With a sigh, he shook his morbid thoughts from his mind. It was getting late, and the hunger was gnawing at his insides.
That, at least, had not changed.
PART Two Chapter Two
She was there again, sitting alone on the gray stone bench, with only the moon for company. He had seen her in the small neighborhood park located at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac every night for the past week, felt himself drawn to her without knowing why. Perhaps it was the golden color of her hair, or simply the knowledge that she looked as lost and alone as he felt.
Tonight, she was crying. Silent tears washed down her cheeks as she stared at the swings silhouetted in the darkness. He noticed she made no move to wipe the tears away, only sat there in the dark, looking forlorn.
Before he quite realized what he was doing, he found himself walking toward her.
She looked up, startled, as he sat down beside her. He saw the sudden panic that flared in the depths of her dark brown eyes as she started to rise.
He placed a restraining hand on her arm. "Don't go," he said quietly.
She stared at him, her heart pounding wildly.
"Please," he said.
She shivered at the sound of his voice. It was deep and sexy and inexplicably sad. "Who are you?" She stared at his hand, alarmed by the strength of his grip. "What do you want?"
"I mean you no harm."
"Then let me go."
He held her a moment longer, then released his hold on her arm. "Stay a while," he urged.
"Why?" She glanced around, reassured by the presence of other people nearby. "What do you want from me?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. I saw you crying, and... you reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago."
She made a soft sound of disdain. "That's the oldest line in the book."
"So it is," he agreed with a wry grin. "It was old even when I was young."
She sniffed, wiping the tears from her eyes so she could see him more clearly. "You don't look so old to me."
"I'm older than you think," he replied ruefully. "Tell me, why do you weep?"
"Weep?" She laughed softly. In all her 23 years, she'd never heard anyone use that word except in books.
"You're crying," he said persistently. "Why?"
"Why do you care? You don't even know me."
He shrugged, bewildered by his attraction to this strange woman. And yet there was something about her that drew him, some indefinable essence that reminded him of Sara Jayne.
"I've seen you sitting here every night for the past week," he said with a shrug.
"Oh?"
He nodded. "I like to walk through the park in the evening," he said, his gaze lingering on the pulse throbbing in her throat.
"Don't you know it's not safe to wander around after dark in L.A.?"
"Don't you?"
"Maybe I'm hoping some pervert will come along and do me in," she retorted.
"Do you in?" He frowned at her as he sought to comprehend her meaning. Language, too, had changed drastically in the last half-century.
"Kill me," she said bluntly.
"You're not serious?"
She shrugged. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm tired of living."
"You're so young," he muttered. "How could you possibly be tired of living?"
"Maybe because I've got nothing to live for."
She stared at the concrete path beneath her feet, wishing she had never been born. Everyone she had ever loved was dead. Why hadn't she died, too? What was there to live for now? A rainy night, a drunk driver, and she had lost her parents, her husband, her baby daughter.
"What's your name?" he asked. But he knew, knew what it would be even before she spoke.
"Sarah. What's yours?"
He hesitated a moment. "Gabriel."
"Well, Gabriel, it was nice to meet you, but I think I'll be going now."
"Will you be here tomorrow night?"
"I don't think so."
He watched her walk away, felt the pain and the despair that engulfed her, the all-encompassing sense of loneliness.
"Sarah, wait."
With an impatient sigh, she turned around, waiting for him to catch up with her. He was a tall man, with long black hair and dark gray eyes. He had the look of a foreigner, she thought, though she had detected no accent in his voice. Spanish, or maybe Italian, she decided, but she didn't really care.
"What do you want now?" she asked.
"Let me walk you home."
"Listen, Gabriel, I guess you're trying to be nice, but I'm really not in the mood for company, so why don't you just go away and leave