The Bridge (still pretty rough)

He stood outside the building across the street hidden in the shadow of the doorway. He watched Juliana enter with that man, her victim. He retreated from her mind as best he could, but he knew she felt someone's presence. Even in her youth, her intuition had been strong. Had she been born in a time when it was socially acceptable, her cognitive powers would have been even stronger. Still, she would not see him as she turned to survey her surroundings. He kept an eye on the door marked number five, the door into which she had disappeared. He knew she could be in there for ten minutes or ten hours. Jewel sometimes liked to play with her food. He wasn't about to wait all night just to catch another glimpse of her. He too was hungry and Jewel could handle that drunk on her own.

He drifted toward Kendall Square hoping to get a bite to eat. Barely a block away, he spotted her. He could feel her rage. God, redheads had such a passion. They never seemed to experience an emotion half way. This one was seething. He followed her as she beat a path from the Square toward the Galleria. His footfalls matched hers, but he kept a safe distance between them, just in case.

* * *

The moisture in the air evaporated to a light fog instantly as it met the pavement. She felt as though she was walking through a mist in a gothic movie. She half expected Christopher Lee to appear in his Dracula garb.

Damn it! Why did Jonathan have to be such an asshole? When he took her out to dinner that night, she hardly expected him to demand sex in return. She had made it perfectly clear when they started dating a month before that she wasn't the type to jump into bed with just anyone. He knew she wanted to wait until she was certain the time was right. Still, he had tried to force himself on her. "Well, that romance is over." She chuckled as she realized she had the worst track record in her circle of friends.

She had used her best right hook to knock him over before she grabbed her purse and stormed out of his apartment. Thankfully, she knew Cambridge well enough to find her way home. She was far too angry to take the red line from Kendall Square and she figured the walk would help clear her head. She kept to well lit areas to make her way from Kendall Square to the Galleria. From there it was simple; she started across the Prison Point Bridge which would take her to the orange line station at Bunker Hill Community College. She would hop the train and be home in about twenty-five minutes. She should have hailed a cab to take her home, but in her fury, she had thrown all the bills from her wallet at Jonathan before she left. All she had left was coins.

She processed the events of the evening as she walked. She still couldn't believe she had done that. It was so unlike her to lose her temper that way. Her pace eventually slowed. She was finally calming down, but her heart was still racing; she could almost hear it beating in her chest. She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat. She directed her eyes to the end of the bridge. She watched the mist rise as she continued her trek. The station came closer, inch by inch, with every step she took.

* * *

He could hear it; her heart was racing. Her fury cooled a bit, but her blood still boiled. As he walked behind her he imagined her face. Her cheeks burned with the rage she felt inside; her eyes showed the passion in her soul. Whomever she ran from didn't know what he had lost. His patience would have been well rewarded. Would this Jonathan person realize in the morning how close he had come to perfection in this beauty? He doubted that. She was right to leave him. She deserved someone who would appreciate her.

* * *

He appeared out of the rising mist. His wiry six-foot frame, draped with a black raincoat, seemed to float toward her. A gust of wind lifted his coat tails to reveal trim legs wrapped in black denim. His gait, even more determined than hers, brought him closer. Even in such dim light, she could see his dark eyes piercing through her. Those eyes drew her forward. He embraced her as they met; his strong arms held her in a net of safety. His lips found hers softly, gently. He kissed her forehead and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She leaned her head back so she could meet his gaze. There was a profound sorrow in his eyes. He kissed her mouth again, then her chin, then her neck. He found her jugular and it was over.