Songs of Love & Death (39 page)

“What do you mean?” I was hedging, scared.

“You know what I mean. I want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you, too,” I said in a rush. “But only if—well, it has to happen first. For real. I can’t just take your word for it, you know, that you’re suddenly all straight and honest. It has to be clear, to everyone, that you’re not a criminal anymore, or I lose my job.”

“Of course. Just give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t just snap my fingers; there are people I have to deal with. And to get clear, really, I’d probably have to leave the state.”

“I’ll go with you,” I blurted without thinking about it.

Our eyes met. “What about your job?”

“The job’s not the most important thing. I’m not asking you to change just so I can keep my job!”

He nodded slowly. “I don’t want mine anymore. I didn’t used to care. It was easy money, so I did it, thinking it was my choice. But lately, especially since I found Lobo, I’ve started to change. I’d like to make a clean start. But, well, I’m so involved now, I can’t just walk away. I know too much, and there’s a history… There’s people who won’t want to cut me loose.”

“So what’s going to happen?” I asked, my stomach in knots. “Will they let you go?”

He gave a little shrug like it didn’t matter, but I saw from his eyes that he was scared as well as strong. “I’ll just have to make them. I have to, now—for you.”

I thought he would come forward and kiss me—I wanted him to—but he moved back toward the car instead, opening the door and snapping his fingers for Lobo before he looked around at me again.

“I’ll come back for you when it’s safe,” he said. He shut Lobo into the back and opened his door and got into the driver’s seat, and then he hesitated again, and gave me a long, burning look.

“I’ll come back to you as soon as I can, Katherine. I love you.”

I stared back at him through repressed tears, unable to say those words back to him, too choked up to say anything at all, although later my silence
would haunt me, and I hoped he read in my eyes what I felt.

A
WEEK DRAGGED
slowly by. There were classes and meetings and other people to keep me occupied during the days, but in the evenings I was lonely and plagued by fears about what danger Cody was putting himself in for my sake. And I hadn’t even told him I loved him! Why hadn’t I rushed over and kissed him, at least?

Another, different fear also tormented me: the idea that Cody didn’t really love me, that he hadn’t meant what he’d said, that he’d just been playing with me, saying what he thought I’d believe, the way he’d told different people different versions of how Lobo had come into his possession. What if none of it was true?

Friday morning, as I stepped outside the trailer, turning toward my car, I found the wolf waiting for me.

He looked thinner and scrawnier than ever, his head hung down. He was visibly trembling, panting hard, seemingly on the point of collapse. Naturally I looked for some sign of Cody or his black SUV, but the shivering animal was my only early-morning visitor.

“Here, Lobo,” I said softly, patting my side. He came at once, pressing himself against my legs, sending the vibrations of his fast-beating heart through me.

Somewhere in the trees, a mockingbird sang, and there was the sound of a heavy vehicle grumbling away down the highway. I told myself that Cody could have paused beside my mailbox, just long enough to let Lobo out before making his escape… but then, I was sure, even if he’d driven away at top speed, the wolf would have gone chasing after his master’s car until his heart burst. And if Cody
were
able to command Lobo to go to me, surely he would have sent a note of explanation.

My hand, digging into the thick ruff of fur at the wolf’s neck, discovered no collar. Cody had told me he would never chain him, and the collar was for appearances only, always notched loose enough for him to slip his head through.

I knew then that something terrible had happened; Lobo had escaped, and come to me for help.

Taking him inside with me, I locked the flimsy door and called the police.

I stumbled through a story about finding a “dog” I thought belonged to a man named Cody Vela—at the mention of his name, I was put through to someone else who instructed me to tell him everything I knew about Mr. Vela
and his associates.

I told him I didn’t know anything, I’d just seen him around, and when the dog turned up this morning, obviously upset, I was concerned…

He told me then that Cody had been murdered, but he couldn’t give me any details because it was part of an ongoing investigation.

“But you should be aware, that animal’s more wolf than dog. I advise you to call the county animal-control office and let them take care of it.”

Hearing that Cody was dead was a terrible shock. At least, it should have been, but somehow I couldn’t feel it. It didn’t seem real.

What was real, what I had to deal with immediately, was the weary, frightened animal that had come to me for help.

Of course I didn’t call the animal-control officer. Looking after his wolf was now the only thing I could do for the man I’d so briefly thought of loving and then lost. I made just one more phone call that morning, to the secretary in the English department, to say I was suffering from food poisoning and my classes would have to be canceled. Then I devoted myself to my new responsibility.

We spent the weekend getting to know each other, and learning to trust. I was a bit apprehensive about letting him off the leash, in case he simply ran off and got lost, but he needed exercise, and taking him out to the Thicket where there was no one to stare or get scared, and no other dogs to hassle him, seemed the best option.

I’m a walker, not a jogger, and I knew I could never keep up with him the way that Cody could. Arriving in the same clearing where Cody had parked on the day we met, I let him out of the car and told him, “Go free!” He did. But as soon as he was lost to view in the shadowy depths of the forest, I got scared and shouted for him to come back. He reappeared within seconds, clearly alarmed by
my
alarm, and after that unpromising start, I had a hard time convincing him to leave my side so he could get the exercise he clearly needed.

It turned out that Lobo was even more worried about losing
me
than I was
about him. He didn’t like to let me out of his sight. If I was in the trailer, he wanted to be there, too; if I was outside, he was happy to stay out, but not on his own. Eventually we reached a compromise: if the door to the trailer was open, he knew he could reach me, and so he became more relaxed about roaming around, exploring the area. At night, he stretched out on the floor of my bedroom, blocking the door with his body: If I decided to go anywhere, he’d know about it.

Just as he had with Cody, he was happy to jump into my car at any time, and willing to wait for me when I ran errands—at least, for a few minutes. I didn’t dare test his patience, knowing that if he got anxious or bored he could destroy the interior of the car I was still paying for. That first weekend, I never left him for more than the five minutes it took me to dash into a convenience store to pick up some food for us both.

By the end of the weekend, the wolf was part of my life, and I understood what Cody had felt. There was no hardship in adapting my habits to fit in with his; I wasn’t interested in a way of life that had no room for this wolf. I didn’t think twice on Monday morning; of course I took him with me.

A ripple of excitement ran around the classroom as we walked in.

“Don’t worry,” I said calmly. “He’s had a good run this morning, so he’ll probably just lie on the floor and go to sleep while I talk. Don’t any of you guys copy him.”

That got a laugh, bigger than it deserved. I was suddenly much more interesting to my students.

“What kind of a dog is that?” one of the girls asked.

“He’s a wolf.”

“What’s his name?”

“Cody.” It just came out. All through the weekend I had called him by various terms of endearment, but hadn’t thought about changing the name Cody had given him.

But now, quite suddenly, I had done it.

The animal himself raised his head and looked at me when I spoke Cody’s name, recognizing it, and it was obvious from the caught breaths and exchange of looks among the students that they had, too. Everybody had heard the news of the death of the local drug dealer, Cody “Wolf-man” Vela, most of them in far more lurid, graphic detail than I’d picked up from local radio.

I wondered if I’d just made a huge mistake and put my job on the line. But I couldn’t have done anything else.

Luckily, the kids loved him, and weren’t going to do or say anything that
would get him banned. They were more attentive in class, and although word must have spread fairly quickly around campus, even if it caused Nadia to wonder about my honesty, I didn’t get called into her office again. Maybe death had absolved me; anyway, nobody could blame an innocent animal for the sins of his master, and
somebody
had to look after him. I found out that my wolf wasn’t the first animal to become an accepted fixture on campus: There was a cat in the science department, some teachers had brought their dogs, and, in one case, a parrot, without causing any trouble.

Over the next few days, I learned more about Cody’s death than I really wanted to know. Probably no death by violence is easy, but his had been especially hard; it was referred to as a “punishment killing,” with talk of mutilation and torture. Some people wondered if the wolf-man’s famous pet had managed to inflict any damage on his killers—it might help the police if anyone was reported with unexplained animal bites. It was widely assumed that Cody’s wolf must now be dead, too. Such is the fearsome reputation of the wolf; few would believe that he would sooner hide, or run away, than attack armed men. I knew better, knew it was foolish to judge an animal by human values, yet even I couldn’t help feeling that Lobo had let Cody down. His response seemed shameful and cowardly. The man who had saved his life was dead, and the wolf hadn’t done a thing to stop his murder, hadn’t tried to rip his killer’s throat out.

And yet, if he had attacked armed men, he’d be dead too, and I couldn’t bear that.

Although I mourned the loss of the man I could have loved, the truth was that I’d never really known him. The wolf to whom I’d given his name was more real, and now even more important to me. Maybe it was because I now had the responsibility for another life, so I couldn’t afford to indulge in feeling sorry for myself, but the two weeks that followed Cody’s death were rich and interesting, full of life, hardly a sorrowful time at all.

At the end of October, a norther blew in, and as I felt the cold for the first time since leaving Chicago, I put on my favorite sweater and rust-colored corduroy pants, and felt my spirits rise.

Cody’s mood changed, too, that day, but not, like mine, for the better. He seemed restless, distracted, and somehow aloof from me, not his usual self at all. Despite a good, long run, he didn’t snooze through class but sat with his ears pricked, glancing at the door every now and then as if waiting for someone who never came. When a couple of students tried to pet him, he retreated under my desk. After we got home, it was worse. He didn’t want to stay in the
trailer with me, but every time I let him out, I had to get up again a few minutes later to answer his anxious scratching at the door.

“Cody, make up your mind!” I told him. “It’s too cold to leave the damn door open tonight!”

A minute later, he went out again. I settled down to mark some essays, and this time I wasn’t disturbed for almost an hour, when I heard a low but terrible sound outside, a deep groan that sounded almost human.

I jumped up and flung the door open, calling his name. It was dark outside, the profound darkness of night in the country, but even deeper than usual because there was no moon. A single, low-energy bulb fixed to the right of the doorframe cast a little murky light in a small semicircle around the steps, but beyond that I was blind.

“Cody?” I called again, my voice strained and cracking with worry. “Cody, sweetheart, where are you? Come here, Cody!” I hurried down the steps.

“Katherine?” The voice came out of the darkness, a voice I’d never expected to hear again.

Then a man walked out of the darkness, and it was Cody Vela, alive, stark naked, and staring at me with a look that mingled confusion and longing. He came closer still, close enough to smell, and the scent of sweat and musk took me back to the day we’d met, and stirred the same desire.

“I thought you were dead!” I cried.

“Me, too.” He shivered convulsively, and he reached for me at the same moment I reached for him, and then we were hugging each other, and it was crazy, but I’d never wanted anyone so much in my life, and nothing else mattered. I could feel that he felt the same way, and when he started to nuzzle my neck, and his hands moved down to squeeze and caress my bottom, I almost fell onto the ground with him. But even though he was naked, I wasn’t, and the awkwardness of trying to get undressed was just enough to give me pause, and so I managed to pull him inside, where it was warm, and we could make love in the comfort of my bed.

The first time was hungry and desperate, but after that we were able to take things more slowly, indulging in sensuality and exploration, teasing and playing, until, finally, resting, we talked.

I expected an explanation, a movie-worthy plot involving doubles and disinformation, or lies and kidnapping, but there was nothing like that. He had no idea how he’d turned up naked and disoriented in the woods outside my trailer.

His last memory before that was of intense, agonizing pain. He’d been on the edge of death, horribly tortured by three men, one of whom he knew, two
he’d never seen before: “But I’d know them again,” he said darkly.

The traumatic memories made him break out in a cold sweat; although he spared me the gory details, his hands went convulsively to his genitals, ears, mouth, knees, chest, seeking the remembered damage.

But he was whole, there were no wounds, not a trace of any injury, as I had already so pleasurably discovered. He’d switched on the small, pink-shaded light on the night table as we talked, and it was clear to us both that his lean, muscular body was unmarked except for the pale, curved line of a very old scar on the side of his neck, and a screaming face tattooed on his left bicep.