He watched the three people sitting in the pub. None of them attracted him in any way.
The fortyish blonde woman at the bar with frizzy hair and glasses was getting mouthy. She was talking to no one in particular, ranting on about this and that.
She was a possibility, but there was something off-putting about her—she was stupid. He hated stupid.
“Oprah should write a book—sheesh sooo intelligent—ya know wadd uh mean?”
He wanted to smash her face, watch her glassy eyes roll back and then kick her teeth in. She annoyed and disgusted him.
He hated her. But she was not the one.
He moved away from her toward the other two huddled in a corner booth, deep in whispered conversation.
The woman was an attractive brunette in her mid-thirties—the man, a few years older, stocky and just starting to gray.
He moved in closer.
“I struggle with this every day, Ella. Look at me—I’m drinking too much—my hands shake.”
He held them out to show her, but she grabbed them and held them tight.
“I love you, Paul, I always have. Ever since the day I ran into you on Yonge Street in the rain and we had coffee in Starbucks—I knew you were the one.”
“I know. I felt that same tug, that pull. It started at my feet and seemed to draw my soul right out of me through my head.”
The stranger’s eyes blazed intently. “What did he say—She drew the soul right out of him?”
His focus shifted to the man.
“Ever since that day, whenever it rains, I think of you. It may be at night when I’m lying in bed listening to distant thunder, but whenever it is, your face comes back to haunt me.”
Her eyes were dark and moist. “I know—foolish as it seems, I know we're meant to be.”
He put his hand to her lips. “Don't say that—or even think it. You know my position. It's unthinkable to even be here discussing this with you. This was a mistake.”
“No!” she said fiercely. “Don’t trivialize my feelings—our feelings. We…we are not a mistake.”
The stranger was scanning the man, sorting his features, tuning into his thoughts. He was perfect. He ignored the woman.
“Ella, you know I can’t. I admit it—I do have feelings for you, but I am committed.”
“You don’t think I know that? You think your feelings can just be pushed aside or buried—but they can’t, Paul—not when you’ve taken that first step, not when you know it’s real. Face it, Paul—you can’t go back and neither can I. We’re meant for each other.”
A guttural growl sounded ominously. Neither the man nor woman heard it.
The stranger clenched his jaw tight and fought the rage burning inside him.
She was in the way. He would kill her without blinking, but it was unnecessary—he would have the man.
He stared at her doe eyes and fought the urge to rip her. “She’s unworthy,” he consoled himself. Even when the man put his arm around her shoulder, it was of no concern. He would have him and that was all that mattered.
“You have to go,” the man said.
She nodded and grabbed his hand and clenched it hard. “I love you, Paul.”
“I love you too.”
She stood and turned up the collar of her raincoat. “It’ s still pouring out there.”
“Our kind of weather,” he smiled.
She hesitated for a moment, before impulsively bending over and kissing him and then, embarrassed by the act, fled out into the night.
Paul watched her. His eyes followed her across the glassy road to where she got into a silver SUV.
He waited while the lights came on and the vehicle pulled away, its red taillights fading into the rain.
He leaned back and loosened the top button of his raincoat. A Roman collar was momentarily exposed.
The stranger had been waiting patiently and now the time had come. He willed himself toward the man, imperceptibly merging and absorbing, permeating skin and bone.
He found a new home.
