Cassidy stole a glance at the clock before making her way onto the stage. Two hours until closing time.

Mikey would be in bed when she got home, but that didn't matter. She would sneak into his room, listen to him breathing in the darkness, and tuck a heart-shaped box of chocolates under his pillow. She missed him when he slept, but she didn't mind the quiet time. It was a relief after the smoke and lights of the club, the thumping music and the groping men.

Cassidy wasn't her real name, and she wasn't proud of the way she earned her living — but Mikey was worth it. Faces bathed in purple light stared up at her as she moved in time to the thunderous beat. She wrapped her lithe, nearly naked body around a pole in the center of the stage. The audience hooted its approval at her sensual gyrations. Hands snaked forward clutching the sweaty bills that would make a better life for Cassidy and her eight-year-old son.

She wondered how many of these men were married or had a special someone at home. And here they were at Gary's Go-Go Bar, drunk and hollering, on Valentine's Day.

A special someone ... now that was a foreign concept. There wasn't much room for relationships in this business. Certainly you couldn't let the customers get close, though many of them tried.

A few months earlier, Cassidy's abusive ex-husband, Michael Senior, had been found in his car, shot to death. Cassidy shuddered. She wondered what sort of shady dealings he'd gotten himself into. Drugs ... stolen merchandise ... business with the mob ... who knows? She wouldn't have wished her former husband harm — not really — yet it was morbidly comforting to know that he'd never again call and threaten her in the middle of the night.

Cassidy finished her performance and made her way to the VIP area, where the girls gave private dances for twenty bucks a pop. She had seen the faces of some of her repeat customers in the crowd ... Jim, a sweet and lonely librarian who came in every weekend ... Fat Tommy, who would probably bring her some red roses ... Mr. Caruso, a gentlemanly widower who always tucked an extra fifty in her G-string.

Tonight, the first in line was George, another of her regulars. He was dressed in a suit, and he smiled softly when she approached.

"Hello, Denise," he said. Denise wasn't her real name, either, but it's what her regulars called her. By sharing what they thought was her true identity, she gave her steady customers a feeling of intimacy, as though their constant devotion and generous tips made them more worthy than the anonymous slobs who still knew her by her stage name. They called her Denise and they asked about her business school classes (another fiction) and they brought gifts on the date they wrongly believed was her birthday.

Never let them get too close. It's a golden rule of the business.

"Happy Valentine's Day, George," she replied, leading him to a plush chair in the smoky lounge. "Looking sharp! Did you come right from work?"

"Something like that," George said as she draped her arms around his shoulders. He was redolent of cologne, an improvement from the body odors she usually dealt with, but there was another smell about him, a burned smell, like smoke.

She didn't know what to make of George. He was always polite with her, very proper, but things hadn't been the same between them since he had crossed the line a year ago.

In fact, she realized, it had been exactly a year ago — last Valentine's Day. She had been dancing for him, just as she was doing now, and he had asked her to run away with him.

"I can give you a better life," he had said. "I can take care of you, and you won't have to do this anymore."

Cassidy had heard variations on this proposal from dozens of customers over the years, but there was something different with George. He had meant it, and it made her uncomfortable.

"You're a married man," she reminded him. "I don't want to take you from your family. You shouldn't even be here on Valentine's Day. You should be home with those three little girls you told me about. You've got a nice house. You've got a nice life."

"You need a good man to take care of you," he had argued. "You need the proverbial knight in shining armor to rescue you from this existence. Let me be your hero."

"Someday, my prince will come," Cassidy said, laughing, trying to diffuse the tension. "And he'll do it right and give me a ring and a wedding with flowers. Now ... how does this feel? Do you like it when I do this?"

He had responded to her touch and dropped the subject, but she could tell he was crestfallen. Ever since, there had been a kind of an air of awkwardness between them, an odor, like the tangy smoke that hung around him now.

"You look beautiful tonight," he whispered.

"Thank you," she said automatically, thinking about her little boy's upcoming birthday party. Should they have it at the River Park Zoo, or at Chuck E. Cheese's?

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," George said. He stroked her unblemished thigh, and she gently diverted his hand.

"Don't be a bad boy," Cassidy cooed into his ear. "You know how Bubba gets when he sees someone touching the girls."

"Janet," he murmured. "Janet ... I need to tell you something."

"Yes?" she said, pushing her hips against him ... and then she stiffened.

Had he just called her Janet? Had he said that, or had she only imagined it?

Cassidy stopped mid-dance and glared at him. Her eyes were dark and questioning beneath pools of lavender eye shadow.

"It's your real name, isn't it?" he said. "Not Cassidy, not Denise. Mikey told me."

Now her whole body seemed to awaken, like a surge of icy water through a garden hose. Before she knew what to say, George was holding a diamond ring in front of her face. It glittered in its velvet box.

"I did it," George said, and there was a light in his eyes, a spark of triumph. "I did everything you wanted me to do. I planned and I waited, and tonight, our dreams come true."

"What ... what are you talking about?"

"Don't you remember?" he said. "Last Valentine's Day. You said you couldn't be with me. Said it wasn't what you wanted. I listened, Janet. I listened, and I did everything you asked."

"What?"

"You said you couldn't be with me because of my wife and daughters. They're dead. Gone, out of the picture. My house? You said you couldn't be with me because I have a nice house and a nice life? Burned. Burned up with my family. I don't want them. They're dirt, ashes. You're all I want. Marry me, Janet."

"Get away from me," she said, beginning to squirm. George closed his fist on her elbow. His grip was iron; his skin seemed to scald hers.

"I shot your ex because he got wise," he whispered harshly. "Don't make me do the same to someone you actually care about."

Near the entrance of the lounge, Bubba, the club bouncer, had taken notice of Cassidy's discomfort.

"Cass?" he called. "You all right?"

She looked at George, saw that flash of determination in his eyes, that triumph. What would he do if she screamed for help? Could she convince Bubba to detain him? To call the cops? What if they only tossed him out of the club? What would George do then? What if he had a gun on him right now? She couldn't die, not tonight. Who would make Mikey his waffles in the morning?

"I'm ... I'm fine," she said.

"You sure?"

"I'm fine!"

"Make him believe it," George warned. The ring had vanished like a magician's coin. He pressed his legs against Cassidy's, and she resumed her dance.

"I've been following you for months," he continued. "I know everything about you. I've got it all set up at your apartment. Mikey is there, your parents are there, I even went and got your brother over in Lansdale. They'll be witnesses, don't you see? Wedding guests. Smells pretty bad, but there are flowers there, lots of flowers, just like you wanted."

"No," she moaned, shivering against him. Tears left dark tracks of mascara on her cheeks. "Please God, no."

"Don't cry," George said tenderly. "I love you. I know that sounds corny, so old-fashioned, the regular joe with a heart of gold falls in love with the stripper ... but it's true, it's really true. Your prince has come."

"No ...."

"This is your happily ever after."

He took a deep breath and smiled.

He nocked his arrow as he exhaled.

Slowly pulling back the arrow he could feel the tension building in the bow. His left arm perpendicular to his body, he brought the tail end of the arrow to his cheek just below his eye. Focusing his gaze he took another deep breath. As he exhaled he released his grip on the arrow.

*Twang*

Flying far and true the arrow found its target with ease. He watched but a moment as the love came pouring forth from his mark. He longed to watch the love spread forth from the person, but he did not want to tempt himself with what he could never have. Besides, he did not have the time to dilly-dally.

Nocking another arrow he smiled as he found his next recipient. She had just rounded the corner, with her cell phone to her ear. The ones who were least expecting to receive the gift of love were the ones that he enjoyed the most. The look upon their face as the love spread forth from them was burned into his memory, so that even if he watched for just a moment, he would remember it forever.

Releasing the breath from his lungs he freed his arrow.

*Twang*

As his arrow struck her square in the heart he watched as confusion fell upon her face. Those people had no intention of falling in love were always so confused when it happened to them. He could not help but chuckle as he turned to find his next mark.

He repeated this process. Inhale. Nock. Pull. Aim. Release. Exhale. Again and again he bestowed the gift of love onto unsuspecting humans. Each and every time he spared but a few seconds to watch the vibrant red love spread forth from his magic arrow.

Pulling another arrow from his quiver, he turned again to find his next recipient. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a young man running away. He couldn’t help but scoff at the young man as he raised his bow yet again. Every mortal should know that there is no escaping love, even if one was afraid of it. He would cure this man of his fear by releasing the love within with his arrows. He hefted his bow, exhaled, and released.

*Twang*

The young man was stopped in his tracks, love struck, with an arrow in his back. He watched as the young man fell to his knees, almost as if in supplication, as the warm emotion spilled forth from him.

He realized that if he was going to infect as many people with love as possible on this holy day, then he needed a better vantage point. With this thought in mind he made his way to the nearest building. As he ascended the stairs he continued to bestow the gift of love onto every person that he encountered. Kicking open the emergency door he emerged back into the sunlight. Striding purposefully across the roof, he made his way to the edge of the building.

Casting his glance about, he noticed below him the steady beat of a flashing red light. He felt that this spreading of the light in the color of love would have been almost poetic if not for the contrasting blue light flashing in concert with the red. Nocking yet another arrow, he swept the landscape below him with careful precision. He only had so many magic arrows left in his quiver. He would have to return for more after embedding his remaining ones into the unsuspecting humans below.

His arm ready to pull back, he was stopped abruptly by a loud popping noise. Pivoting on the spot, he came face to face with a man in a blue uniform with a gun pointed at him.

"Freeze Dirtbag!" yelled the officer. "Drop the bow and place your hands in the air! Make any sudden moves and I will plug you full of holes! I am placing you under arrest for multiple counts of murder you sadistic son of a... I said freeze!"

Just quick enough to avoid being shot, he crouched and stepped to the side. The officer's bullet struck his quiver, shattering it and its contents to pieces. Looking up at this man who was stopping his mission, he could not help but feel sorrow. This man had no knowledge of the love that was hidden within, just waiting for a magic arrow to bring it out.

"Are you insane?! I said don't move," the officer screamed from across the rooftop!

He did not have time for this.

He leapt from the building. He waited for his wings to slow his descent...

He was Cupid... It was Valentine's Day... There was work he had to do...

"What? Why're we stopping?" Eric asked. Jack put the car in park and turned to his nine year old son with a grin.

"Because...tomorrow is Valentine's Day," Jack answered with a dramatic flourish of the eyes. He hopped out of the car and headed for the sliding door entrance to the office supply store. Eric ran after him, giggling.

"Wait. What're we gonna get?"

"We're gonna make Mom a valentine - a giant valentine."

The idea had come to Jack while watching his son's soccer game that morning. It would give him and Eric something to do while his wife, Mariah, was staying with her parents. They would surprise her when she returned the next day.

In the store Eric ran down the aisles hunting for supplies, running his plunder back to Dad's shopping basket. By the end they had two pink poster boards, glitter, construction paper, photo paper, alphabet stickers, and some paper lace hearts.

Once home Jack pulled out their old photo albums and fired up the computer. There was a photo of Mariah nursing Eric at the hospital, one of Jack holding Mariah's hand as she lay on the hospital bed, one of the whole family grouped around her as she held newborn Eric, and that was only the beginning. They went through pages and pages of albums picking out photos, gradually seeing themselves grow older.

Jack scanned in the photos while Eric plucked them from the printer to put on the poster boards. Eric was editing down and rearranging the selection like a painter working on his masterpiece. He would step back, take in the full view of both poster boards with a pensive look and then move back in to swap photos in, out and around until he was satisfied.

Once the photos were set they broke out the markers, glitter, stickers and other supplies. Eric did not let his father touch anything. The boy worked with great concentration, carefully cutting out hearts from the construction paper, putting them on the paper lace hearts and scrawling trite holiday phrases with markers. He applied the sticker letters with care, and adorned them with fanciful ribbons of glue which he sprinkled with glitter(that got everywhere). Jack watched his son and was proud.

They hid the valentine in Jack and Mariah's bedroom behind the dresser. Eric kept wanting to see it one more time, but Jack told him no, that it was time to clean up. They ordered pizza. Eric played his video games. Jack watched TV and spent some time on the computer. It was an ordinary, pleasant evening.

Mariah arrived home the following morning. Eric heard the familiar crack and slam of the front door and paused his game.

"Momma!" he called out upon seeing her.

"Hey honey," she said with a smile.

He wanted to run and pull out the valentine right then, but knew he should ask his father first. He found Jack in the kitchen. "Dad!" he said in an excited hush. "Can we give it to her now?"

"You bet," said Jack. "Let's go get it." Eric ran to the bedroom, but his Mom cut him off at the door.

"Jack. I need to talk to you."

"But Mom, I want to show you something," whined Eric, yet he saw the serious look on her face. It was the look she got after a bad day at work.

"Okay," said Jack, agreeable but puzzled.

They shut the bedroom door. Eric stood just outside, listening. He could hear them, but could not make out the words. They were whispering, but loudly. The words were muffled and punctuated with sharp rises. Eric wished they would hurry up. He stood there for all of two minutes before becoming bored and returning to his video game.

He wondered what they were talking about. Maybe something had happened to Grandpa. He had gone to see Grandpa in the hospital once, but supposedly he was better now. Maybe he went back and died. Or maybe Mom was mad about something. If so he hoped he was not in trouble.

Eric was hungry and still playing his game an hour later when he heard the front door crack and slam again. He ran into the Den and was surprised to see Grandpa there.

"Hullo Eric!" said Grandpa jovially. "C'mon buddy, I'm gonna take you to our house for a wee bit."

"What?" Eric stepped back, his face wrinkled in confusion. "Why? Mom and Dad are in there talking."

"I know that. They're gonna stay there. Grandma's gonna make us a good lunch and we'll have ice cream after."

"No. I can't go." Eric backed away more. "I have to give something to Mom." Eric ran to his parent's bedroom. "Mom!" he called and banged on the door. "Grandpa's here! I have to give you something." He tried to open the door but when he pushed something was blocking it.

"Go with Grandpa!" he heard his mother sharply command. Eric stepped back from the door, unsure what to think. He looked up at his grandfather and saw the old man's face betray a bit of pity.

"C'mon," said Grandpa. He put his hand on Eric's shoulder and led him out the door. As they walked out Grandpa asked, "What's that glitter on your face?"

Eric stayed with his grandparents that night. Mariah asked Grandpa to bring Eric to pick up his things in the morning and drive him to school. She laid out his backpack along with some clothes and a note saying, "Be sure to change clothes. Buy lunch at the cafeteria today. I'll see you tonight. Love, Mom."

Mariah picked Eric up from after school care at 5:30. As they pulled out of the parking lot Eric asked, "Why did I have to sleep at Grandpa's?"

"Why? Don't you like Grandpa?"

"Well, it's kinda boring."

Mariah laughed. "I'm sorry honey. Your Dad and I just needed some time to talk."

"Why? You already talked for a million hours."

"I know baby. I'm sorry. Look, Eric, your Dad and I talked about it, and he's going to stay somewhere else for a little while. Okay?"

"Where?"

"Not far. We'll call him when we get home."

"When's he coming back?"

"You'll see him soon. I promise."

Eric shrugged. He just wished they would hurry up and get home. As they parked in the driveway he announced, "Guess what? I have a surprise!"

"You do? What is it?" asked Mariah as she hit the garage door opener.

"A surprise!" Eric answered and jumped out of the car, quickly disappearing under the rising garage door.

Mariah found him in her bedroom. "Ooooh, what is that?" she asked, watching Eric pull out the pink poster board and awkwardly carry it to her.

"Me and Dad made it. Mostly me," Eric said as he laid it on the bed. Mariah sat down and looked. It had three paper dolls glued to it, two big ones and a small one, surrounded by a flurry of cutout hearts in many sizes. Across the top the alphabet stickers spelled out "Happy Valentines Day Mom," colored red and decorated with swirls of glitter.

Mariah ooohed and aaahed over the valentine. The poster boards were taped together on one side so it opened like a book. Mariah flipped over the cover, revealing the collage of photos inside. She gasped and laughed saying, "Oh wow, you guys did this?"

Mariah looked over the photos - Jack, Eric, herself, captured in so many poses over the years. Eric pointed out the ones he thought were the funniest. "Look how little I was. I had to take a bath in the sink!" he said and then pointed to another. "Look, Dad had a mustache!" Mariah laughed more and wiped at her eyes as they looked at them all.

"Thank you," Mariah said and kissed her son on the temple. "I love it to death and will keep it always. Hey, you wanna call your Dad now?"

"Okay. When's he coming back anyways?"

"He'll be staying somewhere else for a while, honey." Mariah rubbed Eric's back to reassure him.

Jack spoke with Eric on the phone for ten minutes or so. He was a few miles away in a little apartment. He finished the call saying, "Okay, well, I'll see you soon. I'll be at the game, and you can call me any time. Remember that. Bye now, see you soon. Be good."

Jack hung up the phone and breathed out. He walked over to the couch where a man was sitting watching TV with the volume down low. The man looked up. Jack sat down beside him, letting his head hang with one hand on his neck. The man put an arm around Jack, pulled him close and kissed him on top of the head. "Hey," said the man, squeezing Jack's arm. "It's gonna be okay." Jack relaxed and leaned back, resting his head on the man's shoulder.

She was his woman, and this Valentine's Day, she would be his wife.

Thomas Mackner sharpened his knife, an elegant, glistening affair he normally used to carve turkeys and large hams, but tonight, it would serve a different purpose. Oh, it would carve something, but what he planned to cut up wasn’t generally found in any kitchen.

His girl, Bahar al Hassani kept refusing to get her breasts enlarged, and he decided that since she wasn’t going to do so willingly, he’d give her no choice.

Perhaps losing her breasts entirely would make her realize that she should’ve gotten them enlarged when told. After all, no one knew what they had until they lost it, and when her breasts were reconstructed, he’d pick the size and shape, not her.

He put the knife in his backpack and added a roll of duct tape, a brick, and a length of rope, wondering why that stupid, useless book she called the Koran didn’t teach women their proper place in the world.

Muslim women were the legal property of their husbands. Granted, he wasn’t her husband yet, but he would be, so she needed to learn to obey him, and it was a lesson she was going to learn... one way or another.

He smiled slightly. What better day to teach her to appreciate him and his love than Valentine’s Day, that day of showering your special someone with love and affection? Unfortunately, Bahar’s idea of love and affection was a restraining order, avoiding him, learning how to assault him, and carrying a can of pepper spray that she’d used to nearly blind him after kicking him in the groin so hard he’d had to have surgery to prevent permanent damage.

What would it take to get it through her thick skull that she was his woman, that they were meant for each other, and that one way or another, she would be with him not just on Valentine's Day, but every day?

He closed his pack and went for his car. Right about now, she’d be returning to her precinct to check in with the desk sergeant before going home. On her way, though, she would stop by Knowlwood’s to pick up a snack for the guys stuck at the precinct, and it was always the same thing on Thursday night: ”˜Irish’ nachos, or fries covered with melted cheese and topped with sour cream and a dash of green onion as if they were nachos.

He pulled into the parking lot across from Knowlwood’s and waited in the shadow of the giant avocado tree that the burger joint hadn’t had the heart to uproot even though the space the thing took up could easily translate into four additional parking spots for paying cutsomers.

Bahar arrived right when he knew she would, but for some reason, she didn’t get out of her car right away. What was she waiting for? Why didn’t she get out like she was supposed to?

His hand closed around the butt of his gun. If she didn’t get out of the car, he’d make her get out of the car.

He shook his head in disbelief. Why couldn’t she just do as she was told instead of acting out against him like some rebellious teenager? Why was she was making him use force? If she would just listen to him, he wouldn’t have to hurt her.

“Get out of the damned car, woman.”

And now she was deliberately disobeying him. Did she want him to hurt her? Was this her way of telling him that she wanted to get hurt, that she needed him to make her get back into place? If she was, she was doing an excellent job. And if it came down to it, he’d give her what she very obviously wanted.

Without warning, Bahar started her car and pulled out of the parking spot.

Furious, Tom waited a few seconds and followed her, careful not to be seen. She was very observant, and she knew to watch for a car following her. The dumb broad really was too clever for her own good. He’d have to fix that, too, when he got a chance. She had no right to be smart. No woman did, for that matter. Women weren’t as tough as men, they weren’t as strong as men, and they sure as hell weren’t smarter, but every now and again, there was a woman who felt that the laws of nature just didn’t apply to her, and apparently Bahar was one of them.

Tom followed discreetly and parked a few houses down from where she’d stopped.

Bahar got out of the car and so did a tall, brawny, male police officer.

Tom stared. How dare she have a man in her car? He didn’t give her permission to talk to other men, where did she get the idea she could have a man in her car?

His blood boiled. Valentine’s Day or not, she’d pay dearly for this affront.

Bahar and her colleague went to the house, and Tom’s hand closed around the butt of the gun he kept in his car. This was too much. First, the woman refused to accept his repeated, and generous, proposals of marriage, then she got a restraining order against him, and because that wasn’t enough, she had to keep disobeying him.

Now she had a man in her car.

She was just like the other immigrant women that came to America- thinking they were entitled to the same rights as anyone else. Worse, they taught that to other women! When would they understand that all women were for was to provide sex, have babies, and keep a house?

Bahar and her partner left the house with a man between them and put him in the back of the car. A woman complained about her man on Valentine’s Day? If she was beaten, then she deserved it.

Tom fumed at the sight of the man with Bahar as the dark-skinned man helped her load a man into the car. How dare she touch another man? He was the only man she should be with- certainly the only she touched.

When he got his hands on her…

Tom jerked his gun out of the holster. He’d had enough of her humiliating and defying him at every turn. It was bad enough Bahar was avoiding and disobeying him, but to touch another man was inexcusable.

He got out of his car and stormed over to her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, woman? I told you not to talk to other men. You are my woman!”

“Put the gun down.” The male cop, Ramon Mendocino, kept his voice firm, but level.

“Shut it! This is between me and her.”

“Put the gun down, Tom,” Bahar leveled her own gun. She didn’t like guns or using them, but she knew her duty and she’d do it.

“Put it down.” Ramon’s hand went to his gun.

“You belong to me, Bahar,” Tom’s eyes blazed. “One way or another you’re gonna-” the rest of his rant was cut off by a gunshot from Ramon.

Ramon nudged the gun out of Tom’s reach. “Hassani, call for backup. I’ll cover him.”

Bahar watched Tom warily while talking into her radio. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t give up so easily. He wouldn’t quit until he got what he wanted, and he wanted her to marry him.

Tom scrambled for his gun. Bahar was his woman, and one way or another, she was going to be his wife.

Ramon kept his gun trained on Tom who was taking aim at Bahar. “Put the gun down.”

Tom pulled the trigger as fast as he could and was still pulling the trigger when a bullet struck him in the heart.

Ramon slowly moved closer, keeping his gun aimed at Tom.

Bahar was crouched by the open door of the squad car. She hadn’t wanted to shoot Tom, but she knew it was either him or her. One of them was going to die tonight. It was inevitable, and all she could do was pray Allah would forgive her someday.

“You okay, Hassani?”

Bahar nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to kill him.”

“It was you or him,” Ramon shrugged. “A hard choice, but it had to be made.”

“I had no right.”

“Hassani,” Ramon looked over his shoulder as sirens approached. An ambulance and backup were on their way. He put a gentle, understanding hand on her shoulder as he guided her to the curb since the wife-beating jerk in the back seat wasn’t going anywhere.

Ramon knelt facing Bahar and looked into her soft brown eyes. “You gotta understand something: psychos like him don’t quit until someone dies.”

Bahar sat down near a dropped valentine reading ”˜Mine forever.’ “He wanted us to be together forever… one way or another.”

I wake up at 6:00 sharp. No alarm, just habit. I know it's 6:00 sharp, but I bring my wrist close to my eyes to examine the glowing hands of my watch to make sure. Again, just habit. There's just enough light streaming in from around the edges of the heavy window curtains to make out the important details in the room. Doorknob. Dresser. The foot of the bed.

Then there's the most important detail: Caroline. I look over at her sleeping form lying next to me. A ray of light stretches out from a side of one of the windows and across the floor, over the bed, crossing her blanket-covered feet, making its way over her legs, across the peaks and valleys of her contours, leaving shadows where the blanket gets bunched up, past her entire form, only leaving her as it reaches her shoulder and finds that there is no more Caroline left in that direction. If she was just a few inches closer to the edge of the bed, the light would be in her eyes and she'd be awake.

But she's not closer to the edge, so she's still asleep. Good.

My hand searches the floor next to the bed and hits against the hard leather of a belt still strung through the loops of the slacks I wore yesterday. I carefully twist my legs off the side of the bed, making sure not to disturb Caroline, and pull on the pants. I bend over and find the undershirt from yesterday and pull that over my head, too.

I'm not really sure what I want to do. I don't want to leave. Not yet. I get up and pace the room, bare feet landing deliberately but carefully against the carpeted floor. I run a hand through my hair and let it rest at the nape of my neck. I pull the hand down so my chin is resting in my palm, deep in my own thoughts as I continue pacing. I run my hand through my hair again.

Can't think. I need my morning cigarette. Can't smoke in here, it'll wake her up. My head turns towards the curtain-covered sliding glass door that leads to the balcony, and my body follows. I open the door without opening the curtain and slip through, cringing a bit at the sharp morning light. I close the door behind me and pull a box of cigarettes and a lighter from my pocket. Two cigarettes left. I put one in my mouth and light it up, then slide the box and the lighter back into my pocket as I lean against the railing.

We're on the second floor of the building. That puts me at good viewing height for the occasional South Carolinian early commuter zipping past on I-95, along with a smattering of buildings and the hills beyond them. To call this place a small town would be overstating its importance. It's a glorified truck stop. But I guess that kinda suits me. Heck, I'm a mechanic. This is probably about the best place I could live.

I take a long pull off of the cigarette and hold it in, staring out at the hills, letting my eyes lose their focus. It doesn't matter where you are on the planet, the world is just beautiful at 6:00 AM. I let out the smoke and turn my wrist towards me. World's beautiful at 6:04 AM, too. Now that I'm in the light, I can see the little date marker on the face of the watch. I don't need it to remind me that it's February 15th.

Caroline. I let the cigarette burn between my fingers, just hanging there over the edge of the balcony, and look back out at the beauty that is the dawn. Wind rustling in the leaves, mist still hanging over the hills, birds flapping their wings against the wind, a person or two moving about outside one building or another. So intimate. As if, for now, those of us who are outside are the only real people in the world, and everyone else doesn't exist.

I take a final pull from the cigarette and rub it out on the railing. I slip back through the sliding glass door and look for my shirt and socks and shoes. I'm watching Caroline lying on the bed the entire time I put them on. That ray of sunlight has moved closer to her face, but not close enough. I've still got a good three or four minutes.

I pull my wallet out and thumb through the bills. Last night she said $800. I know I've got at least that much in there, but I don't feel like counting. I just pull it all out and leave it on the dresser. She'll find it when she wakes up in a few minutes. I take a few steps towards the door of the motel room, then stop. My hand reaches into my pocket and pulls out that last cigarette. I turn back and place it on top of the stack of bills. Don't know why. It's not like I'll see Caroline ever again. But it seems like a nice thing to do.

I unlatch the door and open it just enough to slip through. I figure if she hasn't gotten to the door and opened it by the time I reach the staircase, that means I didn't wake her up, and I can start pushing her out of my mind. I look out at the parking lot, trying to remember where I parked. My cell phone's in the car. I need to go call my wife.

They always thought that it would start in some major city at a high-tech biological research company. That those first infected would be some clumsy workers who had mishandled some ultra dangerous chemical compound. I don't really know who "they" were, but boy were they completely wrong...

Where it really started was in the elementary schools, in the early weeks of February. Children were getting ready to exchange gifts and cute little cards, all stuffed with those boxes of Candy Hearts. It was around this time that there seemed to be some sort of flu that was affecting young children. Parents were told to stock up on flu medicine and keep their sick children at home so as to not infect their classmates. Mothers and fathers around the country were taking off of work to be at their sick child’s every beck and call.

This just made them easy targets...

When the children turned, the parents were caught unawares. As mommy bent down to kiss little Timmy good night, little Timmy lunged forward and bit into mommy's jugular. The children made quick work of their parental food sources.

The children devastated whole communities in mere hours. Upon exiting their houses, with blood all down their clothes, concerned neighbors rushed over to assess the damage. In the instant they knelt down to examine the children, they went from a helpful bystander to a quick meal. Those who were bitten, but able to escape the children ran inside to call the police. Little did they know that they too had become infected, and that soon they would be craving the taste of blood.

The police had no idea how to deal with these children. Their instincts told them not to harm the children, but to restrain them. Yet in the process of restraining these deranged children they too were bitten. Within hours of the first sign of outbreak police forces had become infected. Within a day, nearly the entire nation’s police force had turned. People started to panic and Marshall Law was instated. The National Guard was called in to help quarantine infected areas, but the damage had already been done.

Those of us who were still human had hunkered down in hastily made strongholds. We heard media reports from the radio coming in day and night of locations where new hot zones had cropped up. The president had called for an investigation, and despite the rapid spread of outbreak, it wasn't long before an answer arose.

It turned out that the source of the outbreak was the Candy Hearts. Candy Hearts! Those chalky little tasteless mongrels had started the end of the world. Because the company had not changed their formula since its inception, people were turning into flesh loving freaks. No one had thought that, with Mad Cow disease, it might be a good idea to regulate the amount of ground up cattle hooves allowed into the candy making process. From then on it was only a matter of time for the conditions to be right for the disease to mutate. And mutate it did...

So now here I am roughly one year later, camped out inside the air ducts of a supermarket, watching a Girl Scout feasting upon the flesh of what used to be a survivor. I can see her jaws working greedily as she devours bits of flesh like her ex-patrons had devoured her delicious Thin Mints. I could easily kill her, without any compunction, but I fear that she may not be alone. The rest of her troop could be lurking somewhere nearby, their old camaraderie transformed into an animalistic pack-like mentality. Besides I had already gotten what I had come for.

I crawl along the duct trying to make as little sound as possible. I know that even the slightest sound can call their attention to my location. As I round the next corner I feel a rivet catch my knee. There is no room for me to stop and bandage it, so I continue my crawl through the ducts. I will have to check for any breaks in my skin when I reach the roof. Suddenly my confines lurch, and I freeze. With a sickening slowness, the duct buckles beneath my weight.

The duct cracks open, and I tumble face first into the already demolished Valentine's display. Flailing like a fish out of water, I right myself in time to see the Girl Scout troop come jostling into the other end of the aisle. Scrambling to my feet I try to get as much distance between the beasts and myself before they recognize me as prey. Sprinting with all my might I vault the shopping carts that are holding the automatic doors open. I pump my legs in long strides, with each one taking me farther from my pursuers. Gasping for breath I take refuge in an overturned city bus.

Shaking with the rush of adrenaline I pull my prize from my pack. It is a bit crushed, but none the worse for wear. In a world so topsy-turvy, it is the small reminders of what life used to be like that make it worth living. I brush off a bit of dust from the heart shaped box of chocolates, and stick them back in my pack. They will be worth the risk to see the smile on Kelly's face.

With trembling fingers I check first on the condition of the rest of my supplies. Then I remember that I was going to verify the status of my knee. Examining my pants I notice a large tear where the rivet had caught, its edges all frayed and tattered. Ripping them to get a better look at my knee, I recoil in horror.

Cemented to the scrape on my knee in all of its obscenely fluorescent pink color was a Candy Heart!

As if to mock my situation it read "Bite Me"...

The smell of the chocolate cake made my nose tingle in hunger, but it was accompanied by something I could not quite distinguish. Whether it was the perfume that the lady behind me is wearing, or the scented candles by the window, it was still the perfect scent on Valentine’s Day. The waiters around rushed and dozens of couples surrounded me, filling the restaurant with laughter and love. It seemed like I stuck out like a sore thumb amongst this crowd. People stared at me as they came in, why am I the only one alone in this room?

He was late again as usual. I hope just this once, he would not disappoint me, but, he still did. What would I hope from him? A poor simple guy like him is probably not good enough for me, but yet, the sparkle in his eyes seems to trap me in his grasp every single time, and the way he smiles, they were like Cupid’s. Where is he?

While amidst my thoughts, a certain tap on the shoulder brought me away from them with excitement “Miss, do you mind if I sit beside you? You seem lonely tonight” a young man, maybe just a year or so younger than I am asked. He smiled, it was the usual simple smile you see in the streets everyday. Quite a boring young lad, but he had the same blonde hair as he did. I smiled “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.” and I wavered the thought. He just nodded, and off he went out the door into the romantic night.

As the seconds passed by, I lingered. No eyes watched me, I felt safe, but what is taking him so long? Five-thirty, he said, his words were still crystal clear in my head. Just thinking of him made the seconds slower. I could call him if I wanted, but it seemed like I do not have my purse with me, do I? I averted my eyes from the couples around me as I go check my numb lap. But, unfortunately I must have forgotten it. Do I wait? Run away? What the heck should I do?

The breeze blew in, clanging the wind chimes on the door together. It’s such a beautiful winter day. I put on my coat, looked around again for a familiar face, and jealousy started to brew in. They are all happy, but why am I not? I feel like everyone is looking at me for a second, just laughing at my solitude. I better run, the atmosphere in here might end up killing me.

The attendant opened the door for me and he brought up an ugly smile. As I walked out of the glass door, I wished those heavenly lips would meet mine, but yet the longing seemed to settle. I should be able to see him any time soon, and I could imagine his face. Especially his eyes, like a window, overseeing an endless river you could stare at for hours on end. This night is perfect; the street lights offered a romantic glow on the streets of this downtown city, together with other fortunate couples. I could not wait any longer.

How long has it been since I’ve been standing here? I just hope the minutes do not seem to be hours long. Where is he? My heart questioned as it beat slowly against my chest. “Julia!” a voice rang in my ears, making me take in a quick exhilarating breath. I took my moment to turn my head to face him. Rushed footsteps overtook the evening winter air as he breathed quickly. I finally turn and how he brought a smile on my face together with the unbearable anticipation. He smiled like an angel and his eyes still sparkled. He finally reached my arms, and hugged me tight with him facing me.

I closed my eyes awaiting his lips, but the seconds seemed too long, I could feel his warmth surrounding me. I opened my eyes, and looked into his eyes once again, trying to find the spark. His eyes were not fixed on mine, they seemed to linger into something more, and I tried to look through the window, but nothing was there anymore. His mouth was wide open, face turning pale, even his rosy lips faded. My heartbeat raced in a second, things turned horrific at just this moment’s time. What was happening? He coughed on my face, and things got worse. Blood came out of his mouth, and his eyes were no more.

Was he sick? I tried to move the moment his grasp loosened, but something made me freeze. I could feel a distinct rubbery handle in my hand, and in between my fingers, warm liquid was in between them. You could not imagine how fast my heart is beating. It is probably faster than someone going into heart arrest. I quickly pulled away, grasping the handle hard, and at that moment, I wished I could just wake up from the dream. Blood splattered on the concrete sidewalk, and in my hands, I held a knife dripping from his blood. I looked at him, flat on the concrete. His white winter jacket ripped and soaked in his own blood. I looked down at my hands, what have I done?

Voices filled my head, were they cheering for me? I wanted to cry, seeing my dead boyfriend on the sidewalk. The deep heart-wrenching feeling took over me, and the guilt that I have probably killed him invaded afterwards. Why, and what had just happened? Tears came out of my eyes, and I could just feel my heart stop, but, why am I laughing hysterically? Tears came down my cheeks, and yet I still laughed and laughed.

I remember now, and I wish I could wake up from this moment, it was getting boring, but these scenes would just play over and over again in my head. I was probably knocked out in my room. This cold, dark room where they kept my hands tied, and told people to stay away from me, even him. Where is he? Why am I here? I hated it when they put me to sleep; I hope they would all just die, and afterwards, I hope I’ll be able to see his eyes again.