Wolf Tales

CHRISTINA

By Alejandro De La Garza

The milky glow from the light over the neighbor’s garage door bounced off his wavy blond hair for only a second, but Christina Sanchez knew it was him – just outside her kitchen window.  Third night in a row, she grumbled to herself, closing the narrow blinds and flicking off the stovetop light.  She stepped cautiously into the den, almost expecting to see him, and piled her slender frame into a plush recliner.  She picked up a novel and tried reading, but kept glancing into the kitchen.  She closed the book.

It would have been easy enough to call the police and tell them he had returned.  Almost a year now, she realized.  She glided her fingernails over the book’s ornate cover, thinking about that night she first found the back door unlocked.  And the next night and the night after that – somehow that door became unsecured.  How many times had he watched her as she slept, as she bathed?  She closed her eyes and began trembling.  She didn’t feel the book slip from her hands.

Handsome!  Oh yes, he was incredibly handsome; an enticing vision plucked from a storybook romance.  He would caress his muscular torso, running his hands across his rippled abdomen; a silent expression, perhaps, of some deep-seated lust, or mere narcissistic arrogance.  His full lips, arranged in an intriguing pout, rendered him seemingly innocent and harmless – even as he smiled and flashed his sparkling teeth.  But when a scowl spread across that same gorgeous face, Christina realized she wasn’t dreaming.

She didn’t recognize the shirtless young man with the unkempt flaxen hair – and no one else in the neighborhood had seen him.  The media publicized a police artist’s drawing of him, but nobody came forward to say, ‘Yea, I know that guy!’  As a heightened sense of alarm gripped the area and a police car cruised the streets, Christina bought new deadbolt locks and held faith that he would be caught.  Just a matter of time, she chanted every night, curled up in bed, her body still aching – just a matter of time.  But, he managed to get inside the house twice more – and inside her mind.

She opened her eyes and looked about the den – her little house; a real home with no rent, no parking space battles, and no kids playing soccer upstairs on Saturday mornings.  He might not recognize it now – if he’d noticed anything about it.  She shook her head, as if trying to wake up, and was surprised to see the book on the floor.  She picked it up and read for over an hour, before deciding to retire for the night.

The deep, vociferous bark of the German shepherd across the street startled her awake.  “Damn dog!” she snorted, sitting up and shoving back her long auburn hair.  “What’s wrong now?”

But, she knew that dog never made so much noise for the mere sake of it, so she scooted out of bed and approached the window.  She parted the drapes only slightly, her forest green eyes peering into the onyx night, hoping she’d spot nothing out of the ordinary.  On this side, the neighbor’s tall fence appeared to merge with the roof of her house and not much could be seen out there in the dark.

She massaged her tired eyes, not certain if she should be so concerned – or scared.  She looked up to the ceiling, surprised to make out its every detail in the cool darkness, and sensed his presence.  She couldn’t see him, couldn’t even smell him, but she knew he loitered somewhere outside.  The dog had stopped barking.  She sat on the bed and tempered her arduous breathing, before slowly drifting back to sleep.

Christina’s life now revolved around only three things: her house, her regular karate sessions and her accounting career.  The job was her first out of college; her recent eighth anniversary arriving just after her 30^th birthday.  A promotion followed, complete with a comfortable raise and an effervescent assistant named June.  On Monday morning, June greeted her with a detailed spreadsheet of the weekly schedule.

“Wonderful,” Christina moaned, glancing over the document.  “Tell me this is not how you spent your weekend.”

“No, of course not,” said June.  “I spent the weekend gardening.  I did this” – she

pointed to the sheet – “last Friday.”

“Didn’t even give me a chance, did you?”

“Girl, I didn’t get one!  Oh, don’t forget about your appointments tomorrow.”

“How could I?  Back to back.”

“Always.”  She placed a hand to her forehead and sighed heavily.  “I had something else to tell you, but now I forgot.  Oh God, I think I’m already getting a headache!  These damn things come at the worst times.”

“Just like our emergency staff meetings.”

“Right.  You know, funny thing is, sometimes my husband says he can actually see the blood vessels pulsing on my forehead – whenever I get a really bad headache.  Can you believe that?”

“Oh, really?”

“Yea!  Scary, huh?  Hey, look at me real close, would you?  Think you can see something?”  She leaned forward, pulling back her salt-and-pepper hair.

Christina looked up and pretended – at least for a nanosecond – to study June’s forehead with some intensity.  “Gosh – I really can’t tell.”

“Oh, that’s okay.  I think he exaggerates sometimes.  Listen, I need to make a call.  I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Christina replied, as June departed.  She chortled and began thinking about an upcoming meeting with a client when her phone rang.  But, as she turned to it, a sharp, almost painful rumbling sensation sliced through her midsection, forcing a hand onto her stomach.  The feeling – an unpleasant mix of hunger pangs and menstrual cramps – continued for a few minutes, before finally subsiding.  She relaxed, but her skin grew warm, as if she was suddenly feverish.  She sat still, closed her eyes – and waited; waited for the sound of rushing water to tickle her ears.  And, it came – slowly and quietly, a pulsing guttural sound; as if a pipe had ruptured in a nearby wall.  And then, that too faded.  Every day, she thought, every day: the hunger pangs, the fever sensation and the sound of running water – always together; just like the sun rising.

She sighed.  Aside from June, Christina chatted with few other people, except maybe to say hello.  No more lengthy conversations, lunches, or happy hours; she was all business now.  Nothing social in almost a year, she realized.

“Oh, well,” she mumbled and suddenly recalled a recent incident.  Sitting alone in her office – the door closed, a colleague on speakerphone – she heard someone whisper,

‘What’s wrong with her?’  She looked about, startled, thinking they stood next to her, or

just outside the door.  She listened, tuning out her constituent, and heard others talking.  ‘I don’t know, but she’s been acting really strange lately.’  ‘I heard there was some weirdo in her neighborhood.’  ‘What makes you say that?’  ‘Heard it on the news.’  ‘I think something really bad happened to her.’  ‘Ssh, she might hear you.’  Odd – yet distracting.

Gradually, as the days passed, she heard more; snippets of conversations; muffled voices; barely audible.  ‘I heard it was a boyfriend.’  ‘Didn’t know she had a boyfriend.’  ‘Didn’t you see his picture on TV?’  ‘Who?’  ‘Him; that guy.’  ‘I just know he had something to do with her.’  Clearer, most everything they said; muttering quietly; trading tawdry speculations like industrial secrets.

She had the joy of actually startling a few people on some occasions.  The ‘Oh, hello’ reaction was as about as original as ‘We didn’t see you standing there,’ but it bestowed the same essence of embarrassment upon them.  In some odd way, she reveled in the various innuendoes, mildly savoring the attention; surfing through the speculative rubble.  But, only for a moment.

Sometimes, though, she thought about that shirtless blond man.  Her daily tasks would blur her mind, until his quirky grin slid beneath her drooping eyelids – and make her want to scream.  Other moments found her staring unconsciously into her computer

monitor where his face manifested as a hazy reflection.  Surprised at first – if not terrified – she finally began glaring back, her fists clenched and her face taut.

“How dare you,” she murmured through gritted teeth.  “How dare you come back.”  Didn’t he know?  Couldn’t he understand what he’d done to her?

If her job cluttered her mind with frustration, her karate regimen expunged the refuse.  The sport provided an emotional haven – long before she encountered him.  Its structured, demanding routines bore some resemblance to work, but without the drama.  Besides, the people were much nicer; especially the men.  She liked watching them; studying their movements as they engaged in mock duels, sweating and shouting.

After one particularly strenuous class, she did something different: she visited an adult video store on the edge of downtown and rented a feature containing an all-male cast.  Sprawled lazily in her recliner, her mind blank and her loins burning, she sipped on a wine cooler and relished the video.  She had taken a liking to them in recent months; extravaganzas of vicious masculine carnality that held a unique sense of eroticism for her – strangely, yet emotionally satisfying.

Then, she heard the distant bark of that German shepherd and tightened her grip on the bottle.  She muted the television and quickly relaxed her hand.  He was out there, she thought; teasing, wanting another taste of her.

He grew bolder, slithering along the flowerbeds and clawing gently at the window screens.  But when she peeked through the drapes, only the vapid night air stared back.  She could smell him now – sweat and dirt, blood and testosterone.  She could feel his grimy hands on her quivering flesh.  She arched her head back, stretching her throat until it hurt, telling herself he was only delaying the inevitable.  As hunger pangs roiled her into nausea, she knew another brutal assignation lurked with every sunset.

She awoke – not disturbed this time by the neighbor’s dog or scratchings at the window – but a painful itch in her mouth.  She lathered it with an ointment, staring at her oddly porcelain complexion in the mirror, when she noticed blood on her gums.  “Damn!  Not again!”  She gargled with mouthwash, before applying more of the ointment and slipping into bed.

But just as her conscious began to settle, a distant noise forced her back onto her feet.  She crept towards the kitchen, moving easily through the stifling darkness.  Her breathing slowed, as she stared at the back door, a wry sneer contorting her lips.  She yanked it open, a gust of spring air ushering in the aromas of bougainvillea shrubs and magnolia tree blossoms – and the pungent odor of her ubiquitous paramour.

“Come in,” she mumbled.  “Where are you?”  Silence.  She clenched her hands, staring at the lunar whiteness of the enclosed back yard.  Cool breezes toyed with her hair and gown, before another sharp itch made her retreat to the bathroom.

“Come in,” she murmured again through swigs of mouthwash.  “I want you.”  She shut off the water and listened to the deafening quiet.  Her stomach growled, as her quaking hands gripped the washbasin.  Her eyes closed and opened with the rumble of a distant car engine.

She looked out her bedroom window and up to the blue-gray clouds languishing in the sky.  “What a perfect day this will be,” she announced to her reflection in the dresser mirror.  She donned a comely burgundy skirt with matching jacket and a white silk blouse.  She had dispensed with the accouterments of makeup and fingernail polish months ago and limited her jewelry to a delicate watch and a small gold pendant.  Upon turning on her car stereo, she chose jazz music over business news and strolled into the office with a florid radiance that stunned everybody.

“God, girl!” said June.  “You must have a hot man lined up this weekend!”

“No!” Christina laughed.  “Not that lucky!”

A morning presentation found her more affable than she’d been in months, again surprising her colleagues.  ‘Did you hear her?’  ‘Haven’t seen her like that in God knows how long!’  She leaned back in her chair – the door closed – and chuckled.

Late in the afternoon, June leaned against the doorframe, looking much like a 1930’s era movie star, sans cigarette.  “Um – I’m sure you’ll say no.  But, a group of us are going to happy hour this evening – right after work.”  She tossed a faux glance at the ceiling.  “I don’t suppose you’d care to join us.”

Christina looked down at some papers and smiled.  “Oh, I think I can squeeze you into my busy schedule.”

“Say what?”

“Yes – I’ll take you up on happy hour.”

“Oh, my God!  For real?”

“Yes!  For real!”  And, she laughed loudly.

Christina laughed even more as she gathered with everyone at a local restaurant.  Her pale complexion had vanished and her smile had returned; no hunger pangs, no fever, no rushing water.  What a perfect day this has been, she thought, stepping into her car.

But, as the ribbons of red and orange illuminating the evening sky deepened into indigo, she grew anxious.  She could hear that German shepherd barking, as she pulled into the garage, and noted the dryness of the air inside the house.  Staring at the ceiling fan rotating slowly in the den, her shoulders tensed, as the color drained from her face and her stomach became knotted.  She tossed her jacket onto a couch and threw a stoic glance down the hall, before proceeding into the darkened bedroom.

When she exited the bathroom, she realized the dog had ceased wailing.  She knew, even before turning on the dresser lamp, that he stood in front of the closet door, beside an antique bureau.  He still looked the same; clad only in tight, faded blue jeans and dusty

work boots.  She stepped towards the foot of the bed, remaining against the dresser, a gaunt expression adorning her face.

“I’ve never seen you look more beautiful,” he said, his voice resonating deep and steady.

She’d almost forgotten what he sounded like.  “I know you’ve been out there.”  Her left fingernails tapped lightly on the dresser top.

“I had to see you again.”

“See me again!”  She clenched her hands and took a step forward.  She looked towards the bathroom, thinking she hadn’t shut the water completely off in the sink.  She unfurled her hands and turned back to him.  “What do you want?”

“I – I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you.  And –” he sighed “– I need you.”

“Need me?”

“Yes.”

“You love me – and you need me.”

“I do.  I need you – more now than ever.”  He looked up at her, as he approached the bed.  “I’m lonely – very lonely.”  He held up his hands, palms outstretched, as if

pleading.  “You have to understand.  I realized long ago, when I first met you, that you are the only one who can truly make me happy.”  He sighed heavily again, as if for poetic effect, his pale violet eyes burrowing into her.  She never had been able to tell what color they were.  “I came back because I could find no one else like you.  I’ve looked all over.  I’ve needed someone like you my entire life.  I’ve been watching you.”

“I know that.”  Her stomach growled.  “I know you’ve been watching me.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have.  You’re smart.  Not just beautiful, but wonderfully intelligent.  All of that – all of that makes you so incredibly perfect.”

She sat at the foot of the bed.

“That’s why I’m here,” he said, carefully placing himself beside her.  “Because I love you and I need you.  And I want to take you with me.”

“Take me with you.”

“Yes.”

“Take me where?”

“Away from here – away from all this misery.”

“What makes you think I’m miserable?”

“I see you here alone at night; every night.  You’re always by yourself.  I can hear the unhappiness in your heart.  I can see it in your eyes – even now.”

“And – you know all this from prowling around my house at night?”

“Yes,” he replied, his left eyebrow hopping upwards.  “I’m very sensitive – especially to you.”

“Where do you get this feeling of – love?”

“I don’t really know.  I don’t truly understand it myself.  It just seems – it just seems to be the natural order of things.  It’s –” he inhaled deeply “– a destiny of some kind.  That’s why I came back.  I want to give you a new life, Christina.  I want to bring you into a new world.”

“A new life?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve – given me a new life.”

“No – not yet.  Not quite yet.  It’s my gift to you.”

“Your gift?”

“Yes.”  He gently took her right hand and lifted it, as his lips separated.

Gift, she repeated to herself.

His pointed teeth became fully visible and his eyes dimmed.

“Gift,” she said aloud – and took a long, deep breath.  The running water grew louder.

His grip had become firm, but with no real effort, she wrenched herself from him and – in the same second – tightly wrapped her slender fingers around his left wrist.

His eyes widened.

“Thank you,” she whispered, wondering what he thought as her own lips parted, sharpened teeth descending slowly.  “I already have your gift.”

© 2010