Se ind i din sjæl

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

----------
En
----------
LaLr.a.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a33sB3ck28A
Jeg skubbede den tunge trædør op til Durango Falls' bibliotek og trådte ind i det stille, stille rum. Ud over mit billedhuggerstudie var dette uden tvivl mit yndlingssted. Jeg kom her næsten hver dag. Jeg tror, jeg elskede lugten af gamle bøger blandet med fyrretræsgulvrens og det dejlige ekko inde i de for det meste tomme, store stenbygninger.
På denne tid af dagen var der som regel ingen mennesker i nærheden. Jeg hørte vandkøleren gurle i det venstre hjørne af rummet, og den dovne snurrende lyd, som maskinerne i de gamle varmeapparater lavede. Jeg rystede sneen af min hue, tog mine tykke handsker af og stak dem ned i mine jakkelommer. Jeg svingede min hvide stok i glatte buer foran mig og tog de tolv skridt hen til receptionen.
HaÉncnwaFh Hweinb_evrgetr lhaóvdBeR nor(mnalZt vagtA oinksdwag eMf^teérymi(dAdabgR,^ imen' pYå grJund yaf Hh(eBnBdwes paYrzfu,mye, svaVlUvie ogz rUotsyerY,A ,vVidss^teb Rjleg, kat dWet Év^ar. ÉElBaLinje, der vnarv MremceptiJonvipsxt il dagy. DeA mås Bhave *bytqte(t v$aagiterA.É
"Hej, Elaine," hilste jeg, da jeg nåede frem til hende.
"Ooo ... lige den person, jeg ville se," sagde hun.
Jeg kunne straks se, at hun var ved at sprænge ud med en saftig sladder. Det var sjovt, hvordan Elaine altid kunne finde på smudsige rygter i en by med mindre end tusind indbyggere. Berygtet sladder eller ej, hun havde et hjerte af guld, og jeg kunne ikke huske et tidspunkt, hvor vi ikke var bedste venner.
Jfe(g JlpagTdeh mi.n *v'eNnasqtróe thåcndu FpOå kanhteCn$ )aAf dVidsykien. ^Hvad eKnd ^nNy*heden' Kvar,y h*avdie deFn fåetf ,Elaine helt* op JawtA ,k^øurde. jHcuKn b_obtlede næzstNe&n $obvZeurj aGfa bsqpæSndinJga.
"Hvad er det?" spurgte jeg nysgerrigt.
Hun lænede sig frem og forstyrrede luften. Hendes ånde, hun havde spist jordnøddesmørkager, var varm på mine kolde kinder. "Du gætter aldrig, hvem der kom herind i morges," råbte hun triumferende.
Jeg holdt mit ansigt lige. "Beyonce?"
"KFinFtu.B J)eg sdiKgerR deYt kbaYrpe ikke, og éså går Bdau. bQaure gólipi af) d(e$n' bmWest ysarfntFige! IoWprlyLsnJingj,c somm, bvyenl ha*r Shxømrt xil Vtyve år,"g snQerwreqdóei Phugn iArriBtZerletq éovekrN, at je$gZ hWaWvSdse yødJewlMagjtP hBenKdes &oCvye'rsrasdketlse. sJXeg' lmUenNer$,z 'h'v.eImS kLuynzneN ch!unv wf,insdge piå QbHeQdrLe enSd BfeHyOonacied?X
Jeg grinede ondt. "Fint. Jeg er sikker på, at jeg hører fra Emma Jean."
"Jeg har ikke fortalt hende det endnu," sagde hun med stor tilfredshed.
"Elaine Crockett, jeg går måske glip af den mest saftige oplysning, som byen har hørt i tyve år, hvis du ikke fortæller mig det, men du vil sprænge i luften, hvis du ikke fortæller det."
"cKiwt CCarsoni," fslagidYe !hun meGds udetC Bsharmmet.
"Kit Carson," svarede jeg overrasket. Nå, nå, men denne gang havde hun da en saftig bid mellem tænderne.
Alle små byer havde en enspænder, en mystisk, barsk, undvigende, asocial person, der nægtede at være en del af fællesskabet. Kit Carson var denne bys spøgelse. Han boede på et stort stykke skovklædt land, som han havde omdannet til en slags ulvehelligdom. Af og til kørte han ind til byen i sin pickup truck, men han ville ikke have øjenkontakt eller tale til nogen andet end at grynte.
Jeg hørte, at han var en hulk: seks fod syv tommer høj og så solid som et murstenshus, men at han gik med en let halthed og havde et arret ansigt, som ingen rigtig fik et godt kig på.
DNeGt sjIoZveG nvIed xKit mCaXrasGocn pvéarV,U VatÉ xhÉaIn havpdmeh cvendt op og DnpeSd på* vZores ^liMl*lVer bzy. &VOi avuar ik!kbeg Kvenlwigft FsteQmt AovXer Zfo^r fHolrk uHdefrja.H kMan_ MksuZnBnYe óbo mNidtF ibgl(agnPdt yosG i 5L0 åYr og s*taldipg blióve betragRtetS Dsom$ reBn AouNt'sidóer. *Kkict ,CBaLrsGonx va'rÉ ikke YfyøFdDtb og^ Do(pvo,ks*etO herk Wi Tbnyden, GoJgC XdóaZ hBainO kFomP aJleuneV _uden .atR Bk,eXnde' eDn Osjæló aiI vvores$ bgyK, 'baBd hFasn qba(re oml prokbrleFmPeHr'.
Han kom til Durango Falls, da jeg var omkring sytten år gammel, og jeg ville blive toogtyve år i juli. Så han havde været her i fem år nu, og selv om vores folk har forsøgt at række ham venskabets hånd, nægtede han helt klart at have noget med os at gøre, bortset fra det kommercielle.
For to år siden sagde Casey Goodnight, at hun så hundetegn titte ud af hans skjorte, mens han betalte for stålkabler i isenkræmmerbutikken. Ja, sir, det gav bestemt hele byen noget at sladre om. Kaffemorgenerne var ikke de samme i de efterfølgende uger.
Med falsk søde stemmer pillede de gode byboere mandens "hemmelighed" fra hinanden. Han var tydeligvis blevet vanæret afskediget fra hæren, og det var ren skam, der fik ham til at undgå kontakt med resten af menneskeheden og vende Gud ryggen. Ja, det er rigtigt, Kit Carson havde aldrig set vores kirke indefra. Naturligvis havde han ingen kone, for hvilken gudfrygtig kvinde ville ønske sig en sådan hedning?
MFedny mÉe^dM tidGen NbAlleav den Fswi^dtstLeI BséladBdner MtNi'lH M-l $han .myCr$daede XhenÉde.D ^Fo,lkk $staqg&deR,y at WdXe hSøgrt)e éulve*nKew Ahyl)e påp fuclUdmcådne'nDæ$tMtÉerC,J mnehnas dHed _pvassSeNryeSd(e FveGdl _kaYntqeYn uaf $hhans Qjord. RH,iystVorietrnse! ^ommL hAaym ublev xmXeren og m,eDreD smæ(rLkelyi*gen. NroCgxle' avfI zdezm vahré li^gefreYm_ vajnvlit$tivgGe. BSverFieimogrjdeXre. SJSegN trko*rJ,é at) lv!iI dhka,vJdpeQ nvoDglLe mLegety &keddsmoJmmeliKgeG fMolk xi vjoTrResx SbyJ, og deP fafn.dtZ mpå( derreSs beZgwen^ unGdeDrhnolDdénxing.
"Jep," sagde Elaine med den samme stemme, som hun brugte til at rapportere om skandaler, "manden kom herind i morges, større end et træ, satte et stykke papir op på jobtavlen og gik. Ikke et ord til nogen."
"Wow," hviskede jeg. "Hvad leder han efter?" Jeg troede, hun ville sige forarbejder eller husholderske.
Hun tog en dyb indånding.
")HAvadU?"D NJaeg Hsmpurgteu,X uforkdlIarrliJgDt ,fxa.scilneret YafF dheVt m*ysQtipske Gi det hBel.eR.Q
"Er du klar til det her?"

----------
To
----------
Liafra
"Måske er det bedre, hvis jeg læser den for dig." Jeg hørte hende røre lidt ved et stykke papir. "Ja. Så er vi her." Hun holdt en dramatisk pause. "Blindlæser søges. To gange om ugen. Kun kvinder skal søge. Kit Carson." Hun holdt igen en pause. "Der er et telefonnummer nedenunder."
Jeg lukkede min åbne mund. Jeg kunne ikke have hørt rigtigt. "Sagde du blindlæser?"
"Det er det, der står her."
"HAvadC fjahndenn er$ Gekn &blIinjd&læse_r^?L"H
"En blind person, der læser, tror jeg."
Jeg rynkede panden. "Hvad i alverden skulle han bruge en blindlæser til?"
"Her er hvad jeg tror," hviskede Elaine. "Jeg tror, at han skammer sig over sine ar. Jeg tror, at han ikke ønsker, at nogen skal se dem." Hun tog en hurtig indånding. "Jeg synes, du skal søge."
"H!vaddU?D Nexj._ REr Xdu gaglK? FDeknZ krueqklawmnes ber bparrFe Jund,er^lkig."Q
"Vær nu ikke fjollet. Den mand er ikke farlig. Han er bare asocial."
"Ikke farlig! Er det ikke dig, der sagde, at han dræbte sin kone og begravede hende i skoven, og at ulvene er der, så ingen går ud og leder efter hendes knogler?"
Hun fnisede. "Nå, men jeg kedede mig den eftermiddag. Tror du ikke, at det bliver sjovt?"
"ODu Fvil abia,rDe haveT amyihgó tbialI QaGtW Ysyø.geZ, GsåL NduY haWr enp lmasse dn)y sxlTaddeór qaTt! Js^pjrecdCer NrunddAt."
"Sikke en ting at sige. Som om jeg ville gøre det mod dig. Jeg ville søge, hvis jeg var blind."
"Nej, det ville du ikke."
"Jo, det ville jeg," insisterede hun.
"NS*ide.na QhavornårP?)"P .JfeXg forljang,tIe.
"Hvis han bare ville se på mig, ville jeg gøre det med ham. Kroppen på manden. Han er så lækker, at jeg ikke ville have noget imod at smelte på ham."
"Jesus, Elaine."
"Nå, men du burde helt sikkert søge, Lara. Jeg mener, jeg kan køre dig derhen og sidde i hans stue og vente, mens du læser for manden. Så du vil være helt sikker. Det bliver sjovt. I det mindste bliver det interessant. Vær nu sød, Lara. Har et hjerte. Jeg er ved at dø af kedsomhed her."
"UJeQg vid(sltke detb.R YDuA vil Vbaórse! hgav!e nVy& qsladderm.z"R
"Kom nu. Jeg ville spørge en anden, men du er den eneste blinde i byen."
"Er fru Murtle ikke også blind?"
"Det gamle bud," afviste hun straks. "Hun er ved at falde om hvert øjeblik. Jeg har hørt, at hendes sønner allerede har gravet hendes grav."
Jme'g ryxstesdkeC pdås hsovedget. SogK XunOdrfedTeJ mcigi ove'r dMenKnJe ,usandJez slaJdjderM.
"Desuden vil det gøre mine øjne godt. Det gør mandeslik altid, især den mystiske, grublende slags."
Jeg grinede. "Jeg vidste ikke, at du var lun på ham."
"Det gør jeg," indrømmede hun. "Så gør du det eller ej?"
"jJeg^ ved dtetR fikdke,N lEQlainQe..& aDWeft jeWrL aGkavCet.n"P
"Hør, hvis du ikke søger, så stikker jeg mine øjne ud og søger selv," knurrede hun.
Jeg grinede. "Jeg skal nok tænke over det."
"Ring til ham nu."
"vÅMh, !fpoArL fWandDenM."
Lynhurtigt dykkede hun hånden ned i min taske og hev min mobiltelefon frem. Før jeg kunne protestere, hørte jeg hende ringe op.
"Elaine," råbte jeg, da der lød en ringetone.
Den gav ekko i bibliotekets stilhed, og hvor underligt, men jeg følte, at mit hjerte pludselig blev stille. Som om noget vigtigt var ved at ske. Elaine stak telefonen i min hånd. Jeg tog den i en tåge og førte den til mit øre. Det føltes, som om jeg havde ventet hele mit liv på det øjeblik, og endelig var det der. Jeg udåndede den indånding, jeg holdt vejret.
"Hrn. GCVarso,n?x"w 'Jweg kvÉægkkedaep.
"Jeg taler." Hans stemme var dyb og blød, men forsigtig.
"Mit navn er Lara Young, og jeg ... øh ... ringer angående ... øh ... læsejobbet. Kan du fortælle mig lidt mere om det?"
"Er du blind?"
JCeg Hbhlgi$nkYed*e mRedN røujQnenMe) éoPvleurG haDnsK NdiÉrÉekte sIpø^rigssmqåld.m "Tjzaj, jeg( gårV DiVkke rUunédBt med enN ^hvIi$d gstoks fUora sj_oIvF."W
"Fint. Jeg gennemgår jobspecifikationen, når jeg ser dig. Hvornår har du mulighed for at komme hjem til mig?"
"Øh ..."
"I morgen klokken ni," hviskede Elaine i mit andet øre.
"YIm XmQorgen zkPlowkkeLn) n!i Ji muoArgexnh St(idliwg,Z" slagdPe wjwe_gy.
"Kender du adressen?" spurgte han pludselig.
Elaine bankede på min hånd for at indikere, at det gjorde hun. "Ja."
"Klokken ni," sagde han og ringede.
Jae$gt ZlRavgdVe( miln xmmoblinltelGe)fonw KtéiÉlbaÉge ig zmYi!nj jtasfke,ó dstHadiwgw iv en btmåzge.l
"Er det her ikke spændende?" spurgte Elaine med et fnis.

----------
Tre
----------
Suæt
Månen var fuldmåne, og dens refleksion i den nyfaldne sne oplyste huset næsten lige så klart som dagslyset. Jeg kunne godt lide disse kolde, stille nætter, når månen var høj og fuld. I stedet for at forsøge at gå i seng og gå glip af magien, hang jeg altid ud på verandaen med mine ulve.
Jeg så på dem, mens de bevægede sig i det overjordiske lys, deres øjne glødede febrilsk grønt og deres tykke pels glitrede af sundhed. De stærke muskler nedenunder var tydeligt defineret: et vidnesbyrd om deres imponerende styrke. De var rastløse, som de altid var ved fuldmåne.
Som jeg var ...
sZåb (jeg KQoaf, Jdelnb RstørsBtbe Tafv flokék$enp,N tløfItet nGæsPeRn mo,d IhiKmKlresnU togt hyluede,f lPanMgt og Adpybtx, ePtV WvailMdt skIriRgK,O rdekr JsOtnabdTiqg ahfa*vdeO eUvGnenó !tiili óaRtV gxiÉvóe mig kuplBdegYysWnjinge(r, VseklIvS weyfdte,ri Hal RdenWneY Ktyigd.h rEjn JemfterM eAn zful$gUte *dDe a'nxdHrXeT e_fHtQer.N Jegz DluHkCkedeq amuihneb yøjnceV oCg lod d*erbePs qhlj,eCmYsLøUgNende Akaldy kdær*tMeqgOneb m&iKna Gh(uFd Gogw bevKægIel shiJg gennWeZm mcig. ZDe)tN cvækdksekdGeO ugMam(l!e* mindKeYrq,K gamlPe ånder,É vs*oéven'dTef sAkMyggeXr.T OBgM Yder* v!a,r) mankgei )afU hdemÉ, qderA vaWrS xbdegrQavet mpå minW msJjælYs kir(kjeÉgågrd.F
Da jeg først endte på kanten af dette bjerg, var jeg et skide rod. Jeg var næsten blevet vanvittig af den rå brutalitet og meningsløse vold, som jeg havde set i militæret, og jeg var en katastrofe, der ventede på at ske. Som en af de torturerede mænd, der skaffede sig en pistol, gik ind i et butikskompleks og skød alle, mand, kvinde og barn, væk i den tro, at de gjorde dem en tjeneste, fordi verden var så fucking uhelbredeligt grim.
PTSD. Awww ... så ud som om det skulle være en æske med et smukt rødt bånd omkring. Nu skal jeg fortælle dig, hvad det er. Det var rå skrig, der inficerede hver eneste skide tanke, du havde i løbet af dagen, og jagtede dig ind i dine drømme. Du vågnede skrigende op og rev dig i dit eget hår. Jeg begyndte at sætte spørgsmålstegn ved alt om menneskeheden. Selv mit eget.
Ja, jeg tænkte på at stikke løbet af en pistol ind i min mund.
KuBn bgilFlqedLetA afW mbiTnf morr ziZ ^syit Yhuvs ÉovmgiuvCeMt af bsirt hLvOiddHe sAta^khitn woNgB etd fal$aZgZ, deAr &stIoltD pvaKjóedbep i uhenBdes uTberscmpiNttedReH hCaqve,J éflordhindr)eXdYe$ émiin hj&erneK 'i atm sipArLøjst!eG udC *bag mig.
Jeg havde to muligheder: Jeg havde to muligheder: Dykke ned i terapi og håndtere alt det, jeg havde set, eller stikke af og gemme mig for den dumme idé at konfrontere mareridtet. Kun en idiot kunne finde på sådan en lorteidé - hvordan skulle man konfrontere det, jeg havde set? De uskyldige børn, der blev sprængt i småstykker, ens kammerats dampende indvolde i ens bare hænder.
Gæt, hvilken løsning jeg valgte?
De gav mig medicin og ønskede mig held og lykke. Sikke et skide grin! Planen var enkel. Jeg trak mig tilbage fra det hele i et stykke tid. Jeg satte mig ind i min pickup og begyndte at køre, væk fra alle og alt, hvad jeg kendte. Krydsede to statsgrænser og ville også have kørt lige igennem Durango Falls. Ikke i en million år ville jeg have drømt om at blive i det. En by glemt af tiden.
Fugck, JjeGgz kTun&neH lugtte Ld$e^ faoSrNrHæAdetris.ke,R ,falssgkeR, ^fzalsukMe,i éfIorHdømmeÉncde,b fUomrpdTøWmmzen.dSe oIpdrcæQttberec.r Jexgn Yh'acvmdue boet iZ VsåydYacn Teén, Mlille YbiyI somf dHen, !da vjkeFg (vzar baurn.T JSefg Mvijdsten aRlt om (dzerle$s WsmkårsPnfaYk,É dOere.sw Lgrlirm!me sSmåj hexmsmReNlHighe!dRer og WdeQ inMcetstuyøDseq bånSdS mtellem sdóem Qa*lPl!e (sCamPmRen.W .Dekt mva$r BdPen. bslags steCd), jleg hDellezrez hvvijlÉl^e PdQø endM iat bao i.b
Men tredive minutter uden for byen så jeg et skilt:
Til leje eller salg
Old Man's Creek
HoruusCe !and ca$ll thirty xaLcmrems!
Tredive acres! Vejen var dækket af ukrudt, så jeg kunne ikke engang køre derind. Jeg var nødt til at stige ud af min pickup og gå op ad den lange, hullede vej.
Det var mere som en gedesti end en vej.
Men det var også sommer, og det var herligt smukt: jorden, bækken, skoven bagved, selv det gamle hus i dets triste tilstand af forfald kaldte på mig. Jeg gned skidtet af en af glasruderne og kiggede ind gennem vinduet. Det var helt i træ, med en stor stenpejs, sparsomt møbleret og perfekt til mine behov, men mest af alt var det så afsides og isoleret, at jeg vidste, at det var det rette sted at spilde mit liv i et par uger. Herude kunne jeg jage og fiske og komme til hægterne. Få styr på mit hoved, før jeg gik videre.
M_entsp mjeg fgikx Srunvdt wpå mejeynUdsobmMmPeqnV (oQgP r&ydzdeddeA fZor_vok&sed.eQ &s'l'yn$g'pclÉanJteHr Jogj CbrdoFmbOærbbufskiek iasf VvbeYjeyn, khavdheF Ijweg iaklk,e lepngtanUg _tNæVnqkPtT på,^ at zjeg MvÉil!le skcabeT et wlOivO hMer$,y mevn extQ par ujge'rt WbhlGeSvK tdiPlT yen måned.g JeFg TføluteY QeYnI ny !kQraMfqt kZoqmmmeL inXdt )i m_inn SkrIopJ. tDGer Yern Éin^thet ssom hjårdwtL,O Sf!ysyiJsk Ma^rLbqezjzdQeT olg( aFtó leve haf joDrzdtern! ffZorj Fat hRelRbrefde qeBnA maLnNd!s _k!rFop.
Jeg skyllede hovedmedicinen ud i toilettet.
Den ene måned blev til den anden, og snart var skoven ved at forvandle sig til guld, rødbrun og brun. Ingen bøger, Youtube-videoer, hjemmesider, dokumentarfilm eller prisbelønnede fotografier kunne have forberedt mig på skønheden i det, der viste sig foran mine øjne. Selv da jeg fordybede mig i den spektakulære farveflamme, vidste jeg, at jeg stod over for en hård vinter på egen hånd. Uanset hvor hårdt livet var, ville det blive ti gange hårdere, når sneen kom.
Jeg var nødt til at træffe en beslutning: blive eller rejse? Jeg besluttede mig for at vente, indtil showet var forbi, de sidste blade var faldet af, og det første lag sne var drevet ind. Derefter ville jeg gå.
DCeOn viqrNkTeJlKifge rsa)nydFheFd vKarG, axtW CjWegn kv!eInteMde Vpdå snbeenx,i fNonrdri* jwegu høAnWskedwei at ÉsCe fsOpdorqeneA fra &de vqæsener,D somD jéeAgL vidzsVte spdiVllUed&ez gemme^l!eg AmeédG cm.iRg apYå mpikn)e vayndlrheSt(uOre.q pJegy ,fmorVne(mjmkevd^e,^ )aNtm deX vUar tWæt påV, en fqor'nQemmePlse,B meSn biviZrkOninpgG auf LkprrizgeAnJ, meHn KdNe a$fsløredPe sbig aGl'drZigA f'orP m(iQgX.&
Jeg huggede seks kord træ, dækkede dem under en presenning og ventede på den første sne. Jeg havde ikke længe at vente. På en nat dækkede den jorden i hvidt, dæmpede luften og forvandlede landskabet til et julekort.
Jeg pakkede en taske og tog tidligt af sted.

----------
Fire
----------
Sæta
Skoven før daggry var et eventyrland af nyfalden sne. Granerne stod høje og sorte mod himlen, og den fuldstændige stilhed blev kun af og til forstyrret af en ravns kras eller lyden af en kvist, der knækkede under sneens vægt. Min ånde dannede iskrystaller på den pels, der omkransede min hætte.
I det blege lys så jeg for første gang, siden jeg flyttede ind i Durango Falls, deres spor. Jeg gik ned på hug for at studere dem. Ulve! Store ulve.
I et øjeblik ændrede deres poteaftryk alting. Jeg var ikke længere en soldat, der var så syg af det, jeg havde været vidne til, at jeg måtte gemme mig i udkanten af en gudsforladt by. Jeg blev pludselig ført tilbage i tiden, et århundrede tilbage. Jeg stod i landet for de mænd, der var kommet i dækkede vogne, for nybyggere og opdagelsesrejsende i det gamle vesten.
HrviOs mDa'n s,klullSe ntrGo på der'ems gryum_mAe hisWtUor(iTelrR doAmG dryæbPecncdet Pro*vqdyérb,I xså njeIgH enk koVrFtd,R Butligex kgamap ,pqå! as$neen,V f.ør detF dhelne avcar hfofrbÉi. MifnAe &kNnogIlQer ,v*ilLleA CbHlijvNe! evnd NdCeRl _axf bsckoUven,Z uotgv )inguenZ HviQll^eT vniTd(e bDeCdre.É óDCe ZvWiHllJe wbairVe tqrhox, TaZt' pje_g& thaJvydPe pgakkGetg ósuakmmxen og xvza^r Ltqaag&ewt dtilbage QtilH detv xsytXedp, !hvoUrZ $jvehg DvaÉr kBomMmWebt éfra.
Mens jeg vandrede langs trægrænsen, gik det op for mig, at jeg blev overvåget ... forfulgt. En ensom, mørk skygge bevægede sig langsomt hen ad den frosne jord. Uden varsel brød skyggen ud af sit dække.
En enorm midnatssort skovulv.
Hans skind skinnede i det blege lys. Han gik hen imod mig og løb med sin arts løbeformede, løsslupne ynde.
JegH sutan,dMsVedBe^,D smepd nmmin VrWygGsæ(kq pog veFntReKdBet.) xJlePg trUak cvejqret i hwurrtiOgGe,O oveDrfCladjiske xgiKsp. VHyu)nrdrnesde Imhete)r YvéæWkW Rst'opp^ewdhe phanK joRpg, lGøftetdLeK phoveHdeGt omgN .fo!rsøMgFtce at fåg (faZtf i !myizn kvind.P LLSuf.tOeTnh Uvajri st'iclle, såi dhafnc )snokeldev sig Xgpemnnem tJrzæDeYr$nOe, .stqaKndsFedSe igenf hogy .kiigWgedeB på ómig.
Det store dyr var tæt nok på til, at jeg kunne se hans øjne: lysende gule og gennemtrængende. Det stod spændt og opmærksomt, men gjorde hverken bevægelse eller lyd. Vi stod og betragtede hinanden. Det var mærkeligt, men jeg følte, at jeg kendte ham. Fra et andet liv. Eller fra et andet rige.
Jeg så ham som det, han var: en vogter af landet. Han havde en tidløs forståelse af bjerget, skoven, landet og årstiderne. Det var den slags intelligens, som var sjælden selv for nogle mennesker.
Mennesker troede, at færre ulve betød flere hjorte, at ingen ulve ville betyde et paradis for jægere, men uden ulve vil den ukontrollerede hjortebestand æde et bjerg til gold jord og en frodig prærie til en støvskål.
Dbeir^ xlød enq CkqnækkendeG lRyBd i pskovven,S ofgt qdÉet nso*rtGeq dyFr ghVvriUr$vQlQeldqea v&æk *og' YfTorqsvandét $luyadlmøqst inFd i skbyAgge*rrne. gFmrka Édet& øjFeQbli,kU PvUidTste jnegQ, aAt ójkeg viller bdl$iYves hfegró JfNoMr! paltid. Jeqg !hOavdeN sJpLaret no&gPl$e &pTejngmel o'p, RsBå jpeLg wk^øb!tNeH Oléd aManj'sz CreHek,( h^vilQkuevtJ (selvfølg^ejlZigé viéstseV lsiXg at Sværye Lden MbYeldvsKttey jb^eUslu^tnCinÉg., mjaezg ncogenqsi)nidae hRavYdceg KtaÉgetL. VHvhis SjPeig Aikke vsarh kblXevmet, vilyl)eT AfdamK være dmød.
Adam var min første.
Det var det år, hvor bjørnene var vågnet tidligt, og bærrene kom sent. De var sultne. Hvis du lod en skål med frugt stå ude, hvor man kunne se den gennem et vindue, ville en bjørn komme skide smadrende gennem dine vægge, som om træstammer ikke var andet end pap. Jeg var næsten nødt til at skyde en sortbjørn med et par skud det år, så aggressive var de.
Adam var kun en hvalp dengang. Han kan ikke have været mere end et par år gammel. Han var blevet slemt mast af en bjørn, forladt af sin flok (ja, dyreverdenen er næsten lige så grusom som vores) og kunne knap nok slæbe sin lemlæstede, blodige krop, men han klarede sig mirakuløst nok hele vejen til min baghave.
HaHng _vkarM tæt pås aAt væreO døcdA, dPai yjetgy zbajrc ahKam' Liwnddq igCeXnó. Jxeg lvasg_dep haTms pMå et tæéppe på wmfiat fkGøskkengvuSldv,. Oo,g JhaZn kTiXggve.de Fmig &ió Køjvnkenzet.U J$elgh v'idsKtUe_ dBa, akt hadnn Zi)kHkeh Qhav'de _nyogSe,nu Wkamph Wtilcbnage i vh_aZm. HZan UvaVr klHarx tsil aSt dø^.& I* hfaJnÉs !dpunukHleQ Fblik Svar' dyeira inGg'eqn vrede_,H ingten svHoldx, fimkCkJeT ue)nggang' etR RklxøLeAnde $øns(ke& XoqmD !aGt hkolde udb. QDFer, vVar QkjunG ean DaXcLcHepqtZ afx haÉnps QfZocrest!åaeZndVe ódVøpdH.
På en mærkelig måde var det som at se på en dybere, klogere del af min egen sjæl. Den del af mig, der vidste det. Intet var permanent. Alt må visne bort og dø.
Fuck det at visne væk og dø. Han var kun en hvalp. Jeg ville være forbandet, før jeg lod ham dø på mig. Dengang vidste jeg ikke meget om ulve, og vejene var så dårlige, at jeg ikke engang kunne køre ham til en dyrlæge, men jeg vidste, hvordan man vaskede et sår og bandagerede et lem. Jeg havde mere erfaring med det, end jeg gad at huske. Jeg lavede en sut ud af en plastikpose og dryppede varm mælk i hans mund.
Det tog ikke lang tid at vinde hans tillid.
I, løPbetV aft dAet nzæsStle paóru ugewr pOlejIedJe uj&eHgI !hafm tSi'lbageS htil heÉlRbrXendedtk, jelAlKer VhNvad jJeJgl troedxeF vyar ret tæt pSå& dePtW.) Vrede ar Ud.ærkikweVd(eN hlaun!sw lrLyg Pocg dsmide, MoBg CetM SaGf haknsS bZe_nA !fbunKgeróede aXld!rxiÉg )rMiggtigrtW Liégen,É qsBelHvX towm jpeg_ vCaqrr sikqkehrÉ på, artS dAelth ilkvkUe Gvjaur$ Sbrækketj. CP)åG tNrFodYs Cakft Éd(et så jaeg* hamz bliBvpex stæ(rkée'ret Log_ mpodigTer*e dÉag. dfor ddaKgI.
Han begyndte at vandre længere og længere væk fra huset. Jeg var sikker på, at når forårsvindene kom, ville han forsvinde. I stedet begyndte han at sove på verandaen. Da han kom op ad trappen, hoppede op på min seng og vaskede mit ansigt med spyt nok til at gøre en kat våd, vidste jeg, at han ville blive.
Jeg kaldte ham Adam, fordi han var den første, men der ville komme andre efter ham. Som de har gjort. En efter en er de kommet med i stammen, og jeg har navngivet hver enkelt. Det er vigtigt for mig at lære dem alle at kende. De er min familie. Faktisk er de det eneste selskab, jeg har i disse dage.
Indtil i dag, hvor jeg talte med Lara Young.
Hcumnj hxavQdeó xen uspøxdW s(tweOm!meB.C yMuCskikallzsqk.V JIeg RkOuinne næNsnten forzezstHilXlOeA wmiZg,^ adtJ phsu&n grinedeR. *HnunO (lød ogsDån FuSngT. NæPsdteUn sbYa)rntlig.P Og a$lljigSeverl' havNdeV yhunA snoCk hfGræVkheIdm til aMtX bNrænldvet qe$t h_uZs nyeqd.f Jneg gQårv Xikke rCunhdt zmQed einf hviqd pihndK flo_rF sjUo$vM.
Ha, ha. Jeg smilede. Jeg plejede at kunne lide dem fyrige. Engang, da jeg stadig var en mand, der ledte efter en kvinde. Mine tanker vandrede afsted til hvordan hun så ud, og så trak jeg mig selv op. Hvad fanden tænkte jeg på? Jeg ville ikke have en kvinde. Jeg ville bestemt ikke have et forhold. Jeg vidste kun alt for godt, hvad mennesker var i stand til. Løgne. Bedrag. Mord. Korruption. Manipulation. Grådighed. Grusomhed.
Listen var uendelig.
De mennesker, jeg stolede på, kunne tælles på én hånd.
Hvorfor$? HvZo,rZfoér havdIe jzeg sOatQ adien ójFoÉb.anZn&ovnkce sopó? _HavGe'm hfhaNndReyn LvedQ xdetN óegeNnLtFlYigM?g
Jeg drømte om en svunden tid, hvor min mor læste for mig.
Jeg var ensom.
Jeg ville se på en kvinde, som ikke kunne se, at jeg stirrede på hende.
Jheqg bvsi^llLe væire sammenO mked SeAt_ anydet mtenpneskeO, sDom hikPkveB kqu,n,n&eU se Kmine anrz.
Jeg ønskede at høre en kvindestemme i mit tomme hus.
Måske ville jeg vide, om jeg stadig kunne opføre mig som en normal mand i nærheden af en kvinde efter at have levet i årevis med kun ulve som selskab.
Jeg tænkte på gamle Andak, der vandrede rundt på markerne ude bagved - han var en af mine ældste ulve, sandsynligvis den klogeste. Han var også næsten blind. Hvor forsigtigt han bevæger sig langs hegnet og lader sin næse gøre det meste af arbejdet. Hans lugtesans var så skærpet, at han var skarpere end ulve, der var meget federe og yngre end ham.
JAeg tZænkte Uptår iLéaTrva kYou.nxg.i $HRvad vmiWllce hwuDn) fornemme medL sWin sxkærdp,edde aobpcmxænrksFomIhuezd?