A RIVER OF LOVE

The rain swirled about him, but he hardly noticed, as he moved through the night with an effortless kind of grace. It seemed he would be the same, if it were a bright sun shiney day. People passing saw him, yet, didn't see him at all. It was a gift he had, being seen yet not, but his presence was always felt. Should he enter a room, heads would turn and people would marvel at his countenance, his height, his dark skin, his handsomeness and the way he moved. There was sensuality about him in his every move, yet if asked a moment later, each person would have described him differently. Some would feel a moment of sheer terror and not know why nor the source of that fear.

His name was Jackson Wolf and as he moved through the night...aware of every sound, every movement, every smell...the intensity of his purpose grew. He could already hear the sound of music, that seemed to charge the very air around him.

As he approached the club at 23rd and Madison, the sound of an alto horn mourned a Billy Holiday refrain, "Strange fruit", he stopped in front of the club, dressed in jeans, a hooded black pull over and dark hiking boots. The hood pulled low over his face. He wanted to blend in...he had grown weary of killing gangbangers, though once, it had been great sport. Now , he had come to see them as kindred spirits. With this thought came another..."with those whose lives are lonely too"...where had that come from? The alto sax mourned again...that sad timeless and ghostly kind of sound...and a tsunami of memory washed over him. Memories he wanted to forget.

The club was crowded as usual, but he knew she was here. He could feel her.

Elmo was just walking off stage...a regular at the most popular jazz jam on the west coast...when big names came through, the best shows were always here...Jackson didn't know Elmo's last name, apparently no one did, but everyone knew he played a very mean alto!

Elmo looked up, saw jackson and smiled. He watched Jackson move easily through the crowd. What always got Elmo was the way 'bad dudes ' moved out of his way, without any effort on Jackson's part...there was just something about the way Jackson moved...not in any way threatening...that said 'I'm not the one'...and at the same time added, 'you are'. Yea, there was something about this dude and Elmo, though curious, didn't really want to know what it was.

Jackson knew his reason for coming...other than the music...was here. Even in this crowd, he could smell her perfume...so sensuous...tinged with a touch of sadness, a sadness he could drown in if he wasn't careful. It was this that had drawn him to her, Like a moth to to a flame he came.He had come to help her, to offer her love and bring her peace. In his heart he believed she would welcome him like an old expected friend, they always did.

He had only seen her at a distance. He knew she had felt his presence.

He had seen her the first time, strolling through the market on Pike street. It was fall, an almost perfect time of year in the pacific northwest, where life and death seem to be intertwined in the most poignant of struggles. Colors bursting forth like creation. Had it not been fall, he may not have noticed her at all. There was something about her and this time of year...'that's when it hit him', this was no random encounter. Her beauty and that intoxicating sadness conspired to undo him. He dared not approach her, for fear of what he might do, but he knew, one day, he would kill her. It was not some wanton act of murder that he envisioned, but as her beauty and sublime sadness washed over him, he knew he must extinguish her pain, for she...in a moment...had burst a great dam in him and unleashed a river of love.

"My man Jackson" Elmo said, as he jostled his way through the crowd. "Hiya doing man"! Until this moment Jackson had been in a kind of trance. He was glad Elmo had broken it. "Hey Elmo, you sound great tonight". Jackson liked Elmo, Elmo didn't seem to have any sense of fear of him, as most people. Jackson liked that. He had not had many great friendships over the years, perhaps Elmo would prove to be one. "She's here", Elmo said. This struck Jackson, for he thought this to be a private affair. Was he that obvious? He almost said 'who', but caught himself and said "where"? Even though he knew. He also made a mental note of Elmo's awareness. Elmo might smoke weed, but he was alert to more than music. Elmo tilted his head towards the bar and started talking to the drummer.

Jackson saw her sitting at the bar. Her blond hair seemed to cast a light of it's own in this dimly lite smoke filled room. There were no smoking ban laws respected here. They liked their jazz the old fashion way. Her hair hanged to her shoulders and totally complimented the dress she wore. Everything about her had been given proper attention. She was beautiful, the kind of beauty that made you feel the word as created to describe only her. A lone white woman, in a predominantly black jazz bar, unmolested. Jackson was impressed, yet again. She possessed a kind of aura that allowed in only what she wanted.

He had never been this close to her...did he dare? He approached her on her left, his heart pounding, her sadness was like an abyss into which he might fall, or perhaps he had already fallen. He had never felt so attracted to anyone, not even Selena...mustn't go there.

He sat down. He could feel the tension, after all, he had done what everyone else wanted to do, yes, every male and not a few females. He ordered a drink he would never touch, tipped the bartender well, in the hopes he would be left alone. He could not look at her or speak. He was having trouble breathing. He was afraid of himself.. Kill her right now, this instant! He looked to his right and their eyes locked. Hers were green like a lush tropical jungle. Like a caribbean sea. He was getting dizzy and thought he might pass out. As he teetered on the bar seat, her voice cut through his consciousness like hot molten steel, her arm had to steady him on the bar stool. "Are you alright", he heard her say. As his head began to clear, he said "I'm fine". Just as quickly, she turned away. It was as though he wasn't there.

He marveled at how one so beautiful could be so sad. Even though he had encountered it many times before, it never failed to surprise him, this cry for help...this...lament.

from the beginning, as far back as he could remember, he has had this ability to empathize with others on a deeper level than his fellow beings...much deeper. He did not know who his parents had been, he had always been different. he did not puzzle over this, but accepted it. He embraced who he was and pursued his mission, his calling. He did not know if there were others like him. He lived longer, healed faster and was not sure if he was mortal in the human sense of the word. he was not troubled by conscience, or the morality the rest of the world pretended to live by. He had his own code, his way of dealing with things. He did not question the right or wrong of a thing, but only, weather or not it needed doing. Jackson accepted his place in the scheme of things. He knew he was a man, but also knew he was something more. Maybe he was the next link in the evolution of humans. He could kill without remorse...which is not to say he never had remorse...and accepted this as the natural order of things.

Yes, he killed. Sometimes to correct an error of nature, to set things right, or to rid the world of something evil that would or could not change. In his younger years, before he realized his abilities, he had killed for sport. he had, for the most part, out grown this. Jackson believed in the evolution of the human spirit, but knew this not to be a fact.

He had also killed out of rage, after all, he was human, but his true gift or curse, was his attraction to great beauty. the ones who seem to have every reason to live, but are so sad and broken, they are almost walking dead. They are always women with whom he falls in love and then feels obligated and sometimes begged, to end their suffering and each time, a little of him would as well. He had no fingerprints. His dna was not in any database that he knew of. He did not even know if he had dna, but assumed he did. He had long stopped wondering why the rules did not apply to him

He looked at the woman beside him...he was turned on by her. he wanted to fuck her, make her happy and kill her at the same time...no! kill her...no! love her forever, then kill her. This combination of elegance and sorrow always drove him to the brink of madness.

"I've seen you before", it took a moment to realize she had spoken to him. "Oh"? Was all He could think to say, for he was truly surprised, he after all, was the hunter. "yes", she said, "and I know what you want". Jackson smiled, for he knew this could not be true, yet he was amused. "you are a beautiful woman, I'm sure you've come to suspect all men of wanting something". "yes", she said, "and you are no different". Jackson stiffened...this conversation was not what he had expected,,,"and what is it you think I want"? "You want to kill me". She looked at him with the saddest and most tender smile he had ever felt. "I'm ready whenever you are", and with this she slipped out of her chair and vanished into the crowd.

Kathrine Muldere smiled inwardly as she left the club...small groups of people stood outside smoking. 23rd and Madison certainly was not her neighborhood, but she moved through the crowd without fear and though she carried herself with great dignity, no one sensed aloofness or arrogance. the rain had stopped, a cool breeze was blowing, stars dotted the sky through the clouds. she walked through the crowd like a ghost, though she felt the admiration of the men and women alike, there was not a single remark...'at last', she thought, 'maybe this is the one' as she remembered her conversation with Jackson. The one who would do what she could not. she was not a coward, but she could not kill herself, had never considered suicide. She did not want to risk her soul. "You want to kill me"...she had used that line on many men, hoping to find the right one. All looked at her as though she was crazy and rumors spread that she was indeed crazy.

This was fine with her.. It kept people at bay and gave her freedom and..,.yes, a sense of power.

Kathrin had grown up in this city and it was, perhaps, the only thing she truly loved. She loved the smell of the sea, that came on the wind, with the promise of rain always lingering in the air.

She, unlike many others, loved the rain it seemed to suit her. She loved the shifting weather patterns and the nearness of mountains and open country. All these things she loved. this part of the world was woven into the very fabric of her being. It was so much a part of her, she knew it was this that sustained her life. No...she could never take her own life, for this seemed a betrayal of all the things that made each day so interesting.

Kathrin grew up in an upper middle class family. She had never wanted for anything, in a material sense. Only those things that mattered...love, respect of her parents, empathy and compassion..She possessed too much of these things, while her parents possessed none.

An only child, she became an astute observer. her father was a tyrant, controlling everything around him, except her mother, who was an even greater tyrant, who used her beauty to control everything, including kathrin's father. Kathrin had never known love, not the love of her parents or anyone she could remember. Many had pretended to love her, but they all wanted something...most, wanted her to love them. They wanted the control of her that her love might give. Her parents had never pretended to love her. To them, she was a beautiful object to be used in their quest for power and acceptance. Her father never had time to love anything, except money and her mother resented her for being the spiting image of her...but younger.

As she lay in bed that night, she knew tomorrow would be like no other day and she would awake with an excitement she had not felt for a very long time. She realized that this rush of life was because, maybe her time, at last was near. She felt she had sat beside death in a nightclub, while jazz undulated all about her. She had looked death in the eye, smiled at it, teased it and left it befuddled. She began to laugh uncontrollably for a long time.