Free The Winter of the Lions by Jan Costin Wagner

had written that morning, and wondered whether Larissa had read it. Turning his gaze away, he looked at the closed bedroom door. He imagined Larissa lying on the bed on the other side of the door. She had fallen asleep and had not woken up. Couldn’t find her way back to the surface. The image spread, and he strode over to the door and opened it abruptly. The room was empty, the bed was made. The bedclothes and cushions were as tidily arranged as in a hotel bedroom when you first move in.
    Joentaa closed the door and stood there for a while, indecisively. The little Christmas tree was an outline in the dark. He hurried out into the cold and fetched the DVD from the car. The snow crunched under his feet. Then he was sitting in front of the flickering screen. Patrik Laukkanen laughed, and an unseen audience joined in. Leena Jauhiainen lay awake. The baby was asleep. Hämäläinen lifted a blue cloth and revealed the view of an injured face.
    ‘A funeral the wrong way round.’
    He turned.
    ‘That was what disturbed me. I remember it now,’ said Larissa. She let her snow-white jacket slip to the floor and came towards him.
    ‘I didn’t hear you coming,’ he said.
    She sat down beside him and looked at him. He avoided meeting her eyes, looked at the pictures flickering on the screen, and sensed that her gaze was resting on him.
    ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
    She did not reply.
    ‘What did you mean about …’
    ‘A funeral the wrong way round. People were laughing, not mourning, the dead were on show and not buried,’ she said.
    Joentaa looked at her grave, sad face.
    Her gaze was resting on his eyes.
    He nodded. Waited. Her hand shot out fast, he felt a sharp pain on his cheeks and felt himself falling. Then she was lying on top of him, with her lips to his throat. Her movements were calm and regular. He closed his eyes and let himself drift. She was saying something in a voice that didn’t belong to her. The TV audience was laughing in the background. Suppose it was always like this? Falling. Falling for ever and ever. In the distance, he heard her laugh. There was soft, cool fabric against his face.
    ‘Sorry about that,’ she said.
    ‘Hm?’
    ‘You’re bleeding. I scratched a little too hard.’
    ‘Mm.’
    ‘I’ll clean it up. Do you have any disinfectant?’
    ‘Hm …’
    ‘Never mind. I’ll go and shower. Take this.’
    He took the towel she handed him.
    ‘You must hold it against the cut. It’s only a scratch, looks worse than it is.’
    He nodded and watched her going to the bathroom. He lay on the floor beside the sofa. The rushing of the shower. Water. An unseen audience. He picked up the remote control and muted the sound. He could taste blood at the corners of his mouth.
    ‘I’d like to ask you something,’ he said when she came back.
    ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes. Why?’
    ‘You’re lying on the floor and the towel you’re holding to your face is turning red.’
    ‘Oh, it’s not so bad,’ he said.
    She sat down cross-legged beside him.
    ‘I’d like to ask you something,’ he said again.
    ‘Go ahead,’ she said.
    ‘What was the most wonderful experience you ever had?’
    She did not reply.
    ‘Is that so hard to answer?’ he asked.
    ‘No,’ she said.
    ‘Well?’
    ‘I’d be telling you a lie.’
    ‘You would?’
    ‘Yes.’
    He sat up and tried to meet her eyes.
    ‘Go ahead, then,’ he said.
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’d like to hear your lies.’
    She still said nothing.
    ‘How old are you? What’s your name?’ he asked.
    ‘Twenty-two. Larissa.’
    ‘I’d like to …’
    ‘We always take a bit off our age, but never more than three years at the most.’
    Then she got to her feet.
    ‘Don’t come in until the scratch has stopped bleeding, please, there are clean sheets on the bed,’ she said as she left the room. She opened the bedroom door and closed it almost without a sound.

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    KAI - PETTERI HÄMÄLÄINEN WAS watching Kai-Petteri Hämäläinen,