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I am warm. I stand staring into a deep, bright fireplace that crackles and spits and holds me in its circle of light. I curl up the collars of my sweater, up around my ears, and shake out my drying hair. Somewhere behind me bony branches scrape the panes. Wind and rain howl against the walls, confining me here and confirming my solitude. The flames throw bright gold onto the wood floor near it, but beyond its sphere all my things have lost their shape, dissolving in the darkness into strange heaps of forgotten stuff. I feel a completeness and clarity now that I have rarely felt. Especially when I think of him, out there in the night, struggling in the mud, his life oozing out of him and down into the earth. He has probably stopped shivering by now, his limbs weakening, barely able to lift his evil face out of the slop of mud he fell into. Somewhere he lies cold and wet, and will become colder still.
Night passed and day came, but the darkness remained. The storm still slashed against my window, its waves of wind and water beckoning to me, making me a conspirator in its destruction. I tried to snub it, turning my back to stare into the embers of the fire. But I could not ignore the tug of it. I rose from my bed, wrapped myself in softest wool, and stepped silently to the window. Focused beyond their reach, my eyes searched past the soggy lawns, past haggard trees, beyond this world to the cold cruel eyes of my lover. He was calling. I could feel it deep inside me. I could feel him clutching my breath, feel his summons and his warning. I began to dress and pull on shoes. Like a devotee of the wild Svengali I stepped out into the rain and down to the entrance of the wood. I stared through wisps of hair lashed to my face by the storm, hesitated only once as I entered the cavernous forest to retrieve myself and him.
I stumbled into the forest against hissing rain. The floor of the wood was glisteny and hundreds of shades of browns and golds. The huge big brother trees had become their deepest, wettest colors; their branches and remaining leaves gathered thousands of raindrops into single heavy plops that smacked me as I searched for the spot I had left him. Yes, I knew where he was. I knew very well how to find him, but I did not know how he would be, what would happen then. I gasped when I realized what I was hoping. I was hoping we could speak again, could walk hand in hand out of this dripping wood. But if that could happen, if he really was there, what would he do? I feel it: his voice dropping to a menace, his eyes looking through me, accusing. I feel the shiver of fear. Just think it out calmly. There is something I did not know. There must be something I did not know. I did not know it was him. I did not know what I was doing , did not feel the rock in my hand. I did not know what had happened until I looked down to where he had fallen. I did not know he was still alive. I did not see him in the dark. I did not know. I did not know. I did not know how lost I could be, how hollow. I did know how to find him. I did. There he is, lying in the mud, his satin vest still shining a deep green through the damp haze of mud all over him. He was still, his black hair flowing back, his face turned to one side and sinking in mud. Inside him there was now nobody. Inside me there was also nobody, it seemed. I spoke to him, as though we had become separated and had just now found each other again. "I am so glad I found you. It's been so wet and cold. Let's go home." Silence: the creaking of the wood, the slapping of leaves as water plopped down upon them. Suddenly, I felt something cold on my neck, something icy, a hand. The cold hand on my neck was my own.
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