behind him. Without saying anything, he headed around back to get his Echo from the shed, with Roger clumping along behind.

11/24/02

7:20 a.m. - Kid woke up? this AM & crawled under bed. Sunlight blisters her skin. Allergic? Now asleep again, back to baseline. Not sure what to make of this. Covered the windows & that solved the problem.

8:45 a.m. – R. Carlson here to borrow chainsaw, then helped me pull the C-20 out of the ditch. Dinged the left front fender, but the headlight is okay. Roger tried to invite himself over for lunch afterwards but I begged off. Felt bad, but couldn’t let him see the girl. He’d have too many questions and ideas about what should be done. Probably think I’m some kind of psycho child molester, too.

4:30 p.m. – Finished splitting the last of the wood today & got cleaned up. Shave & bath. Had early supper & read some Thoreau. Snow had tapered off this AM but now more flurries. Radio says no further accum. expected o/n though.

†

He bookmarked Walden and returned it to his shelf with the rest of his small collection of books. It was beginning to get a little too warm in the cabin, so he refrained from putting more wood in the stove and damped it down a bit. Then he extinguished a second lantern he had lit earlier to chase the shadows away, and went to check on the girl.

Thanks to his careful attention she was now perfectly composed in the bed, lying on her back under the indian blanket, her head squarely centered on the pillow. While his grits had been cooking he had considered brushing her hair, but had restrained himself.

He checked her pulse again. The first beat came after he had counted 23 seconds on his watch. He was surprised to note that the second followed only 42 seconds later. He checked her pupils again and got the same response he had seen after he had pulled her out of the cave. Then he decided to try for a pulse at the wrist, and pulled her right arm out from under the covers. He stared at her wrist as he placed his fingers on it and began to count off the seconds. This time there was only about 30 seconds between each sluggish beat.

He glanced up at her face and let out a little gasp. Her black eyes were open, and were regarding him with deep intensity.

Chapter III

She emerged from a heavy blackness that had seemed like forever and opened her eyes. Did not know where she was, but—it was not where she had been before. She had been outside; she remembered that much. And now she had been moved to . . .

--a room. In a bed. She was warm in the bed.

A man was sitting beside her. He was lightly touching her hand. He was looking at her hand, not her face.

Fear of the unknown seized her, counterbalanced only by his calm, concerned look. He was not trying to hurt her. He was . . . worried about her.

He did not yet realize that she was awake. She blinked and tried to orient herself to where she was and what was happening. She was in some sort of small room. It looked old, or—rough. An old house or a cabin.

She looked back at the man’s face and an instant later, he looked up and realized that she was awake. He gasped, dropped her hand, and said, “Oh!” She said nothing because she did not know what to say.

“Well, hello.”

She did not reply.

“You’ve been asleep for quite awhile; do you know that?”

Slowly she nodded.

“Can you talk? What’s your name?”

She debated whether to tell him her name. In her mind's eye she saw two paths: one in which they remained complete strangers, and another in which . . . many things might happen. She would have to choose.

She reached out toward him with her mind. Not fine-tuned, just the big stuff—what sort of a person he was. He had the openness of a child, and the impressions came all at once, in less time than it took to sort them out. A loner. Didn’t like being around people, but kind and caring. Not judgmental. Strong; disciplined. Not afraid of very much except . . . something. She couldn’t read that.

She would take a chance.

“Eli.”

“Eli.” He repeated her name, as if to make it real. “Mmm. Well I’ve never met an ‘Eli’ before. I’m Jed.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.” In lieu of a handshake, he patted the blanket over her chest.

Her eyes left his and looked at the ceiling, then the walls. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my cabin. I found you not too far away from here, down the mountainside asleep in a cave. I thought you were dead at first, but after I realized you weren’t, it seemed to me that you needed help. So I brought you here.”

Instantly she understood how much he knew about her; clearly the stakes had been raised. She nodded again, but didn’t say anything.

“Why were you asleep on my land?”

“I felt sleepy. I wanted to find a quiet place, where no one would bother me.”

“I imagine that some might think a bed would fit that requirement.”

“I don’t have a bed.”

“You don’t. So you’re homeless.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you know you would’ve frozen to death out there?”

She shook her head again, and wondered if doing so was a truthful answer.

“Well, I was sure worried that you might. You weren’t even breathing, and your heart was barely beating at all.”

She shrugged.

“Eli, do you have a last name? Where are you from?”

“I can’t remember my last name.”

He sat up a little. She could tell by the way his smile evaporated that he wasn’t buying it.

“You know, I don’t like being lied to.”

“I’m not lying.”

“How could you not know your last name?”

“How can I not breathe?”

She saw the perplexity and confusion blossom in his face and felt sorry for him. She moved her hand slightly and touched his. His fingers were warm, but as hard as stone. “I know it’s strange. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. I’m just Eli.”

Her touch had the desired effect; he seemed reassured, and his concern for her returned. “Don’t you know who your parents are?”

“My parents are dead.”

“Well, who took care of you before? Where did you live?”

“I take care of myself. I’m from Scandinavia originally.”

She could see the frustration returning. Obviously, he had not anticipated so much difficulty just figuring out who she was. “You seem awfully young to be living by yourself.”

She shrugged again.

He got up, dragged a chair and a table over to the bed, and put his lantern on the table. Then he turned wick up a little to provide more light, sat in the chair and sighed. Rubbed a hand across his face.

“Well, Eli, I don’t know what to do. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me who your folks were, so I could get you back someplace where you’d be safe. I guess in the morning, I’ll take you down to the county welfare office and see if they can help you. ’Cause I don’t see too many other options.”

“I can’t go outside during the day. Sunlight makes me sick.”

He looked at her hard. “From what I’ve seen, that’s an understatement.”

She only nodded. Another dangerous fact about her that he knew. How many more would it take before he truly understood what she was?

He watched her face carefully as he spoke again. “Well maybe the thing to do, then, is for me to get in touch with the Sheriff tonight, tell him what’s going on, and see what he wants to do. They could probably send someone out to pick you up while it’s dark and get you down to the hospital so the folks there can have a look at you.”

“I don’t need a doctor. I have a very unusual disease. There is no cure for it. It’s one of the reasons why I’m by myself now.”

“You sound pretty sure of yourself, for a kid your age. What are you . . . eleven? Twelve?”

“I’m twelve. And it’s just the way it is. The doctors at the hospital won’t be able to figure it out, and they might hurt me trying. I don’t want to go to a hospital.”

“Well, I don’t know what to do, then. I mean, I’ll take care of you for awhile, but I really think we ought to get you into the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing. I haven’t taken care of a kid in years.”

“I can take care of myself.” She rose up and swung her feet down to the floor; felt a wave of weakness pass through her, and tried to conceal it. “If it’s a problem, I’ll just leave right now.”

Now his voice took on a hard edge. “Not so fast, baby sister--you’re not going anywhere. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be responsible for turning a child out into the freezing cold, with snow on the ground to boot. Hell, you don’t even got any shoes, for Chrissakes. So just relax.”

She stopped moving and sat, immobile, on the edge of the bed, waiting. He looked at her a little longer; then looked away toward the lantern and shook his head.

“This is the damnedest thing I’ve ever heard of.” He glanced at her. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re just about the strangest person I’ve ever met. You sure better be leveling with me. Somehow, I got a funny feeling you ain’t.”

“Sir, I’m telling you the truth. And I’ll leave as soon as you tell me.”

“I told you I’m Jed—you don’t need to go around calling me ‘sir.’ I’m just a little uncomfortable taking up with a runaway kid. And that’s an understatement.”

“I’m not a runaway. I told you my parents are dead.”

“Yeah, okay. Well, you had to come from somewhere. You didn’t just teleport across the Atlantic to Virginia.”

Another wave of weakness came, this time accompanied by a strong pang of hunger. She bent over and clutched her stomach, trying to conceal a grimace. Behind her closed eyes an unwanted vision came: tearing Jed’s throat out in the middle of his cabin and gulping down his warm blood. He would have a lot of it, she knew. She swallowed, shook her head, and thrust the image out of her mind. No.

He saw her discomfort. “You okay? Maybe you’d better lie down a little longer.”

Reluctantly she complied, and he pulled the blanket back up over her.

“You want something to eat or drink? You must be hungry, huh?”

“Water, please.”

“Is that it? Just water?”

She nodded, and he went to bring her some.

As she listened to the water trickling slowly into a glass, she looked around the room more carefully. Although she was still very apprehensive about being somewhere new, she couldn’t help relaxing at what she saw; the room reminded her of where she had been born.

It was very simple: a square, one-room cabin with a pitched roof. Over the front door was a loft with boxes and supplies, accessible by a hand-made, wooden ladder.

There were only two windows, both of which, she noted with interest, he had covered with blankets.

In the front corner by the foot of the bed was a very old, single-door armoire and a plain, wooden dresser with glass pulls. A mud mat with some boots sat next to the door, and above it, angled pegs ran up the wall for hats and caps. On the opposite side of the door stood a coat rack. Some fishing poles rested on more pegs hammered into the support beam over the front door.

A big leather chair and side table sat in the far front corner with a bearskin rug stretched out before them. A set of shelves full of books and small, interesting objects hung on the wall behind the chair.

A gun cabinet made of oak stood against the wall opposite the bed with a couple of deer heads mounted above it; the antlers on the deer were positively huge. In front of the cabinet, more or less in the middle of the room, was a round kitchen table made of black walnut with an olive drab cot set up next to it.

In the far corner where Jed stood getting water out of a bright blue plastic jug was a tired-looking, stand-alone kitchen cabinet with lots of doors and an enameled steel tray that slid out for cooking. A mishmash of pots and pans hung from a rough-hewn beam running across the ceiling over the kitchen area. To one side of the cabinet sat a wooden device that appeared to be half a rain barrel up on legs; Eli recognized it as a primitive clothes washing machine. On the other side was an old-fashioned, claw-footed porcelain tub with a wooden rack built over one end to hold soap, towels and washcloths.

Along the back wall was a padded blanket box that doubled as a bench. And then behind her, in the back corner nearest the bed, was a big iron stove with high and low flat surfaces for cooking. From a hook high on its flue hung insulated mitts that were stained black and brown. Immediately beside the stove was a sizeable stack of firewood, iron utensils, and a galvanized metal ash can. And finally, standing between the bed and the stove was a rocking chair.

He returned to the bedside, pulled the small endtable up next to the bed, and handed her the waterglass.

“Here you go.” She took a sip.

He looked around the room before his gaze settled on the loft. “Given your allergy to sunlight, I think it would make sense to set up a bed for you in the loft. It’s the darkest place in the cabin, and the warmest, too. Would you mind sleeping up there?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Then let me climb up and see what I can do.” He lit the second lantern and ascended the ladder. Once he was up, he hung it from a chain dangling from the ceiling and began to move boxes around. After a few minutes of grunting and pushing, he came back down.

“Do you want to sleep on the cot up there, or just lay down on some blankets? You’ll be warm either way. And don’t worry, there aren’t any mice in here.”

“Whatever is easiest for you.”

“All right. Then let me put away the cot and get you some blankets and an extra pillow.”

After he had it all set up, he went to his dresser and pulled two pair of socks out of his top drawer and brought them to her side.

“The bathroom’s outside, so you’re gonna need something for your feet until we can get you some shoes. You can double up with these and put on my galoshes.” He gestured toward a pair of black rubber boots with metal snaps next to the front door. “Do you haveta go right now?”

“No.”

“Okay. Well, if you need to go, it’s around back. You know what an outhouse is, right?”

She nodded.

“Good. Not sayin’ you’re ignorant or anything, but I just thought I’d better ask. You know, some folks who grow up in the city, they got no idea.”

“Don’t worry.” She smiled a little and began to pull on the thick, fuzzy socks, which were much too large for her and nearly came up to her knees.

He scratched his head. “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?”

“Yes. But thank you for the water.”

He felt as though he ought to be doing more for her, but her quiet passivity and apparent lack of needs perplexed him. He glanced at the tub. “Do you want to take a bath? Get cleaned up or anything?”

She was about to say no, but then remembered that she had no clear recollection of how long it had been since she had last bathed. All she could remember was that when she had fallen asleep, it had been warm out--summertime warm. So it had probably been awhile. September, maybe? She tried to smell herself unobtrusively, but he was standing right in front of her, so it was impossible.

“A bath would be nice. Yes.”

“Good.” Clearly he was pleased that he could do something for her beyond getting her a glass of water. “Let me draw up some bathwater for you, then.”

He set about heating some water, adding more wood to the stove and removing one of the lids on the top. He went outside for a few minutes and then returned carrying two buckets of water, which he poured into an enormous pot that he’d put on top of the stove. He went back outside and made several more trips in with additional buckets of water until he had the pot very full. He talked as he worked.

“On sunny days the sunshine usually does a good job heating my bathwater. But today it’s just been too darn cloudy and cold for that.” He turned away from the stove and thought for a minute. “Well I reckon I oughta . . . hmm. I know what we can use.” He pulled a white sheet out of the blanket box, got a staple gun from the kitchen cabinet, and proceeded to tack the sheet up to the rafters around the bathtub.

“I take my baths alone, so I don’t usually worry about privacy. But that oughta give you a little.”

She smiled again, apparently grateful for his courtesy. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.” He sat down in the chair he’d pulled up to the bed and kicked off his boots. “Whew. Been a long day.”

“Do you live here all the time?”

“Yup. This is my home.”

“It’s very nice. I like it.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you lived here a long time?”

“This land’s been in my family for awhiles. But it was unimproved until I built this cabin back 1986.” He smiled. "Not that it's much of an improvement."

“You built this yourself?”

"Mmm hmm. It was a lotta fun.”

She nodded. “So you’ve lived alone for awhile?”

“That’s right.”

“You like living out here in the woods by yourself, then.”

He pulled up one sagging sock and covered a yawn with his hand. “Yeah, I do. I’ve never felt compelled to be around people. Some people are like that, you know. Always feel like they have to be with someone. Not me.”

“You must get lonely.”

“Ah, not really. Sometimes, I guess. But there are other folks living on this mountain. A lawyer fella lives down at the bottom; built himself a new house down there. And Widow Enderly, she lives around’ta the other side. I pop in to visit her from time to time, make sure she’s okay, you know. And then there’s a friend of mine who owns a farm a few miles west of herethe land at the very top of the mountain. He comes out to hunt deer in the fall.”

Eli studied the deers’ heads mounted on the wall. “You hunt, too, huh?”

He nodded. “Venison is pretty good. Ever had some?”

“No.”

He grunted. “Well maybe you’ll have a chance to try it, if you stay long enough.”

“I don’t eat much food.”

He looked at her. “I can see that. You’re as skinny as a rail, kid. You need to put a little meat on your bones.”

“I find what I need.”

“With what? You don’t have any money, do you?”

“What I have, I hid before I went to sleep.”

“Oh." He gave her a surprised glance. "You mean, out in the woods?”

“Yes. Not too far from where I was.”

“Huh. Well, maybe we ought to go get it before it disappears. What sort of belongings are they?”

“Some money. My toys and puzzles.”

“I see. Do you think that if I took you back to where I found you, you’d be able to find your things?”

She paused and looked down at the floor. “I think so.”

“All right. Maybe we can do that tomorrow night, then, if you’re feeling up to it. Because I’d hate to see you lose your stuff. Tomorrow I’ll run in to Warrenton and pick up some decent clothes and shoes so you’re not cold. Then we’ll go on a little treasure hunt after supper. How’s that suit ya?”

She smiled. “Okay.”

“Do you know your shoe size?”

“I’m not sure.”

“All right. Well maybe we can measure your feet before I go in there, and I’ll getcha two or three pairs of different sizes. You can try them on and I’ll take back the ones that don’t fit.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He got up and checked the pot of water. “I think it’s gettin’ there.” He put some more wood in the stove and banked the embers around the fresh pieces with his poker. “You want me to wash those clothes of yours? They look a little . . . you know.” He gave her a teasing look.

“But what will I wear while they dry?”

“Hang on a sec. Let me find something for you.” He went to the front of the cabin and searched through one of the lower drawers of his dresser. Then he pulled out a faded and worn sweatshirt with REDSKINS emblazoned on the front and handed it to her.

“You’ll probably swim in this, but it’ll keep you plenty warm.”

“What does that mean?” She pointed at the word. “Redskins.”

“It’s a football team—in the NFL.”

“N-F-L?”

He sat down again. “National Football League. You know--the professional teams.”

“Oh.”

“How long you lived in the States, baby sister? And whereabouts in Scandinavia are you from?”

“I’ve only lived here a little while—less than a year, I guess. And I’m from Sweden.” Growing uncomfortable with the conversation, she picked at a loose thread hanging from the sleeve of the sweatshirt; then she looked at the stove. “Is the water ready yet?”

He said nothing at first; just continued to watch her. Then he said, “I’ll check.” On the way to the stove he added, “You speak pretty good English for a Swede.”

“I learned it when I was young.”

He reported that the water wasn’t terribly hot, but was at least lukewarm, and if she was eager to get washed up, she could. When she replied that she was, he poured the water into the big, clawfooted tub. He moved the washtub over to the stove and got some soapsuds out of the kitchen cabinet. Then once again he picked up his buckets.

“Push your clothes out under the sheet when you’re ready and I’ll get started on the washin while you take your bath. No rush--stay in there as long as you like. I’ll heat up some more water in case you need it.”

She sat in the tub and felt the cool draft on her shoulders as he went back outside to get more water. Then she put some soap on a sponge and tried to think about what she would do once he was asleep.

After her bath, they sat around the stove. His sweatshirt hung all the way to her knees, and after she put his socks back on, only a small portion of her legs remained uncovered. She sat cross-legged in the rocking chair; he sat in one of the chairs for the kitchen table with a knife and a short stick in his hands. Her freshly washed clothes hung over the stove from a line he had strung across the room. He had cracked the stove door open a little, and she stared at the cheery orange glow inside.

“Feel better?”

“Much better; thanks.”

“Always feels good to get clean. Particularly after you’ve spent alot of time communing with Mother Nature.” He glanced at her. “What kinda shoes do you want me to get for you?”

She did not know what to say at first, because she could not remember the last time she had actually picked out a pair of shoes, or had someone ask her the question.

“I guess some sneakers would be good.”

“You want hightops?”

“Hightops?”

He saw her uncertainty and smiled. “I guess they don’t have hightops in Sweden, huh?”

She shook her head. “Don’t know.”

“Never mind. I assume you’re okay with laces, right?”

“Sure.”

“Any particular color?”

“I like black.”

“Black it’ll be, then.” He stood, put down his knife and wood, and knelt down in front of the rocking chair. “Give me your foot.”

She wasn’t sure what he wanted, but hesitantly stuck out one of her legs. He took her ankle in one hand and laid the palm of his other hand flush against her sole, then studied what he saw. “Okay, that’ll do.” He sat back down, pulled a pair of horn-rimmed reading glasses out of his breast pocket, and began to cut the wood with his knife.

“What’re you doing?”

“Whittling. A little hobby of mine to pass the time.”

Curious, she leaned over in her chair to get a better look. “What’s it going to be?”

“I’m trying to make Frito Bandito. This is my second try. The first one broke when I was finishing the tail.”

“What’s . . . I mean, who’s Frito Bandito?”

He smiled. “She’s a mama raccoon. Lives out back under my shed.” Then he paused and looked up. “Which reminds me . . .”

He went to the front door, unlatched it, and stepped out onto the snowswept porch to retrieve a dented old aluminum pie plate. He tapped it against the doorjamb to knock the snow off, then filled it from a big, 16-pound bag of dry cat food sitting on the floor by his kitchen cabinet. Then he put it back outside.

“She’ll be around soon with her babies,” he said as he sat back down. “We’ll hear them. Then you can say hi.”

Eli smiled, intrigued by the notion of having some raccoons come right up onto the porch. “Is she your pet?”

“Aw, no. She just lives here. She’s not tame or anything.”

He resumed his whittling, but then paused again and looked at her. “You wanna try?”

“I’ve never done it.”

“It’s not hard. Just gotta picture what you want to make in your mind. And be careful with the knife, of course.” He got another pocketknife from the top of his dresser and pulled a stick out of a tarnished brass can sitting beside the stack of firewood. “Here.” It was a Swiss army knife, and he opened it so that the small blade was out. “Remember to cut away from yourself unless you’ve made a stopnotch first.” He showed her with his own piece; then both of them sat and whittled while the wood in the stove snapped and popped.

“So does this disease of yours have a name? Sure sounds kinda strange.”

She paused with her carving and rolled up her sleeves to keep her hands free. “No one’s ever told me the medical name for it.”

“Have you had it a long time? Need to take any medications for it?”

“It feels like I’ve had it all my life. It’s hard for me to remember how I was before. And no, there aren’t any medications for it, because there’s no cure. I just have to live with it.”

“Mmm. Well, you don’t look too healthy, if you don’t mind me saying so. And you really had me scared there while you were asleep.”

She nodded. “It does that.”

There was a long silence as the small slivers of wood continued to fall on the floor in front of their chairs. Then, without looking up from his work, he spoke again, very softly. “So who’re you running from, Eli? Did someone try to hurt you? Stepdad or somethin’?”

“I’ve never had a stepdad or a stepmom. And no, I’m not running from anyone.” Except maybe myself, she thought.

He wanted probe further to try to get to the bottom of where she was from, but he sensed that she was nearing the breaking point. He was pushing her toward an invisible and ill-defined line which, if crossed, would cause her to shut down and withdraw, maybe even run away after he went to bed. The notion of her vanishing into the night in her current condition frightened him more than her strangeness, so he buttoned his lip and asked no further questions.

As he had predicted, they soon heard the sound of the pie tin scraping across the porch. They went to the door, but he opened it only a few inches before quickly closing it again. He took her by the arm and pulled her gently away. A powerful, unpleasant odor seeped into the room.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s a skunk.”

“What’s that?”

He gave her a restrained smile. “Polecat. Peek out the window if you want. You’ll see it.”

She did as he suggested and saw a small, black and white creature pushing the tin around as it ate, dribbling the cat food across the porch. “Oh! He’s cute. Look at his tail—it sticks straight up like a brush.”

The skunk paused and turned its head, seeming to look at Eli in the window. “They may be cute, but you don’t wanna get near one, trust me. If they feel threatened, they’ll spray you in a heartbeat, and you’ll stink to high heaven, just like now, but worse. So it’s best to steer well clear. Plus, they can carry rabies. You’ve heard of that, I assume?”

She nodded.

“Good. Well, sometimes you can tell by how an animal acts that it has rabies, but not always. So you don’t want to mess with ’em.”

They resumed their whittling, and after awhile the skunk smell faded. Then Jed put away his project and took a deck of cards off his shelf. Her mood seemed to brighten when he asked her if she wanted to play. He taught her how to play Blackjack with a coffee can full of change from the bottom drawer of his dresser. When he mentioned that the game was also known as “21,” she told him about a game called Agurk that she had learned in Sweden, and taught him the rules. They talked about cards in general, and she explained the Swedish names of each of the face cards.

He checked her clothes, and since they were dry, he took them off the line and gave them to her. “You sleepy?”

“No; I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. But look, I’m bushed.” He thought for a moment. “It doesn’t make any sense for you to go up to the loft if you aren’t tired, just so I can sleep. So why don’t I take the loft, and you can stay down here and play cards, whittle, or read—whatever you want to do.”

“Okay.”

“When you get to feelin tired, just come on up and wake me up. Then you can snooze in the loft for as long as you want.”

“All right.”

“Since you say you sleep all day, I’m thinkin maybe I should rig up some sort of blanket at the loft entrance to dampen down the sound a bit. I might have a tarp in the shed that’s big enough to do that, but we’ll worry about it tomorrow. You hungry yet?”

She shook her head.

He gave her a puzzled look. “You sure? You must be famished.”

“No. I’m okay, really.”

“All right. Well, let me show you were the food is, in case you get up an appetite.”

When he had finished showing her around the kitchen, they went to his bookshelves. He showed her his collection of carved forest animals and figurines, and told her she was welcome to play with them. There was also a very old Noah’s Ark made of varnished wood on the top shelf, which he took down and gave to her, showing her how to flip open one side of the pitched roof to reveal the hand-carved animals inside. “And of course, you’re welcome to read any of my—you can read English, right?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Okay. Well, feel free to read whatever you want. I wish I had more things for you to do, but you know—I don’t usually have company.”

She gave him a big smile and squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. You’ve been very nice to me, really. I’ll be fine, and I won’t make alot of noise.”

He returned the squeeze and smiled back. “All righty. Well then, I’m going to hit the sack. If you need to go to the bathroom, keep your eyes peeled for bears. Don’t worry—they’re black bears, and they won’t hurt you. But again, it’s best to steer clear.”

“All right.”

“Well, nighty night, then.” There was a short pause, and then, awkwardly, he gave her a hug. She hugged him back.

“Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Ah, it’s nothing. You’re welcome. I’ll see you in a bit.” He turned and ascended the ladder to the loft. She took his deck of cards, climbed into his bed, and began to play Solitaire.

†

He lay down in the loft and wished he had lugged the cot up here; it definitely would have been better than the hard floor. Oh well. He was beat anyways, so he’d fall asleep just the same.

He closed his eyes and thought about what a strange little kid Eli was--polite, quiet and reserved. Not that there was anything wrong with that; heck, he couldn’t remember ever having met a kid her age with such good manners. So why did it bother him? Was she putting on a show for him? Was it all some sort of ruse, done to hide a really nasty person underneath?

What if she was a thief? She wouldn’t give him a straight answer about where she’d come from, so how could she be trusted? Not that he had a ton of money sitting around to be swiped, but still—what if he woke up in the morning to find her gone with some of his valuables? At least he’d had the foresight to lock his gun cabinet.

He was convinced that she wasn’t lying about being from Sweden. Her language issues, and her knowledge of that Swedish card game, were proof enough. And of course, there was no way she could have been born in the U.S. and not know what a skunk was. Everybody knew about skunks.

He adjusted the pillow and kicked the blanket down so it covered his feet better. So she had been eleven when she came to the States. She must’ve come with someone; he couldn’t imagine an eleven-year-old getting across the Atlantic without the help of an adult.

What if she was one of those adopted kids from some orphanage over there? He had heard about these people in the news who adopted children from former Eastern Block countries. Kids with all kinds of problems—sometimes, problems the adoptive parents couldn’t handle. Maybe that had happened in her case, although he would not have put Sweden in that category. But she had said her parents were dead, so maybe some American couple had brought her over here, and then things had gone bad. Maybe no one had told them about her weird disease, and they hadn’t been able to deal with it. Although she’d denied it, maybe she’d run away. That would explain a lot.

The implications of her allergy to sunlight were beginning to dawn on him. The sunlight had been very weak when he had tried to pull her out from under the bed and exposed her hand to it. Yet, instantly her skin had begun to sizzle like a piece of bacon put down in a skillet. And obviously, something similar had happened just a short time before, when she had been lying in his bed. So she couldn’t go outside any time during the day . . . unless, he imagined, she dressed up in one of those silver, full-body firefighter’s outfits, and of course, they didn’t make those for little girls. And that meant that the poor kid was probably completely nocturnal. Her internal clock was probably geared to be awake at night, and asleep during the day; that explained why she looked so pale.

He frowned. What would that be like? To never be up during the day . . . to never see the sun? He couldn’t imagine it. He loved being outdoors on a nice, sunny day. He’d probably die if something like that happened to him.

So how would he be able to live and work in his cabin without disturbing her up in the loft?

He heard the soft sound of cards being shuffled down below and his anxiety lessened a little. The cards had been a good idea; at least she had found something to keep herself occupied. He knew his life up here in the woods was pretty darn slow-paced, and not for everyone. Most kids nowadays, he supposed, wouldn’t have been able to stand it for a day without a TV or video game.

Maybe he could change his sleeping habits while she was here. Stay up later and get up later. After all, he had an entirely self-imposed schedule; his only commitments were to himself. So he would try that—because he did enjoy spending time with her.

The thought suddenly came to him, like a surprise: too bad she’s not my age. He rolled his eyes to himself and thrust the idea out of his head. Get a grip, Jed.

She was strange, all right. Physically she looked twelve, but she acted like an older person. The way she answered questions told him that she’d been living on the streets for awhile. He didn’t think she was outright lying, but she was definitely not telling him everything that had gone on before she had crawled under that rock and gone to sleep. Why not? Was she just afraid? After all, he was a complete stranger, and an old fart to boot.

Maybe all of it was just because she didn’t really know that much about him. Why should she trust him? He smiled to himself. Sometimes when you were trying to figure someone out, it helped to put yourself into their shoes, although he knew she had nothing to fear from him.

Well, maybe he could earn her trust. He’d do what he could to help her; then maybe she would open up a bit more and he could get to the bottom of things, and really start making some decisions about what was in her best interests. That was what he’d have to try to do. Pleased that he had some, albeit rudimentary, strategy for dealing with her, he relaxed and promptly fell asleep.

†

Eli played several rounds of Solitaire in the dim light of Jed’s lantern. She wasn’t getting the right cards and kept losing, and so she soon grew weary of the game. She returned the deck to the kitchen table and stood completely still, listening to Jed’s breathing. It sounded deep and regular.

Although she was terribly hungry, she was not ready to go out yet; her instincts told her that it was still too early. So she took up her whittling stick and knife, sat in the rocking chair, and resumed carving. A face was beginning to emerge on one end of the stick: Oskar’s.

Or at least, she wanted it to be his, but so far, it wasn’t close. She thought she had his long hair down, but the face did not really look like him. So she kept working, shaving off little bits of wood, trying to summon his likeness out of the unforgiving medium.

When she had begun the project she had known, or had at least felt inside, that it was probably not a good thing to do. He had been gone for almost two years now, and still not a day passed when she did not think of him. Carving a picture of his face would not bring him back, and would probably not make her feel better. But she still felt the pain of his loss, and was simply unable to let go.

She had come near to killing herself after he died, but she hadn’t. She knew she was weak and despicable for being unable to do the one thing that she really ought to do. But the way she saw it, if she was going to kill herself, she should have done it before she had met Oskar, not after, because he had died trying to help her live. Committing suicide, she thought, would have been a perverse betrayal of his love--and she just couldn’t do that.

So instead, she had decided to start a new life in a new country. And that was why she had stolen away on a cargo ship in Malmö bound for the United States, and ended up in Norfolk, Virginia. But of course, her new life had not turned out to be what she had hoped it would be, because she could not run from what was inside her.

She looked disgustedly at her handiwork. It didn’t look anything like Oskar, and even if it might eventually bear some resemblance, it would not bring him back. So what was the point? Her stomach tightened, and suddenly she did not feel like whittling any more. She was restless, the hunger gnawing and biting inside of her. It made any effort to focus and sustain her concentration on a single task, even something like whittling Oskar’s face on a piece of wood, nearly impossible. She surpressed a small cry of frustration, jumped up out of the rocking chair, and looked around the room for something to do.

She drifted semi-purposefully over to Jed’s bookshelf, and looked over his collection of books. Although some of them seemed interesting, the one that caught her eye was actually the one with no title; the one that was sitting by itself on the lower-most shelf with a pen on top. She lifted the cover and saw the pages, which confirmed her suspicion: his journal.

She pulled her hand away and debated whether to take it. Jed had said she could read anything she wanted. Had he meant to include his private writings? She was not sure, and so she stood before the shelves for some time, thinking it over. Wouldn’t he have hidden the journal, if he did not want her to see it? On the other hand, they were his private writings. She would be prying.

At last the urge to look at it won out over the feeling of impropriety. She told herself that she was not acting from bad motives; she had begun to like Jed, and just wanted to know him better. She was interested in him. So she took his journal and returned to the bed; pulled the blanket up over herself and began to flip through the pages.

The first entry that she wanted to read was the one he had made on the day he had discovered her. She was stunned to discover that he had attempted to take her to a hospital while she had been asleep. Of course, it made perfect sense that he would think to do this, but that was little comfort. If his truck hadn’t slid into the ditch, where would she be now? Probably a pile of ashes in the middle of some hospital bed.

She was happy that he had grasped her vulnerability to sunlight and had done what was necessary to protect her. There were other people, she supposed, who would have reacted much differently; superstitious people who would have concluded that she was some evil “creature of the night,”

(yes)

and tried to destroy her. She was beginning to realize that this was especially true in the United States, where people seemed more religious than they had been in Sweden. Jed, though, had managed to convince himself that she simply had a strange “allergy.”

She was even more intrigued to discover that he had kept her existence a secret from his neighbor. He didn’t want anyone to know she was here with him. Apparently he was afraid that someone might think he was some kind of pervert, harboring a homeless “little girl” in his cabin.

She put the two facts together—his willingness to see her condition as a disease, not something supernatural, and his desire to keep her existence a secret. What did they point to? Was he simply an extremely rational man who was very sensitive to what people thought of him? From what little she knew of him, that didn’t seem to be the case. Or was it maybe because he liked having her here with him? Could he be lonelier than he wanted to admit?

She smiled. He was very kind, just as Oskar had been—thoughtful and considerate. And Oskar had been a loner, too.

But how would Jed react if he ever learned the truth about her? He was a good man, and good men didn’t stick around people who murdered other people. He wouldn’t be able to deal with that. He’d try to kill her, or if not that, at least would try to turn her in.

She sighed and closed the journal. It would probably be best for Jed if she left tonight and never came back. She knew she was bad news to everyone whose lives she touched. Nothing could ever possibly turn out right. Oskar had been a perfect example of that, even though it hadn’t been what either of them had intended. It was just what had happened after being around her for so long; of his making a choice to love her, even though he knew what she was.

The bitterness—her true companion, before and after Oskar--overcame her. It wasn’t fair; would never be fair. No measure of long-standing happiness was to be portioned out to her. When the plate of life was passed around the table, it skipped over her spot. Even though she didn’t intend to be, she was a destroyer of life. She couldn’t help being anything else.

The familiar bitterness overcame her. It wasn’t fair; would never be fair. No measure of long-standing happiness was to be portioned out to her. When the plate of life was passed around the table, it skipped over her spot. Even though she didn’t intend to be, she was a destroyer of life. She couldn’t help being anything else.

But she didn’t want to leave. She kind of liked Jed, and had no intention of harming him. He had gone out of his way to help her, and was clearly willing to do even more. He was the first person in this country whom she really believed had genuine feelings toward her, and she did not want to give that up and go away. What was so wrong for her wanting to feel loved? Was it selfish for her to stay?

She flipped the journal back open to a random page.

5/24/02

6:00 a.m. - Up before dawn today for some reason and decided to walk up to the top of the mountain to see the sunrise. The clouds were delicate shades of pink and violet. Beautiful.

A gorgeous day. Spring definitely in the air. Everything is blooming.

11:55 a.m. - Worked in the garden all morning, weeding and fertilizing. Everything is coming along. It’ll be nice to have fresh vegetables this year. Stuff from the store doesn’t seem to last very long.

4:30 p.m. – Paid a visit to Mrs. Enderly. Fixed her toilet, which wouldn’t stop running. She had some trim coming loose on the south elevation and fixed that too. Then we had tea and talked politics. We don’t see eye to eye on anything but she’s no pushover when it comes to arguing. Got a feeling she wishes she’d run for office instead of deciding to be a teacher all her life. Hell, I would’ve voted for her, and I’m a Republican!

8:00 p.m. – Cleaned my rifle. Tomorrow will go into Leesburg and see about that new Leupold. Be nice to have a 4-power come hunting season.

She skimmed back toward the front, glancing at seemingly endless daily entries filled with nothing but notes about work. No mention of thoughts, observations, feelings, hopes, dreams—just things he had done.

“replaced vent tube for outhouse . . .”

“replenished drinking water . . .”

“truck maint. – tire rotation, plugs & filter . . .”

“cleared new area out back for planting corn . . .”

“repaired door of shed (bear damage) . . .”

“laundry day . . .”

Finally she stopped at an earlier entry that was longer and more substantive.

7/30/01

9:30 p.m. - Hot & muggy today--stifling. Rained hard most of day. Tried to get truck to start to go into town but it won’t run. Distrib. cables prob. damp--always happens when it rains. No one around, didn’t even see J.B. with the mail. So sat inside with nothing to do, totally bored. Clouds of gnats on the porch. Don’t want to work, read, or do anything else. Feel depressed. Days like this I wonder why I came out here. Then I remember.

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

Hard words, Henry. You say a man could feel free living in a 3’ x 6’ box & “so have freedom in his love, and in his soul be free,” but I don’t know. Could hardly stand my cabin today. Didn’t feel like I lived or learnt too much.

As her body cooled down to the outside temperature, she felt even weaker than she had earlier, and she began to suffer bouts of shivering and dizziness. Her hunger had become a living thing, thumping and thrashing in her gut, rapidly taking control of her actions. Soon, she knew, it would be completely in charge and would impair her judgment, so she hastened her pace down the lane.

Eventually she came to the bottom of the mountain. She passed what must have been the lawyer’s home, but it appeared empty; there were no cars in the driveway. She did not want to attack anyone Jed knew anyway, so she continued on. The feeling of urgency deepened.

She finally came to the two-lane highway that she remembered from earlier in the year. It had been the last improved road along which she had traveled before her decision to hibernate up in the woods. She began to move northward as rapidly as she could, trying to get as far away from Jed’s mountain as possible before a car came.

It wasn’t long before one did. A pinpoint of light on the dark horizon gradually grew into two, then widened and brightened as the car grew near. She stopped, turned, and put out her thumb. She was surprised when the driver slowed and stopped after seeing her; at least ten or twelve cars usually passed her without the slightest sign of slowing. She ran to the car, a small Honda sedan, and opened the passenger door.

A young man in his twenties was behind the wheel. He looked at her, a little surprised at her youth. “Where you headed, darlin’?”

“Front Royal.”

“No problem. That’s where I’m goin’, too.”

“Good.” She smiled at him.

He drove fifteen minutes and they traded small talk before she asked him to pull off so she could pee. She really had to go; was sorry, but couldn’t wait. He said okay and drove a little further before he found an unpaved farmer’s turnoff into a bean field. He turned in and put his car in park.

She fell upon him.

Chapter IV

Eli opened the door of the cabin as quietly as she could and returned the galoshes to their place on the mud mat. She slipped Jed’s socks back on as she listened for movement, but there was none. He was still asleep.

As she had flown away from the lonely field with the burning car and its empty, charred husk of a human being, she had felt the same way that she always did after she killed: an enormous feeling of relief, tainted with sadness and guilt. And of course, the feeling of being dirty; of having degraded herself yet again. One more person’s life had been snuffed out to satisfy her needs. By the time she had returned to the cabin the feeling of relief had worn off, but the guilt, depression, and sense of damnation remained.

Notwithstanding Jed’s offer, she did not wish to wake him. So she took the blanket off the bed and ascended the ladder, intending to lie down in some other place in the loft and thereby let him sleep as long as possible.

After reaching the top, she paused to look at him. He lay under the old gray army blanket on his back; his eyes closed, thinning hair a mess, his mouth slightly open. His weathered face was inanimate and expressionless.

She thought about what he had written in his journal, which she now wished she had not read because of what it had revealed about him. Jed, a good man who was trying to understand what life was about by leading a solitary and simple life in the wilderness, close to nature.

Jed, who had unwittingly let an evil force into his life: her. Eli, faker-in-chief. Eli: a liar and a killer. Eli, whose life was anything but genuine. No matter how kindly he felt toward her, and her toward him, his goodness was a vast and impenetrable gulf that divided them. He would not be able to know or understand her; she had to be incomprehensible to him.

A feeling of terrible loneliness swept through her. In her evil, she was all alone.

As she stood at the edge of the loft, she looked down and realized for the first time that there was a handful of dark drops on the front of her freshly laundered sweatshirt, and with this observation, she suddenly hated herself. Hated having to live in a world of half-truths when she was around people like Jed. Hated having to be secretive; hated having to mislead. Hated having to take perfectly good food and throw it down the shithole so it would appear that she ate like everyone else. Hated having make up stories about her “allergy” to sunlight. Hated being driven by impulses that she could scarcely control to slaughter people. Hated everything.

She crouched down by Jed and reached out to touch him. To wake him up and tell him the plain truth of what she was, and what she had done. To ask him to blow a hole through the center of her chest with one of his guns, and put an end to her misery.

But he would never do it, even if she told him everything. No, he would be too good for that. He would not have the strength, the coldness, to do what should be done.

She stopped, her fingertips less than an inch from his shoulder, and then stood up. She climbed back down the ladder and proceeded to wash the stains out of her shirt with the water from her drinking glass. Then she returned to the loft with the indian blanket, stepped over Jed, and curled up in a small space between a couple of cardboard boxes near the back. There she wept bitterly until the sun rose above the horizon and she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

†

Jed awoke and sat up with a soft groan. He looked around in the darkness of the loft, turning his head from side to side as he listened to the crackling of the arthritis in his neck. He felt as stiff as a board.

He rolled over and slowly got to his feet, thinking about how he was definitely going to get an air mattress when he went to get those sneakers. No one, not even someone as limber as a little kid, should be subjected to that kind of punishment all night long.

He was a little surprised that Eli had not woken him up as he had asked. Then he looked down into the room below and felt a jolt of fear when he saw that his bed was empty. His heart sank. Had she left during the night? Or was she back under the bed again?

He was about ready to climb down to investigate when he heard a sound—a sound that produced another unsettling wave of fear through his chest, because it was quite near, and he at first thought it was the low growl of a dog or a wolf. But that didn’t make any sense, because there was no animal in his cabin. The last dog he’d had was a stray named Cody, a mutt who’d roomed with him for about seven weeks before disappearing from whence he’d come, never to be seen again.

The sound was behind him; up here, in the loft. With a frown he turned to look for the source. It was coming from behind a large cardboard box near the wall, the box full of extra kitchen utensils that he had never unpacked, but just couldn’t bring himself to discard because they might prove useful someday. Ducking his head slightly to avoid banging it on the rafters, he worked his way around the odds and ends he had stashed away over the years to see what it was.

It was very dark and hard to see, but he knew that it was Eli even before he moved the box slightly to get a better look. She was lying on her side in a fetal position, wrapped up in his blanket from downstairs, her hands tucked up under her head to make a pillow. She was sound asleep, but made a soft growling noise unlike anything he had ever heard a person make before.

It was so strange that he actually backed up a few steps, unaware that he was shaking his head in denial as he stared at her. He felt the same impulse that he had experienced the morning he had attempted to pull her out from under the bed and had exposed her hand to the sunlight: to get as far away from her as possible; to arm himself against something that he had momentarily doubted was fully human.

Then he stopped. It was ridiculous to be afraid of her. She was just a little kid, homeless and in need of help. Yes, maybe she was a bit strange, but that didn’t mean she was bad. Maybe her weird sounds were all part of her bizarre disease.

And so what if she growled in her sleep? Lots of people made strange noises when they snoozed, sometimes much louder than her. It wouldn’t bother him.

He wondered how she could possibly be comfortable lying as she was without a pillow. Thinking that she really ought to have one, he retrieved his and returned to her. He carefully pushed the box further out of the way to make some room and knelt down by her side. Very gently, afraid that he would wake her, he lifted her head with one hand and slid the pillow underneath with the other. She showed no sign of stirring, and he slowly allowed her head to fall back onto its softness. Now things seemed better.

Without knowing why, he paused to stroke her hair, brushing it back away from her forehead.

Don’t worry . . . I’ll take care of you. Whatever you need.

He went to the ladder, climbed down, and got started with his day. He didn’t usually look forward to going to K-Mart, but today he did. Because he would be buying something for someone else for a change.

†

It was around lunchtime when Jed got to the K-Mart. Instead of fighting for a closer spot, he parked his pickup at the far end of the parking lot. It was a clear, sunny day and the temperature had risen to the high 30’s, melting the snow away into a slush that was beginning to dry up here and there in the vast expanse of black asphalt fronting the store.

Before heading into Warrenton, he had found his tarp in the equipment shed and had managed to put it up across the loft entrance. It didn’t cover the entire opening, but he figured something was better than nothing. He had been afraid that his staple gun would wake her up, but it hadn’t; to his surprise, she had slept soundly through the entire process.

He entered the outer doors and passed by the bubblegum machines, apartment rental flyers, and stress-test palmreader and thence into the store itself, where he was confronted with several racks of DVDs and a garish display of holiday items clustered around the shopping cart area. To his left a few middle-aged women were waiting impatiently in line at the Returns desk, and a young Indian guy in tube socks and sandals was getting money from an ATM machine while he yammered into a cell phone. All of them looked unhappy.

He scanned the department signs hanging from the ceiling under the bright, artificial light of the fluorescents, then headed toward the shoes, cutting through the women’s underwear section to save time. The store was decorated with bright plastic Christmas tree bulbs and strands of silver and gold tinsel, but he paid no attention.

There were at least four rows of shoes and boots, all arranged in open boxes. He looked them over uncertainly, not sure where to begin. Then he scouted around until he saw some pink, glittery ones, figuring that would put him amongst the girls’ shoes. He had no idea what size to get, so he picked up a random shoe and used his hand as a rough guide. It didn’t take him long to figure out that Eli was about a size nine.

With black as the criteria, the choices narrowed fairly quickly. He looked at a bunch of solid black shoes, but they all seemed lumpy and ugly, and he couldn’t imagine her wanting to wear them. Then he found some more traditional-looking sneakers, but they were very low-cut; the sort of thing one might wear on a boat--not what he was looking for.

Then he found them: a pair of black high-tops with red threading, white laces, and--believe it or not--rainbows printed around the rubber toe ends. He smiled at the last detail as he picked them out of the box and turned them over. How cheerful could you get? They didn’t look like they would stand up to a lot of hard wear, but they might bring a smile to that small, somber face, and that, he felt, was more important. So he grabbed a couple of pairs—a size nine and an eight, just in case he was wrong--and then headed toward the children’s clothing.

There was a bewildering arrray of girls’ winter coats for sale on two circular racks. Most were various shades of pink, turquoise, and green. He wasn’t sure what color she would like, but he figured that if she wanted black shoes, he would be safe getting her a black coat, too. He picked out the warmest-looking one he could find, a quilted-appearing affair with good, deep pockets and a fake fur-trimmed hood, and went with a medium since he wasn’t sure what size to get.

There was a bin full of hats and gloves nearby, and he grabbed a black knit hat with a pair of matching gloves attached to it with a thin plastic thread. The backs of the gloves where covered with small pink lips and a smiling frog with “Kiss Me” printed above its head, but he didn’t notice.

It was time to get the air mattress, so he headed down a main aisle toward the sporting goods. Bland Christmas music played overhead, and he passed a big display of artificial Christmas trees and huge, inflatable yard decorations. A few of the trees were spinning to show off their lights. Some, he noted, weren’t even green, and all of them looked scrawny. He wondered why anyone would want to put one in their house. And what did any of it have to do with Christmas?

The store was busy, and he was forced to walk slowly behind a very obese woman riding an electric scooter, who was herself trapped behind a shuffling octogenarian with her walker. The scooter woman’s close-cut, curly hair was dyed bright orange, he observed, and she was wearing a top and sweat pants that exposed at least a two-inch gap of flesh at her bulging waistline. He glanced at the gap and then at the lumpy flesh below, barely restrained by the overtaxed, stetchy fabric, and grimaced.

He turned his attention back toward his landmark--the fishing poles poking up over the top of a distant aisle. Their connection with the outdoors represented a kind of freedom from this unnatural place; a freedom he might gain if he could only get past Home Decor and the seemingly endless racks of towels, pressboard furniture, soap dispensers and ceramic kitchenware.

After he had found a decent-looking camping mattress, he commandeered a cart and paused to think. She had said something about puzzles . . . would she like to try a jigsaw puzzle? He wasn’t sure where the toys were; somewhere over near Automotive, he thought.

Before he found the puzzles he passed through a veritable gauntlet of toys, which made him shake his head in wonder. Did people really buy all this stuff? Naturally, the puzzles were in the far corner, presumably because they weren’t as popular as the Barbie dolls and Legos.

His eyes roamed over the boxes as he tried to think about what she might enjoy. He had no clear idea, but she was no ordinary kid; he knew that much. A one hundred-piece picture of Garfield, or of Betty Boop, probably would not fit the bill. Dinosaurs? No. A gamut of sickeningly sweet pastoral scenes? No. Some fairies flitting around on toadstools? Probably not.

He was about to abandon the idea when he noticed a gray-colored, unassuming box on the bottom shelf. Something about the pattern in the picture caught his eye, and he picked it up and examined it more closely. It was a thousand-piece puzzle of a picture by M. C. Escher called “House of Stairs,” and it made him dizzy just looking at it: a series of stairs set at impossible angles into doorways, with strange, armored creatures crawling up and down them. He’d heard of Escher before, and seen some of his drawings, but not this one.

He checked the price: $17.99. It seemed challenging; would she like it? He scratched his head, and then decided to take a chance. It sure beat “The Last Supper.”

Naturally, after he managed to wend his way back to the front of the store only one check-out line was open. A female clerk, whose name tag Jed couldn’t pronounce, slowly unloaded a customer’s clothing from her cart, methodically scanning each item, taking them off their hangers and putting them into bags. After the clothes, she began to remove a series of grocery items. The customer let the clerk do all the work, and Jed groaned inwardly when she pulled a clutch of coupons out of her purse and handed them to the employee. To distract himself, he started to read the cover of the Enquirer, sitting in its rack next to the little horoscope books, but quickly lost interest in the battles that Hollywood stars were waging against old age and cellulite, so he decided to re-examine the cover of the jigsaw puzzle instead.

A man in his 30’s in line before him began yelling at the fat kid sitting in his cart, telling him not to grab candy off the racks. His jeans were in tatters, and he wore a black shirt that said “Save Candles-Blow Me.” Just after he put some sandpaper and spray primer down on the rolling mat, he grabbed a Snickers bar off the shelf. His son watched forlornly as he devoured it in three quick bites, and then tossed the wrapper down next to his items.

Jed felt enormous relief when he finally re-emerged into the sunshine. It had all been worth it.

†

Jed’s foot slid as he sidestepped from one wet rock to another. “Whoops! I’m not used to tramping around at night like this. Watch yourself goin’ down the slope here, Eli. It’ll be ice before long, if the temp dips down a little lower.”

“I’m being careful.”

The beams from their flashlights jiggled across the still, rugged terrain downslope as they moved away from Brehman’s Brook and clambered down the rocky face of the mountain toward the place where he had found her.

“You warm enough in that thing?”

“Yes, thank you. It was very nice of you to get it for me.”

“Ah--don’t worry about it. I just don’t want to see you catch your death from a cold running around out here.”

“It’s very nice--especially the fuzzy hood. And I love my shoes.”

He heard the happiness in her voice and felt something stir inside him. “Glad you like ‘em. Now you know about hightops.” She chuckled softly, making him think, not for the first time, how low her voice was. It was not that of your average 12-year-old girl.

The faint odor of something dead wafted up the hillside in the gentle, unsteady breeze. Eli had smelled it for awhile, but had remained silent, waiting for Jed to say something.

“Mmm. I think we must be gettin’ close.” He slowed and shined his light further down and to their right. “Yep. That’s where it was, all right.”

She came along side him and peered downhill. “What’s that smell?”

“It’s what’s left of a deer I shot. A doe—she fell right behind those bushes there.” He shined his light in the area. “I had to leave her after I found you.”

“Oh.” They continued downhill, moving around saplings and small bushes; then Eli spoke again. “Do you enjoy shooting animals?”

“I don’t usually do it for nothing; I eat what I kill. Now of course, that doesn’t mean I’ll pass up a nice-looking buck, if one presents itself. I can always use a little extra meat, in that case.”

“So does that mean that you don’t enjoy it?”

He was a little surprised by her rejoinder, and had to think a little before he answered. “What I mean is, I don’t kill deer just for the sheer pleasure of seeing something die . . . I like being self-sufficient. And I guess it gives me a certain satisfaction to know I can hit what I’m aiming at. That I can make a clean kill. Watch them brambles, now.” He held back the branches of a thorn bush for her.

“Thanks.” She ducked her head and squeezed through. “What’s a ‘clean kill’?”

“Well, when you kill a deer—or any animal, I reckon—you don’t want them to suffer. That’s not the point. So you aim for the heart with the hope that if you hit it there, it’ll die right quick. That means you gotta be patient and hold off until you can make that shot. And if you do it right, most of them do go down pretty fast. This one here, she ran quite a ways. Not really sure why.”

“So it is painful, then? To die?”

He stopped his descent for a moment and looked at her, his breath clouding in the dark, frosty air. “I guess I don’t know. We all fear death, I suppose, because we don’t know what happens afterwards. But the actual act of dying may or may not be painful.” He paused. “Well, the animal probably is scared. But it doesn’t really know what’s happening, either, which I think is for the best.” He turned back and continued walking.

“Doesn’t it bother you? To kill something like a deer?”

“Not really. Everything’s gotta die sooner or later. It’s just part of life.”

“But the deer wants to live.”

“Everything wants to live. But everything wants to eat, too. Sometimes those things aren’t compatible. Life’s a struggle. You don’t see the deer agonizing about eating the grass.”

“Grass is different. It’s not like animals.”

“Really? How do you know the grass doesn’t enjoy being alive?”

“Well, it’s . . . it’s not aware, I guess. It can’t feel anything.”

“You sure about that?”

“Well . . . no. Actually, I’m not.”

“Me neither. But I think plants can sense some things. Probably not like we can, but still . . . that doesn’t mean they’re nothing.”

“The bucks . . . they’re the ones with the horns?”

“Yep.”

“Are those the ones that are on your wall? You killed those?”

“Yes and no.” He put the beam of his light directly on the spot where he had dressed the deer. “One’s mine; the other was my dad’s.”

They drew up to the place, but there was no carcass; only one hind leg, still tied to the tree. Eli looked around, and then asked him where the deer had gone.

“Oh, things don’t last long out here in the woods, you know. All kinds of critters, big and small, know when a free meal’s around. Nothing goes to waste—that’s Mother Nature’s way. She’s very efficient.”

“But it wasn’t that long ago.”

“Well, I told you there are bears around. Even cougars, believe it or not. Plus you got the coyotes and foxes. And the vultures, for that matter.”

“What’s a cougar?”

“Panther—you know, a mountain lion. You don’t want to meet one of them, believe you me. I have, out in West Virginia, and it was pretty scary. Only time I felt like something was deciding whether to eat me.

“So anyway, here’s your cave.” He pointed the flashlight up at the little spot behind the juniper bushes. “You think from here you can figure out where you stashed your stuff?”

She paused and looked around with the light held down at her feet; her eyes were big and dark. “It was below here a little ways. There’s another little niche in the rocks. Off that way.” She turned and shined her light in the direction she was thinking.

“Okay. Well I’ll let you lead the way.”

“All right.”

She stepped out in front of him, looking a little bigger, now, in her new coat and hat. Although she wasn’t going fast, he couldn’t help but notice that she moved with a natural grace across the rugged terrain. She seemed to know exactly where to put each foot, and he found the going easier once he began to follow her lead. She had clearly spent a lot of time outside.

“You enjoy walking in the woods?”

“Yes.” Her voice was soft, but her answer was short and matter-of-fact, admitting of no elaboration. She pushed her way around a cluster of trees and paused; pointed. “There.”

They came down and around the corner of a man-sized rock jutting out from the earthen slope. Once he had stepped down in front of it, Jed was able to see that it had a companion; a somewhat smaller rock, now visible, lay immediately beside it. There was a small cavity between them, resulting from their irregular shapes. She squatted down and reached in.

“How did you remember it so well?”

“The big rock looks like a shield. See it?”

He studied the larger of the two and realized that she was right—it was bigger on the top than on the bottom, and its lower sides seemed to curve inward. He nodded. “Yup. Sure do.”

“Got it.” She stood up beside him, brushing the leaves and dirt off a blue and gray backpack. He thought she would be pleased at having recovered it, but she seemed more worried than anything else. She slung it over her shoulder and stooped to pick up her flashlight.

“Is that it? Ready to go back?”

“Ja.”

“Hmm?”

“Sorry. Yes.”

“All righty.”

†

She did not share the contents of her backpack with him once they got back to the cabin, and he did not inquire. He figured it was her business, and if and when she wanted to show him anything, that would be fine with him. He offered to fix her a meal, but she politely declined, stating that she had eaten late the night before while he was asleep.

“I bought a puzzle for you today at the store. Something to pass the time, since I know this place isn’t exactly cut out for a kid your age.”

She finished removing her sneakers and put them on the mud mat next to his boots. “Really? What kind of puzzle?”

“A jigsaw puzzle that looked kinda interesting. You said you liked puzzles, or that you had some puzzles, so I thought maybe you’d like it.” He pulled it out of the Wal-Mart bag lying on his easy chair and placed it on the table. “Here you go.”

She sat down and studied the box cover as he lit an extra candle and turned the wick up on the lantern so that they could see better. Then he pulled his suspenders up on his shoulders and sat down kitty-corner to her. He watched as her eyes traced the paths of the strange, armored beasts roaming up and down the stairs. She quietly said, “impossible.” Then she looked at Jed, a small smile blooming on her face. “I like it.”

“Wanna make it?”

“Of course.”

He pulled his jackknife out and deftly slit open the paper that sealed the top and the bottom halves of the box together and let her dump the pieces out onto the table. Then together they began the tedious process of flipping all of the pieces right-side up, sorting out the edges as they worked. After awhile, they had all the corners pulled out. Jed got out his reading glasses and began peering closely at the edge pieces, his gaze shifting back and forth from them to the box.

“You want me to start working on the edges?”

She smiled again without diverting her attention from the table. “Sure.”

Jed began to move the pieces around, testing and fitting, and his attention was soon pulled completely into the process. He worked for several long minutes, and had the bottom edge mostly done in several big fragments when he realized that Eli had not yet begun to put anything together. He glanced up at her and saw that she was sitting very still, mouth closed, her eyes scanning methodically across the pieces covering the table. He wanted to say something, but decided to keep his mouth shut and leave her alone while she did whatever she was doing, so he kept working on his edge, finally reaching a corner.

“I got the bottom side done,” he remarked. He started to slide it into place in front of her, but then stopped.

She put her left index finger on one piece, picked up another piece clear across the table, and brought them together. There was no fitting or attempted fitting; she just put them together. Then she found another piece, this one right in front of Jed, and locked it into place as well. She repeated the process again—and again. The little cluster of puzzle pieces began to grow larger in front of her. He had never seen anyone put a puzzle together in this way and he watched her, utterly fascinated. He glanced at the box cover, which they had sat upright near the candle, and realized that she was putting together the armored creature directly in the middle of the puzzle. As he continued to stare at her, he saw that she was building in a clockwise fashion. Each piece that she took fell unerringly into position beside the last.

“I thought you were going to work on the edges.” She didn’t look up.

“Oh. Sorry.” Spots of red emerged on his cheeks, and he quietly lowered his head and began to do the top edge, stealing glances at her as he worked. It did not take him long to realize that she was not even looking at the box top. Once or twice, out of the corner of her eye, she caught him peeking and gave him a small, mischievous grin; but her hands never stopped their work.

The puzzle was finished in less than an hour. Jed had assembled three of the edges; Eli had done the rest. Together they stared, fascinated, at Escher’s amazing drawing.

Jed got up, stretched, and headed toward the kitchen area. “I’m gonna fix myself some coffee. You want anything?”

“No thanks.”

He chuckled reflectively. “Somehow, I had thought that’d last a few days, at least. Guess I was wrong.”

“Sorry; that’s just how I am. I can’t do it any other way. And . . . I love the picture, and wanted to see it big. Can we leave it out for awhile?” Her fingers traced the triangles formed by the stairs in the picture.

“Of course.” He continued to speak as he fetched his coffee out of the Hoosier. “You’re something else again; you know that? Never seen anyone put a puzzle together like that.”

She did not reply; instead, she got up impulsively, brought her backpack to the table, and unzipped it. “Would you like to see my puzzles?” For the first time, he heard a note of excitement in her voice.

He turned and smiled at her. “Sure. Hang on a sec, though, while I get this water on the stove. Why don’t you bring them over here by the fire?”

They sat side by side, as they had the night before. She took a Rubik’s cube out and handed it to him. It had worn edges and the colored stickers were not in good shape; when he handled it, he realized that it was loose as well. But it was solved.

He grunted. “Looks like you got your money’s worth out of this one.”

“I’ve done it a lot.”

“I bet.” He thought for a moment. “Someone showed me one of these at some point when they first came out. I can’t remember when--back in the ‘80’s? I never could figure it out . . . guess I just don’t have the brains. But I reckon it’s child’s play to you.” He gave her a twinkling smile and handed it back to her. “What else ya got?”

She pulled out a knot of wires and handed it to him.

“Well well—the proverbial Gordian Knot.” He turned it over in his hands. “Reminds me of a ball of twine I had once. Too much trouble to undo it all, so I gave up . . . cut off what I could use, and pitched the rest. You can solve this one, too?”

“Yes. But it takes longer than the Cube.”

“I can imagine. All them knots.”

She nodded.

“How do you get it all knotted up again once you’ve unraveled it?”

She grinned. “That’s easy.”

He looked at her. “You know anything about knots?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know . . . different kinds of knots and how to use ’em.”

“Not really.”

“Mmm. Well, it’s useful knowledge when you live out here in the boonies, like me. Maybe at some point I’ll teach you a few.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good. So is that it?”

She reached in and lifted a wooden box out of the backpack. It was finished in a rich, cherry-brown and had a lock and hinges made of brightly polished brass. As soon as he saw it, Jed could tell it was hand-made, not manufactured. She pushed the catch and opened the lid; then removed an egg that was black and gold which she placed into his big, calloused hands.

“My egg.”

His reading glasses had slipped down on his nose and he lifted his head up as he held up the egg to study it. “Well now, this is really something.” He turned it in his hand. “Sure is heavy.”

“It’s a puzzle. You have to hold it upright, or it’ll fall apart.”

“Oh—okay. A puzzle, you say? How is it . . .” He held the egg even closer to his face. “Well I’ll be damned.”

He lowered it to his lap and looked at her. “What’s it made of?”

“The black metal, I don’t know. The strands are gold.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It must be quite valuable.”

“I think it is.”

He studied it closely once again. “Are each of those little . . . how many pieces are there?”

“Thousands, I think. But I’ve never counted them.”

“You inherit this from your folks? It looks like the sort of thing that ought to be in a museum somewhere.”

“It came from my father.”

“He must’ve been a wealthy man. And you’ve been dragging it around in that backpack here in the States? That seems rather foolhardy to me. You really ought to have it in safekeeping somewhere.”

“I like to look at it and play with it.”

He smiled inwardly at her simple, honest answer. She seemed old, but very much a child, too. So strange.

“That certainly is a nice box you have for it. Did your dad make that?”

“No. It was a gift from a friend.”

He handed it back to her. “Well, you’d best put it back in there. I’d hate to see it come apart and have you lose some pieces on this floor.”

He went to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee; then returned to his chair and drank. “Mmm. There was a time when I couldn’t get by in the morning without a big cup of Joe.”

Eli placed the egg back in the box and put it on the table. Then she got her stick and the jackknife he had loaned to her, returned to her chair, and began to whittle. “What did you do before you came out here?”

“Oh I worked in construction, mostly, after I got back from Vietnam. Started out as a carpenter’s apprentice with a fella named Tom Randell, and over twenty years later, wound up building custom homes. We had a partnership for a long time, before he retired and I bought him out.”

“You must be good with your hands.”

“I like to build things. Even as a kid, I did.” He chuckled. “Popsicle sticks, toothpicks and plenty of Elmer’s glue. But, you know—it gives you a sense of accomplishment to be able to drive down a stretch of road and say, ‘I built that house.’”

“How many houses did you build?”

He glanced at her, his eyebrows raised, and gave her a smile. “Shucks, I’ve never had anybody ask me that question. Can’t rightly say I know. Forty? Fifty? Somewhere around there.”

“Why did you stop working?”

“I suppose you could say I got tired of the D.C. Metro rat race, and plus, I could afford it. I wanted to do something different with my life, something that had been in the back of my mind for a long time.”

“Living out here, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“By yourself.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“So that makes me a problem, doesn’t it?”

He lowered his coffee mug to his thigh and turned toward her in his chair. “Aww, now listen, Eli—don’t you fret. You seem like a pretty nice youngster.” He paused and looked down into his coffee and grunted self-reflectively. “It’s been kinda fun, actually, having you here.”

“You’ve been very nice to me, Jed.”

“Well, it just seemed like you needed some help, is all.” He looked at her stick. “Makin progress, I see.”

She smiled wanly. “Trying. I’m not sure I’m much of a whittler.” They were quiet for awhile; then she spoke again. “Were you ever married?”

“Oh yeah--twice. Both of them ended badly.” He took another sip as he stared into the fire through the open door of the stove.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, don’t be. Half of all marriages end in divorce nowadays anyhow, so I guess I can take some comfort in that statistic. But the truth is, I don’t think I was the greatest husband who ever came down the pike. Or at least, I reckon that’s what my ex’s would tell you.”

“So did you have children?”

“One—a girl, Julianna.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“Yes. Was my first wife’s grandmother’s name, actually. And I liked it. One of the few things we agreed on.” He smiled ironically. “Lord, how we fought.”

“So how old is Julianna now?”

“Mmm . . . she’d be—oh, gracious—thirty years old now, had she lived.”

Eli put down her project and looked at him with a mixture of surprise and regret. “Oh! Sorry—I didn’t know.”

He shrugged. “It’s all right—no way you could have. She died very young, about half as old as you--just a child. She got a cancer. It was a very difficult time for us, and afterwards, things just weren’t the same between Bev and me. Kinda killed our marriage, you might say. Which I guess shows that it wasn’t the greatest marriage to begin with.”

“Do you miss being married?”

“It was very diffcult, at first. Sorta like having the rudder torn off your boat—you’re not really sure what direction you’re goin. But I . . . I don’t know. I guess I have mixed feelings about it.” He looked at her. “I don’t know whether I ought to be burdening you with all of this.”

She earnestly returned his gaze. “I don’t mind if you want to—or not. It’s up to you.”

He sat back and took a long swig of coffee; then rocked for awhile. “Well, why not.” He sighed and then spoke again. “I guess you could say that I never really felt that either Bev or Chrissy loved me for me. They loved what they wanted me to be. And when it turned out that I wasn’t what they thought or hoped I was, well . . . things sorta fell apart. It was a little better the second time around with Christine, but even that didn’t work out. ’Course, she was a lot younger than me. That might’ve had something to do with it.

“You know, when you’re young and just starting out, you don’t really know a whole lot, but you’ve got a lot of energy and enthusiasm. You believe in yourself. You tell yourself you can be whatever you want to be. And things seem simple—you just want to make that person you care about happy. You think everything else is secondary, and you believe that that other person feels the same way about your happiness. And somewhere in the middle, the twain shall meet, you hope.

“Then you get a little older, and you start to realize that changing yourself is a little harder than you thought. That maybe, a lot of growing up is becoming more of the person you were when you were young. A bigger, older version of that person you were, say, back in middle school. The same flaws, the same fears. The same interests, the same loves. And you also start to realize that ‘making someone happy’ isn’t as easy as you thought at first, either. That maybe some people have a limited capacity for happiness that isn’t going to change. And that’s when the goin starts gettin rough, I think. ’Cause just about the time you’re old enough to start figurin some of these things out, you’re pushing fifty and your choices are a helluva lot more limited than they were when you were twenty.”

He looked at her and smiled. “You, know, you shouldn’t listen to an old geezer like me. You’ll get discouraged, and then you’ll be afraid to fall in love someday.”

She returned his smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t be afraid.”

“Good. May I see your project?”

She handed it to him and he held it up and turned it slowly in his hand. “Who is this guy?”

“Oskar. He was my best friend. Only, I’m having trouble with his face.”

“Gimmee your knife for a sec.” He used it to begin carefully scraping the wood, speaking while he worked. “Lookee here. If you hold the knife this way, you can make it smoother than the way you were doing it. Nice, downward strokes. Then if you want, I got some 220 grade sandpaper you can use to make it really smooth.

“Also, your blade is getting dull. Let me get my whetstone.” He got up and went to his dresser and then returned with a small, gray rectangular block. “You ever use one of these?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s easy, and you’ll want to know because if you start to get into whittlin’ you’ll find out you gotta have a good, sharp knife all the time. You just hold the stone in your hand, and draw the blade across it about ten or fifteen times on each side at a very flat angle like this. You see?”

“Uh huh.”

“Here--you do it.”

She worked for awhile and then, at his prompting, turned the knife over and did the other side.

“Now you’re ready for action.”

“Thanks!”

“You’re welcome. Say—you sleepy yet?”

“No.”

“You probably stay up most of the night, don’tcha?”

“Yes.”

“’Cause you can’t go outside during the day, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, you wanna go do something?”

“Like what?”

“How ’bout a little midnight basketball?”

“I’d love to.”

“Good! Let’s go.”

†

They rumbled up to the corner of Route 522 and 211 and stopped. Being near midnight, there was little traffic. It was quite cold, and the defroster had at last cleared the silver, glittering frost from the windshield. Warm air finally began to come in at the floorboards, warming the old basketball that rolled at Eli’s feet as Jed turned left and headed east on the divided highway.

“I like your truck. Is it old?”

“As trucks go, pretty old, yeah. It’s a ’72. I like it because it’s got a carburetor and a three-speed on the column, so it’s easy to drive, and easy to work on.”

“Where are you taking all the cinderblocks in the back?”

“Nowhere. They’re just to add a little weight over the rear for better traction in the winter. I’ll need to put the snow tires on her in December. You warm enough?”

“Yes, thanks.” She looked down once again at her new gloves.

“So is Oskar here in Virginia? Or did you know him in Sweden?”

“In Sweden.”

“He must be special, if you’re carving his face.”

“He was. Very special, actually. But he died a few years ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry--sorry for your loss, mean.”

“It’s okay. I just miss him alot. Every day.”

“When a friend dies, it’s always hard. But it’s especially tragic when a young person dies, before they’ve had a chance to do anything with their life.”

Eli watched the guardrails slide by along the edge of the gently rolling highway; they seemed to go on forever. “Oskar did a lot. He loved me and he helped me. He always put my needs ahead of his own. He was . . . everything to me.”

Jed thought awhile. “Sounds like more than your average preteen crush.”

She nodded and managed a small smile. “It was. Much more.”

He slid the control on the dashboard over a little to cut back on the heat. “You know, Eli, sometimes you sure don’t seem like a twelve-year-old. I mean, when we talk, it feels as though you’ve been through a lot more than the average kid your age.”

She sighed, then slumped over against the passenger door until her cheek rested against the cold window. She stared out at the gray guardrail posts, and began to feel lost in the hypnotic effect that their flickering motion induced. There was a long silence; so long, in fact, that Jed began to conclude that she was not going to answer. Then she said softly, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He looked over at her. “What do you mean?”

She turned her head and their eyes met—his a faded, grayish hazel; hers a dark, brownish green. The pale features of her small face were hard to discern in the dim light from the instrument panel, but her eyes were not. They looked at him with grave earnest, searching his face for an answer to an unspoken question, or perhaps for reassurance--Jed was not sure. Nor was he certain whether she was finding any answers.

Again he felt a trickle of fear; this time it was not because he doubted that Eli was human, but because it seemed as though a very old person was inside her, staring at him. And not just staring, but assessing him in a frank way that, oddly, reminded him of his drill sergeant in basic training over thirty years ago. Then without answering, she turned away and stared out the window. They rode the rest of the way to the high school in silence.

The basketball courts at the school were not lit, but were close enough to the lights for the parking lot and the athletic building that one could see well enough to play ball in the middle of the night.

He shut off the motor and turned out the headlights. “You ever played basketball before?”

“No.”

“You ever heard of basketball before?”

She shot him a look. “Of course.”

“All right, all right, don’t get your underwear in a knot—I was just checkin. Didn’t know whether you Swedes played it or not, is all. Make sure you lock that door when you get out.”

She shut the door and came around the back side of the truck and together they headed toward the court. “We play it. It’s just that I never have.”

Well, you know you’re trying to shoot as many baskets as possible. And if the other guy’s got the ball, then you’re playing defensive. So you’re trying to block his shot and get the ball when you can.”

“I get it.”

He bounced the ball to her as they approached the basket. “Here you go. Let’s warm up and then play a little one-on-one.”

She took a shot at the basket. The ball sailed over the top of the backboard and out into the grass. He ran and got it for her, then tossed it back. Then he stood to the side and behind the pole so he could get it in case she missed again.

She shot for several minutes and made a few, but mostly missed. Then he showed her how to shoot properly, using one hand to propel the ball toward the basket when she jumped for better control, and she improved.

With his encouragement, she began to move around the court as she made baskets. Soon, she was making as many shots as she was missing. He was surprised to see that she was able to get the ball to the basket just as well from mid-court as when she was inside the three-point line.

He gave the ball back to her after a missed shot. “You tired yet?”

“No. I want to keep playing.”

“Let’s do a little one-on-one.”

“Okay. How do you do that?”

“Well, you have to start dribbling the ball. I’ll guard you and you guard me. We try and block each other’s shots.” He explained how to pivot, and about fouls; then they began to play.

He was so much taller than her that she was unable to block his shots very well without jumping up, so when he gained possession, he nearly always made a basket. But she was much faster and more agile than him, and he found it almost impossible to effectively block her shots. She always turned away and broke free of him before he could react, and before long he found himself chasing her around the court while she made basket after basket. Her ability to outmaneuver him seemed uncanny.

At last he stopped, panting and out of breath. “Okay—enough. I admit defeat.” He watched as she made a few more, surprised that she still seemed so fresh. “You want to try some foul shots?”

She took aim and missed; then grabbed the ball after it bounced off the backboard and stopped. “What’re those?”

“Sometimes if someone commits a foul, like when someone is shooting, the player who was fouled gets a free shot. You stand on the line right there. Each basket is worth a point.”

“Okay.” She got in place and began to throw, making two in quick succession. He returned the ball to her each time.

“You sure are a natural. You ever play sports in Sweden?”

“No.”

“Too bad. I’m sure your school could’ve used a player like you.”

“I never went to a regular school.”

“Because of your illness?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm. I guess I could see how that’d be a problem.”

She stopped abruptly, her apparently happy mood suddenly deflated. “I want to quit now.”

“All right.”

Without saying more, she turned away and walked back to the truck.

He pulled down to the end of the driveway and stopped. “There’s a 7-11 a little closer in toward town. You want anything before we head back?”

“No thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I told you I don’t eat much.”

“That’s an understatement. You’re going to get sick if you keep this up. You’re not one of those anorexic girls, are you?”

“Anorexic?”

“Bullemia. You know, they turn around and throw up what the eat because they think they’re fat, even when they look like they’re starving.”

“Oh—no, I don’t have that problem.”

“Okay.”

†

11/26/02 – 2:45 a.m.

Can’t remember the last time I made a journal entry this late. My mystery girl woke up Sun. eve. Eli’s her name & she’s from Sweden. Says she’s 12 yrs old, homeless and has been in the U.S. for < 1 yr. States parents both dead but denies step-parents. Won’t tell me how she got from Sweden to Va. but says she’s no runaway. Don’t think she’s lying, but not telling me the whole truth, either. Prob. afraid I’ll call the Sheriff to come get her & return her to her family if she tells me more.

I thought she was strange when she was asleep, but she seems pretty normal now that she’s awake. States she has a rare, incurable disease that makes her allergic to sunlight and caused her near-suspended animation. Don’t know if it’s true, but it seems just as plausible as anything else. Had a backpack full of her puzzles & who knows what else squirreled away about 150 yds. down from where I bagged my deer on the southeast slope, near that rocky ridgeline. One of her puzzles is a very unusual egg that must be worth thousands of dollars, and yet she’s toting it around as if it’s a toy.

She’s very child-like in some ways. Curious and interested in learning. And also an honest-to-God prodigy, given that she polished off a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle in ~1 hr., which I’ve never seen anyone do before. Also turned out to be a great little basketball player. She’s a good listener, and very polite to boot.

Sounds like she’s come from a tragic past, though. Mentioned a friend of hers who died not too long ago whom she’s still mourning. In this she seems more like an adult than a child. Can’t make heads or tails of that, but obviously she has much she wants to talk about, if she can trust me. Can she?

I like her.

†

Eli pretended to be asleep on her air mattress in the loft as she listened to Jed pad across the room, put something on his bookshelf, and then turn down the lantern. The shadows deepened to near-total darkness, kept at bay only by the faint yellow glow from the table and the reddish-orange light flickering from the stove. She heard him yawn and then heard his bed creak. There was a rustling of covers, and then silence.

Now that there was nothing to hear, she turned onto her side and thought about the day’s events. Clearly he was trying to adjust his sleeping routine to be awake longer during the night, no doubt out of a sense of kindness toward her. The trouble was, the more time he spent with her, the harder it made it for her to lie about eating while he was asleep. Not much more time would pass before he challenged her directly about not eating. And that might lead to a blow-up between them which could force her hand about everything she was keeping from him.

To flee or tell him: that was the question. She wanted to do neither, but sooner or later would have to do one or the other. How long would he continue to put up with her before he began demanding to know everything about her? A few days? A week?

He liked her; that was obvious. And she liked him, too. He was generous and kind. But was he acting that way just to gain her confidence? So after she spilled the beans, he could take her down to the welfare people or whoever, and turn her in? But he could try to do that now, couldn’t he? So why was he waiting?

Because he was nice; because he didn’t want to force things. Because he wanted to do what he decided was in her best interests without traumatizing her. So that whatever he did, he would do with her agreement. Or was there more to it? How deep might his feelings for her be? It was too early to tell.

What would he do if she told him? Try to kill her? Tell her to leave? Say he didn’t care? Of the three, she liked the first the best--as long as he did it out of love, not hate. But why did that matter? She would be dead either way.

She didn’t know why it mattered, but it did. Somehow, it did, and so she couldn’t tell him yet. The time wasn’t right.

She pulled the covers up over her head, relaxed, and stopped thinking about Jed. And soon, of course, her thoughts turned to . . .

Oskar. I miss you so much. Why is it always at this time of night that I miss you the most? Miss your arms around me, keeping me safe. Miss your body, keeping me warm. Miss your kisses; miss your love.

She curled herself tighter into a ball and wished she had an extra pillow to hug; something she could at least pretend was Oskar.

Don’t cry. Don’t.

She heard Jed’s breathing slow and deepen. She brushed the tears out of her eyes and wished she were dead.

A long time passed, and her tears had turned into sniffles, when somewhere out on the mountain, a coyote howled. Its voice was long and lonesome.

Jed’s voice, thick and heavy with sleep: “Eli.”

She opened her eyes and pulled the blanket off her head. “Yes, Jed?”

“That’s not scaring you, is it?”

It wasn’t; but was that what she wanted to say?

“Maybe a little.”

“You haven’t spent much time in a log cabin out in the woods, have you?”

The truth was, not recently; but as usual, the truth was too complicated. “No.”

“Well if you’re scared, you’re welcome to come down here. I’ll set up the cot right next to my bed.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Bring down your pillow and blanket.”

†

They lay facing each other; he on his cot, she in his bed. Outside, the coyote continued to sing his lonesome song.

“Listen to that crazy dog,” he muttered crossly. “Damn thing will keep us up all night with his yapping.” He adjusted the covers around her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

“Welcome. Well, good night.”

“Night.”

He was almost asleep when a small, soft hand laid itself on top of his. When he did not move or pull away, it burrowed under his blanket and found its way into his grasp. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, felt it squeeze back, and then the veil of sleep overcame him.

†

“Eli. Wake up.”

Jed was standing over her, shaking her shoulder. She was still in his bed, where she had been the night before. As she oriented herself, the memory of the previous night came back to her: the coyote’s howling; coming down from the loft to sleep; getting up later and going to the outhouse to throw more food away.

“What time is it?”

“Quarter to five--you slept the whole day away.” He laughed softly. “Guess I didn’t need to worry about keeping quiet.”

“Oh.” She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around. There was a fresh load of firewood sitting by the stove and the ash pail had been emptied. “What’s going on?”

He held his boots in one hand, sat down at the kitchen table, and began to pull them on over his gray and orange socks. “It’s starting to snow again, and they’re promising quite a bit. We need to run to the store and pick up some food and fresh water, and I want to stop in first with Mrs. Enderly to see if she’s okay or needs anything.” He went to his coat rack and put on his old barn jacket.

“Can I stay here?”

“Now where’d I put my keys? Oh yeah.” He went back to the kitchen table and began fishing through the pockets of a pair of pants hanging over the back of one of the chairs.

“Well, you can if you want, but I’d prefer you come because I’d like to get some more clothes for you, and it would be easier to do that if you’re with me.”

“Won’t she think it’s weird? That I’m hanging out with you?”

He slipped his keys into his coat pocket. “Well, she might, actually. I just want to check in with her because someone was murdered yesterday up near Front Royal, and because of the snow and all.”

Eli was quiet for a moment. “Maybe I could sit in the truck and wait.”

“All right. I shouldn’t be long.”

The road split at the bottom of the mountain, not too far past Carson’s home. The way to the right led to the highway, and the left was a gravel road that went off in the opposite direction. Jed took the left. The road gradually rose and wound up and around the mountainside.

They bounced and jostled around in the cab as the truck went over dips and bumps. The snow blew like sand in erratic eddies across the metallic green hood; it was too light and dry to stick, so Jed did not need his wipers.

“How much snow are they promising?”

“Six to ten inches overnight. There’s about an inch on the ground already.”

“Are you worried?”

“Nah. We’ll be all right.”

“Jed?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for last night--I really liked going to play basketball. It was fun.”

“You’re welcome.” He pulled the truck slightly to the right and then back again, maneuvering around a pothole. “I thought maybe at the end there I said something to upset you.”

“It’s okay. It’s just that sometimes I think about what I’ve missed because of what I am—I mean, because of my disease. Like being able to go to school and play sports.”

Because of what I am--it struck Jed as an odd thing to say. “Well listen, it was sort of a thoughtless comment. I’ve just never been around someone with a problem like yours. Some of the things you’ve told me are still sinking in, I think.”

She nodded. “I know I’m weird.”

“Oh, it’s all right. Trust me, no one is completely normal.”

She was silent for awhile, then cleared her throat. “Thank you for letting me sleep downstairs, too. I wasn’t really afraid of the coyote; it’s just . . . .” She looked away from him and stared out the side window.

He glanced at her, wondering what she intended to say, but said nothing.

“. . . it’s just that I really, really miss Oskar, like I said. And it just felt good to know that you were there. That you care.”

He stopped the truck. “Eli, listen. I’d like to help you. I feel like there’s an awful lot about you that I don’t understand. And I know you’re reluctant, for whatever reason, to tell me about your problems. But I’m not gonna force you to tell me anything about yourself that you don’t wanna say. You seem like an extraordinary youngster to me, and damn nice to boot. I like you alot. So don’t go thinking that I’m gonna kick you out anytime soon. I’ve never been in a situation like this before, but I’m not that kind of a guy. If you want to tell me more about yourself, or about your feelings for Oskar, I’m here to listen. If you don’t, you don’t. I’ll help you however I can, to whatever extent you want. And if that means holding your hand in the middle of the night, I’m glad to do it. Okay?”

She looked at him for what seemed a long time with a small, trembling smile, and appeared to be on the verge of tears before whispering “thanks.” He reached over and patted her leg. “You’re welcome.”

He put the truck in gear and continued up the lane. Soon, without saying anything, she unfastened her belt and slid over next to him in the middle of the bench seat. Jed smiled to himself and kept driving.

The road soon straightened, and the underbrush gave way to organized rows of birch trees that lined their path and raised their pale, fingerlike branches toward the dark sky. They moved along the lane in muted silence, the engine of Jed’s truck a low rumble under the gentle swish of the snowflakes against the windows.

They passed a mailbox in the shape of a mallard duck that had wild roses growing around its post. Then a farmhouse and an old barn emerged to their right as the trees ended and opened up into a cleared meadow. Jed idled up next to a Subaru station wagon that was parked next to a water pump in the yard, and cut off the engine.

He took his cap off the dashboard and put it on. “I won’t be but a few minutes. You sure you’ll be okay here?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

She watched as he walked up to the broad porch, which ran the entire length of the front of the house, and knocked on the door. A couple of rocking chairs on the porch creaked back and forth in the wind.

There was movement behind one of the front windows, and then a slender, elderly woman wearing a pink cardigan sweater opened the front door. Jed opened the old-fashioned screen door, wiped his boots on the mat, and stepped inside.

“Jed! What’re you doing up here on a night like this?”

He took off his cap and stuffed it into one of jacket pockets. “Evenin’, Katie. How are you?”

“Well, I’m fine, just fine. I was working on my needlepoint project for Janice.” She bent and turned on a leaded glass lamp that stood on the drop-leaf table by the front door. “Come on in.”

“No, I can’t stay, dear. I’m headin in to Warrenton to buy some things and wondered if you needed anything.”

“Oh! Well as a matter of fact, I might. I heard we’re supposed to get six to eight inches tonight, and maybe more tomorrow.”

“Yup. I heard maybe ten.”

“Seems early to be getting so much snow, don’t you think? We just had Thanksgiving, for heaven’s sake.”

“I agree. Speaking of which, did you enjoy spending the holiday with Marilyn and George?”

“Oh yes, I certainly did. Marilyn and I put together a 20-pound bird, and all the grandkids where there. She did all of the fixings, and I made a pie. I brought some of the turkey home—would you like a little?”

“Ah—no, but thanks for the offer. I really can’t stay long tonight.”

“Well, if you’re running in there, I could use some milk and eggs.”

“Skim, right? Or is it two percent?”

“Two percent. Just a gallon will do.”

“All right. That’s it, then—milk and eggs?”

“Yes. Do you want some money now?”

“Nah--you can pay me later. I reckon I’ll be back out here by nine-thirty at the latest.”

She smiled at him. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Sounds good.” He turned, opened the door, and stepped back onto the porch.

“I haven’t been outside since it started snowing,” she said, pulling her sweater around herself and following behind him. “Is there much accumulation?”

“Not too bad yet . . . just a few inches. But I hope you got your snow shovel handy, ’cause I’ll want to clear your walkway.”

“It’s around back. My goodness—look at all of it already.” She looked out across the yard and saw Jed’s truck. “Well I’m sorry, Jed . . . I didn’t know you had company.”

Jed did not reply at first. He, too, was looking toward the truck and its occupant, and his back was turned to Katie. He put his cap on, then spoke matter-of-factly. “That’s Eli.”

“Eli? Is she family, Jed? I didn’t know you had any grandchildren.”

“No, she’s not my kin, but I wouldn’t mind if she was. She showed up on my property a few days ago. Says she’s from Sweden and she’s homeless. I’m helping her out for a few days until we can sort out what to do.”

“Doesn’t sound like you to take in a stranger, Jed.”

“Aw now Katie, don’t get all suspicious on me. She’s a very nice young girl who just needs a little help; that’s all. When we get back, we’ll stop in and the two of you can say hello.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay. See you in a bit.”

Through her screen door Katie watched, curious, as Jed got into his truck, backed it around in a half-circle, and headed down the mountain. When she had first set her eyes on the child, the small face had been watching her with emotions she was not sure she could read, but which seemed to be a mixture of curiosity and fear. Then after the truck had turned around, all she could see was Jed.

As the taillights disappeared into the gloom, a vague sense of unease took hold of her, and she remained at the door for awhile, staring down the empty lane at her lonely mailbox in the falling snow. Then, irritated with herself, she shut the door and returned to her needlepoint. For pity’s sake, old woman. Of all the people you know, Jed can certainly take care of himself. Taking in a homeless girl doesn’t sound like him, but he’s always had a big heart—you know that. Look at all the things he’s done for you over the years.

Chapter V

Jed and Eli stood in the boy’s clothing aisle. They were shopping at Wal-Mart, which was not, to Jed’s way of thinking, much of an improvement over K-Mart. He pulled a sweatshirt off the shelf and checked the tag. “Here’s a medium. Are you sure you don’t like red?”

“No—the blue is fine.” She opened up the one she was holding and held it against her chest. “This’ll work.”

He looked at her, nonplussed. “But it’s just like the one you got on. Don’t you want a little variety?”

“No. Jag gillar blå.”

“What?”

She smiled at him as she put it into the shopping cart. “I like blue.”

He rolled his eyes and spoke with mock disgust. “Kids—I’ll never figure’em out.” He put the red sweatshirt back. “So how do you say ‘red’ in Swedish?”

“Röd.”

“’Röd’? Sounds almost the same.”

“Ja.” She grinned.

He shook his head and chuckled under his breath. “Did you find some underwear and socks?”

“Yes. They’re already in the cart.”

“Good. Well I haveta say, pickin’ out a sweatshirt was easier than finding you a decent pair of pants. Is there anything else you want, clothing-wise?”

“No.”

“All right. Well, let’s go get the food and then get outta here. These places always make me feel depressed.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and studied it as he began pushing the cart. “Lessee . . . water and bread; condensed milk for me . . . skim milk for Katie—or was it two percent? Eggs . . . .”

They had finished getting the groceries and were rolling past the jewelry section toward the checkout when a thought occurred to him. He slowed and then stopped when he saw what he was looking for. “Hang on a sec.”

“What?”

“You gotta little picture of your friend? Oskar? Or some little momento? Lock of hair—that sorta thing?”

She looked at him uncertainly, and then to the jewelry case. “Why do you ask?”

The store clerk, a young black woman, came around the center island behind the counter. “Need some help?”

“Howdy. Lemme see that locket down there, willya?”

“Sure.” She slid the case open at the back. “The silver or the gold?”

“Gold.” He pointed. “The one without the CZ.”

She took it out and put it on the countertop. He picked it up and studied it; looked at the tag. Sterling silver and ten carat gold, the tag declared. Ninety-eight bucks plus tax.

“You know what a locket is, dontcha?”

“Sure.”

“Own one?”

“No.”

He handed it to her. “What do you think of this one?”

She held it in her palm and carefully studied the delicate flower pattern around its edge, then used a fingernail to pop it open. Then she closed it and handed it back to him. “Thanks, but you don’t have to.”

He looked steadily at her and did not put it down. “It’s not a question of having to. It’s a question of wanting to.”

She looked down at the locket, which seemed very small in his big hand, and then back to his eyes. Then back to the locket again. “Are you sure you want to give it to me?”

He gave her a nod and a smile. “Sure I’m sure.”

“All right, then.”

He turned to the clerk. “We’ll take it.”

“Okay. Will that be cash or charge?”

“Cash.” He opened his wallet and laid out two fiftys and three ones. She took the bills and rang him up. “Need a box?”

“Naw.” He tore the tag off, undid the clasp, and brought it to her neck. Carefully he placed it upon her, reaching around and under her hair to snap it closed as she tilted her head slightly.

“There.” He stepped back to look. “Hey, it looks nice.” He grabbed a mirror on the counter by some lipstick samples, slid it over to her, and angled it so that she could see “Now you just need to put something in it.”

She smiled as she looked at herself with the pendant, turning her head to one side and the other and touching the chain. “Thanks! I will.”

While they waited in the checkout line, they passed the time discussing the Swedish names for the small items on the racks. He offered to buy her some chocolate, but she politely declined. By the time they had left the store the number of cars in the lot had thinned considerably, and the snow on the ground and in the air had increased. After loading their things, Jed fired up his Chevy and they took 29 north.

Eli began to talk as they passed the fairgrounds with its creosote-coated fenceline stark against the whiteness of the snow, its stables dark and deserted.

“When I first met Oskar, he was having alot of trouble with a group of boys at school. They picked on him all the time, almost every day. And he was too nice to fight back, so he was really unhappy and angry inside. In a way, they were killing him a little, every day. Not physically, but . . . mentally. Or maybe you could say, spiritually?

“So I met him because I had moved in next door to him at his apartment. We met in the courtyard of his apartment complex. I wasn’t doing so well then, either, and he took an interest in me, too. Because of my disease, I was very lonely, too, just like him—I didn’t really have any friends.”

Jed put on his signal and turned west onto 211. “I can relate to what you’re saying about Oskar. I was sorta the same way when I was a kid—pretty quiet and withdrawn; didn’t feel real comfortable around people. Insecure, I guess you could say. But I had one good friend—Dave Meritt--he was the son of one of the local police officers. And I’ll always remember, one day at school . . . can’t remember now what grade I was in—fourth grade? Fifth grade? But anyway, someone was picking on me, and Dave stood up for me. Physically, I mean--put himself between this other guy and me. And that stopped it, right there. And I was always so grateful that he did that for me. At the time, it was like a miracle; I never forgot it. So I think that’s what friends are for, sometimes. To stand up for us, when we can’t stand up for ourselves. It’s a great gift, really. You know--friends don’t let friends down. Of course, when you’re in the military, this is taken to a whole different level. There the bond is even stronger--those men are your brothers. You’ll do anything for them; that’s how strong it is. But we’re talking about the same thing, I think.”

“So what happened to Dave?”

“Oh, he ended up going to a different middle school than me, and we grew apart. Then he got into trouble when he set off a pipe bomb in his back yard and blew off part of his forearm. Then I heard later that he was convicted of armed robbery. But at that point, I didn’t know him any more.”

“Oh. That’s sad.”

“Yeah, it was. Not sure where things went wrong with him. I think maybe it had something to do with his relationship with his father.

“So what happened with you and Oskar?”

“I ended up helping him, kind of like you talked about with Dave. I helped get him out of a really bad fix. And then he left his mom and we ran away together.”

Jed grunted, a bit surprised. “Ran away together? How old was he?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve? But what about your folks? Weren’t you still with them at that point?”

“No. You see, Jed . . .” She paused, then said to herself, “How can I tell you this.” She looked away from him for awhile; appeared to be thinking. Then she looked back to him and caught his gaze. “Jed, there’s some things about me you need to understand. About my disease. You see, I’m actually older than I look. I’m twelve, but I’ve actually been living longer than that.”

“Longer than that . . . so you . . . so this thing with Oskar didn’t just happen a few years ago, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

“So . . . how old was Oskar when he died?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Thirty-one!” He looked at her incredulously. “So you’re saying you’re actually . . . forty-two years old?”

“No. I—” She stopped in mid-sentence, her attention drawn to pair of headlights that suddenly appeared in Jed’s window and grew unnaturally bright. A split-second later, a car struck them. The truck lurched violently sideways, skidded off the roadway, and began to tumble down a slight incline.

Jed came to with an intense pain in his chest. His head hurt, too, but not as much as his chest. Something was stuck on his chest, pinning him into his seat. Through the shattered front window he saw the snowy ground, but something was wrong because it was sideways. Then he realized that the truck was lying on its side.

He tried to push on the thing that was against his chest, but couldn’t move his left arm. He reached with his right and grabbed it. The steering wheel--it was jammed against him, and he couldn’t catch his breath.

He looked around groggily. The passenger door was above him; snow pattered on the glass. Something warm and wet trickled down his forehead and ran into his right eye, obscuring his vision. He blinked and tried to wipe it away.

He heard a soft noise and at the same time felt movement over his head. Then he realized that Eli was above and behind him, in the upper left corner of the cab. And at the same time that he realized she was there, he smelled gasoline.

He struggled behind the wheel, trying to free himself, but all he could move was his right leg; his left wasn’t responding. He began to feel faint from lack of oxygen.

“Eli—are you all right?” His voice was slurred. Panic set in as he realized that he was going to die if he stayed where he was. He struggled harder.

“Jed?” He felt her shift behind him; some part of her brushed his head. “Jed—are you all right?”

“No—can’t breathe. I’m . . . I’m stuck, this damn wheel, it—ah, shit—”

She reached across him, her thighs straddling his head. Her hands seized the steering wheel and pushed and twisted it. To his disbelief, it broke off of the steering column, the hard plastic shattering in her hands, and suddenly he could breathe--the vise had been released. He drew a great, ragged breath, and for a few seconds all he could do was breathe. Eli had freed him.

She was still above and behind him; he rolled his eyes up and tried to see her. “Eli, we need to get out of here. I smell gas . . .” He shifted, trying to haul his body up toward the passenger door above him, and swung his right arm up to find some purchase. But with this sudden exertion, blackness overcame him.

He awoke again, this time to a powerful wave of heat and light. He was lying on the ground in the snow about a hundred and fifty feet from his truck, which had ignited with a powerful whump. The pressure wave of superheated air had revived him.

He could not understand why he was no longer in his truck. The pain in his chest and head remained. He tried to move, but his left leg prevented it. His back was cold, but his face was warm. He shivered, and then his teeth began to chatter.

He looked away from his truck and for the first time, saw the car that had struck them. Because of the front-end damage, he could not tell what make it was. It was right-side up, and from the light of his burning truck he could see that the left side of the windshield was shattered, probably from where the driver’s head had struck it. Not good, he thought.

Then he saw movement at the driver’s window, and to his surprise, Eli crawled out of the car. In a detached and dreamlike way he realized that the door must have been crimped shut. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her coat and approached him with a rapid and unwavering pace. As she drew near, he heard sirens in the distance.

She crouched by his side in the snow. There was some blood on her chin, and it had gotten onto her sweatshirt and her new locket, too. The red contrasted sharply with the gold in the yellowish light from his blazing truck.

“Eli . . .” He could barely talk. “Are you hurt?”

She looked away from him toward the sirens, which were now much louder. Then she turned back, put a hand over his heart and said, “You’ll be all right, Jed.” Without saying more, she lowered her head to his, and when her face was only a few inches away, she looked directly into his eyes for what seemed to him to be a very long time, but which much later he knew had only been a brief moment.

Then she kissed him softly, and with her kiss all of the tension and anxiety drained away from him; he was at once completely relaxed. He knew that he would be all right, just as she had said. And as the calm settled over him, she lifted her mouth from his, smoothed the hair away from his brow, and gently kissed his forehead. He felt her lips and tongue briefly move across the wetness there; then her voice was whispering in his ear. “Not forty-two years, Jed . . . more than two hundred.”

Then she was gone.

†

“This is Josh Donahue with Marshfield Insurance. Do I have your permission to record our conversation, Mr. Inverness?”

“Yes, yes—of course.”

“Okay, thanks. So the accident occurred on Wednesday, November 27?”

“Yeah.” Jed shifted in his hospital bed and tucked the phone under his chin so he could pour himself a cup of water from the pitcher on the tray stand centered over his stomach.

“And about what time was it?”

“Oh, I’d guess about 8:45 or so. Because it hadn’t been long since I left the Wal-Mart in Warrenton, and I’d looked at my watch there and it was about 8:30.”

“Okay. And you were headed west on 211, is that right?”

“Yeah.” He took a sip of water.

“Going home?”

“Yes.”

“The weather was—”

“--snowing pretty good. The roads were a bit slick.” He looked out of his hospital window at the snow-covered fields that stretched away from the back of Fauquier Hospital. “Still quite a bit of it on the ground.”

“Yes sir, it snowed about seven inches that night. Um, did you have any passengers?”

“No. I live alone.”

“All right. So what happened?”

“T-boned at that intersection. Don’t know the road.”

“It was County Road 729—Richmond Road.”

“If you say so.”

“Remember how fast you were going?”

“Not sure, but it was less than the speed limit, because I was worried about the snow.”

“Did you see the other car before it hit you?”

“Only for a second. He must not’ve stopped, ’cause he hit us pretty hard.”

“Us?”

“I mean, me and my truck.”

“Where did he hit you?”

“Left quarter panel and the driver’s door. Then we rolled.”

“Were you thrown clear of your truck?”

“No. I guess I crawled out, although I don’t remember too well, now. That part’s a little fuzzy.”

“Okay. Do you have anything else to add about how the accident occurred?”

“Not really. He just came out of nowhere.”

“Can you tell me about your injuries?”

“My left leg was broke—tibia, I think the doctor said. And a concussion, my head was cut open, and my left arm was beat up pretty bad. Also they said I had microfractures of my chest bone—you know, the sternum.”

“And how is your treatment going right now?”

“Ah, pretty good, all things considered. They took a bunch of x-rays, stitched me up, put a cast on me, gave me pain medication—that sort of thing.”

“Do you know when you’ll be discharged?”

“I’m told tomorrow, if the final head x-ray looks okay.”

“All right. Do you have any questions before I stop the recording, then?”

“Well yeah, actually. No one’s told me what happened to the other driver, or I mean . . . even who he was.”

“His name was Robert Finch. He died at the scene.”

For a moment, Jed couldn’t speak. In his mind he pictured the shattered windshield of the car and saw Eli climb out; remembered how she had looked with blood down her front. Remembered her eyes.

“Oh, I’m—I’m terribly sorry to hear that. How old was he?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Anyone know why he hit me?”

“That’s not clear, Mr. Inverness. We suspect he may have fallen asleep at the wheel. He was last seen leaving work down in Culpeper and he was apparently heading Front Royal, where he lived.”

“Mmm. All right, well thanks for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome. I’m going to end the tape now.”

“All right.”

“Thanks, Mr. Inverness.”

He hung up the phone with a sense of uneasiness at the lies he’d told, and turned his head to stare out the window again. After a little while, his thoughts drifted back to . . .

--Eli. Somehow, she had saved his life. Had she tried to help that other guy, too?

Two hundred years. Had he imagined that? He wasn’t sure. But he hadn’t imagined her kiss; he was quite certain of that. It was the one thing that stood out above everything else, like a lighthouse beacon in a foggy night. Her kiss, and how it had made him feel. And how it was making him feel now.

He put the cup back on the tray and pushed it to the side, then lowered his bed a little. Damn nice, these electric hospital beds; you could put them in just about any position you wanted, head and feet. Almost made all of the rest of it worthwhile.

He closed his eyes and thought again about the dream he’d had last night.

He had been thirteen, back in middle school. In someone’s class; he couldn’t remember whose. It didn’t matter, because he hadn’t been paying attention to the teacher anyway, assuming there even had been a teacher. Eli had been in the class with him, and she was the one he had been paying attention to. She had been next to him, both of them sitting at those old school desks that he supposed they still used today—the ones with the metal legs and the formica laminated tops that flipped up so you could put stuff in the area underneath. They had been flirting, stealing glances at each other, secretly passing little love notes. He had been intensely happy because she had been sitting next to him and paying attention to him.

The feeling in his dream had been the same one he’d had with that big crush on Caroline Lafave, the first girl he’d known with red hair--only that had been . . . when—fifth grade? Something like that. A feeling of euphoria, of unbridled pleasure, when she had agreed to a kiss behind his elementary school building during recess that spring. Yes, that was how he’d felt in his dream. Puppy love.

And then the dream had changed, and they were . . . somewhere. A house with a basement; he thought it was the house where he’d been born in California when his father had been stationed at the San Diego Naval Base. The den that had been down there with the pool table, he remembered that.

And he and Eli had gone downstairs. They had been sneaking around; she wasn’t supposed to be over, his parents didn’t know. And she had taken his hand and they had run down the stairs together to that room in the back, the one next to the laundry room with that horrible green wall-to-wall shag carpet . . . and they had started kissing again. And then they had . . .

He abruptly opened his eyes and elevated the head of his bed. Time to think about something else. That dream wasn’t right; he wished he had not had it. And more, he wished he could stop thinking about it. But he couldn’t, because he couldn’t get her eyes or her kiss out of his head.

He shook his head. He was acting like an idiot; he knew that. Men his age were not supposed to have such thoughts about little girls. It was perverted and it made him sick to think about it. What was wrong with him?

But there was something about what had happened that wasn’t perverted; he knew that too. She had saved his life. He didn’t know how, but she had. The sense that she loved him—or at least, cared about him—he knew in his heart that there was nothing wrong with that. And the powerful desire he’d experienced at that moment to reciprocate—there was nothing perverse about that, either. It had been a good feeling--a feeling of wanting to give himself, that he hadn’t felt about anyone in a long, long time. So he firmly resolved to reject his dream, and keep his feelings about Eli pure. Maybe if he ever saw Eli again, he would try to think of her as his daughter. There would be nothing wrong with that, nothing to be ashamed of. He just had to keep the whole thing in the proper perspective; that’s all.

†

“Sure feels good to be outta that place.” Jed eased himself into the front passenger seat of Katie’s car and held his crutches on his lap. She shut his door, got in the other side, and they pulled away from the turnaround at the hospital entrance.

“How’s your cast feel?”

“It’s not bad. Not really much pain to speak of.”

“I’m having a hard time seeing you clumping around in your cabin all alone for three months with that thing, Jed. Especially during the winter.”

“Ah, I’ll be all right. I got plenty of wood inside right now, and it’ll get me through until the doc says I can begin weight-bearing. But I do appreciate you volunteering to get some fresh supplies for me, seeing as how my last purchase got waylaid.”

“That was the least I could do. I still think that you ought to consider staying with me for a week or so while you’re getting used to those crutches. I know you won’t do it because you’re so damn hardheaded, but I’m worried. I think you would be doing yourself a favor.”

“Let’s just play it by ear. I’m pretty sure I should be able to cut a deal with Jack Nerschel over at Country Chevrolet today on that Silverado I was telling you about. He’s told me all about it, and we’re already close to a price. And it’s got an automatic, so I should be able to drive it. If I run into trouble, I’ll come over and you can put me up for a few days until I get my act together.”

“The thought of you driving a truck in the snow with a broken leg scares me to death.”

“You told me yourself that the roads up there are pretty good now. And it’s supposed to warm up a bit on Tuesday.”

“I know; I just . . .” She shook her head and sighed. “Men. You’re all alike.

“Have you heard anything more from your little friend? Eli?”

“Nope.”

“What do you supposed happened to her?”

“I dunno. But like I said, she wasn’t hurt in the accident. She ran off, and God knows where she went.”

“I can’t understand why she’d do that, Jed. I mean, most kids . . . they’d probably hang around for the firemen to come. You know, for some grownups to take charge.”

“Yeah, I know. But Eli was no ordinary kid, Katie. I’m not sure I understood what was really going on with her, but she was unusual. Pretty worldly-wise for a twelve-year old.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to meet her.”

“Yeah, me too. I think she could’ve used some advice from an adult woman with no axe to grind, like you. A friend of hers in Sweden had died recently, and she was missing him pretty badly. I think she was feeling pretty low. But still, an awfully nice youngster. Very polite, and you know, fun to be around.”

She gave him a long look. “Jed, sometimes I wonder about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way you talk about that girl. It sounds like the two of you were becoming kind of close.”

“Well . . .” He looked at her. “. . . maybe we were. You know, I never really had a kid to call my own. I mean, there was Julianna, but as you know, she died very young. So yeah, I admit it—I kinda took a shine to that young lady. And I think you would’ve, too, if you’d had the opportunity.”

“But Jed, you know she must’ve been attached to someone. How else could she have gotten into the U.S.? You told me her natural parents in Sweden were dead, right?”

“That’s what she said.”

“So she must have some adoptive parents over here. There’s no other explanation.”

“I agree, but that’s not what she told me.”

“Well Jed, come on. You’re fooling yourself. Obviously she’s running from someone. You’d just be making it that much harder for her in the long run.”

“Well, I’d kinda hoped I could develop a rapport with her. You know, so she’d level with me and then I could try to help her. We were sorta workin on that when the accident happened.”

“Well if you really had a good relationship, maybe she’ll show up again, and then you can help her out.”

“I reckon we’ll see.”

†

Sat. 11/30/02 - 4:15 p.m. Temp. 39. Clear, wind out of the SW.

Home from hosp. today thx. to Mrs. Enderly. What a gal. Picked me up and waited at the Chevy dealership while I dickered over the price of a used Silverado to replace my old C-20. Can’t believe the ins. co. would only give me $2,300 for it—highway robbery if you ask me! But I have a replacement, and that’s the main thing. It’s nice—a ’98 with 45K miles, a 5.7L V-8, and a fiberglas top. Looks good sitting out there.

Katie helped unload the stuff we bought, so I’m all set for awhile. Plenty of fresh water and food, and of course we had a late lunch together at her place. Leg ached quite a bit after all was said and done, but I’m holding off on the pain meds. Never liked that stuff and how it makes you feel.

No sign of Eli. Looks like she came back here and cleaned out her stuff. Left the jigsaw puzzle, tho. So I have to admit I’m pretty down in the dumps right now. Was hoping against hope that she’d be here, but I’m not surprised she isn’t.

Didn’t tell Katie about the strange things. The way she broke that steering wheel, or the blood, or the 200+ yrs comment. She wouldn’t believe it, and even if she did, she’d prob. give me advice I don’t want to hear. Besides, half of it I’m not even sure really happened at this point.

Maybe it’s for the best that Eli didn’t hang around. Hate to say that, but maybe now life can get back to normal. Although I do miss her. Kept thinking today how much I enjoyed holding her when she was asleep, right after I found her. Poor little kid.

Time to put out some food for the raccoons.

†

Sun. 12/15/02 - 9:00 p.m. Temp. 33. Cloudy & snowing. Some drifting today.

Saw Dr. Kenner today at the outpt. clinic and transitioned to short walking cast. Says I’ll need to wear it for another five weeks. Leg feels good. Much easier to move around, which is good b/c I miss my walks in the woods.

Celebrated by putting up X-mas tree with some help from Katie. Couldn’t do a real tree this year on account of my leg so we put up an artificial one. Broke my own rule but something is better than nothing, I guess. She made a wreath for my front door and helped me get the decorations for the tree down from the loft.

Carson was back out over the weekend and returned my chain saw, and the post hole digger that he borrowed back in June.

Was tempted to tell Katie more about Eli today, but just couldn’t bring myself b/c I know she’d have many Q’s I can’t answer. Would be nice, tho, to talk w/someone about what’s been going through my mind lately. Had thought since Eli left that I would think about her less & less, but that turned out not to be the case. Almost feel a little obsessive at this point, although I don’t really want to admit that to myself. So decided I would make a list of the things that were unusual so I could try to make heads or tails out of all this.

1) Goes to “sleep” in a cave on my property. No ordinary sleep but an apparent state of suspended animation w/almost no hearbeat and no breathing.

2) Extreme skin reaction to sunlight exposure. Sunlight burns her.

3) From Sweden originally, says > 200 yrs old, parents both dead. Has been in U.S. < 1 yr. Met boy named Oskar when he was 12 and stayed w/him x 19 yrs until he died a few yrs ago. Which means they met in early 80’s. None of this age stuff makes any sense at all. She’s either lying or crazy.

4) She’s very smart & some sort of child prodigy when it comes to puzzle-solving.

5) Broke my steering wheel like a twig & somehow got me out of my truck.

Listing all of this didn’t help me at all. I don’t get it.

†

He dreamed that he was hunting in the dark woods when he heard a sound from a big oak tree. He grew afraid and brought his gun up toward the sound, and in his sights saw Eli squatting on a tree branch, staring down at him. She wore no clothes and there was a wild, feral look in her eyes that petrified him with fear. Yet, even though he wanted to, he couldn’t pull the trigger. She jumped down from the tree and approached him in the moonlight. It was warm, a mid-Spring evening. When she was before him, he no longer had a gun and he saw that there was blood from her mouth that had streaked down her chest. He was deathly afraid that she would bite him, but instead she put her arms around him and looked up at him, seeking a kiss. And then he embraced her, and—

He heard the creak of his bed and her voice at the same time. Climbing into his bed with him, burrowing into his arms where he lay on his side. Ice cold, seeking his slumbering warmth beneath the fluffy old indian blanket.

“Hold me, Jed.”

Without hesitation or reservation he complied, pressing her small, frigid body to his chest, desiring only to have her close to himself; to warm her, to protect her, and to make her his. How she got in, he knew not and cared less. In his half-awake state he was aware that some barrier within him, some moral standard that he had thought was strong and unyielding, had just been swiftly and completely destroyed, but he did not care because she had returned like magic and he could, at last, express his love for her. And that was all that mattered.

In the dark silence of his cabin, she warmed in his embrace. He debated whether to ask her questions; there were so many of them darting through his head, like a school of frightened fish. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask her where she had been or whether she was all right, but instead he found himself merely kissing the hair on the top of her head and sleepily murmuring a simple truth: “I missed you, Eli.” Her reply was only a whisper. “I missed you, too.” She pressed her back more closely to him and fell silent.

He sensed that no further words were warranted; that further speech might destroy the fragile joy that he now felt in reunion with her, she whom he had feared had disappeared forever. The stirring in his heart, that he might have someone to love and to live for, was the joy of the flower whose long-wilted leaves rise up to receive new life from a warm spring rain; of the dried and empty husk whose fibers are unexpectedly restored and filled to bursting with a superabundance of fruit. And so he lay in delicate stasis, fearful that the smallest word, the slightest movement, might ruin the tenderness between them. And doing nothing, he soon fell asleep.

Eli lay in Jed’s arms, waiting. He was like an enormous bear; hands big and hard like paws, his arms thick and heavy, his chest a broad, gently moving wall behind her. She knew she had taken a huge risk—not in returning to him; no, she knew he would welcome her back—but in climbing into his bed. If she had been asked why it was risky, she could not have explained it, but in trying she would have said that she was putting Jed through some kind of test that could have been unfair to him. For an instant after she had asked him to hold her, she had been afraid that he would push her onto the floor, but he did not; and when he had instead embraced her, a small flame of happiness had burst into light inside her chest and begun to spread throughout her body.

He loved her.

Now she waited for his hands to begin roaming over her, or put themselves between her legs; waited for him to begin kissing her incessantly and try to move her body around in the bed. If he did, she would pull away from him as best she could without hurting his feelings and retreat to his loft, or leave, if it was bad enough. But nothing happened. After a brief exchange, she felt his limbs gradually relax and his breathing slow. One of his legs jerked, and she then knew he was in the shadowland between wakefulness and sleep. Then he was still.

In the stillness, the images came to her. She had hoped being with Jed would keep them at bay, but it did not. The old trucker she had met at the deserted rest stop had taken her into the smelly sleeping cabin of his truck. His small, piglike eyes and leering face with its porcine jowls had been particularly hateful. She had attacked him after he had swept the porn magazines onto the floor and was removing his shirt. Initially he had managed to fend her off, throwing her light body out of the tiny, padded space back into the cab, where her head had struck the corner of a small, stainless steel refrigerator tucked behind the passenger’s seat so hard that she was certain she had fractured her skull. Then she had lept upon him with such fury that afterwards, on the way to Jed’s cabin, she had thrown away her blood-spattered clothing, rolled in a fresh snowdrift banking along a field of winter wheat, and changed into the new clothes she had recovered after Jed’s collision.

What good did it do to think about what had happened? Nothing. It could not be undone; could not be amended or taken back. It was better just to shove it out of her mind, so it could do her no further harm. She did what she had to do to survive; that was all. But still . . .

At last she grew weary of wrestling with her emotions and relaxed. She thought about crawling out of Jed’s bed and going to the back of his loft, where she would be sure to be out of any sunlight come dawn. The windows were still covered, though, and she didn’t want to leave the warmth of his embrace. Finally she decided to stay. If the sunlight came in to burn her, she would burn; that was that. She didn’t care anymore.

†

Jed awoke lying on his back. Eli lay sound asleep, curled up next to him in the crook of his right arm. She was making sounds again, only this time they were not threatening and dog-like as before; they were now more akin to the soft purring of a contented cat. He stroked her back gently and strained to see her face, but it was still too dark.

He felt different. Something had changed. He had never thought that what he was doing now would come to pass: sharing a bed with a pre-adolescent child. Was he a pedophile?

He shifted uneasily in his bed, opening his eyes wider to stare, unseeing, at the ceiling. What did the word mean, anyway? Didn’t “pedo” mean child, and “phile” mean love? Was being a pedophile as simple as loving a child, a child who was not one’s own? Surely that was not something that anyone would frown upon. There had to be a sexual aspect—pedophiles were people who wanted to have sex with children. That was not what he wanted, but his dreams about Eli worried him; they made him distrustful of his own judgment. He was uncomfortable trusting himself about whether his feelings for Eli were or were not appropriate. And he had been alive long enough to know that many convicted child abusers would swear up and down that their feelings for the children they abused had been genuine, heartfelt “love.” Subjective beliefs were a very slippery slope; he sensed that.

And how would he act if a neighbor like Carson were to suddenly burst in at this very moment? Would he leap out of his bed and try to act as though he had not been doing what he was doing? Or would he look Carson straight in the eye and tell him to fuck off? Tell him that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him curling up in the sack with a twelve-year-old? He suspected the former--that he would behave like a guilt-ridden weakling. Why? Because sometimes appearances mattered more than reality.

So perhaps he should just withdraw from Eli. Keep things formal, strictly . . . what? “Friends?” To call her his “friend” did not seem to capture what she had come to mean to him. Father/daughter? Maybe . . . there was a paternal aspect to how he felt about her. But like “friends,” this, too, felt stunted; fell short of being a true expression of whatever was going on inside him.

He closed his eyes and tried to think. How would she react if he withdrew? Last night she had come back; had sought him out, wanting comfort. She wanted to be close to him. He knew how alone she was, and sensed how much he had come to mean to her. Would it be fair to pull back, just because there were people in the world who might misinterpret things and label him unfairly?

Another nagging question wandered through his head: was Eli really twelve? She had told him she was more than 200 years old. That statement had bounced neatly off his deflector shields for sure—it was simply unbelievable. Yet, there did seem to be something about her that was very mature, even old. Something in her eyes that he had seen, like the night they had gone to play basketball; something that was damn scary. Her eyes had been full of a terrible weariness, the eyes of a person who has seen everything there is to see in the world, and wished to see no more.

He ran his hand down the middle of her back. Eli . . . I’ve fallen in love with you. You’re a child, but not a child. Young, but somehow old. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know how to act when I’m with you. I need to understand you. I need—

He suddenly realized that once again, she was not breathing. He held his breath and lay perfectly still, resting his hand lightly on her back, trying to detect the slightest movement. But there was nothing; she was utterly motionless.

A spike of panic gripped him--was she dead? No, of course not—her purring proved that. He exhaled with relief and felt foolish. But it was time to get out of the bed and take a look at her.

Carefully he pulled himself away from her and as best he could with his broken leg, stumbled off the end of the bed. Then he hobbled over to his table with its lantern. He found his matches and soon had it lit; then he brought it back to the bedside.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her. She was now on her back, and he pulled the covers down to see if her chest was rising and falling. He put his hand over her heart, but felt no movement. Then he held it before her nose, but there was no air exchange. He prodded her gently, then rocked her shoulder, but she did not awake. Was she going back into one of her weird hibernations? He shook his head with frustrated bewilderment.

He stroked her pale, silky cheek, kissed her forehead, and then pulled the covers up around her. He wished he could wake her and tell her everything that he felt about her. About how he had begun to love her from the moment he had set his eyes on her, and about how his feelings had grown when he had rocked with her while she had been asleep, and had waxed stronger during each and every moment spent with her since that time. If he did tell her these things, what would she say?

He turned his back to her and sat on the edge of the bed to think. What was he going to do? He reviewed his options.

He could do nothing. Wait until she woke up, and then have an honest discussion with her about how he felt, and see how she reacted. If she was comfortable with what he had to say, and wanted to stay with him, that’s what they would do. He would take care of her as best he could until she finally told him what had happened to bring her to his property in the first place, and they could get to the bottom of things. He sensed, though, that “getting to the bottom of things” was fading a bit as a genuine possibility. Things were drifting away from some kind of temporary arrangement to . . . something more permanent. Somehow, the idea of her just living with him indefinitely did not seem so foreign as it had a few weeks ago.

Plan B, he supposed, would be to kick her out when she woke up. This would be very hard—to simply tell her that he would not call the County about her, but she had to leave. He knew even as he formulated the notion that this really was not an option. He would never be able to do that to her, even though he might . . . what? Be happier in the long run without her? Go back to living alone, as he had before? He had not been unhappy before; he knew that; but on the other hand, he had not been fulfilled, either. As strange as she was, she represented the possibility of satisfying something deep within him; a need, long dormant, to love. And as much as he sensed a dark, unsettling pathos in her, he wanted more than anything to grasp at that, as children will bravely reach toward a brilliant star in the night sky, trying to touch it and make it their own. How being Eli’s lover would play out he really didn’t know, and didn’t really care to see because it seemed so strange. But he knew that “Plan B” was really not a plan at all.

And Plan C? Talk to Katie--today, while Eli slept. Bring her over here so she could see the child, and explain everything to her. Everything—the strangeness, how he had come to feel about her, the whole nine yards; then ask her for advice. He felt like he needed some guidance from a friend, someone who could offer some perspective on what was going on, because he knew for sure that his own perspective was becoming skewed by the intensity of his feelings. So far, he’d been afraid to level with Katie, but maybe now the time had come. But he knew what she would suggest he do, and he really didn’t want to do that, either.

His mouth was dry and sticky, and his stomach growled. It was time to get cleaned up and fix some breakfast. Once he was dressed and squared away, he’d decide what to do.

†

“So she came back.”

“That she did. Last night.” Jed stopped the truck in front of his cabin, got out and hobbled around to try and open the door for Katie. He reached her side just as she finished getting out herself and shutting the door.

“You don’t need to do that for me, Jed. Especially not with your leg the way it is.”

“Old habit, I guess. Com’ on inside.” Together they turned and headed for the porchfront door.

“How warm is it supposed to get today, Jed? Did you catch the weatherman?”

“Up into the low ‘40’s, actually. So I reckon we’ll see a little melt-off.”

“Well, at least the sun is out. Feels good from all those gray clouds we’ve been having.”

“Yep.” Jed opened the door and the stepped inside.

“I see you’ve got your stove fired up. Cozy in here.”

“Mmm hmm. Here, let me take your coat.”

“I’ll get it—you just sit down.”

He took it from her anyway and hung it up as she went to his bed to look at Eli. He did not join her; instead, he went over to the kitchen area and began fixing them some hot tea. He got the water started and then turned in time to see her sitting on the edge of the bed, lightly touching Eli’s face. She remained there for a few moments longer, and then came to join him at the table, sitting down across from him.

“What a beautiful child.”

“Yeah.”

“I can see what you mean about her not breathing—I can’t see that she is. You said she has a pulse?”

“Yep, I checked again just before I went to get you. Her heart beats about once every fifteen seconds.”

“That’s just downright bizarre, Jed.”

“I know it. That, and a lot of other things, too.”

“Such as?”

“Oh God, Katie. Where do I begin?”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning.”

“All right--here’s the deal. I found this kid in a cave on the southeastern side of the mountain a few days before Thanksgiving when I was out hunting. It was just a coincidence. She was wrapped up in that piece of canvas over there, and looked as lifeless as a corpse. In fact, I thought she was dead at first, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t stiff, and her pupils responded to light. But sorta like she is now, she wasn’t breathing at all, and her heart was beating even slower. So I brought her back here, ’cause—well, hell, because I didn’t know what else to do. I mean, I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“No, of course not. Go on.”

“Well, come the next morning I discover her under my bed, of all places. Like she’d moved, but yet she was still asleep. And when I tried to pull her out of there, her skin started to smoke—I shit you not, Katie, honest to God, it began to smoke, and I think it would’ve lit up if she hadn’t wriggled back under there.”

“Jed, mind your language.”

“Sorry. But, you know—this scared the hell out of me.”

She nodded. “Okay—this is sounding stranger than I thought.”

“Yeah, well, it gets even weirder. So anyway, I um, I figured out that it must be the sunlight that’s causing this. So that’s why I got them blankets over the windows. And that solved the problem.

“So then she woke up. And let me tell you something, she’s just about the nicest young woman you’ll ever meet. Very polite and thoughtful. You know, considerate. Most kids her age, in my experience, are pretty darn self-centered. Not that I’m an expert or anything, but you know, I’ve been around a few years. And twelve-year-olds, they generally couldn’t see beyond the end of their nose to spite their face. But that’s not this kid.”

The teapot began to whistle, and Katie got up. “Let me get that. Go on.”

“All right. So like I said, she told me that she’s from Sweden. Said her natural parents are dead, and she can’t remember her last name. Said she’s been in the U.S. for less than a year, but denied having any adoptive parents.”

“Did you ask her what part of Sweden she’s from? Or where she’d been in the U.S. before coming out here?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno. I guess I just didn’t feel like prying.”

“Prying? Jed, she’s a child. How can you help her if you don’t know more about her?”

“I don’t know, Katie. I kinda figured that if I asked too many questions, she’d just run away again. And for heaven’s sake, she didn’t even have any shoes—with snow on the ground. So I guess I was trying to go easy on her.”

Katie brought the mugs filled with tea to the table. Jed took his and sipped. “Ah, that’s good. You got the sugar just right.”

She sipped hers and smiled. “Go on.”

“So anyway, after I’d bought her some sneakers and a coat, we go back out and get her backpack that she’d hidden away in a crevice. And she hauls out this puzzle that’s shaped like an egg that’s got gold all over it, and must be worth a small fortune. And here this kid’s dragging it around in a backpack, for heaven’s sake.”

“Is her backpack here?”

“Yeah, it’s over on my chair.”

“Have you looked through it?”

“No.”

“Why not? Maybe there’s an I.D. in it.”

He crossed his arms. “Katie—I’m not that kind of a guy.”

“Jed, for Pete’s sake. If she was your own child, would you hesitate to look inside her backpack if you thought it would be in her best interests?”

“I don’t know. Never had to worry about that, I guess.”

“Well, we don’t need to get into that right now. Keep going.”

“Okay. Well, here’s the thing that’s totally thrown me for a loop, and you gotta promise you’ll keep this to yourself. You promise?”

“Jed, how many years have we known each other? You’re one of my dearest friends. Of course.”

“All right. When I had that accident, I was stuck in my truck. I mean, the steering wheel came back and had me pinned. And I’ll be damned if that kid didn’t grab ahold of the wheel and break it with her bare hands. I couldn’t do that, even if I tried.”

“Maybe it was already damaged from the crash.”

“Sure didn’t feel that way, up against my chest.”

“Hmm. Well okay, that does sound very unusual.”

He made a scoffing sound. “’Very unusual,’ my ass.”

“Jed—please.”

“Well come on, Katie. Anyhow, it gets weirder still. I passed out in the truck after she busted that thing lose, but the next thing I know, I’m lying over a hundred feet away, out in the snow. With no idea how I got there, mind you. And then Eli came over to me from the other guy’s car with blood all over her front, and she told me . . . well wait a sec, I gotta back up.”

“Wait—what was she doing at the other car?”

“I—I don’t rightly know. I assumed she’d gone there to see if she could help, just like she helped me.”

“Huh. Didn’t you say the other driver died?”

“Yeah. Looked to me like his head hit the windshield.”

“Well, there wasn’t much she could’ve done for him, then.”

“Naw. Probably not.”

“She wasn’t hurt? That’s a bit surprising, don’t you think?”

“Yeah—but . . . you know . . . that’s just chance, right?”

“I suppose.” She paused. “So you were saying . . . .”

“Saying? Oh yeah.” He shook his head. “Earlier she told me that she’d fallen in love with some kid named Oskar, who was also twelve. This Oskar . . . he died just a few years ago. Only, get this—he died when he was thirty-one. That means that if he died in, say, 2000, he was born in 1969, and they’d met around 1981. So she’d known him for nineteen years.” He stopped and stared at her.

She was quiet for a few seconds. “That can’t be right, Jed.”

“No, it can’t. And neither can what she told me just before she disappeared at the accident scene.”

“What was that?”

“That’s she’s been alive over two hundred years.”

Katie sipped her tea and then looked him in the eye. “Jed, the girl has a mental problem. There’s no other explanation.”

“Mentally she seems pretty together to me, Katie. In fact--well, you see this puzzle right here?”

They both looked at the assembled puzzle lying between them on table.

“It’s an Escher, right?”

“Yeah. I bought it at K-Mart to give her something to do around here. But guess what?”

“What?”

“How long do you think it took us to build the puzzle?”

She frowned and looked at the puzzle more closely. “I don’t know—four or five hours?”

“Less than an hour—and she built it, not me. I mean, I helped a little, but she did almost all of it. It was incredible to watch, let me tell you.”

“Well Jed, even people who are very bright can suffer from mental illness. And what she told you about her age—why, there’s no other explanation.”

“I agree. But in some ways, Katie, she seems very old.”

“Hmm.” Katie paused and looked around the room. “Where’ve you been sleeping, Jed, since she came?”

“Oh, I got an air mattress and she’s been sleeping up there in my loft, behind that tarp I got strung up there.” He nodded toward his ladder. “Just that last night when she came back, she slept downstairs.”

“Well, I’m not sure I understand what you mean about being ‘old,’ but the bottom line is, what do you want to do, Jed?”

“I don’t know, Katie. That’s kind of why I wanted to pick your brain a bit.”

She looked at him closely. “How do you feel about her, Jed?”

He leaned back in his chair and was quiet for a long time; then he turned his head to look at Eli. “I know this is gonna sound crazy, Kate, but . . . I love her. That’s the God’s honest truth.”

“Love her, meaning . . . ?”

He turned back and looked straight into Kate’s eyes. “Love. Love love. You know—the real deal.”

“Jed, you hardly know her. And she’s a child. You mean you have . . . paternalistic feelings for her.”

“Yes, I do. But . . .” he looked down and scratched his head. “It’s stronger than that, Kate.” He sighed and drank some more tea. “I know, I know . . . it’s totally insane, you can say it.”

“Jed, you need to check her backpack and then call the Social Services people. She’s run away from home, and clearly she needs a psychiatrist or something. You’re not helping by keeping her here.”

“That’d be such a betrayal--to go poking through her stuff. She trusts me, Kate. And I’m not ‘keeping’ her at all.”

“Well, if you’re not going to take the initiative, then you at least need to have a little heart-to-heart with her when she wakes up. Convince her that it’s in her best interests to get some real help. Because what you’re talking about, Jed—it doesn’t make any sense. And I’m worried about you. About how this has affected you.”

He shrugged. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“Well, I care about you. And it’s common sense. You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Seriously. Jed, if you care about her, then do what’s best for her. Don’t you think you’ve been acting a little selfishly in all this?”

“Selfishly? I’ve done nothing but try to help her since she showed up. I don’t see it that way.”

“Well, you’re right—that’s probably unfair. But you really do need to talk to her. Do you want me to wait around until she wakes up?”

“No—let me try first. If I get hung up, then I’ll suggest that she speak with you, too. I’ve already told her what a great lady you are.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks. You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay. Then let’s finish our tea, and you can take me home.”

†

The shadows grew long as Jed cleared the last of the snow from his porch. It had been a beautiful, clear day up on the mountain, and he had spent it going through a list of chores he’d made up after Katie had left; but as he had gone in and out, he kept glancing at Eli, and she had not been far from his mind. He thought about what he was going to say to her, about how he would try to approach things as he and Katie had discussed. He wasn’t looking forward to the tough love conversation that he anticipated.

Toward the late afternoon, his leg had started to ache quite a bit, so at last he had broken down and taken some of the Tylenol with Codeine that Dr. Kenner had prescribed, which dampened down the pain.

When Eli awoke, he was cooking some chicken noodle soup on the stove. He had two bowls set out on the table, along with some freshly sliced apples and carrots. She came over and sat down.

“Hello, Eli. You hungry? I got some soup going for us.”

She saw the hopeful expectation in his face, and felt a twinge of remorse that she would once again have to turn down his charity. “Jed, I’m sorry, but I’m not hungry. Maybe I’ll have something a little later. Could I maybe just have some water?”

He looked at her for a moment, then collected her bowl and spoon from the table. “Of course.” He filled her glass. “But I’m gonna eat now, if that’s all right with you. I’m kinda hungry.”

“Sure.”

He brought the iron pot over from the stove and ladled some soup into his bowl. Then he sat down and began to eat.

She took a small drink and looked around the cabin. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yep. Been pretty busy doin some things while you slept.”

“So what happened to your leg?”

“Turned out I broke it in the accident.”

“I’m sorry. Was your head hurt bad, too?”

“No, that turned out all right—I guess all that hard-headedness paid off.” He stretched his injured leg out under the table.

“You know, I’m lucky to be alive, Eli. I want to thank you for helping me, because I don’t think we’d be talking right now if it hadn’t been for you.”

She smiled wanly. “I couldn’t have done anything else. You know, I just acted. You were in a bad way.”

He ate a slice of apple, and then helped himself to a carrot. “Well, I appreciate it. Still not quite sure how you did it, but . . . .”

“Do you really want to know?”

He paused; looked at her. “Yes, I do. Because I want to understand you, Eli. Very much.”

She got up quietly and pulled her chair around so that she was sitting by his right while he took another spoonful of soup, and watched with a puzzled expression. Then she put her arm up on the table so that it was resting on her elbow. “Give me your hand.”

“What? You want to arm wrestle?”

“No—but you said you want to understand. So give me your hand.”

He dropped his spoon back into his bowl and looked at her for a moment. Then he slid it to the side, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and propped his arm up on the table. His arm was so much longer than hers that at first, her hand only reached to the middle of his forearm. So he slid back a little and readjusted the angle so that they could clasp hands.

She looked him in the eye. “On the count of three, okay?”

He felt very uncertain about what they were doing. A part of him, the rational part, was afraid of using too much strength and hurting her. Yet, another part—the part that was intrigued by her mystery, that wanted to know everything about her—made him hold his breath, waiting for the inexplicable. For surely, she would not have suggested this sort of contest unless she expected something unusual to happen.

“One . . . two . . . three.”

He exerted himself with most of his strength, expecting her arm to heel over to the table. Instead, nothing happened. There was a tiny bit of give—a little waver in her arm—and then, to his shock and disbelief, she pushed him over. He felt as if he was pushing against a machine. As soon as his arm was down, she let go.

He stared at her. “Jesus.” She did not smile, and at first said nothing, merely returning his gaze. Then she spoke. “That’s how I saved your life, Jed.”

He sat back in his chair, acutely aware of a nervous energy that had begun to course through him. Suddenly his mouth was dry.

“Want to try again?”

“No. I mean, yes—I do.”

“Okay.”

Again they wrestled, and this time he held back nothing. The result was the same. When she let go of his hand, he took a drink of water; his hand trembled when he set the glass back on the table. She sat calmly in her chair, waiting for him to speak.

He stared at her a long time. “What are you, Eli?”

His question hung in the air. He knew how bizarre it sounded, but . . .

She looked away from him to the table. “It’s just a power, Jed. Like with the puzzle.” She gestured at the Escher. “It’s like all of the things that you’ve seen me do that you think I’m so good at. Making this puzzle; playing basketball. They’re just powers--not talents.”

“I asked you a question. I don’t think you answered it.”

She looked directly into him, her small, round face utterly serious, her eyes dark in the muted light from his lantern.

“Do you love me, Jed?”

He grew very still. Suddenly the air between them seemed very dense and full of electricity; full of possibilities that could lead . . . he knew not where.

“Eli . . . that’s a very complicated question. But if you want, I’ll explain to you how I feel. But you have to promise that if I do, you will answer my question, too.”

“I promise.”

He sighed, then looked down at her hand on the table, which he took into his. He rubbed it gently as he spoke.

“You’ve turned my life upside down, Eli—from the moment I found you in that little cave and brought you up here.

“At first, it just felt good to help someone who seemed to need help. Particularly since, you know, you’re twelve and everything. But I would have to say that now, I . . . that now, my feelings for you aren’t as simple as that. Especially since the night of the accident, when you—you know, when you kissed me. And I’ll tell you up front, it feels mighty odd to be telling you these things, when I’m over fifty years old and you could easily be my daughter--hell, almost my grand-daughter.

“But yes, I think I have fallen in love with you. And I don’t know what to do about it, because . . . well, because it’s not something that grown men are supposed to let themselves do with children, and also because I don’t really understand you. But—” he shifted his eyes from their hands to her face, “when you came back last night, I felt something that I haven’t felt in a long, long time. And it felt good, felt . . .”

He looked away. “Ah, shit. This is so hard.”

“You can say it, Jed.”

“Well, it . . .” His eyes began to grow wet, and he shook his head. Finally he resumed.

“Yes—I do love you, Eli. And I loved holding you last night, feeling you with me. Even though I felt like most folks would think of me as a dirty old man if they knew.”

She was quiet for a moment; then she came to him in his chair. Softly she touched his cheek. “I know you’re not like that, Jed. And I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just—” She turned away from him and looked at the puzzle on the table, as if she was turning over what she wanted to say in her mind. “. . . I just really need to know that someone cares about me. That I’m . . .” she swallowed, looked down, and closed her eyes. “. . . that I’m someone who can be loved. Because right now, I don’t feel like that’s possible.”

His voice took on a soft, paternal tone. “Eli, listen to me—please.” Once again he took her hands into his, and they turned face to face. “Why would you ever say that you’re not someone who could be loved? I think you’re the nicest young person I’ve ever been privileged to know.”

She looked up into his eyes. “You haven’t been listening to me, have you?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“About what I said--about how long I’ve been alive.”

He leaned back in his chair; in the stove, a piece of wood popped. “I heard what you said, Eli. But that’s just so . . . . Look, I know you don’t feel good about yourself. Sometimes when people get upset emotionally, they say things that don’t make a lot of sense. If you would just tell me more about yourself, maybe we could find some people to help you. You know, to talk to you about what you’ve been through.”

She gave him a dark, ironic smile. “So you don’t believe what I said.”

He hesitated, but then said, “No—I’m afraid I don’t. Because what you said is impossible.”

She did not grow angry, but turned away from him and walked quietly around his cabin, her gaze shifting from one object to the next, her small hands occasionally reaching out to touch. She stopped on the bearskin rug by his chair and looked with apparent interest at the great, shaggy head. Then without looking at him, she spoke. “Let’s go for a walk. Are the stars out tonight?”

“They should be—the weather was clear today.”

“Good. Do you mind? I mean, I know your leg is hurt, so if you don’t, it’s okay.”

He slid his chair back and got up from the table. “No, that’s okay. Just not too far, all right?”

She offered him a happy smile. “Deal.”

He got his flashlight and put on his coat, but she made no move to remove hers from the coat stand by the door. He looked at her, his hand on the latch. “Dontcha think a jacket is in order?”

She ran a hand down her new coat. “I like the one you got me, but I don’t need one.”

He frowned once again. “It’s pretty chilly, Eli. Not down to freezing, but—you’ll catch a cold.”

“No I won’t.”

Irritated, he shook his head. “If you say so. Come’on—but my guess is we won’t be gone too long.”

They stepped outside, and four sets of eyes huddled around the old pie plate at the end of his porch turned to look at them. Jed smiled and shined his light on the raccoons. “Well, Eli, you finally get to meet Frito Bandito and her little ones.”

The raccoons had been eating the cat food on the plate, but upon seeing Jed and Eli, they stopped and froze. Then the mama raccoon hissed and backed away, turned, and scuttled off the porch, her babies close behind.

“Well I’ll be,” he said with a note of disappointment. “Guess they’re a little skitterish tonight. Sorry—they’re usually pretty friendly.”

“It’s okay--maybe they’ll come back later.” She stepped out into the yard and gazed quietly up at the moon, which was nearly full.

He zipped up his coat and adjusted the beam of his light. “Where do you want to go, Eli?”

“Is there a path to the top?”

“Yep—this way.”

Jed headed off toward the side yard and she joined his side, their feet crunching softly through the thin layer of snow. When they had passed his woodpile and reached the edge of his clearing, they picked up a dirt trail that began to wind up and around the mountainside. There were many pine trees along it, their boughs still laden with snow. The light wind rustled through the tree branches and occasionally blew snow down on them.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Eli remarked. “You’re really lucky to live in a place like this. It’s so peaceful and quiet.”

“Yeah . . . it’s restful. I do enjoy it. Walking is good exercise, too.” He fell silent for awhile before speaking again. “So what do you want to tell me, Eli?”

She said nothing, but soon stopped and touched the trunk of a very large old oak standing alongside the trail, its naked branches creaking gently in the wind. “This tree is dead inside, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is. I was thinking of cutting it down come Spring and using it for firewood.”

“Don’t cut it down . . . there’s a family of owls living in it.” She pointed up toward an opening immediately below the juncture of two large limbs.

“How do you know?”

“Because I can hear them. Can’t you?”

“No—afraid not.” He looked at her, puzzled.

She turned to look at him. “Well, I can. And they’re in there.”

He stopped shining the light up at the hole and shifted uncertainly on his feet. “All right. Well, I won’t cut it down, then, if it’s important to you.”

“It’s not important to me—it’s important to them. It’s their home.”

“Okay—I’ll make a note not to touch the Owl Tree.” He smiled at her, but she did not notice because she had already turned her attention to the path before them. They continued up the trail, their breath pluming out in the chilly, clear air. After several minutes, she took his hand.

He looked at her with concern and saw snowflakes in her hair. “Are you sure you don’t want my coat?”

“I don’t need it. I’m not cold.”

“So you just don’t get cold, is that it?” His voice had grown impatient.

She squeezed his hand, offering reassurance. “I don’t feel it anymore, I guess.”

He shook his head. “Eli, I was talking to Mrs. Enderly today, and I gotta say I’m really kind of worried about you and all of this. I really think that—”

“Shhh.” She froze, and then he stopped walking, too. He looked around and then whispered, “What is it?”

“A deer. Up ahead, off to the right of the trail.”

Jed strained to see out into the darkness, beyond the reach of his flashlight. “I don’t see anything.”

“Wait . . . it’s a buck.”

They both stood, motionless, staring up the trail. Soon, as Eli had predicted, the silhouette of a large stag emerged from the shrubs along one side of the path. It paused in the middle of the trail, looked briefly in their direction, and then crossed over and disappeared.

Jed grunted. “I’ve seen that big boy before. Never could get a shot at him, though. How’d you spot him?”

“I can see in the dark.”

He looked at her with disgust. “Eli, I—”

She turned and cut him off. “How much more do you need, Jed? I’m trying to be as gentle as I can with you.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t understand all of this, Eli. Let’s head back. How am I supposed to help you when you—”

She cut him off again, this time her voice rising in anger. “I’m not fully human, Jed. Don’t you get it?” She looked around and then suddenly leapt up onto the lowest branch of an elm tree they had stopped under to wait for the deer. Jed’s eyes grew wide and he shined his light up at her. By his judgment, the branch was nine or ten feet above ground; what she had done was not possible.

He stood frozen to the spot and stared up at her, his eyes agog. He knew what he was going to say was foolish, but he couldn’t think of anything else. “How’d you do that?”

She smiled down at him. “The same way I pulled you out of your truck before it caught fire. Like this.”

Silently she leaned forward, left the branch, and drifted down to him. She went around him once and then stopped, standing in front of him. Gently, she embraced him, pressing the side of her face against his cold barn jacket.

“Do you believe me now, Jed? Please don’t be afraid of me. Please. You’re all I have.”

With shaking hands he embraced her; pulled her close. He was lost.

“Eli . . . Eli, honey—don’t worry, I won’t be afraid. I won’t run away.” He said the words, but was not sure he believed them; yet, now there was no room for doubt. He hugged her. “I just—I didn’t understand, and I still don’t, but—what I said is true . . . I do love you.”

“I’ll leave if you want. If you can’t handle all of this.” She began to sob softly into his coat.

He hugged her tighter and stroked her hair. “No—no, you won’t. You’re gonna stay with me, you hear? And I don’t want you running away again—you got it?” His voice grew hoarse, and then the tears came to him as well, brought about by the overwhelming urge to assure her that she would not be abandoned.

“I’m sorry I left--I just couldn’t stay there. I got scared; the police were coming . . . .”

“It’s all right, it’s all right. What do you say we head back to the cabin, huh? Get you warmed up?” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to her. She took it gratefully and dabbed her eyes. When she handed it back to him, he blew his nose.

Her crying tapered off to sniffles. “Okay. But will you take me to the mountaintop sometime soon?”

“Of course.”

†

After he had closed the door and hung up his coat, he added wood to the fire and they sat down in front of the stove to warm themselves. She removed her sneakers and peeled off her socks, then stretched her bare feet out toward the open stove door and flexed her toes.

“I can hardly wait to get this damn cast off,” he muttered to himself as he took off his single boot. Then he turned to her. “I reckon I owe you an apology.”

She looked at him. “For what?”

“For not believing what you said about your age.”

She shrugged. “It didn’t surprise me. I know what I am; how impossible I am.”

“How long have you been able to do the things you showed me? Were you always that way, or—I mean, what happened, Eli?”

“It happened to me when I was twelve.”

“And when was that?”

“1773.”

He could not say anything at first; just stared at her with dumb amazement. “1773.”

“Yes.”

“But you look like you’re twelve.”

“Yes. I’ve been twelve now for almost two hundred and thirty years.”

Again he fell silent. Then he reached over, briefly touched her hand, and pulled away. “Eli, I . . . .”

Once again she gave him a dark, ironic smile. “You don’t know what to say to me, do you?”

He shook his head. “I wish I did.”

She nodded.

“So you’re . . . immortal?” He could not believe he had posed the question.

“Yes. I never get any older.”

He shook his head; then got up. “I think I need some coffee—and tonight, maybe laced with a little something. In fact, I’m sure of that. Excuse me for a second.”

After he got his pot brewing, he came back and sat down, turning his chair toward hers. He spoke again, his voice low and soft. “Eli, I know what kind of a person you’ve been to me, but obviously there’s much more to you than that. I’m here to listen and learn, if you want to tell me more. And I promise I’ll try to be a little more open-minded.” He gave her a self-deprecatory smile.

She sniffed and wiped her nose. “Thanks.” She thought for a moment before continuing. “You should know that I don’t want to be what I am. I guess that might surprise you.”

“Well, I could tell you are unhappy, but until now I thought it was only because your friend Oskar had passed away. Beyond that, I don’t really have any frame of reference for what it means to be you.”

“There’s a price to be paid for everything, Jed. And I didn’t ask to be what I am; I was taken from my family and made what I am. I haven’t seen the sun since the day that it happened. Can you understand what that’s like, Jed? To live for as long as that, and not once be out in the sunshine? To live every day knowing that a single ray of sunlight would destroy you, burn you to nothing?”

A profoundly unsettling realization of her alienness and of the depth of her suffering passed, like an electrical charge, from his head to his toes, carrying with it both dread and compassion. Her words were surreal, but he knew she wasn’t lying. “I can’t really say that I can, Eli; honestly, I can’t. I’m sorry.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and continued to hold it. “But I’m beginning to understand.

“So when did this happen to you? I mean, how did it happen?”

“It’s a curse, Jed. I call it a disease because it makes me feel better to think of it that way. But it’s really a curse. I’m not sure, but I think it may be as old as the earth itself, or—I mean, at least as old as people. And it was done to me by someone who had been cursed with it by someone else. And so on, I suppose, back to whenever it started.”

“A curse.” He could not relate to her statement, which seemed too impossible to be taken seriously. Once again he experienced an irrational wonder that perhaps she was making it all up or was mentally ill. Curses did not truly exist; they were things of fiction, or the fanciful imaginations of people who lived before the era of scientific enlightenment. The notion of curses existing in the 21st Century seemed laughable. But he wasn’t laughing; instead, her words terrified him.

“I know what you’re thinking, Jed. Doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t, I’m afraid. And I’m not doubting you, Eli. I’ve learned my lesson. It’s just that you’re throwing an awful lot of things at me, very fast.”

She gave him a tender smile and then squeezed his hand. “I don’t want to upset you. But you’ve been very kind to me, and you deserve to know the truth. One of the things that Oskar taught me is that you can’t love someone—I mean, really love someone—without truth.”

“I want to know the truth about you, Eli. Because I do want to help you.”

She let go of his hand and sat cross-legged in her chair. “The kind of help you’ve been talking about won’t be any help at all. I’m not going down to see the Sheriff, or be taken into custody by some county person. They wouldn’t know what to do with me, and they wouldn’t believe me when I told them about the sunlight. They’d end up killing me.”

“Eli, I’m not sure I agree. The Social Services folks always make the needs of the children they help their highest priority. But you’re right, it’s a system, a bureaucracy. And they might have a lot of trouble fitting you in. But all of that thinking was based on the notion that you’d run away from someone over here. Foster parents, or your guardian, or . . . I don’t know who.”

“I told you I don’t have foster parents.”

“I know, but you also wouldn’t exactly fess up about how you came here, either. It was logical to assume that you were brought over here from Sweden by adoptive parents.”

“I hid myself away on a freighter that sailed from Malmö to Norfolk. I came by myself, Jed.”

Once again he shook his head; trying to understand this little person was clearly going to be full of challenges. He got up and began to prepare his coffee. “Why did you leave Sweden?”

She sighed. “Because after Oskar died, it wasn’t safe for me to live there anymore.”

“Why was that?” He stirred a shot of bourbon into his coffee and resumed his chair beside her.

“Jed, I don’t eat normal food. That’s part of the curse.”

“Normal food. So that’s why you’ve always turned me down when I—”

“That’s right. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but as you can see, all of this is very hard to take.”

“No, no . . . I’m getting the picture.” He looked at her. “So what is it that you need to eat?”

She was quiet for a moment and would not look at him. “I’m afraid to tell you. It’s bad, it’s—”

“It’s blood, isn’t it.” He stared at her; somehow he knew.

“Yes.” Cautiously she looked up into his eyes, searching for rejection.

He said nothing for a long, long time; the only sound in the cabin was the crackling of the fire in the stove. At last she could stand it no longer.

“I’ll leave if you want. I won’t hold you to your promise.”

“The man in the car that hit us. What did you do to him?” His voice was hard.

She turned away and stared at the corner; then put her face into her hands as she replied. “I drank his blood.”

“Did you kill him, Eli?”

“I don’t know. He was already bleeding a lot when I went to him.”

“You drank my blood, too, after you kissed me—isn’t that right? From my cut?”

She did not answer.

“That’s—that’s—”

“You don’t understand how it is.” At last she looked at him, and he heard the emotion rising in her voice. “I hate it, hate it most of all, but I can’t control it once it starts to happen. It takes over.”

She got up, stood in front of him, and stripped off her sweatshirt. Angrily she tapped the center of her bare chest. “It lives here, in my heart. It’s always with me. I wish it weren’t, but it is. And there’s only one way to get rid of it.”

“What’s that?” But he already knew.

“I have to die.” She put her arms down, locked eyes briefly with him, and then looked down. “And I want to die.”

“Oh my God, Eli.” He put his coffee down and gently pulled her to him. “Don’t say that. Don’t.”

“But it’s true—I do.” She started to cry again, her shoulders hitching in his embrace, her arms coming out and around his waist. “I can’t go on hurting people like this. I can’t, and I won’t. I just . . . I just don’t have the courage to do it myself. No matter how much I try, I can’t bring myself. That’s why I want you to help me.”

He suddenly felt completely numb, as though the world had abruptly turned sideways. “You want me to help—what are you saying, for God’s sake?”

“You know how to do it so I won’t suffer, right? Like you said about the deer.”

“Now just hold your horses, Eli. Just—just settle down for a moment and let’s talk this over, for pity’s sake.” He continued to hold her while her crying wound down. She did not stop right away, and he found himself saying “shh, shh” in her ear and rocking her gently. As he had when she was asleep, he could not help but notice the silky smoothness of her skin. Eventually she stopped and broke away from him.

“Why don’t you come lie down for a bit and let’s talk, okay?”

Almost too softly to be heard she agreed, and allowed him to lead her to his bed. He handed the sweatshirt to her, which she put back on before she laid down. Her face was puffy and tear-stained. He pulled his chair up to the edge of the bed and got his coffee.

“Now look, Eli. You’re not a deer. I’ve never killed anyone, and I’m not starting with you. Surely there must be a way to help you that doesn’t involve a mercy killing. So let’s just put on our thinking caps for a moment. The blood you need—does it have to be human?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. So animals are out, right?”

“Yes. If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be where I am right now.”

He nodded. “So you’ve tried animal blood. And what happened?”

“It just makes me sick.”

“All right. So what about, say, blood from a hospital or a blood bank?”

She sighed. “Jed, I’ve been through all of this so many times . . . .”

“Well, just humor me, willya? I mean, come on.” He took a drink of his coffee. “Tell me what happens with donated blood.”

“It makes me sick, too. It has to be fresh. From a living person.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, it’s a curse.”

“Calling it a curse isn’t helpful.”

“Maybe not, but that’s what it is.”

“So are you saying that . . . you’re a vampire?”

She rolled her eyes, turned onto her back, and stared at the ceiling. “No—I’m not.”

“Well what’s the difference, then? I mean, help me out here.”

“Vampires enjoy hurting people. I don’t.”

“So it’s your attitude, not your biology. Is that it?”

Somehow she found his remark humorous, and she glanced at him and smiled. “Yes. You could say that.”

“So you need to get blood from a living person. Let’s take that as a given. Does that mean—”

“It is a given. I’ve been around long enough to know.”

“All right, all right--don’t get testy. I’m trying to help you, dammit.”

“Sorry.” She smiled again as he shook his head impatiently.

“Do you have to kill the person you get it from?”

“No.”

“Well, tell me how that works, then.”

“It all depends. It’s an infection in my blood. If I . . . if I bite the person, I could infect them and they could get my disease. But if I don’t bite, then it’s okay.”

“So is that how you do it? You bite people?” He thought about how she had appeared after the car crash and felt a chill run down his spine. The other guy’s blood; she’d been drinking it. And then she’d kissed him. Jesus.

She couldn’t bring herself to say yes, so she slowly nodded.

“So you’ve got what—fangs?”

She sighed once again and looked at him. “Yes. But I don’t want you to see them. When I get hungry, they come. Like my hands and feet—they change, too.”

He frowned as he tried to imagine the changes she was describing. Again he shook his head. “You know, Eli, if I hadn’t seen you come down from that tree, I’d never have believed any of this.”

“Well, it’s true—trust me. You don’t want to see me when I’m hungry.”

“I do trust you. But if you don’t need to kill to get blood, then it seems to me there’s some room for hope here.”

She made a scoffing sound, and when she spoke again, her voice was hard and cynical. “Oh yeah, people are just lining up to be my victims. It’s so easy. They just love donating their blood to me.”

“Eli—come on.”

“No, you come on. It’s not like asking someone for spare change. Tell me—when I beat you at arm wrestling, or jumped up into that tree, did I scare you?”

“Of course.”

“Well, how do you think you’d feel if I came up to you and asked if I could cut open your vein and suck out your blood, huh? Think you’d be a little repulsed?”

“I’d do it, if I thought it would help you.”

She stared at him, her features forbidding; her eyes huge and dark. “Are you so sure?”

He felt the tension as what she had been saying seized his emotions. He summoned his courage and looked into her eyes. “I guess I’d like to think I would.”

Her face softened and the moment passed. “I know you would—because you have feelings for me, and maybe you understand me a little. But that’s not what usually happens. People are afraid of the supernatural, Jed—of things they don’t understand. And that’s what I am.”

“Yeah, but surely there must be some way to . . . you know, to bring you into society. I mean, you’re a very lovely and engaging young woman; at least, I think so. Most people would be happy to have you as a friend.”

“I’m not really a girl.”

He was halfway through another swig of coffee, and hearing her words, he stopped and slowly lowered his mug. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said: I’m not a girl. I’m not female.”

His frown deepened. “So you’re . . . a boy?” In his mind he recalled the moment he had first seen her out in the woods, and about his judgment to think of her as a she. Could it have gone the other way? His disquiet deepened.

Eli turned her back to him and stared at the wall. For a long time she did not speak.

“I used to be.” The words were soft, barely above a whisper.

Jed was suddenly at a loss for words. He wanted to know more, but was afraid to ask. Finally he got up quietly, sat on the edge of the bed, and hesitantly touched Eli’s shoulder.

“Eli . . . tell me what happened.”

“I used to be a boy, okay?” The anger in his voice was unmistakable. “Now, I’m nothing. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s too painful.”

“So was it the person who did this to you when you were twelve? I mean, was it the same person?”

Eli jerked his body away from Jed’s touch. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

“All right, all right. I’m sorry.” Reluctantly he returned to his chair. Eli remained turned to the wall, but soon looked over his shoulder at Jed. “It’s okay. I’m sorry; it’s just—I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Well, should I call you a boy or a—”

“I’m just Eli. That’s all.”

To his surprise, Jed found himself smiling again, this time at Eli’s pluck. “Just Eli. Got it.”

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “So how often do you need to eat? Or I mean, drink?”

“Every week or so.”

“So are you hungry now?”

“No. Because . . .” Eli stopped, rolled back over to face Jed, and crossed his arms over his chest. His face was gravely serious. “Jed, this thing lives inside of me. I’m never completely free of it. Sometimes if I’m full, I hardly notice it. But the longer I go without eating, the stronger it gets, until finally I can’t think of anything else. And because I don’t like to do what I do, a lot of the time I have to work hard to control it. This is just part of what it means to be me. But it changes everything I do. How I see people. What I smell; how I think. So if, say, you were to accidentally cut yourself with your whittling knife right now, I might . . . do something to you that I don’t want to do.”

“I see.” He suddenly felt cold despite the bourbon.

“Or if, say, I was really hungry, and you gave me a hug. I might smell your blood, or feel it inside of you, even if you weren’t bleeding. Something bad could happen then, too.

“And this is what I’m ready to be free of. I don’t want to have to go on experiencing these things every day, day after day, with no end in sight. Even when I don’t really feel hungry. So you saying, ‘we’ll just find a bunch of volunteers’ will never really remove this from me; it’s still going to be there. In fact, the more it’s fed, the stronger it becomes. It’s . . . it’s greedy, Jed. You feed it, and it wants more. It’s evil. And it’s alive, inside of me. I can’t escape it. I’m a . . . I’m a slave to it. Do you understand?”

Jed sat in silence, his coffee forgotten. Eli could not tell what he was thinking. At last he stood and came once again to the side of the bed. They looked at each other, neither speaking; then Jed touched Eli’s cheek and ran his fingers through his hair. His hand moved around and under Eli’s head, lifting it as he lowered his; and with this, Eli understood. For a moment, it seemed as though he would kiss Eli’s forehead; but as his lips neared Eli’s brow, Eli lifted his face slightly, offering his mouth. Softly, they kissed. Eli uncrossed his arms and then they were around Jed’s torso, pulling himself up from the bed as Jed’s free hand encircled him. After a few seconds, their kiss broke, and Jed lowered him back to the bed.

“I’m so sorry, Eli. Now I understand.”

The cabin grew dim as the embers from the fire slowly died and the flame in the hurricane lantern diminished, the last of the oil flowing up the wick and transforming into uncertain heat and light. On the table by the bed, the coffee grew cold. In his easy chair Jed held Eli in his arms, Eli’s head resting on his shoulder, comforting him. His lost and forlorn child.

†

December 17, 2002 – 10:07 a.m.

Jed was startled from his sleep by a knocking sound. He groaned and looked groggily around the darkened cabin. Someone was at his door.

He rolled out of his bed; pulled the covers back up over Eli. “Hang, on, hang on. I’m comin’.”

In a fog he clumped to his table, once again cursing his broken leg under his breath. What time was it? He had no idea. As he was fumbling for his pants he heard Katie’s voice, muted through the wood. “Jed? You home?” Then he remembered—he had promised to go with her to the hardware store in Leesburg this morning, but he’d forgot—damn.

“Yeah. Lemme get my pants on.” It occurred to him as he fumbled on his jeans that he he’d been so tired, he hadn’t even heard Katie’s car pull up.

He cracked open the door and blinked out at her in the gray light of an overcast day. She stood on his porch wearing a red winter parka, thin and elegant in her usual rustic way. She was clearly a bit surprised to see him still undressed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s all right. Com’on in.” Without saying more he turned away and went to the kitchen area to find something to eat. He was hungry, and his head hurt.

She stepped inside and he asked her to hold the door open for a moment while he got his lantern going. Realizing that it was empty, he swore and lit a candle instead. The room was cold because the stove had gone out, so he shoveled out the ashes and started a new fire.

She sat down quietly at his table, looking around. For several minutes they said nothing while he got the fire going. Once he was finished, she asked him how he was feeling.

“I’ve felt better. This staying up at night stuff is starting to catch up with me.”

“Do you want me to come back this afternoon?”

“No, it’s all right. Just take me a little bit to get goin here.”

“How’s the leg?”

“About the same, I guess. You want some tea?”

“That’d be lovely.”

“Okay.” He shuffled over to his water jug and began to fill the teapot.

She looked at Eli sleeping in his bed and then up the ladder at the loft, but she was too polite to ask any questions. No doubt he’d slept in his chair. “How’s Eli?”

He sighed. “About the same. Sleeping like a rock, I reckon.” He put the teapot on the stove and then set about to refill his lantern.

“Did you ever find out more from her about what sort of disease she has? This business about being allergic to sunlight . . .” she nodded toward Jed’s draped windows. “Surely it must have a medical name--I can’t imagine that no one’s heard of it.”

“Nope. She doesn’t know what it’s called.”

Eli’s words came back to him: It’s a curse, Jed. But there was no way he could tell Katie that, or anything else he’d learned last night, for that matter. She’d start telling him he needed mental help—or call the police.

“Hmm. Well, she certainly seems to be between a rock and a hard place, poor thing. Did you make any progress with the other issues?”

“A little. She’s from a town called Malmö. Says she stole away on a ship that came into Norfolk.”

“What do you mean? That she—”

“—came by herself. Yep.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Jed. Surely you don’t believe that.”

He said nothing; just continued to prepare his oatmeal.

“Jed.”

“Katie, she told me what she told me. I don’t think she’s lyin and I ain’t gonna push her.”

“It’s obviously a lie. You really ought to call Social Services. I know one of the clerks who works down there—Bernadette Peters. She went to school with Irene Keller—remember her? I’m sure she could help you.”

“I believe her, Katie. And I don’t want any help. The poor kid is scared to death of being dragged in there.”

She frowned. “So what’re you going to do—just let her live here with you? She’s an illegal alien. Can’t you get into trouble for harboring an illegal alien?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t rightly care. She needs my help and she doesn’t have anyone else. I can’t see how I’m worse than any other foster parent she’d wind up with.”

“But Jed, what if she gets even more sick and needs a doctor? She’s strange enough as it is, what with almost no breathing or heartbeat. Or what if she has to go to the hospital? Are you just going to pass her off as your own kid?”

“I dunno, Kate. I haven’t thought my way through all this stuff yet.”

She shook her head. “I’m so worried about you.” She looked around. “Your cabin is starting to feel like a cave.”

“What does it matter, Katie? Tell me: how many people out there would be genuinely eager to adopt a kid with problems like hers? I mean, seriously. She needs my help, and by God, I’m gonna give it to her. It’s the right thing to do.”

He brought the tea and oatmeal over to the table and poured her a cup; then he sat down and began to eat his breakfast.

“Does she ever wake up during the day?”

“Nope.”

“Too bad—I’d love to talk with her. Did you do anything about her backpack?”

“Katie, I told you I wasn’t going to do that.”

“Jed, you’re letting this girl snow you.”

“No, I’m not.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He looked up from his bowl and into Katie’s eyes. “I just am.”

For the first time, Katie heard a note of animosity in his voice. The signal was clear: her questions were threatening their friendship. It was time to back down, even if she thought he was on the wrong track.

“Well, I’m sure everything will turn out all right.”

“Yeah—I think it will.” He scraped the bottom of his bowl and then stood up. “Let me get my shirt on, and then we’ll go. Did you figure out how many square feet of tile you’re gonna need for that bathroom?”

†

Jed turned and waved goodbye to Katie as she pulled away and headed back down the mountain in the light drizzle that had begun a few minutes earlier. He had been impatient to get back to the cabin, and although he hated to say it, he was glad that she was gone.

Because he had rebuffed Katie before leaving, their sojourn into Leesburg was not as pleasant as it should have been. Their conversation had been much more circumscribed that it usually was, and had focused on the work she wanted done in her bathrom. His mind had been on Eli and all of the things she had told him. About her predicament—and his.

Two things, in particular, kept returning to him: Eli needed to eat about once a week, and she wasn’t hungry right now. It had been three weeks since the accident; three weeks since she’d last fed. So . . .

I’m living with a murderer.

As he opened the cabin door the thought once again came to him. It had been rolling around in the back of his head all day. It was the single thought that had most compelled him to shut down Katie when it came to discussing what to do about Eli. And it was this decision that had made the whole day with her tense and uncomfortable, even though Eli’s name had not come up once during their time shopping together.

How many people had she killed since she had entered the States? She said she had been in the U.S. less than a year; there were 52 weeks in a year; so . . .

He shook his head as he shut the door behind himself and hung up his coat. Then he went to the bed and looked at her. Him. Eli.

How many since Eli had come to live with him? Excluding Finch, there had to have been about three, unless he’d figured out a way to get it without hurting them, or was starving himself. But how could he possibly get blood from someone without raising a ruckus? If Eli had approached him out of the blue and asked for blood, he would have called the cops. Some people might not, he supposed. Maybe there were desperate people out there who needed . . . what?

What did Eli have to offer in exchange for blood?

He looked around the shadowy confines of his cabin and his eyes came to rest on the backpack, now sitting on the floor by the side of his easy chair. He sighed and shook his head.

Katie was right: it was time to take a look. Goddamn it. He hated it, but that was just the way it was. At this point, it was not just a question of invading someone’s privacy. He sat down on the footstool, pulled the bag up into his lap, unzipped the top, and reached in.

The first three things were not new to him: her toys. The Cube, the wire knots, and most easily discernable in his hand, the wooden box with her fabulous egg. He pulled each out and put them down on the chair. Beneath these there was something bigger, something soft and bulky. He reached in and pulled it out.

A stuffed bunny.

It was very old and worn. Clearly when it had been new, it had been much fuzzier than it was now, but it had been fondled for so long that most of its brown fur had been worn off. It was missing an eye, and the seams were torn where an arm and a leg were sewn to the body. It still had the stub of a tail, now gray; he imagined that it had probably been white and three times as big at one time. A line of black thread made a little bunny smile under the pink button that was its nose, but it had come loose at one corner, and only half a smile remained.

He turned the bunny over in his hands; then looked at Eli, asleep in his bed.

Twelve years old for two hundred and thirty years. It was unimaginable.

He began to cry. He cried for Eli; for what had happened to him. An innocent child, attacked and bitten by some kind of monster, and made to live by a simple but horrific rule: kill or starve to death. He held his head in one hand and the bunny in the other as he made the terrifying calculation: two hundred and thirty times fifty-two made . . . almost twelve thousand people. How could that possibly be? Or was it less because she slept sometimes? But even so . . . .

The true depth of Eli’s pathos hit home for the first time; somehow, seeing the bunny had done it. He tried to imagine being forced to kill someone once a week to stay alive, but his imagination failed him--he couldn’t. Was it any wonder that Eli wanted to die? He would have killed himself a long time ago.

He pulled himself together as best he could and put the bunny down next to the egg box. There was nothing else inside the main pouch of the backpack, so he unzipped the smaller pouch on the front and dumped the contents out beside him on the ottoman. A box of band-aids and several articles of jewelry fell out, including the locket Jed had bought her

(him)

before the accident; mostly rings with precious stones, but also a few gold watches and some pendants. With the jewelry also came three big wads of money, each wrapped with a rubber band. And last was an envelope.

Jed didn’t count the bundles, but flipped through the exposed ends of the bills. There had to be several thousand dollars. He frowned. Where had Eli gotten all this cash?

He picked up the band-aid box and noticed that it seemed somewhat heavy. He shook it and felt something hard moving around; then opened it and saw several razor blades and cotton balls in addition to the band-aids. He nodded to himself--so this was how he did it. His anxiety lessened somewhat; maybe the body count wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. And it proved what Eli had said: that he didn’t like hurting people.

He picked up the locket and held it in his hand. He must have washed it, because there was no trace of the blood Jed had remembered the night of the accident. Carefully he popped it open. There was a tiny, color photograph of a smiling young man with blond hair inside; he looked to be about 18 years old.

He closed the locket and put it down with the rest of the jewelry. Then he picked up the envelope. It wasn’t sealed.

He glanced over at Eli to make sure he was still asleep.

Feeling very uneasy, but compelled to learn more, Jed opened the envelope and removed its contents. The first thing that caught his attention was a wallet-sized photograph with a heart-shaped hole cut into it. Oskar, he presumed, sans head; sitting at a kitchen table with a birthday cake in front of him.

Another, this one a black-and-white, showed four snapshots of both of them in a photo booth; it was a bit more dog-eared than the last, and Oskar looked even younger than he had in the birthday photo. He was a good-looking youngster and his face had an open, innocent quality that made him very endearing. Eli looked exactly the same as he did right now in Jed’s cabin. In the photographs they had been acting silly and making faces at the camera, but the last one captured a kiss. It seemed strange to see what appeared to be a preadolescent girl kissing an older boy so tenderly; it was not just a playful peck on the cheek.

In addition to the photographs, there were a handful of notes, but they were written in Swedish and Jed could not decipher them. Carefully he placed the photos and the notes back into the envelope, and then returned everything to the backpack.

So that was Oskar. Now the carving Eli had been working on made sense. He made a mental note to speak with Eli about him; perhaps he could help assuage the grief Eli was experiencing from his loss. If he could, maybe it would make tackling the bigger problems easier.

But was the bigger problem surmountable? It seemed not, but Eli needed help, and the best thing Jed had to offer was his brains. Letting Eli live with him and doing what he could to be a source of comfort were all very well and good, but they would never solve Eli’s main difficulty.

He suddenly felt the urge to go outside. He enjoyed being outdoors, and had always felt that he did his best thinking when he was outside. And right now, he needed to think very clearly, because he had a window of opportunity to take some action before the child got hungry again. So he put on his coat and went out.

It was still raining lightly. He looked at his watch; it was 3:47 p.m. There was about an hour of daylight remaining. When would Eli wake up? At sunset, of course; hadn’t he seen the pattern before Eli had revealed his true nature? Now it was obvious: vampires woke up when the sun went down. This was true even, he supposed, for a vampire who didn’t think he should fairly be labeled a vampire. Jed shook his head and smiled ironically.

His shiny new truck sat in the driveway. To look at it should have given him some modicum of pleasure, but it didn’t. The looming problems were too great to allow him to dwell on such small matters as taking pleasure in owning a new truck.

He didn’t want to walk in the rain, and he didn’t want to stand around on his porch, so instead, he climbed into the truck, shut the door, and tried to think as he listened to the raindrops on the metal roof and watched them run down the windshield in the dying gray light.

The kid needed a doctor--some kind of specialist who could examine his blood and try to find an antidote or cure. That was really, as far as Jed could determine, Eli’s only hope; the only thing that offered the possibility of a life free of death and bloodshed. He knew there had to be plenty of excellent physicians in D.C. A hematologist would be the place to start, since Eli had said that her blood carried the infection. But how could he possibly get a hematologist to examine Eli without revealing his horrifying past?

He wasn’t afraid of passing Eli off as his own child. Although he might ultimately get into serious trouble for it, it was a risk he was willing to take if it would mean a shot at beating his disease; at killing whatever lived inside him that made him thirst for blood.

He thought about how he could get Eli in front of a doctor. He didn’t have a telephone, but maybe he could use Katie’s. Who would he call? He felt strongly that the initial contact needed to be private, like an old-fashioned house call. He did not think he would ever be able to persuade Eli to just show up at a hospital. But private doctor’s offices were not open at night, were they? Could he figure out where a doctor’s home address was, and simply take Eli straight to the doctor, even if it was the evening? It would be highly unusual, but doctors took an oath to heal the sick. Maybe Katie had a Yellow Pages and a White Pages that he could cross-reference.

Assuming that he found the home address of a hematologist and took Eli to him or her, what would they tell the doctor about Eli’s disease? Somehow they would have to say enough to get the doctor to take a blood sample for testing. But they couldn’t just say anything, because unless it was extraordinary, the doc would just tell them to go to the nearest hospital and get checked out. On the other hand, if whatever they said was too wacky, they’d just have a door slammed in their face, or worse, have the cops called on them.

Perhaps the key was Eli’s unusually slow breathing and heartbeat. That was something highly demonstrable and very unusual, but it didn’t necessarily bespeak of the supernatural. It was sure to get any doctor’s attention, and it wasn’t something that would require them to start talking about needing human blood to live. But could he persuade Eli to go along? It was hugely risky, but Jed felt strongly that they would have to try. And if Eli refused? Jed didn’t know what he would do. He certainly couldn’t force Eli to do anything; he understood that much.

He sighed and sat back in his seat, trying to imagine what it would be like, driving around in Northwest D.C. or Potomac, Maryland, looking for some doctor’s home in the middle of the night in the rain. Coming up and knocking on the door of some beautiful house owned by a perfect stranger, hat in hand, humbly asking for help. He thought about how Eli would react if they were turned away out of hand, and if they weren’t, about the lies he’d have to tell about Eli. He thought about the questions that any self-respecting doctor would ask. What is your child’s date of birth and social security number? Is he covered by health insurance? How long has he been like this? Are there any other symptoms? I need to perform a physical exam—what would that reveal? Your child needs to be registered at a hospital before any lab testing can be performed.

Well you see, doc, he was born in the 1700’s. And, uh, he’s immortal. Yeah, that’d go over big. No, Eli would have to be born in 1990; they’d just agree on a date, that’s all. And as for a Social? Jed had no idea.

Just thinking about the plan made him realize how far-fetched it was. Maybe it would be better to find an old-fashioned family physician out here; some kind old guy who was used to dealing with patients informally. Perhaps Katie would know someone.

He closed his eyes and thought about last night. The barriers were breaking down; he knew that. He hadn’t really meant to spend the night in bed with Eli again; in fact, before Eli had revealed all of the awful things about what it meant to be him, he had planned to sleep in his easy chair and let Eli have his bed all to himself, given that he couldn’t very well climb up into the loft with his broken leg. They had spent a long time together in the chair while Eli cried and clung to him. It had been heartbreaking, and Jed had done everything in his power to comfort him; to tell him that he would be there for him no matter what. Eventually Jed had drifted into a fitful sleep with Eli still in his arms, resting quietly under a blanket Jed had pulled over them. And at some point Jed knew not when, Eli had gotten up and gone to the bed. He had stirred a little when Eli had left him, and was drifting off to sleep again when Eli spoke from across the room, asking him if he could please come and keep him warm as he had the night before. Jed had hesitated only a moment before getting up and going to the bed to join him. And as they had the previous evening, Eli had curled up beside him.

He had told Eli that he was a bit uncomfortable doing what they were doing, but Eli had replied that he didn’t mind, and knew that he could trust Jed. He said that he had grown used to sleeping with Oskar after Oskar had grown up, and that it helped him feel less alone. When Jed had replied that he still wasn’t sure, Eli reminded him that although he was twelve, he was a really old twelve, so maybe that didn’t count. Jed had been too tired and sleepy to argue much further, so he’d capitulated, and that had been that. Later, as the dawn had approached and Jed had begun to experience periods of wakefulness, he had once again been happy to have Eli with him; had been pleased to hold the child in his arms, even though Eli had said that he was really a boy. Or had been a boy, whatever in God’s name that meant.

But in the cold light of day, having spent the afternoon with Katie, he felt uneasy again about the whole thing. Was he doing it for Eli, or for himself? Or for both of them? The whole thing was so strange—he really felt as though he’d lost his bearings. He would have to talk about it some more with Eli, when the time was right.

†

12/17/02 – 4:40 p.m.

Don’t know what to write tonight.

I thought I knew what life was all about, but now I’m not so sure. Right now things seem very complicated.

†

“Do you need a little more hot water in there?” Jed puttered around by his chest of drawers, putting away some of his clothes as Eli took a bath in the tub behind the curtain he’d rigged up to give Eli some privacy.

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Okay. I know it can be kinda drafty in here.”

He had finished putting his socks away when Eli spoke again. “Thanks for talking with me last night about my problems, Jed. I feel better, now that you know. I don’t really like keeping secrets.”

“Not a problem--that’s what friends are for.”

“I know, but I realize how much trouble I’ve caused you. I’m still wondering if you would be better off if I left. You’d tell me the truth if that’s how you really felt, wouldn’t you?”

Jed paused with the half-open shirt drawer in his hands. He suddenly felt very self-conscious, and wondered how Eli had managed to key in on what had gone through his mind the day before. He listened to the splashing from behind the sheet; then he shut the drawer and came over beside the makeshift curtain.

“Eli, listen. I don’t want you to keep talking like that. I told you that I want you to stay, and I meant it.”

The water sounds stopped. “I know, but I’m going to get hungry again, and I don’t want to be around you when that happens. And I meant what I said about not wanting to go through it again, too.”

“Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?” How, exactly, they would ‘cross the bridge’ Jed didn’t know, but once again he felt the importance of trying to be positive. “Listen, Eli--I’ve been thinking, and I really want you to reconsider your position about not wanting to go see a doctor. I think doing that might be the best bet for curing your problem.”

Eli was quiet for a moment; then Jed heard a soft thump as he got out of the tub. The rack behind the tub shook a little as a towel was taken down. After a few seconds, Eli pushed the curtain aside and stepped out.

Seeing him, Jed was impressed, not for the first time, by how skinny he was. His arms were very long and lanky, and his chest was bony and narrow, with almost no fat at all.

Thinking that he might want to dress in private, Jed stepped back and motioned toward Eli’s clothes on one of the kitchen chairs a short distance from the tub. “I’ll get those for you, if you'd like.”

Eli glanced at him and stepped over to the chair before Jed could act. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “You know everything about me anyway. Besides, what does it matter at this point whether you see how I look?”

There was an ominous tone of resignation in Eli’s voice that Jed didn’t like. Somehow, he needed to pull the kid out of his terminal attitude. Yet, he found it difficult to fault Eli for feeling the way he did. Some people, he supposed, might become depressed over things that would seem trivial to him, but Eli’s problems clearly didn’t fit into that category. But still, he had to try.

“Don’t talk like that, Eli. It won’t help us deal with your problems.”

Eli laughed. “Don’t you get it? They can’t be ‘dealt with.’” He held the towel wrapped at his waist and began to pick up his underwear, but then paused. “In case you’re still wondering about how I’m not a boy anymore, you can see if you want. Maybe it’ll help you do the right thing, like I want you to.”

“Well, I’m not sure that’s—”

Eli removed the towel, threw it over the back of the chair, and stood perfectly still in front of Jed.

Jed’s heart lurched in his chest; he felt as if someone had punched him, taking away his wind. After a second or two, he realized his mouth was hanging open and felt like an idiot. “Oh my God.”

Eli looked up at him and tried to put on a cynical smile, but the effort faltered when he saw the expression on Jed’s face. He looked down at the floor, wishing that he had not been so callous; he knew what he had done was cruel. “I’m sorry.” Quickly he began to step into the panties Jed had bought for him at Wal-Mart.

“Eli.”

Eli bit his lip to keep the tears at bay as he fumbled with the underwear. Somehow, he couldn’t get one of his feet into the hole. “It’s okay, Jed--I shouldn’t have done that.”

Jed stepped closer. “Eli, please. Hold on.”

Eli paused. “What?”

“Tell me what happened.”

He straightened, turned, and stood naked before Jed with the panties around his ankles.

“It was cut off.”

“Why?”

His face darkened. “Why?”

“Yes,” Jed replied. Eli could see the fear in his eyes.

Eli looked down at himself. “Because there is no God. That’s why.”

“That’s a damn lie.”

Eli’s body tensed and he balled his hands into fists. Then he kicked off the panties, which flew in a small arc, hit Jed’s good leg, and fell to the floor by his feet. “Prove it!”

Jed hesitated; when he spoke his voice was weak and hesitant. “I ain’t smart enough to prove it, but it’s what I believe. And I don’t like what you said.”

Eli laughed angrily, longer this time. Then he looked around, as if uncertain of what to do next; reached to put on some clothes, but stopped. “You people . . . you’re all the same. Blind faith. Well that’s not something I’m buying any more--no way. I learned my lesson about putting trust in God.”

“Eli, God didn’t intend all of this to happen to you.” Feeling an urge to console him, Jed stepped closer, but Eli backed away.

“It doesn’t matter what He intended--He let it happen. That was enough. Never again—never ever. I can’t exist in a world where there’s a God. It’s impossible.”

“You’re not the only person who’s suffered.”

Eli glared at him, and when he replied there was a hard, dangerous edge to his voice. “Don’t you dare compare what I’ve been through to someone else. You don’t know anything about what it means to be me.”

“I want to.”

“No you don’t. You couldn’t handle it, trust me.”

“That’s bullshit. If you want to wallow in self-pity, do it somewhere else. If you want help, then talk to me.”

Eli stared quietly at Jed, and when he replied his voice was venomous. “I don’t need you.” He turned to look at the guns on the wall. “I’ll do it myself.” Quickly he went to the rack.

“You keep away from them guns.”

Eli did not stop. He went to the cabinet and pulled on the handle of the wood-framed glass door. Realizing it was locked, he pulled harder. There was a cracking sound as the wood around the lock gave way and he swung the door open. Quickly he reached inside and pulled Jed’s hunting rifle out of its rack.

“Put that down.” Jed began limping toward Eli.

Eli ignored him. He looked over the gun and seeing the bolt handle, began tugging on it. After a second he pulled on it the right way and the bold slid up and back. Without looking further, he snapped the bolt shut, turned it, and swung the barrel up toward his head. Then Jed tackled him.

They hit the floor hard. The gun clattered out of Eli’s hands and landed by the wall next to the cabinet. Jed ended up on top of Eli and tried to restrain him, but only briefly had the advantage. Although he was much larger and heavier, Eli easily broke his grip and shoved him sprawling onto the bearskin rug. He sprung to his feet, saw the gun on the floor, and again picked it up. As Jed pulled himself to his feet, Eli once again pointed the barrel at himself and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. He pulled again; still nothing. Jed stepped over and grabbed it away from him.

“It ain’t even loaded. Jesus.” His hands were shaking.

Eli turned to him, trembling with rage, and for a second Jed was certain he was going to pounce upon him. In that instant he realized that Eli’s eyes had changed and were now slit-like, and that something was happening with his hands; for a moment, they had appeared . . . indistinct. Then Eli saw the fear and concern in Jed’s eyes. He blinked, and his eyes were normal, and then the anger and hatred left his face like a departing ghost.

“Please . . . please, Jed. Shoot me.”

Jed backed away, the fear of what he had seen settling deep into his bones. “Goddamn it, Eli—that’s no way. It ain’t right.”

Eli stepped toward him. “I want to be free! It’s the only way!”

“If there isn’t any God, you won’t be anything if I shoot ya. Don’t you want to see Oskar again someday?”

Eli’s features changed from anguish to confusion. “Oskar’s dead! I’ll never see him again!”

“You don’t know that.”

“That’s crap!”

“Really? So you know what happens after death, huh? Seems to me that’s the one big thing you don’t know.” Jed felt his heart begin to beat slower in his chest; suddenly he felt weak, and he looked around for his chair. “Now come on and . . . and stop all this foolishness. Let me help you in some way that makes sense.” He tottered to his easy chair and sat down, then ran a shaking hand over his sweaty face.

Eli stared at him quietly for a moment; then picked his underwear up and put it on. As he pulled on his pants, he apologized for breaking the gun cabinet.

“I don’t care about that--it’s not important.” Jed put the gun down on the chair next to him.

After he had dressed, Eli came over and sat beside him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, Eli. I guess you warned me, didn’t you.” Eli nodded as Jed put his arm around his narrow shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “Look, I understand you’ve got a lot of problems, but beggin’ me to blow you away is no solution. I know you’re despairing ‘cause Oskar isn’t around any more, but lots of people struggle with the loss of a loved one every day. Do you really think Oskar would want me to kill you if he were here right now?”

Eli looked down and shook her head. “No.”

“Look, I’m not cut out for this sorta thing. I was a medic in Vietnam—you know, I ran around trying to save guys, mostly. I know you think I’m some kinda big-time hunter, and I won’t deny that I enjoy that, but there’s a big difference between killing an animal and killin’ a person. Especially one as nice as you, for Pete’s sake.”

Eli looked up at him. “But that’s just the thing, Jed. I am an animal—or at least, I can turn into one sometimes. I become a monster. And I don’t want to be that any more. It’s too hard.” He sniffed and wiped his nose with his shirtsleeve. “It’s just too hard. Especially without Oskar. I miss him so much.”

The photographs of Eli and Oskar in the photo booth came to Jed’s mind. “How did the two of you manage to fall in love?”

Eli chuckled softly. “We just . . . became friends, I guess.” He frowned. “Although it wasn’t easy at first. One of the first times we met, I was really hungry, and I almost . . .” He looked up at Jed. “Oh God. I’d almost forgotten about that.”

Jed sighed and shook his head; then put down his arm and squeezed Eli’s hand. “I’m beginning to see how hard things really are for you. When you have to start worryin about biting someone you like, things must really be tough.”

“Well, it didn’t happen, so that was good. And then he showed me his Rubik’s Cube, which I thought was really cool because I had never seen one before. And he loaned it to me, and I solved it for him. Then he thought I was awesome.”

Jed chuckled. “Not far off base there.” Eli gave him a small, embarrassed smile. “Go on.”

Eli stared down at the floor. “So we just started hanging out together. He didn’t have many friends, and I didn’t really have any, so we . . . you know. It was like we were made for each other. And he was very smart, but it was as if no one appreciated how bright he really was. His mom and dad had split up, and he lived with his mom, but he wasn’t happy. Things were going on at school, like I said the other night, but he wouldn’t tell his mom about it. So he was really struggling.”

“So you were by yourself back then?”

“No—I was living with a man named Håkan.”

“Håkan?”

“Yeah—you know, like ‘hoe.’”

“Got it.” Jed stood and put his rifle away. “So who was he?”

“Just some guy I met on the street. He was a drunk at the time. We agreed that he could live with me if he stopped drinking.”

“Just some stranger?”

“That’s right. He had a lot of problems.”

Jed frowned and shook his head as he closed the cabinet. “That ain’t right.”

“What?”

“Little kid like you taking up residence with a strange man.”

Eli shrugged. “You were a stranger, but now I’m living with you.”

Jed paused. “Well yeah, but . . . well, go on.”

“Where was I? So, we just became friends. And then Håkan died, and I was all alone.”

Jed sat down in his chair again and motioned to Eli. “Com’ ere.” Eli looked at him and after a few seconds, crawled into his lap. Jed put his arms around him.

“You said Håkan died? How’d that happen?”

Eli paused. “Are you really sure you want to know all the details?”

“Yeah, I guess. If you think it will help me understand you better.”

“I’m not sure, but—”

“Go ahead, if you want. It’s up to you.”

Eli thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain. Then he simply said, “Håkan found people for me, Jed.”

“Found people for you? You mean, like—”

“Yes. For the blood. Only, he wasn’t very good.”

Jed was quiet; Eli felt him stiffen behind him; no doubt, he was beginning to get the picture. When he spoke again, Eli could tell he was trying to control his voice.

“So did someone kill him while he was trying to do that?”

“No. The police caught him and he ended up in the hospital.”

“Musta been roughed up pretty bad by the cops to end up dying.”

“The police didn’t rough him up, Jed.”

“Oh. Well then, I don’t understand.”

Eli briefly turned his head over his shoulder to look at Jed. “I killed him, Jed--it was me. Although at that point, he wanted me to.”

“You killed him.” Jed frowned deeply.

“Uh huh.”

“Why?”

“Jed . . . Håkan was very devoted to me. Very. But in the wrong sort of way. What he really wanted was to have sex with me. And when the police caught him, he disfigured himself so they wouldn’t be able to identify him. He did it to protect me. But we both knew it would only be a matter of time before they figured out who he was, and there was no way he was going to escape—not the way he was. So I came to him at the hospital . . . and he offered himself to me.”

Jed didn’t know what to say. Finally, he spoke. “That’s just about the sickest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Are you still so sure I’m a nice person?”

Jed wanted to say yes, but knew he would lose all credibility with Eli if he did, so instead, he changed the subject.

“Tell me more about Oskar. You said you helped him with those bullies? How’d you do that?”

“They tried to kill Oskar one night at the pool. An older brother of one of them, he had Oskar by his hair and was holding him under water. Drowning him. So I saved him.”

“Jesus. Why were they trying to kill him?”

“Because he’d finally stood up to the leader and hit him on the head with a stick. And they didn’t like that.”

“Well where were the adults when all of this was going on? I don’t understand. Weren’t any teachers looking out for him at school, or something?”

“On the night at the pool, they set a fire outside and the teacher left to see what was going on.”

Jed shook his head. “Sounds like things got outta hand.”

“Yes—there was no one to help him. So I acted. I protected him, like I promised I would. He almost died as it was.”

“How’d you know what was going on? Where you there?”

“I’d left town, but I just couldn’t stay away--he meant that much to me. So I came back. He wasn’t home, and I knew he was exercising down at the gym, so I went there. It was just luck.”

“Good luck for the two of you, I reckon.”

“Yes.”

“So how did Oskar deal with your issues? I would imagine that must’ve been hard for him, even more than it is for me.”

“Oskar never judged me. That’s actually what surprised me the most about him, and I guess what made me fall in love with him. Even after he finally figured out what I was, he wanted to be with me. He was the one person, after all those years, who just wanted a friend—even a friend as screwed up as me.”

“I can imagine that finding a true friend might be a real challenge for someone with problems like yours. Although that’s kinda sad, really. It doesn’t reflect very positively on the human condition.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that we like to think of ourselves as living in an enlightened age. You know, we have all of this technology—electricity, jet planes, cell phones, computers, the internet. We’re very advanced in many ways. With all this progress, you’d think there’d be room for helping out one person with unique needs like yours. But maybe we’re really not as far away from the Dark Ages as we like to believe.”

“That’s what scares me about going to a hospital, Jed. People wouldn’t know how to deal with me. And also, once they understood what I was, I think I’d end up locked away somewhere so they could study me.”

Jed grunted; then sighed. “I wish I could honestly say that you’re wrong about that, Eli--but you might be right. Or at least, it’s not a concern to be dismissed out of hand, I’d say. But maybe we could just find one doctor to help us—someone we could trust, huh?”

“Maybe. But I don’t think it will do any good.”

“Well, we’ll see, okay? But for now, let’s just talk a little more.”

“Okay.” Eli relaxed, leaning his head back on Jed’s chest; then he ran a hand over the rounded arm of Jed’s big leather chair, tracing his fingers across the brass nail heads at the end. “I like your chair. It’s really comfortable.”

Jed smiled. “I’ve had this old thing for quite awhile. It was one of the first pieces I moved in here. I like to sit in it sometimes when I do my journal.”

“How long have you been keeping a journal?”

“Oh, ever since my second divorce. When I moved out here more or less permanently.”

“Don’t you ever get bored? Living by yourself?”

“Sometimes, sure. But then again, you can get bored just about anywhere. I enjoy being outside. I almost always see something new, something that interests me, although I reckon most folks wouldn’t think much of it.”

Eli turned in Jed’s arms so that he could see him a little better. “What kind of things?”

Jed glaced at Eli, then stared across the room at nothing in particular as he thought about how to answer. “Oh I don’t know . . . you know, sometimes the smallest things. The birds in the trees, calling to each other--each species has their own song. The squirrels and the chipmunks running around. The bees working on the flowers. Hell, I remember one day I became engrossed in a colony of little bitty ants doin’ their work. Musta sat and watched them for a good twenty to thirty minutes. Or if you go down to a creek, walk along the bank—there are all kinds of things going on if you look. The world’s teeming with life. It’s all around us, big and small. I like nothing better than a walk in the woods in May, when the winter is gone and everything has come to life again.”

Eli nodded. “Animals have secret lives—I know it.”

Jed looked at him with interest. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t explain it, exactly. But after I became what I am, I found out that I can do things with just my mind. I can change how you think. And with the same power, sometimes I can tune in to animals, too. It’s a little harder, because—well, because they’re animals, I guess—but I can do it.”

Jed frowned. “You’re tellin me you can tell what a deer thinks?”

“It’s more basic than that. They’re not thoughts, more like just how they’re . . .” he looked down, searching for the right word. “Their state of being, their—”

“Their mental state.”

“Yeah—exactly.”

“Like fear, or . . . ?”

“Happiness, too. Animals know what it means to be happy. I’m sure of that.”

Jed straightened a little and his voice became animated. “Tell me more about that. I mean—you’re tellin me that you met a particular animal that you knew was happy?”

“Uh huh.” He looked at Jed, who could tell by the look on Eli’s face that he was very serious.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well tell me.”

“Oh. You mean like—”

“Tell me about the first animal you ever met who you knew was happy.”

“Okay. Let me think . . .” Eli looked down for a moment, and when she looked up her face had brightened. “Okay. About four years after this happened to me, I lived for awhile with a woman in Oxelösund, which is a little town on the Baltic south of Sweden. Her name was Teresia. She was pretty old, like you, and—”

“I’m not that old. Fifty-two ain’t ‘old.’”

“Well, um--sometimes you seem a little crotchety.” Eli gave him a small smile.

“Shit--look who’s talkin.” They both laughed. Then Jed got up to tend to the stove.

“Go on,” he said from across the room. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“So Teresia—her husband had died years before, and he’d owned this mining company, so she was very rich. And they bred horses, and she had a whole bunch of them on her farm. She had a big stable and a field out back where they could run around. She rode them all the time.”

“Sounds like my kinda lady.” Jed got out his whittling project and sat down in front of the stove, and Eli got up and came to join him.

“Uh huh. You would’ve liked her.”

“Mmm. Here’s your Oskar thing, by the way. He handed her the stick and a knife. “So—”

“So when I could, I started hanging out with her horses. Because you see, some animals are really afraid of me—like cats. Cats hate me. But horses—they don’t care what I am. And Teresia let me help take care of her horses—you know, feed them, groom them, clean their stalls. ’Cause that’s a lot of work. And in exchange, she let me live there.”

“So you could talk to her horses?”

“Not really talk, but I could tell that they liked it when I brushed them. All I had to do was touch them, especially like . . . around their face. Then I’d know. And then one time I was taking care of a boy horse named Smörmutter, and I could tell he wasn’t happy. I told Teresia he seemed upset and as it turned out, he had a rock stuck in one hoof.”

“That’s amazing. So you can do this to people, too.”

“Yes. Actually, it works much better on people.”

“So you could tell what I’m thinking?”

“I already have.”

“What?” Jed put his carving down and stared at him.

“It was the first thing I did when I woke up.”

Jed looked at him quietly for a few seconds, his consternation slowly softening. “Well I guess I have to ask: what’d you learn about me?”

Eli spoke softly, hesitantly. “That you’re nice, but you like being alone. That you have an open mind--you aren’t real critical of people all the time, but yet you also have a strong sense of right and wrong. And that you’re fearless in some ways, but not in others.”

“Huh. And you knew all of this how?”

“I can do it without touching, but it’s better if I touch.” He turned in his chair to face Jed; reached toward Jed’s cheek. But Jed pulled back.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “It won’t hurt.”

The apprehension receded from Jed’s face. He relaxed; then Eli extended his hand once again and caressed, his fingertips running over the stubble on Jed’s jaw and ending with his chin.

Jed experienced a presence which he knew to be Eli’s mind. Later, when he tried to put what he had felt into a context that he could understand, he thought about a science program he’d seen once about how objects that appeared solid actually were not all that solid at the atomic level, thereby allowing the passage of all kinds of things, such as x-rays. The program had indicated that humans tend to think of themselves as much more impervious to invasion than they actually are. And for a few seconds when Eli had touched him, he had felt open and vulnerable, as if some sort of guard had been temporarily thrown down, thereby allowing Eli to enter all of that empty space inside him and . . . look around. It had been terrifyingly intimate, but also exhilarating, and when Eli removed himself Jed was both relieved and disappointed.

Eli looked into Jed’s eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of too, Jed.” He looked down. “I know God exists—I just don’t want to hope. Because I’m afraid.”

At first Jed was not sure he would be able to speak, but somehow, he found his voice. “But we still have to try, right?”

Eli sighed. “I guess that’s only fair. And maybe what I asked you to do isn’t very fair to you. Maybe I’m just being selfish.”

“I don’t think it’s useful to think of it in terms of fairness. I know you have alot of pain and anger bottled up inside. It has to find an outlet.”

Eli nodded quietly; then spoke. “By the way--you don’t need to worry about taking those pieces out of your guns after I go to sleep. I promise I won’t do that again.”

Jed was going to say something to express his surprise, but changed his mind. What was the point? So he simply nodded and said, “Good.”

He was quiet for a time, then spoke again. “So can I do the same thing to you?”

“No. But I can share my thoughts and memories with you.”

“What do you mean? How?”

Eli put his carving of Oskar aside. “What do you want to see?”

Jed frowned, trying to think. “I’m not sure. Something that made you happy?”

Eli put his head down as he thought. “Okay.” Then he looked back up at Jed; scooted closer and brought his face to Jed’s.

Jed didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t help pulling back a little. “What? More touching?”

“No. Touching isn’t enough for this.” Jed looked into Eli’s eyes and was no longer afraid. The darkness there seemed to swell, growing larger to pull him in and envelope him like a soft glove, and he could not move; he was frozen, immobile in anticipation of he knew not what—just that it would be . . .

(wonderful)

this little girl

(boy)

was going to do something amazing to him

. . . and then Eli’s lips touched his, softly enclosing, and his hands had found their way to either side of Jed’s head, holding him gently, and Jed’s eyes fluttered closed, and then—

--he was standing in a subway station somewhere, surrounded by people and noise, the hustle and bustle of travelers coming and going. He knew, somehow, that he was Eli

(Elias?)

now, not himself, and there was a boy standing in front of him, he was familiar, he knew him from the photographs he’d seen; yes, it was Oskar, looking very young with a band-aid on his cheek; and Oskar was holding a paper bag out and smiling; he was happy because he wanted to share something, something in the bag, and he had just agreed to try some, even though it—

(not good will make me sick)

and he reached into the bag and felt, and yes, it was candy, and he pulled a piece out, held it between his fingers apprehensively; it was a small dark wafer of some kind, maybe chocolate?

(shouldn’t make me sick but oh yes it will can’t eat this but I must try I can’t disappoint Oskar)

and he looked up at Oskar, but there was no understanding, only hopeful expectation, Oskar was sure he would like it, he didn’t know, did not understand that he could not eat normal food, couldn’t eat that little piece of candy because he wasn’t human any more, but he wasn’t going to let Oskar down. And so he put the candy in his mouth, broke it against his palate with his tongue and swallowed the fragments, ignoring the revolting taste and trying to hold it down; and for a few seconds, it worked. But then—

He turned away from Oskar and ran, ran out of the station as fast as he could to get away, get away before it happened; get away before Oskar could see. Around the corner, behind the building, yes, Oskar wasn’t here yet, he hadn’t caught up, it was safe now, so he could--

Jed grunted; flinched in his chair. Eli held him more tightly.

leaning against the cold building with one hand, looking down at the smelly yellowish patch he’d just made in the snow under his feet; wiping his mouth as he heard Oskar’s footsteps behind him, circling around. Yes, Oskar, I just threw up your candy.

And then suddenly he was full of humiliation and despair. I’m sorry, Oskar; I wanted to do it for you, but I couldn’t. I’m a failure; a freak. I turn but I can’t look at him, only at the ground. If he sees my eyes, he’ll know.

“I’m sorry.”

And he waited for Oskar to laugh, to make fun of him, because he couldn’t even eat a piece of candy. Stupid little wretch; he should crawl back to his hole and vanish from Oskar and the whole world. Disappear so that nothing horrible like this could ever happen again.

And then—

Oskar’s arms around him

(what? I freeze, I don’t know what to do)

and Oskar is squeezing me, holding me, he’s

(a hug he’s hugging me)

and the warmth spreads through my cold body, starting in my chest, because I’m

(Oskar . . . do you like me? Yeah—a lot.)

. . . happy

(If I wasn’t a girl . . . would you like me anyway? I suppose so . . .)

so happy . . .

The kiss broke.

Jed stared at Eli, slack-faced; blinked. He felt drained.

“You . . . don’t get many breaks, do you?”

Eli shook his head.

“But when they do come along, they mean a lot, don’t they?”

Eli smiled a little and nodded.

“Elias.”

“Yes—that’s my real name.”

“That was a once-in-a-lifetime hug.”

“Yes—”

In one motion Jed stood and swept Elias off his feet and into his arms, embracing his small, thin frame and marveling at its coolness. He wished it were otherwise; wished that he could, by sheer strength of will, impart his own warmth to Elias so he would never be cold again.

“I’m not Oskar; can never be Oskar, but—”

“—I know, Jed, it’s—”

“. . . if you ever need a hug, don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”

Elias sniffed. “Yes. I will.” Jed heard the boy’s voice waver, then break as his tears began and then he closed his eyes tightly, forcing his own stinging tears out and onto his cheeks. In the blackness behind his eyelids, he cherished the person in his arms and thought about what Oskar’s hug had meant. When he spoke again, his voice was just as broken as Elias’.

“I’m gonna do everything in my power to give you back your life. Do you understand that?”

Elias could not answer; Jed could only feel the small head nodding on his shoulder.

“Good. ’Cause you ain’t no wretch--never were and never will be. You’re beautiful and amazing. Got that?”

Elias nodded again as Jed relaxed his hold. “Tell me you got it.”

He put him down on the floor and saw a small, brave smile appear through the tears. “I got it.”

Jed let out a long, shuddering sigh and sat back down in his chair; after a few seconds, Elias sat down, too. Jed took out his hankie and dried his eyes while Elias pulled up his sweatshirt and used it on his own. After they had gotten themselves under control, Jed spoke. “Now, let’s . . . let’s pull ourselves together here, and talk about this doctor business.”

Chapter VII

Katie was in the kitchen flouring a bundt pan for her Christmas rum cake when the knock came at the side door. She glanced at the clock radio hanging under the cabinet in the corner nook, which told her that it was 7:15 p.m. as it began to play Burl Ives’ “A Holly Jolly Christmas.” She wiped her hands on her apron, went to the door, and peered out through the sheers at the figures on the concrete stoop: Jed and Eli. She gave them a surprised smile, threw back the deadbolt, and swung open the door.

“Hello, Jed—and Eli, too. Come in, come in. Quick, before you get cold.”

Jed held the screen door and waited for Eli, but she did not enter; instead, she looked up at Katie. “Are you sure I can come in?”

Confusion flickered across Katie’s face for a fraction of a second before she answered. “Of course I am, dear.” She swung her door open wider, and Eli stepped inside, her big eyes taking in all of her surroundings. Jed followed, stamping his boots on the outside matt so he wouldn’t tramp water all over the hardwood floor.

“Getting cold out there,” Katie remarked as she closed the door behind them. “I see it’s still raining.”

Jed removed his hat. “It’s turned into a light mist.”

“Well come sit down. Let me take your coats.”

“Thanks. But you don’t need to take ‘em, ’cause we won’t be here that long.”

“All right.” She asked them if they wouldn’t mind if she continued preparing her rum cake, and Jed readily agreed. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize getting a slice of that, dear.”

She poured the cake mix into the mixing bowl and began to break eggs. Eli sat at the kitchen table next to Jed, quietly watching Katie work.

“You all want something to drink?”

“No, that’s not necessary,” Jed replied. “We were just wondering whether you could give us the name of your family doctor. You’ve told me about him before, but for the life of me I can’t remember it. We want him to take a look at Eli and see if he can figure out this allergy problem she’s got.”

She glanced up at him and smiled. “Oh! That sounds like a good idea. It’s David Cook—he’s down in Culpeper. I can get you his number in just a second.”

“That’d be great.”

Katie glanced at Eli as she poured a half cup of rum into the bowl and began to mix. “Eli, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“Jed’s told me a little bit about you. Is it true that you’re Swedish?”

“Yes.” Eli glanced at Jed. “I’m from Östergötland.”

“Is that near Malmö?”

“Umm . . . not exactly. But I lived for awhile in Malmö.”

“I see. You speak English very well. Did you learn it in Sweden?”

“Mmm hmm. It’s required in all the schools.”

“I wish I had taken the time to learn a foreign language when I was in school. I took some French when I was a sophomore, but that was about it. Parlez-vous français?”

Eli smiled. “I don’t know French. But I like to learn new things.”

“She’s a quick study, as you know, Katie.”

“So I heard—the jigsaw puzzle, right?”

Jed nodded. “Right.”

“That was quite a feat, from what I heard.”

“You should see her egg puzzle. It’ll blow you away.”

“You’ll have to show it to me sometime.” Katie slid the Bundt pan into the oven, set the timer, and began to wash her hands at the kitchen sink. “Eli, you’re very lucky to have found Jed. From what I understand, he’s taken quite a shine to you. And it’s no exaggeration to say that he’s one of the nicest persons you’ll ever meet.”

Jed huffed and waved his hand. “Oh, please.”

Eli looked to Jed and smiled again. “He’s helped me out a lot; I know that, Mrs. Enderly.”

“Call me Katie, dear.” She dried her hands with the dishtowel. “I’ve never heard of anyone having a problem like yours. Just how bad is your reaction to sunlight?”

“Very bad--I could die if I’m not careful.”

“And no one’s ever told you what it is? And there’s nothing you can take for it?”

“Not that I know of. That’s why we’re here.”

She shook her head. “Well, I doubt that Dr. Cook will know what to do, but maybe he can refer you to someone who can help.” At the nook under the clock radio, she pulled out an address book with a picture of a woman by Claude Monet on its cover and opened it as Nat King Cole began singing “The Christmas Song.” Jed pulled a small notepad out of his pocket.

Katie glanced at him. “Got a pen?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. His phone is 540-825-0096. His office is over by the hospital on Sunset Lane. Twelve hundred, suite 320.”

“Does he have an after-hours number?”

“I don’t know . . . you’ll have to call. You’re welcome to use my phone.”

“You got a White Pages for Culpeper, Kate?”

“Sure.” She opened the bottom cupboard, pulled out a thick phone book, and brought it to the table. Jed put on his reading glasses; then flipped open the heavy book to the residential section and began scanning the pages as Eli looked on with interest. Soon his finger stopped.

“Is he a David ‘E’ or an ‘S’?”

“I think he’s . . . a David ‘E’.”

“Good. He scribbled some information onto his pad. “Mind if I use the phone in your study?”

“Go right ahead. Are you going to try him at home?”

“That’s right. Eli, why don’t you come with me.”

Together they went down the central hallway past the staircase and turned left into a room with a desk and some bookshelves that lined one wall. Jed sat down at the desk and pulled Katie’s rotary phone toward him. “Slide that door shut, will you, Eli?”

Eli looked behind him and saw that Katie did not have hinged doors; instead, they slid into the walls. He grabbed first one, and then the other, and slid them closed.

“Those’ re called pocket doors,” Jed remarked as he dialed. “Kinda neat, huh?”

“Mmm hmm.” Eli gazed briefly around the room, and then came over and stood by Jed’s side. Jed stopped dialing, and then Eli could hear, faintly, the sound of the phone ringing at the other end. Then it stopped.

A woman answered. “Hello?”

“Hi. My name is Jed Inverness. I’m trying to reach Dr. Cook.”

“May I ask why you’re calling?”

“I need to speak with him about a friend of mine who’s sick and needs to see a doctor. I got his name from Katie Enderly; she’s a patient of his.”

“Well he’s not working right now. If your friend has a problem that can’t wait, you should take him to the Emergency Room. Otherwise, you can call his office in the morning and make an appointment.”

“I can’t take her to the ER. She’s deathly afraid of hospitals, and she’s got a condition that will make it impossible to have her seen during the day. I’m very worried about her, and Katie has spoken very highly of Dr. Cook, so I thought perhaps if I could just spend a few minutes with him on the phone, he might be able to help us.”

“Well, this is very unusual, but . . . .”

“Please--it’s very important, and I don’t know any other doctors. I don’t have a regular physician, and neither does she.”

The woman sighed. “All right. Hang on.”

There was a clunk and then a pause.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Dr. Cook?”

Cautiously, the man replied. “Yes it is. And who is this?”

“My name’s Jed Inverness. I’m a good friend of one of your patients, Katie Enderly. She and I live next door to each other.”

“Oh, Katie. I’ve known her for years. Her husband and I were in the Lions Club before he passed away. You live out on that mountain with her?”

“That’s right—she lives just down the road. In fact, I’m borrowin’ her phone to call you, because I live in a cabin and I don’t have a phone.”

“I see. Is she there?”

“Yes she is.”

“May I speak with her?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jed put down the phone. “Eli, tell Kate to get in here, willya?”

Jed heard the sound of one sliding door rolling back in its track, then Eli’s voice, trailing away down the hall. “Mrs. Enderly? Jed needs you.”

Soon Eli returned with Katie by her side. Jed gestured with the receiver. “I got Dr. Cook on the horn. He wants to talk with you.”

“With me?”

“Yeah.” Jed handed her the phone.

Katie took the phone from him and anxiously held it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Katie? Hi—this is John Cook. I just wanted to make sure this wasn’t some sort weird prank.”

“Oh, it’s no joke, John. This little girl needs to see you.”

“Little girl? How old is she?”

“I think she’s twelve.”

“Well maybe she ought to be examined by a pediatrician, then. I can give you a name. Dr. O’Shaunessy is excellent, and--”

“John, I know this is unusual, but I’d really appreciate it if you could see her yourself. Jed’s a dear friend of mine, and he’s very worried about this youngster.”

“Well, is she his daughter, or—I thought he said that—”

“No he’s not, but he’s been taking care of her since before Thanksgiving. And he cares about her a lot. She doesn’t have any family around here, and she’s got some serious medical problems. I’m so worried about both of them, and I gave Jed your name because I know what a good doctor you are, and I know you care about your patients.”

He sighed. “I don’t know, Katie. This is very unusual.” There was a long pause while he thought it over. Finally, he spoke again. “Can he bring her over to my office right now?”

Katie put down the phone and looked up at Jed. “He wants to know if you can bring her to his office tonight.”

“Of course.”

She put the receiver back to her ear. “Yes.”

“All right. Tell him I’ll meet them in, say . . . what, 40 minutes?”

“Will do. Maybe I’ll tag along.”

“That’d be lovely. I’ll meet you at the rear entrance. See you in a few.” Katie hung up the phone.

Jed stood up. “You coming with us?”

“Do you mind?”

“Course not.” He glanced at Eli. “You don’t mind, do you, Eli?”

“Okay. But what about the rum cake?”

Katie smiled. “I’ll make another.”

†

Dr. Cook was waiting for them just inside the double doors at the rear of the medical office building when Jed pulled up in his truck. Eli had been sitting in between Jed and Katie on the way, and he got out on Katie’s side. The rain had finally tapered off.

He had been very quiet on the way into town, worrying about what was going to happen when the doctor began asking questions. Jed and he had talked things over at length before they had left the cabin. Except for deciding to call Eli a girl, which they both agreed would be easiest, at least for the moment, the two of them had argued vehemently for a long time about what they were going to tell the doctor that Eli was. Jed had said that there was no way they could tell any lies that would pass muster with a competent doctor. Eli had suggested one scheme after another to somehow keep from disclosing the truth while getting some help, but Jed was reluctant. He reminded Eli that even though he didn’t mean to be, being around him could be dangerous, and that meant that whoever they wound up seeing would be taking some risks, too, and he wasn’t going to be accused of misleading someone who might somehow get hurt. Eli had understood this, but was still quite anxious, and the two of them had never really agreed upon on what they would do, the discussion petering out when Jed had noticed the time and said that he wanted to do something tonight.

Eli’s nervousness had only grown worse as he sat in the pickup truck, waiting for the inevitable. A feeling of portending doom settled over him, and more than once he considered running away once Jed stopped the truck. Deeply ingrained instincts linking secrecy to self-preservation fought to override the feelings he had developed for Jed, and the desire to get help at any price. It took all of his willpower to try and remain calm and collected as they approached the entrance, and the doctor swung one of the doors open for them.

Katie was in the lead and Eli took up the rear, giving him the opportunity to size up Dr. Cook before he stepped through the doors. He was shorter and thinner than Jed, and seemed a few years older. He wore ordinary clothes—bluejeans and white sneakers—and his hair reminded him of Katie’s; blackish-gray, but a bit darker.

He gave Katie a brief, formal hug as she entered the building’s rear foyer, then shook Jed’s hand as Katie introduced him. Jed then turned to Eli and introduced him to the doctor, who extended a hand.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Cook.”

“I’m Eli.” He shook the doctor’s hand, and suddenly felt more relaxed.

“Eli, I’m pleased to meet you. So you don’t like hospitals, huh?”

“Huh uh.”

The doctor offered Eli a kindly smile. “All right. Well, we’ll see if we can keep you out of one, then.” He turned away and summoned the elevator.

On the third floor they turned right and went down a hallway with bluish-gray carpet and off-white walls. Dr. Cook stopped in front of a cherry-finished door with a placard beside it that read Culpeper Family Practice Associates, produced a key, and unlocked it.

He flicked on the lights and they stepped into a patient waiting area. He didn’t stop, but went past the check-in counter and turned on some more lights. “Come on back. All three of you, I suppose.”

They went around a corner behind the front desk with its movable shelves of medical charts and entered an exam room. He turned on the light and motioned to the chairs. “Have a seat. Eli, why don’t you take off your coat and sit up on the exam table while I find a chart.” He stepped out of the room.

Eli took off his coat and handed it to Jed, who could tell by the look in his eyes that he was growing apprehensive. Jed gently touched his shoulder. “Remember what we talked about, Eli. You need to be brave, okay?”

“I’ll try to do my best. I’m just a little scared.”

“Don’t be. Remember what I said--anything you tell a doctor, they have to keep secret. They’re not allowed to go blabbing about their patients’ problems.”

“Okay.” He climbed up and sat down on the table, the paper crackling beneath him. After a short time, Dr. Cook returned wearing a white doctor’s coat, and carrying a clipboard and some papers. He handed some of the papers and a pen to Jed. “You’ll need to fill out this intake sheet and sign the other two. I won’t be able to process your insurance tonight. Can you come back tomorrow and work that out with my front office gal?”

“I’m paying for this with cash.”

Dr. Cook raised an eyebrow and smiled. “All right. Gee--I can’t remember the last time I had a private pay.” He turned to Eli and sat on a chrome stool next to a low bench; then pulled a pen out of his pocket.

“I think we’re ready. So what is the concern?”

Jed opened his mouth to speak, but Eli beat him to it. “I’m a vampire.”

Jed winched. The pen in Dr. Cook’s hand stopped a millimeter above the small box on his exam sheet entitled “Chief Complaint.” He looked up at Eli. “Excuse me?”

Jed hastily intervened. “She means she’s allergic to the sun. It burns her skin if she’s exposed to it for only a few seconds. It’s so bad that she never goes outside during the day.”

“All right.” He gave Eli a cautionary look. “I’ll just write ‘skin allergy’ for now.

“How long have you had this problem?”

“It started when I was twelve.”

“But you’re twelve now, right? So this year, sometime?”

“Um . . . yeah, but it seems like a lot longer.”

“All right. Well . . . why don’t we take a look at you.” He stood and took an electric thermometer from the bench. He popped a plastic sleeve over one end and stepped up to the table. “Open up and let’s put this under your tongue.” He poked it into Eli’s mouth and waited for a little while until it beeped; then withdrew it. He frowned when he looked at the small, plastic window.

“I told you to keep it under your tongue.”

“I did.”

“Let’s try again.”

Once more they waited until the device beeped. This time he swore softly when he read it.

“Take off your shirt, please.” Eli complied.

“Huh—well, you certainly are pale. You never go outside in the sunshine?”

Eli shook his head.

“So you’ve become a real nightowl, huh?”

“Yes. I’m always awake at night now; never during the day.”

“Well, I’m gonna put this under your armpit and check your temperature there, okay?”

“Okay.”

Eli lifted an arm briefly while Dr. Cook pressed the thermometer into place. Within a minute, it beeped and he removed it.

He shook his head. “It’s the same--twenty-one degrees. Room temperature. Well, I’m writing it down, even though it doesn’t make sense.” He looked carefully at Eli. “You shouldn’t be able to talk with a temperature like that.” Eli did not reply.

“Let me have your hand.” Carefully he checked Eli’s wrist for a pulse. Jed watched him carefully and could see the bewilderment grow on his face. “Can’t be right.” Then put his fingers in the soft, hollow area on one side of Eli’s jaw and checked there.

“I’ll be goddamned. It’s the same.” He stared at her, obviously shaken. “Your heart’s beating four times a minute. It should be around 80.”

“I’m sorry.”

He uttered a nervous laugh. “It’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s just . . . extremely unusual. If you weren’t talking to me right now, I’d be calling 911 to get you to the ER ASAP, and starting CPR.”

“What’s CPR?”

Jed spoke. “He means he’d be trying to save your life.”

“Exactly. You mind if I listen to your heart?” Eli shook his head while he put on his stethoscope and placed the diaphragm on Eli’s chest. After a few seconds he frowned and moved it slightly to a different position; then listened again. Then he took the stethoscope out of his ears and frowned as he jotted a note. “Her second heart sound is extremely delayed. Let me check your lungs.” Once again he used the stethoscope to listen, this time to the front and back of Eli’s chest, asking him to breathe deeply.

“Well, your lungs sound good.” He took a blood pressure cuff from the table. “This might be a little big for you, but I want to try and get a reading. Mind if I put this on your arm?”

“No.” Eli held out an arm.

“Thanks.” He wrapped it around Eli’s arm, the Velcro making a scratchy sound as he finished. Then he inflated the sleeve with the small rubber ball and began to watch the dial carefully as it deflated, listening for Eli’s pulse with his stethoscope.

“Didn’t catch one.” He shook his head. “Let me try again.” Once more he pumped the bulb in his hand while everyone watched in silence. Soon he sighed and removed the cuff, placing it back on the table.

“Eli, your blood pressure is about 40 over 40. I can’t understand how you’re alive.”

Eli solemnly returned his stare. “I don’t want to be like this anymore. Can you help me?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Let me check out a few more things. Open wide and say ‘ahh.’”

“Ahh.” He peered into Eli’s mouth; then felt once again under Eli’s chin. Then he removed an otoscope from his pocket and turned it on. “You mind looking up at the ceiling?”

Eli complied and Dr. Cook examined the inside of his nose; then stepped to the side of the table and put the scope into Eli’s ears, first one side, then the other.

“All normal. That’s good.” He sat back down.

“You can put your shirt back on. Let me ask you some questions.”

“Okay.”

“When you have this reaction, what kind of rash is it? Is it red, blisters, any itchiness, or . . . .”

“Umm . . .” Eli glanced at Jed, looking for guidance.

“Tell him what happens, Eli.”

“My skin catches fire.”

“Catches fire. But you’re not . . .” He looked up at the fluorescents in the ceiling. “. . . this light isn’t bothering you? Or, I mean, from an incandescent bulb? That doesn’t hurt?”

“It’s only sunlight.”

“Nobody’s skin catches fire from sunlight, Eli. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s what happens. I’m sorry.”

Dr. Cook laughed nervously. “You don’t need to apologize; I just . . . I’m not sure what questions to ask, here.

“Are there any other symptoms when this happens? Or, do you have any other allergies?”

“No. But sunlight will kill me if I’m out in it even for a few seconds. I burn.”

“How did this problem first develop? I mean, was there any sort of trigger?” He looked to Jed for help. “You know . . . an environmental exposure of some kind.”

“I think my blood got infected with something. That’s when I began to notice that I don’t get cold like normal.”

“I see.” He made a note. “What makes you think your blood is infected?”

“I think something bit me. I don’t remember exactly, but when I woke up, I had these problems.”

“Where were you bitten?”

Eli pointed to the left side of his neck. “Here.”

Dr. Cook stood and examined him carefully. “I don’t see any mark. Do you remember how it looked after you were bitten?”

“No.”

“Did you have a fever?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Seizures?”

“No.”

“Have you had any muscle soreness, joint pain or inflammation?”

“No.”

“How about episodes of weakness or dizziness since this happened?”

“Not exactly.”

“Feeling of malaise . . . you know, kind of feeling run down. Tired?”

“Sometimes I go to sleep for a really long time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I fall asleep and then I don’t wake up for days. Even . . . weeks.”

Dr. Cook did not seem to respond; just continued dutifully making notes. Katie, however, who had been increasingly astonished by what his examination had revealed, looked at Jed, utterly dumbfounded. Jed looked at her and shrugged.

“You’re telling me that you’re literally asleep for weeks at a time. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“And then you just wake up.”

“Right.”

“Hmm. Okay. What day is it?”

“Tuesday, December 17, 2002.”

“Where are you?”

“In an office building . . . on Sunset Boulevard?”

“Close enough. Now I want you to count backwards by sevens, starting with one hundred.”

“One hundred . . . 93 . . . 86 . . . 79 . . . 72 . . . 65 . . . 58 . . .”

“Okay, that’s enough. What do you weigh?”

“I don’t know.”

He gestured at a set of scales. “Step up on there, will you, please?” Eli complied and he moved the counterweights on the bars until they balanced.

“Fifty-three pounds—light as a feather for a kid your age. Have you had any unusual weight loss or weight gain?”

“No.”

“I’d like to get a blood sample and run some tests. Urine, too.” He looked at Jed. “You’re not her dad, right?”

“No.”

“And so, where are her parents?”

Eli spoke. “They’re both dead.”

He gave Jed a puzzled look. “What is your relation to her? Extended family, or are you her guardian, or . . . .”

“We’re not related. I . . . I guess I’ll need to apply to be her guardian.”

“I doubt that I can take a blood sample without a signed consent by a parent or legal guardian.”

“Well, what if I just say that I’m in the process of getting that?”

Dr. Cook thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you what: if Eli agrees, I’m going to take it without your consent, Mr. Inverness. I think these are emergent circumstances that would justify doing it that way. Given her vital signs, she could be in serious danger at any time. In fact, I’d really like to admit her, if we could, but I know she won’t agree to that.” He turned back to Eli and gave his leg a reassuring pat. “It’s been awhile since I drew someone’s blood. I can, but I’d prefer to have one of the nurses at the hospital do it, if you’re willing to go to the ER.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You won’t have to stay very long. I’ll call them and tell them that you’re coming.”

“I really don’t want to.”

He sighed. “Okay. I’ll do it, then. You don’t mind if I take a little of your blood, do you?”

“No.”

“I can’t promise it won’t hurt a little when I put the needle in. Think you can handle that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let me get some things pulled together. Why don’t you hop down from there and go into the bathroom on the other side of the hall. You’ll find some cups on a shelf next to the sink. Pee into one of them, and then put the lid back on and leave it.”

“I don’t need to pee.” He glanced at Jed.

“Oh. You sure you can’t do just a little?”

“Pretty sure.”

“All right. Well maybe we’ll try in a little bit, okay?”

“Okay.”

Dr. Cook proved to be more adept at drawing blood than he had hoped; he had no difficulty finding a vein and taking two vials. After he had given Eli a cotton ball and then taped a band-aid over the draw site, he asked for a last name and date of birth so he could prepare the lab slips.

“Eriksson. Eli Ericksson is my name,” Eli replied. Jed said nothing.

“And your date of birth?”

“May 30, 1990.”

Katie stared at Eli and then at Jed, flummoxed. Quietly Jed reached over, squeezed her knee, and very subtly, shook his head.

“I’ll take these over to the hospital tonight so they can be processed in. We usually use an outside lab, but they can’t sit that long. Think you can go to the bathroom for me now?”

“I can’t. Sorry.”

“Okay. I’m going to give Jed a cup to take home. When you feel the urge, use the cup. Jed, I want you to bring it back in here tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“You say you don’t have a phone?”

“That’s right.”

“I want you to get one—a cell phone would be best. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Sign up tomorrow, then call my office and leave your number. Whatever Eli’s got, it’s very, very unusual, and I would feel better if I can reach you without having to go through Katie.” He nodded at her. “No offense to you, of course.”

“I understand,” Katie replied as they stood to leave.

Dr. Cook produced a card and jotted some numbers on it. “This is our back office line and my pager. If you need to reach me, use one of those.”

Jed took the card. “Thanks. And thanks for coming out to see us tonight—I know that’s really asking a lot.” They shook hands. “Any ideas on what it could be?”

Dr. Cook shook his head. “I’m afraid not, at this point. I’m going to call Dr. Silver first thing in the morning—she’s an allergist—and discuss Eli’s case with her. She may want to do some skin testing, and perhaps a biopsy. I don’t know.”

“All right.”

“I wish I had more answers for you. I understand how anxious all of you are about this.” He turned to Eli. “Especially you.”

“Thank you for everything. I feel better, knowing you’ve agreed to help me.”

“You’re welcome. I hope we can get to the bottom of this.”

“What do I owe you?”

Dr. Cook smiled. “I’ll bill you.”

As they were leaving, he pulled Jed aside to speak with him privately. “Mr. Inverness—”

“Call me Jed.”

“Okay. Jed, I’ll be very frank with you. Eli should not be alive, let alone walking and talking, with her vital signs. I’ve been practicing medicine for thirty years, and I’ve never seen or read anything like it.”

“I understand.”

“No—I don’t think you do. If she runs into trouble and you call 911, they could try to resuscitate her and potentially cause more harm than good. If anything happens, call me on one of those numbers, or use my home, for that matter. I don’t want someone who doesn’t know what the hell’s going on touching her.”

Jed nodded. “I gotcha.”

“I’ll be in touch as soon as we get the blood work back.”

“Thanks a million, doc. You’ve been a great help to us.”

†

DATE: 12/17/02

NAME: Eriksson, Eli

DOB: 05/30/90

INFORMANT: Patient/friend RELIABILITY: Good

CC: Severe skin reaction to sunlight

HISTORY OF PRESENT ILLNESS: This is an initial evalution of a 12 y.o. female who presents with a complaint of suffering severe skin reaction to sunlight which began earlier this year. Patient states that skin “catches fire” when exposed to sunlight, but no reaction to artificial light; associates onset of symptoms with bite on neck while sleeping. No complaint of fever, arthralgia, myalgia, or joint effusion. No dizziness or headache, but complains of intermittent periods of extended sleep (days, weeks?). No unexplained weight loss.

PAST MEDICAL HISTORY: Unknown.

ALLERGIES: NKDA other than as described above.

PERINATAL HISTORY: Unknown.

IMMUNIZATIONS: Unknown.

PRESENT MEDICATIONS: None.

GROWTH/DEVELOPMENT: Unknown. Age-appropriate verbal/motor skills, but < 3rd percentile for weight, although does not appear emaciated or malnourished.

NUTRITIONAL DEVELOPMENT: Deferred.

REVIEW OF SYMPTOMS: As per HPI. No shortness of breath, no nausea/vomiting/diarrhea/constipation; no chest pain, no fever.

FAMILY HISTORY: Parents deceased.

SOCIAL & ENVIRONMENTAL: Living temporarily with friend.

PHYSICAL EXAM:

Temp: 21 C. oral, 21.5 axial; Pulse: 4 bpm; Resp. 12; B/P: 40/40 repeated

Oxygen Saturation:

Weight: 52 lbs. ( < 3rd %) Height: 58 in. (25th %) Head Circ.: ( %)

General: Pleasant, anxious, cooperative 12 y.o. female; Head/Neck: atraumatic/normocephalic, supple with full range of motion; Eyes: extraocular movements intact, conjunctiva clear, pupils equal, round, reactive to light; Ears: tympanic membranes clear bilaterally; Nose: no flaring, rhinnorrhea, bleeding; Mouth: moist mucous membranes, oropharynx benign, no tonsillar exudate, no pharyngeal erythema; Lungs: clear to auscultation bilaterally, no wheezes, no rhonchi, no crackles, no retractions; Cardiovascular: S1, S2 delayed, no murmur, gallop or rub; pulse pathologically slow (4 bpm); Lymph Nodes: no lymphandenopathy; Abdomen: soft, nontender/nondistended, no hepatosplenomegaly, no masses; Genitourinary: deferred; Neuro: cranial nerves normal, distal tendon reflexes 2+ all extremities; good tone, normal gait, mini-mental status exam within normal limits; Skin: pale but otherwise normal; Extremities: full range of motion, no edema.

LABS & RADIOLOGY: Blood drawn for complete blood count with differential, blood culture, and electrolytes. Will order urinalysis and urine culture once sample obtained as patient states not able to urinate at time of exam. Consider CT or MRI for cardiac workup.

ASSESSMENT/PLAN:

1. Malignant hypothermia, cause unknown. Patient with body temperature not compatible with life, yet mental status and motor function are within normal limits. Will await results of blood/urine tests and refer patient to Dr. Louis Ferris for an infectious disease workup.

2. Severe hypotension, cause unknown. Patient’s pulse and blood pressure not compatible with life. Will await results of blood/urine tests and arrange immediate consult by Dr. Tom Goodwin for cardiolgy consult and possible chest CT or MRI.

3. Severe skin reaction to sunlight per history. Will refer to Dr. Rebecca Silver for allergy consult and possible skin biopsy.

4. Recurrent primary hypersomnia. Will request consult from Dr. Deborah Harper.

D: 12/17/02 22:23 T: 12/19/02 9:32

†

Katie felt very uneasy during the drive back to the mountain. Because of what Jed had reported to her the day before about Eli’s age, she had been upset when Eli had told Dr. Cook that she was born in 1990. On the other hand, she hadn’t believed what Jed had said about Eli being more than 200 years old—it was, after all, impossible—so perhaps, she hoped, Jed had had that big talk with her that she’d suggested, and made Eli tell him the truth. But because of her uncertainty, and because she did not want to raise something that might be a sore spot between Jed and Eli, she kept quiet, hoping to clarify things with Jed after Eli had gone asleep.

Jed felt happier than he had been in awhile. He hung a left onto Eggbornsville Road, accelerated smoothly up the hill, and flicked on his highbeams. He glanced over at Eli, pleased to have him sitting next to him, and smiled. “Sure am glad I got one with a bench seat, rather than the buckets. So what’d you think of Dr. Cook?”

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” Eli looked at Katie and smiled. “Thanks for introducing us to him.”

“You’re more than welcome, dear. I think Dr. Cook will find you a very challenging patient, from what I saw.”

Eli looked down at his lap. “I don’t mean to be. I just want to be normal, like everyone else.”

“We understand that, Eli. And Jed and I will do what we can to help you.” She glanced at Eli before continuing. “Fifty-two pounds--I had no idea you were so underweight. Aren’t you eating right?” She looked over at Jed. “Have you been feeding her, Jed?”

“Yep, but she was skinny to start with, weren’t you, Eli? It takes time for a person to get back to where they should be.”

“Well if you need me to run to the supermarket for you, just let me know. I realize that leg of yours is still a hindrance. But you really need to eat more, child. That’s not healthy.”

“I know. I’m trying.”

“Good. Plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables—that’s the secret to staying healthy. Do you like blueberries?”

“My mother and I used to go out and pick wild raspberries and blueberries.”

“Well I still can my own, so maybe you can come over some time and I’ll treat you to some with a bit of ice cream. How’s that sound?”

“Thank you. I’d like that sometime. But not tonight—I’m kind of tired.”

“No, I understand. It’s been a long night. Do you miss your mom and dad? It must be hard, losing them at such a young age.”

Eli looked to Jed before answering. “I miss them more than anything. And it has been hard—very hard.”

Jed tried to change the subject. “Well now that we’ve enlisted Dr. Cook, maybe he can help us find a cure. So you can go back outside in the sunshine and play like you used to.”

“I hope so.”

They rode the rest of the way back to Katie’s house in silence. By the time they reached Route 211, Eli had slumped over against Jed and closed his eyes. Jed and Katie exchanged a muted goodbye in her driveway, fearful that they might wake Eli up. But as Jed rumbled to a stop outside his cabin, Eli opened his eyes and sat up.

Jed cut off the engine and pulled his keys out of the ignition. Eli sat quietly beside him, unfastening his seatbelt. Jed did the same, then stopped.

“Eli . . .”

“Yes?”

Jed caught his gaze. “How much time do we have?”

Eli was quiet for a moment before speaking. “About a week.”

“You’re going to let me know, right?”

“Yes, I will.”

“You won’t run off, like before.”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

He stared at Jed, his face very pale in the glow of the courtesy light. “On what I can do to satisfy it.”

“Well . . . I feel like we’re workin on that now. Don’t you?”

“Yes—but I’m still afraid.”

“Me too.”

Eli looked surprised. “Why’re you afraid? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

He put his hand on Eli’s shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you, that’s all. I’m gonna get that phone in the morning and start makin some calls to see what I need to do about becoming your guardian. ’Cause I reckon we got some tough choices comin down the road.”

“What good will that do? You’re letting me stay with you, so . . . .”

“You heard Dr. Cook tonight. When a kid is by himself, something as simple as drawing blood can be a hurdle. Doctors are used to having an adult around to help make decisions about how to treat children.”

“So if you become my guardian, you could decide what should happen to me, even if I disagree?”

“Technically, yeah. But I wouldn’t do that, if I knew what you wanted. You’re no ordinary twelve-year-old, Eli. I know you’ve been walking the earth a helluva lot longer than me.”

“I don’t know if I like the idea.”

“I told you I love you--I don’t know what else I could say to persuade you. You know, I don’t even know if it’s possible, given that you’re Swedish. That, plus it occurs to me that someone, at some point, will probably be asking for your passport and a birth certificate.”

“I don’t have those things.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t going to work. Someone’s going to ask me what I eat. And then . . . I don’t know what I’ll do. Because someone will put two and two together and call the police.”

“I don’t think the doctors can do that.”

“But you don’t know that, do you.”

“No. I mean, I suppose if someone walked into an ER with a gunshot wound, they could. But I don’t know what else—”

The thought came to him, out of the blue: child abuse. Damn it. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?

“What?” Eli looked at him, puzzled.

“Um . . . if they thought you were a victim of child abuse, they’d probably have to report that, too.”

Eli thought for a moment. “You mean my—”

“Yeah—I think so. Unless maybe they thought you were just born that way.”

He laughed cynically. “Chances of that are about zero.” He shook his head. “This isn’t going to work.”

“Eli, we’re talking about getting help from trained medical professionals for a serious problem that none of them have ever dealt with before. You can’t expect that kind of thing without revealing some things about yourself. Maybe we could persuade Dr. Cook that what happened to you, happened a long time ago when you were in Sweden. After all, it’s not like it looks as though it happened yesterday.”

“Well, what’s he going to say when he finds out I don’t even pee? You got that little cup? ‘Urine sample.’” He laughed again, more harshly this time. “The last time I went was . . . I can’t remember when.”

“Look, there’s a lot to talk about. What do you say we go inside and warm up, huh?”

For a moment, Jed thought Eli would refuse; might just announce that he was leaving. Then he sighed. “Okay.”

Eli started the fire so Jed could get off his feet; then offered to make some coffee for him. Once it was brewing they sat down in their favorite spot in front of the stove.

“That’s a good little fire you got started.”

“Thanks.”

“You wanna whittle?”

“No, I don’t feel like it.”

“You sleepy?”

Eli shook his head.

“Want to show me how your egg works?”

Eli brightened. “You really want to see?”

“Yeah, sure. But can you put it back together all right?”

“Uh huh. It just takes awhile, that’s all.” He got up and went to his backpack, then brought the box back to the table. Jed got up and sat at the table with him.

“That sure is a nice box you have for it. Did you make it?”

Eli smiled broadly, clearly relishing a happy memory. “No—Oskar made it. He enjoyed working in wood.”

“That’s a traditional Swedish thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes. He gave it to me for a birthday present one year.”

“When do you celebrate your birthday?”

“May 30, like I told Dr. Cook. But it was actually Oskar’s. He let me adopt it.” He pulled the egg out.

Jed stood. “Let me get a cloth for that.” He brought a white dishtowel over from the kitchen area and laid it out on the table. Eli gently handed the egg to Jed. “Here. Hold it sideways and rock it.” He did as Eli instructed, and it fell apart in his hand. The pieces spilled out of his cupped palms and onto the towel, leaving something round and heavy. Jed carefully shook his hands so the remaining shards fell free, and then stared at the gold ball that remained.

“I’ll be damned.” He held it up to the light and saw his reflection. “This what I think it is?”

“Mmm hmm.”

He put the ball down on the towel next to the pile of black and gold metal shards, then sat down and peered at them. “I’m afraid you’re on your own with this one--I can’t hardly see them things.”

She smiled at him. “It’s okay. I’ve done it many times.”

“You say your dad gave this to you?”

She sat down and began poking at the pieces. “Not my real father. We were very poor. I meant the father of what I am now.”

“You mean the guy who bit you.”

“That’s right.” She picked up a piece and scrutinized it carefully, then set it aside. “That one goes near the bottom.”

“I got the feelin Dr. Cook thinks it was a tick or a spider, or something like that.”

“I know. But he wouldn’t have believed me if I’d told him the truth.”

“Want to tell me about it?” He got up to check the coffee.

“Do you really want to know? It might upset you.”

“Well . . . not if you think it’ll make you feel bad.”

“It might, but maybe it’d be fair to you, so you know what you’ve fallen in love with.”

“I’m getting the picture, but shoot.”

Eli was quiet for a few moments as he thought about where to begin. “He picked me because of how I looked. It took me awhile to figure that out, actually. For the longest time, I couldn’t understand it. I thought it was because I’d been bad--that I was being punished for something I’d done. And then I came to learn that I wasn’t the first—just the last.

“He was our lord. We were in what was called ‘villeinage’ to him. Do you know what that is?”

“Not sure.”

“We were serfs—tenants. My father worked his land. And one day we were called to his castle. All of the families who worked his land were required to participate. Just the boys, actually, from age 8 to 12. For a ‘competition.’ So you see, if I’d only been a year older, this never would’ve happened to me.”

“What kind of a competition was it?”

“It wasn’t, really. He just rolled some dice and my number came up. I was number seven. Only at first I thought he’d rolled a six. But he changed it—because he wanted me.”

“How’d he change it? I don’t understand. And why you?”

Eli stopped sorting the pieces and looked up at Jed. “He had the power to change it, just like I have the power to change. And like I said, he picked me because he liked how I looked. He liked pretty boys.”

“No one was there to stop him? Where was your dad? Your mom?”

“You don’t know what it means to be a serf, do you? I guess that shouldn’t surprise me—why would you?”

“So your parents had no say in this?”

“No. My mother tried to stop them, but they held her—she couldn’t do anything. And my father . . . he wasn’t even there.”

“So he took you away and bit you?”

“Yes. But first he cut off everything down there.”

Jed shook his head. “That’s . . . unbelievably sick.”

“Defiling children was his way of defying God. We became his dark angels.”

“How many kids did he do this to?”

“I don’t know. But I know he was very old. Ancient. So probably hundreds.”

Jed continued to shake his head. “Sounds like something straight out of a twisted fairy tale. If I hadn’t seen you myself, I would never’ve believed it.

“So what happened to you after that?”

“He kept me locked away in his castle for a long time, to teach me about my new life, and turn me into the monster he wanted me to be. Which is why I’ll never go to prison, Jed. Ever. I’d rather die than be locked up like that again.”

“How long did this go on, for God’s sake?”

“I don’t really know, because I had no sense of time in that place. Weeks? Months, maybe.”

“How’d you get away?”

“One night he kept me in his room and made the mistake of falling asleep before I did. I set him on fire with a torch. Then I set the tapestries on fire, too. The fire spread and they couldn’t put it out. That whole wing of his castle burned down. That’s when I ran away. And that’s when I got the egg.”

Jed stared at him, incredulous. He couldn’t believe that the small, unassuming person sitting beside him was telling a story like this, of being imprisoned in a castle and burning someone to death. “Eli, I . . . but you’re just a child. I mean . . . .”

“Jed, if you knew half the things that I’ve been through—no, a quarter—I wouldn’t have to beg you to use your gun on me; you’d do it in a heartbeat. Or you’d run away from me as fast as you could. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Jed put down his coffee, crossed his arms, and was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but carried an undercurrent of anger. “Do you want me to know all of these things, Eli? I’m not stupid—I can do the math. Do you want to . . . argue me out of loving you? Tell you that I’m going to stop caring about you because you’ve been a bad person? Should I just call Dr. Cook tomorrow and tell him to forget the whole thing?”

“Jed, I can’t—”

“You just be quiet for a minute. You’ve done a lot of talking, thrown your tantrum, and so on. Now it’s my turn to tell you what I think.”

Eli closed his mouth and fell silent.

“Oskar’s dead. No amount of mopin’ around is going to bring him back. People die and leave their loved ones behind every day. It’s part of the human condition. And for awhile, if you’re one of those left behind, it’s as if the world has come to an end. A big fat hole blown through the middle of your life. You miss that person terribly; you feel as if you can’t go on. You have these memories of who that person was; the times you spent together, and you want to . . . I don’t know, relive those in your mind, because if you can bring those memories back, it’s as though maybe that person really isn’t gone, and if they’re not really gone, then maybe the pain will go away.”

Eli sniffed and put his face into his hands, but Jed continued.

“But then one day, when the sun has continued to rise for the umpteenth time, you wake up and realize that doin’ what you’re doin’ isn’t very healthy. That no amount of wishing is going to bring that person back. And as far as I’m concerned, when that happens there’s only one thing to do—only one way out. You say to yourself, I’m gonna take what was best about that person, what I loved the most about him, and make it a part a me. You internalize it, and allow it to transform your life, if you haven’t done that already. That’s the only way I know of that you can keep on growin as a person and face the next day. Because this old world just keeps spinning. It’s not gonna wait for you. As one important person said, ‘Let the dead bury the dead.’ That seems kinda harsh, but there’s truth in it. And if you can do that, then you’ll be happy knowing that a part of that person who meant so much to you is living on, inside of you.”

Eli had begun to sob as Jed spoke, and did not stop as he paused.

“Now let me tell you what I think about this other thing. I know you’ve done bad things—includin’ killing people. I also know you’re really just a twelve-year-old kid—a kid whose life ground to a halt a coupla centuries ago and took a turn for the positively surreal. And twelve-year-olds aren’t held to the same standards as adults—least not in this country, anyways. People understand that kids don’t behave like grownups—you’re not held to make the same sort of judgments that adults are expected to make. I also know that you’re the most unique person walking around on the planet right now.” He laughed self-consciously. “Right here in my own damn cabin.

“Now nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever been handed the kinda deal that was forced upon you. And I can’t imagine there’s any judge in this country who would look down from up there on his bench and condemn a little person like you to death, or to life in prison, no matter how high the prosecutor stacked the bodies. ’Cause believe me, you are well outside the assumptions the law makes about human behavior.”

Eli’s crying began to slacken. He uncovered his face and looked bleakly at Jed, his eyes red and his face red with tears.

“So the question you gotta answer is, what sorta person do I want to be tomorrow? The past is dead--it’s over. You have an opportunity here with Dr. Cook. You said yourself that you hate this thing that’s living inside of you. Well, god dammit, let’s try and do something about it, if that’s the case. Stare it in the face and say ‘Fuck you--I’m gonna kick your ass. I’m gonna be shed of you, come hell or high water.’ You do that, and I’ll be there with you all the way. I’ll bleed for you to keep you alive, and I’d warrant that Katie would too, if she really understood what you are. So I say, let’s stop all this sneakin around and just lay it all out for Dr. Cook. Tell him that you can’t give him a cup of piss ’cause you ain’t got nothin to pee with no more, and that—I guess—you don’t even need to pee any more. That’ll throw him for a loop, but at least it’ll get his mind thinking about what you are, and what he might do to help you.

“And if we do all of that, and the doctors can’t help, and no one can help because this thing is so strong, and you feel that you just can’t keep on living any more, then I will take you up to the mountaintop and put you out of your misery after you say whatever it is you want to say to God. Because I’ll understand by then that I’ll be doing you a kindness.”

Eli looked down and spoke softly. “It’s what Oskar would want me to do—I know that.”

“So . . . .”

“So I’m going to go through with it. Come hell or high water, like you said.”

“And we’ll let the chips fall where they may.”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Good.” He slid his chair around so that it was beside Eli’s. “You wanna talk about Oskar?”

His face brightened. “Uh huh.”

“Super. Tell me all about this boy who loved you so much.”

†

They talked into the wee hours of the morning about Eli’s life with Oskar. It was the first time Eli had been able to tell anyone about him since his death, and about how much he had meant. The words poured out--the experiences together, the stories, the good times and the bad; so much that Eli surprised himself, and became afraid that Jed would grow weary or bored. But he merely listened quietly, nodding and sometimes offering comments. Sometimes Eli cried and Jed wept with him, and before both of them realized how late it was and Eli’s words tapered off, each of them had their own handkerchiefs in front of their places at the table, crumpled and damp.

Jed pushed back from the table, physically and emotionally wiped out. “Eli, I’m pooped.” He took his coffee mug over to the sink. “You want me to set up that cot down here again?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I can sleep up in the loft, if you want.”

Jed turned and came back to the table. Once again he felt that fragile, intangible something between them. He could be proper, or he could be honest with Eli and himself. Which was the greater good?

“I don’t want you to.” There--it was out.

Eli nodded and said nothing. Wordlessly, they prepared for bed.

Sleep evaded him, even though he was beat. He kept hearing Dr. Cook in his head, talking about how Eli’s vital signs were incompatible with life. What did that mean?

It means the person pressed against you should be dead.

Yes. Yet, somehow, Eli wasn’t dead.

He ran his hand through Eli’s hair, feeling the soft, thick curls, and touched his back with the hand that clasped him to his side. Robbed of sight in the blackness of the cabin, the butter-smooth texture beneath his fingers felt that much more unique, that much more amazing. So old, this skin, yet so beautiful. Preserved in youth for all eternity.

Not human.

No, Eli was not human. Jed was quite certain that the more Dr. Cook learned about him, the more he would come to understand just how strange and alien Eli really was. Yet, he was also human. A beautiful, amazing boy--chock full of hopes and fears, joy and sadness, like every other person on the planet.

His soul is human.

Yes. And maybe, when all was said and done, that would be all that Eli would have left to call his own. Jed would do everything in his power to prevent that from coming true, but if it did, he knew he’d go with Eli to wherever people went after death. Hand in hand.

Eli lay against Jed on the narrow bed, pleased that Jed had not wanted him to go up to the loft. Something momentous had happened today; he felt it in his heart. A shift in how he felt about himself; about his future. For the first time since Oskar’s death, he imagined that he might actually have a future—all because of the man who now held him in his arms.

Eli’s thoughts turned to how Oskar had held him in the same way, and how much joy it had brought him in those moments before he had fallen asleep. It was so much like things had been back then—the warmth of his embrace, the feeling of being wanted, of being cared for. Beneath the blanket he extended his arm further across Jed’s chest and held him more tightly.

Oskar, I . . .

No. He’s not Oskar. He’s Jed—a different person. Someone else who has chosen to love you. It wasn’t right to think of him as Oskar.

Jed’s hands moved through his hair and touched his back, their movements tentative and light. Eli could feel the respect in them; could sense the wonder and awe in the gentle strokes. Their touch betrayed a child-like innocence that lived beneath the gruff exterior of this wonderful person who had allowed Eli into his life. Nothing lurked in the shadows of his touch--only a desire to know and understand; to bring happiness and fulfillment. Eli was terrified of what was coming, but for now, Jed’s hands were sufficient. In this place and with this person, he was free. He let go of his fear, and promptly fell asleep.

†

12/18/02 Culpeper Regional Hospital, Culpeper, VA 22701

Department of Laboratory Medicine and Pathology

Roger Eggleston, M.D., Chair

NAME: ERIKSSON, ELI LOC: OUTPT AGE: 12 Y SEX: F

ACCT: 05356-12593 DR: COOK, DAVID

**************************** BASIC HEMATOLOGY ****************************

| | | |NORMAL |UNITS |

|DATE: |12/18/02 | | | |

|TIME: |4:21 | | | |

|LOC: |OUTPT | | | |

|WBC |6.02 | |4.19 - 9.43 |K/uL |

|RBC |4.08 | |3.93 - 4.90 |M/uL |

|Hemoglobin |11.0 | |10.8 - 13.3 |g/dL |

|Hematocrit |37.2 | |33.4 - 40.4 |% |

|MCV |80.6 | |76.9 - 90.6 |fL |

|MCH |27.0 | |24.8 - 30.2 |Pg |

|MCHC |33.4 | |31.5 - 34.2 |g/dL |

|RDW |13.3 | |12.3 - 14.6 |% |

|Platelet Count/Auto |293 | |194 - 345 |K/uL |

|Abs. Gran/Auto |9.03 | |>1.00 |K/uL |

|Abs. Mono/Auto |0.47 | | |K/uL |

|Abs. Lymph/Auto |1.35 | | |K/uL |

|Abs. Eos/Auto |0.08 | | |K/uL |

|Abs. Baso/Auto |0.02 | | |K/uL |

|Automated Gran % |57.2 | |50 - 65 |K/uL |

|Automated Mono % |4.3 | |4 - 10 |% |

|Automated Lymph % |32.1 | |25 - 40 |% |

|Automated Eos % |0.7 | |0 - 3 |% |

************************* COAGULATION- HEMATOLOGY *************************

| | | |NORMAL |UNITS |

|DATE: |12/18/02 | | | |

|TIME: |4:21 | | | |

|LOC: |OUTPT | | | |

|Prothrombin Time |13.1 | |12.6 – 14.1 |Sec |

|Prothrombin Time INR |0.95 | |0.8 – 1.11 | |

|PTT Activated (aPTT) |29.9 | |22.6 – 34.8 |Sec |

********************************* BASIC CHEMISTRY *******************************

| | | |NORMAL |UNITS |

|DATE: |12/18/02 | | | |

|TIME: |4:21 | | | |

|LOC: |OUTPT | | | |

|Glucose |0.0 (L) | |54 – 117 |mg/dL |

|Sodium |135 | |132 – 141 |mmol/L |

|Potassium |5.2 (H) | |3.3 – 4.7 |mmol/L |

|Chloride |42 (L) | |97 – 107 |mmol/L |

|Total CO2 |0.0 (L) | |16 – 25 |mmol/L |

|BUN |0.0 (L) | |7 – 21 |mg/dL |

|Creatinine |0.0 (L) | |0.5 – 1.1 |mg/dL |

|Total Protein |7.1 | |6.4 – 8.6 |g/dL |

|Albumin |4.9 | |3.8 – 5.6 |g/dL |

|AST |12 | |0 – 26 |U/L |

|ALT |32 | |19 – 49 |U/L |

|Alk. Phosphatase |102 | |82 - 169 |U/L |

|LDH |165 | |117 – 213 |U/L |

|Total Bilirubin |0.3 | | ................
................

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