The Healer

29

The slightest creaking of the house, scratch of bird’s feet on the tin-covered windowsill, or strong wind in the crowns of the pine trees that bend over the bedroom window, and Johanna will flinch. But then she falls asleep again almost immediately.

It’s a brightening spring morning at the end of April. The sun comes up early and shines buttercup yellow as soon as it rises, bright and strong.

I’m careful not to touch Johanna. The slightest touch can wake her. The blanket is wrapped around her like a bandage. Her cheek presses deep into the pillow, and I can hear a quiet, steady sniffling from her nose.

I get out of bed without making a sound, close the bedroom door behind me, and walk into the kitchen. I make coffee and stand in front of the window. The surface of the bay at Vanhakaupunki is dazzling blue and ragged from the wind. Here and there around the bay you can already see the various shades of the coming spring, from pale buds to the deepest green.

There’s almost nothing to remind me of the past Christmas. Johanna recovered physically a long time ago, of course. She still has nightmares and a wariness—a feeling of fear in certain places and at certain times—that she finds hard to admit, even to herself.

I pour some coffee, sit down at the table, turn on my e-reader, and read the news. For some reason it doesn’t depress me anymore, although it gets steadily worse as time goes by. When I saw Jaatinen yesterday, he said it was because I look at life the same way that he does now—realistically, without baseless expectations, without looking backward. He seemed to be saying that I’m living life one day at a time. I didn’t contradict him.

The purpose of his visit was not just to check up on my attitude. He told me the investigation was complete—they had verified that Väntinen had killed dozens of people and that Gromov had conspired with him and blackmailed Lassi Uutela.

I tried to tell Jaatinen that I already knew all that, but he didn’t seem to want to hear what I was saying. So I let him go through the whole thing one more time. We also went through those minutes in the rail yard, without learning anything new. When he finally left, he had the same disappointed look on his face that he’d had at Christmas.

I don’t know why I’m turning all this over in my mind when my eye falls on the instant message icon, which I click without thinking. It’s Good Friday, and I’m not expecting anyone to get in touch with me.

The subject alone says a lot: THE BATTLE FOR GOOD CONTINUES.

I read the message. It’s well written, clearly argued, and completely unnerving.

I get up and walk to my office. I get out the backpack that I shoved to the very back of the closet at Christmas. Inside, I find what I’m looking for.

Just as I’m opening the bedroom door, I remember the frantic thoughts I had when Johanna disappeared. I remember wondering which was worse, complete certainty that the worst has happened, or fear, building up moment by moment. A sudden collapse, or slow, crumbling disintegration.

Maybe I should be satisfied now that I know the answer.

Johanna’s eyelids flutter, the spring sunshine is relentless. It pierces through the fabric of the blinds and soon conquers the entire room. Johanna doesn’t waken as I lie down beside her. She presses her head deeper into her pillow.

I can’t resist touching her fingers. As I brush them lightly, they withdraw a bit at first, but then they let me intertwine my own fingers with them. Something happens when I touch Johanna. Something in my heart stirs, something says this is right—this is good.

And it is good. I’m a part of her, and she’s a part of me. We’re as happy as two people can be in this world. Whatever happens, I will love Johanna.

I wait patiently, and when she wakes up, I tell her why I have a gun in my hand.