It’s a long glass cabinet designed for a hunting rifle; its door is open, the weapon is gone. Enough, Kristina, enough. I hear the voice inside me as clearly as though it were spoken out loud. I grab the door handle and pull the door open toward me, but as I do, I can’t help but unleash a scream of sheer shock – my hand comes back wet with something thick, sticky and cold, and even before I manage to direct the torch beam straight into my right palm, I know that it’s blood.

40

Leah, days before

She can’t stop shaking at the sight of him hammering on the cabin’s door. Light snow is falling, settling in his hair. He’s shouting her name, sending bursts of frozen air from his mouth. She watches from the window, and he suddenly realizes she’s standing there. He stops knocking and shouting and holds her gaze. She turns her face so that the swollen, injured skin is clearly visible. He looks down at the ground, somber and sorry.

Hours later, when she’s finally managed to get rid of him and the bright sky has faded to a dark ocean blue, she decides to go home. She finds her way easily enough back down to the car; the path is lit up by the moon and the walk through the woods soothes her after the stressful afternoon. She still feels wounded, somehow, by the way he screamed at her. But out here, she feels like a part of everything, unlike in her life among other people. She sits in the driver’s seat and rubs her hands together hard a few times, breathing icy steam into the cold, dark space, then she starts the engine. Several lamps flash on the dashboard and when she tries to inch back in reverse, a terrible crunching sound makes her realize something is really wrong with the car. She puts it in park and leaves the engine idling while stepping outside to take a look. All four tires are slashed.