Logan ran his fingertip down the spine of the book, tracing the letters embossed in red on the golden spine. A Further Range by Robert Frost. The red cloth cover made the stains almost imperceptible, but to him the scent was unmistakable. It was the scent of her blood and his, mixed.
She probably hadn’t even realized she had left it behind. He had come back later, unable to stop thinking about her and everything that had happened after the mountain lion attacked, and had found it in the reeds by the lake.
It was wrong of him to keep it, he knew that. The date on the inside said ‘1936.’ It was probably valuable, and even if not, it was still personal. Hers. He knew how strange -- creepy, even -- it would seem to anyone. And yet it had been weeks, and still he kept the book in his lonely den, inhaling the scent of her from its pages.
He held the spine of the book in his palm and it fell open to the poem he had read the most. Four short stanzas, and yet they fascinated him. It was like her painting -- he had never been interested in poetry before, never thought it had any relevance to him, and yet this poem evoked feelings so intense that at times he felt they might split his very skin. His eyes skimmed over the lines for the hundredth time.
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.
The woods around it have it - it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.
And lonely as it is, that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less -
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars - on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.
He should be leaving now -- he had told Marie he would meet her at dusk to see the badgers -- and yet he lingered for a moment longer, looking over the words.
I am too absent-spirited to count.
He didn’t know how some author three quarters of a century ago had managed to put into words exactly how he had lived his life before Marie came into it. All of his life that he could remember -- three years -- and he had spent it just surviving. No one knew him, no one cared if he lived or died. He thought of numberless days spent moving through woods and towns like a ghost, like a shadow. Too absent-spirited to count.
And now there was Marie, the pleasure-pain she brought to him cutting him so deeply, right to the very heart of him. His whole body was like a limb that had been numb to sensation for so long, suddenly awoken. Feeling everything -- every exquisite touch, every excruciating hurt -- with devastating clarity.
And lonely as it is, that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less -
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
WIth no expression, nothing to express.
Winter was coming. Already he could feel the chill of it in his metal-laced bones, his body still shivering from when he had washed himself in the frigid river. If he had not met Marie he would have continued his lonely journey southward already. He couldn’t let himself have another accident like last winter, the thought of it was like death to him. Maybe as close to death as someone like him would ever get.
Even if he was going to stay, he should make plans. Take the bike before the snow got too deep and find the fight circuit for awhile. Rake in some money, lay in supplies, and figure out some way to heat the stripped-out camper shell in which he had made his lonely home. Every day he thought he would go this time, after he saw her. And yet when the time came to go he would delay just a little longer, just one more day...
What was he doing? What could he possibly become to Marie, or Marie to him? The hope was so wild, so unattainable, that his mind shied away from the very thought of it. That she could come to care for him...he shouldn’t even wish that. She was everything that he was not -- smart, and good, and special. How could he even think of tainting that with everything that he was? His damaged mind, the jagged, broken edges of his life. His very nature -- violence incarnate, more beast than man. Places inside him so dark and empty that even he was scared to look directly into them.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.
He sighed and closed the book, slipping it under his pillow. He turned off the lantern. His eyes -- the eyes of a predator -- quickly adjusted to the dimness. He had promised to show Marie the badgers tonight, and he would keep that promise. And then tomorrow...tomorrow...
He couldn’t even tell himself the lie. Tomorrow he would be back here, wishing he had the strength to take himself away from her, and yet unable to leave.
____________
He appeared as usual -- suddenly, silently, out of the gloaming. To someone else he might have seemed an intimidating figure -- his burly, broad-shouldered frame silhouetted against the twilight, the dim porch light casting shadows on his rugged face. Knowing him as she did, however, she could see the hesitation and shyness in his approach. She smiled secretly to herself. One of them was scared, but it wasn’t her.
She stood up from the porch swing before he could change his mind, almost tumbling down the porch steps in her haste.
“Did you find it? The badgers’...sett, did you call it?”
“Think so.”
He had an electric lantern in his hand and he turned it on, obviously for her benefit, and headed out towards the woods. She fell into step beside him.
“How do you know so much about animals? I woulda thought badgers lived in a den, or somethin’. I never knew there was a special word for it.”
He shrugged. “Read some guidebook. Hiker must’ve left it. But how to find ‘em and all...already seemed to know that.”
She had been wondering about that for awhile, and decided to finally ask. “That memory I got of you and Gus...” She struggled to put it into words. “It seemed like you could only remember a few weeks. Like there was nothin’ from before...from before they put the metal in you.”
“Yeah.”
“So you don’t remember anythin’ at all before...how long ago was that?”
She could see him growing more tense, but they kept a steady pace forward. “Winter was comin’ when I broke out. And two more in between.”
It took a minute but she figured out his meaning. She stopped, stunned for a moment, and had to stumble to catch up with him. “Three years? That’s all the memories you have?”
She could see him trying to get the words right, his brow furrowed with concentration. “I get flashes sometimes. Bits and pieces of somethin’ from before. And I know how to do things -- like drivin’ a car and stuff. But I think they did somethin’ to me. Took the rest away, for some reason.”
She was trying to read his expression in the failing light. His hands were clenched in fists, but he didn’t look angry. Could he be...was he ashamed?
“Logan...” She put her hand on his arm, stopping him in place. He avoided her eyes.
“Thanks. I mean, thanks for tellin’ me. It must be hard to talk about.”
She suddenly realized what she had done. Her bare hand was on his sleeve, only inches from his own exposed skin.
She jerked back her hand in horror. “Oh!” She shoved her hands into her pockets. How had she not thought to wear gloves? “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean...I didn’t mean to touch you. I’ll be more careful, I promise.”
Now his eyes were on her, and she was the one avoiding his gaze.
“It’s okay,” he said gruffly.
“No...” she suddenly felt close to tears. “I shoulda worn gloves. I didn’t mean to...I’m usually so careful...”
“Marie.” His rough voice interrupted her ramblings, forcing her eyes to his. “I’m not scared of you.”
“I...” She didn’t know what to say that. Everyone was scared of her. Everyone should be scared of her.
“I already hurt you once. I don’t wanna...”
He made a gruff noise of frustration. Before she realized it, he had reached out, grasping her sweater-covered wrist and drawing her hand from her pocket. He pulled her hand towards him, ignoring her reflexive resistance, until it was resting on his arm again.
“I said I’m not scared of you.”
“Logan!” Even as she started to protest, her hand traitorously acted on its own, the feel of the warm flannel under her palm irresistible. She watched in distant amazement as her hand moved along his arm, feeling the firm skin under the fabric, experiencing the novel sensation as his muscles bunched and shifted beneath her touch.
Her hand drifted from his shoulder down to his chest and he shuddered. A sound resonated from his chest, deep and low -- more of a purr than a growl, and she felt the tickle of it on her palm. She suddenly seemed to come back into her body. She felt a fiery blush flame her cheeks and she yanked her hand away, shoving it back in her pocket.
She moved blindly forward, feeling rather than hearing him fall into step next to her, too embarrassed to look at him. Thoughts and doubts and recriminations jostled for space in her head. He was just being kind, wasn’t he? Saying he wasn’t afraid of her? He certainly hadn’t been asking her to grope him like she had...
Finally she must have stumbled one too many times and she felt his hand gently guiding her by the elbow.
“Easy,” he said. “This way.”
She followed him mutely.
“It’s up ahead.” She forced herself to look up at him, relieved to find that his eyes were fixed on the trail ahead. “Remember, they don’t see too good, but they hear and smell everything. Stay downwind and stay quiet.”
She nodded. Come to think of it, if it would keep her from embarrassing herself further in front of Logan, she might never speak again.
He circled around until she felt the wind on her face, and then he crept slowly forward. She stayed behind him, coming to rest on her knees next to him when he stopped.
He held the lantern up, spilling the light out over the forest floor. He pointed, and she followed his finger. At first it looked like nothing, just another bit of leaf-strewn forest, but then she saw the exposed tree root and the darker hollow of the tunnel entrance.
They sat in silence for several minutes, and then suddenly an inquisitive black-and-white nose poked out of the hole. Marie smothered a squeak of excitement, forgetting everything else. Soon one badger emerged, and then two more tumbled after it. Marie watched, entranced, as they ambled around on their short little legs, making a strange chirruping sound.
One balanced precariously on its fat bottom, scratching its stomach assiduously, while another rolled on its back, little black legs bicycling furiously. Marie was fascinated. They looked exactly like she had imagined, their wizened little black-and-white faces just like Frances from her book. One popped back into the sett and then emerged comically tail-first, backing out of the hole and dragging a tangle of moss to be discarded.
“Cleanin’ house,” Logan whispered in her ear. She had almost forgotten he was there, and his warm breath in her ear made her shiver.
“Cold?” he asked.
She wasn’t really, but she ran her hands over her arms as if she was. “Yeah. But I don’t want to go yet, is that okay?”
He nodded, and then suddenly she felt his warmth at her back. She drew in a surprised breath but he was careful, shifting so his chest warmed her back, his arms bracing her but his hands safely away from hers.
After a moment she relaxed, leaning back into the seductive heat of his body. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent and nearness. She couldn’t remember ever being this close to anyone. Even when she was dating Bobby, he always tried not to touch her unless they were actually fooling around, and even that was limited to a few kisses with scarves and a few touches with gloved hands. He had never wanted to just be close to her, was never willing to risk his safety unless his own gratification was involved.
I’m not scared of you. She heard Logan’s words in her head, and for the first time she started to believe them.
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