A Sigh for Life's Completion

By Sara Kuhns

Forget everything you thought you knew about vampires--they just don't exist. But there are others with similar appetites and they certainly appreciate how well the folklore has protected them.

How do you deal with having to dine on the humanity you adore? Feast on the miscreants. And don't get too close to the good ones.

This is Paul Christian's choice. A seemingly mortal man, he has numerous special abilities. Unfortunately, well, most unfortunately for some, he needs human blood to survive. A low-key crime novelist, Paul leads a cautious and comfortable life-until he falls in love.

Lauren is just managing to keep her tavern open when she meets Paul--a charismatic man who carefully weaves himself into her life. Suddenly, her business picks up and she finds herself surrounded by new friends and a sense of family. And she begins to sense something else... she's just not sure what it is.

Life will change--for everyone.

A literary take on a Gothic tale, addressing alienation and the desire to belong, the hunger for love and purpose in life, and the struggle to do what is right--even if it is not what is good.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sara Kuhns
• Release date: Oct 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466082939

Sara Kuhns

One of my earliest memories is of writing. Poems, little stories by a little girl... words were the best presents that I could give. I grew up writing poetry and participated in the Chicago poetry scene in my twenties. At that time I was also painting and testing the fit of my voice in longer writings. I taught English in the public school system from some of Chicago's most challenging neighborhoods to those struggling economically in Phoenix. In both, it has been my privilege to witness the strength of humanity rising from adversity. I'm drawn to issues of social alienation; loneliness; the search for purpose and meaning in life; the tug of right against wrong within us all; and the beauty that can be found in surviving the odds. I believe is that there is probably a lot more to this world than we can comprehend and I feel that we need to question our concepts of truth and reality. It is a bit pompous to assume that we, the human race, know everything there is to know. In other words, it might be a good idea to consider the possibility that what we thought impossible is in fact, perhaps, probable.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The night was moist, sticky, air like hot breath in her face. Deena walked across the bridge bathed in the dirty yellow streetlight glow. The river flowed with silent, unseen currents and she paused to consider this as she lit a cigarette. She watched the reflection of buildings ripple as a fish jumped in the water, dark and threading into a darker industrial distance. It occurred to her to just throw herself over the side and get it over with because, she knew, they would come for her.

But, Deena shrugged, maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe there’d be a gang war and they could just all kill each other. Maybe they wouldn’t figure out that she killed him. Not too bright ripping off the boss, no matter how crooked he was, no matter how many times she slept with him. Not too bright on her part at all. But she was glad she’d killed him. She studied her hand, held it out and watched it shake. Blood had dried in the crevices around her fingernails, she wanted to pick it out, was even tempted to put her fingertips in her mouth and suck on them. But it was blood. Even more, it was an asshole’s blood. So she hiked her purse onto her shoulder as she looked back, making sure no one was following her. There was just a large dog loping away down the other side of the street. Another stray lost in the city.

Turning to move forward she stopped. A man approached, his footsteps silent on the steel grating walkway. Deena only gave herself a moment to take him in before turning to run in the other direction but the large dog she’d seen was now sitting at the other end—watching her. She ended up taking a step and pulling back, she spun on the ball of her foot only to pull back again; the man was almost abreast of her.

Don’t worry about the dog, he’s with me. He smiled as he stopped beside her.

She couldn’t wrap her mouth around a word, her heart was pounding too hard and she was holding her breath.

Just a bit taller than she, he spoke softly, Breathe.

She did. She drew in a slow breath and found herself relaxing. This man couldn’t be a thug coming after her; he seemed too comfortable with himself to need to look for a fight or bully someone.

Coming? He nodded in the direction Deena had just come from, where the dog now sat, and continued walking without looking back.

Deena felt her head bobbing up and down, even though she really, and she meant really, didn’t want to go back that way. But for some reason, she didn’t want him leaving her. It was as if she’d been waiting for him and he had finally arrived. The thought made her heart race again.

She found herself trotting to catch up and fall into step beside him; walking fast to keep up. The dog rose and padded away as they neared the end. Deena was going to say something but couldn’t remember what it was.

At the end of the bridge, he caught her hand, leading her to the shadows and guiding her to the wall. She watched him lift her hand to his lips and a thrill of expectation filled her. But he stopped short of kissing her fingers; instead he drew in a breath as he held them to his nose. He almost smiled.

You’ve been busy.

She wanted to be embarrassed and pulled her hand back. He stepped away from her and there was something about him, a scent that she wanted to inhale. She wanted to move towards him; but he stepped to the side and walked around her slowly. Deena found herself standing as still as she could; she shivered as he moved to stand close behind her and again when he smoothed his hands over her shoulders and curved his fingers around her arms, holding them at her sides.

A warmth that was not physical formed within her and seemed to flow into every point of her awareness—a combination of desire and affection, affection for her very existence. Physically, she felt she was at the point between wakefulness and sleep—floating. He brushed her hair back from her neck and Deena reached back to touch him; but he swiftly caught her wrist and pinned her arm back to her side. She felt his breath on her neck and she had a hard time catching her own because anticipation filled her. She groaned when he nipped the skin under her jaw line; gasped when a sudden pain jutted into her throat only to be forgotten immediately—for every part of her consciousness was infused with the most incredible pleasure she’d ever felt.

She could hear him sucking lightly. And she felt satisfied. Sleepy. Settling against him as his arms encircled her, Deena sighed. Her eyelids flickered. Closed.

CHAPTER 1

Sometimes after feeding he slept for days. Awareness came gradually… first the sensation of touch, that of the sheets, the give of the mattress beneath him; then the sense of space around him. The ceiling fan whupped softly, stirring the air inside the wide, windowless space that opened into another room and beyond that to another. Looking for Jonathan, he expanded his awareness to feel through the rooms of the house and found him on the second of three floors, taking care of this or that. Paul let him know he was awake even if the young man already knew. He reached further and found Lily in the backyard. Depending on what time of day it was, she would be waiting for or watching the birds, reading, perhaps drawing or painting. Rising, he stretched, took a long steaming shower, shaved, dressed and headed upstairs to the kitchen. A plate of sliced fruit waited on the counter—fresh, firm apples, strawberries, and pears with Lily’s baguettes on the side.

Light was grey outside the windows, the color of approaching dawn. Except for a dog barking the neighborhood was quiet.

Morning. Paul selected a slice from the plate and looked at Jonathan leaning against the counter. The young man nodded in reply.

Jonathan shook his head when Paul offered him the dish because he knew the man would eat everything, though he always offered to share.

Paul shrugged and picked out his next choice. Any news?

A woman’s missing.

Hmm, he had expected it this time.

They’re looking for her regarding a homicide. Jonathan shrugged.

Paul rubbed the side of his face thoughtfully; watched the outside light brighten a notch.

And a coyote took a dog right off its leash.

Really?

Jonathan nodded.

Did it eat it?

They didn’t say.

No, they wouldn’t.

After he’d gone through the fruit, he watched Jonathan clear the plate from the island counter.

I think I’ll take a walk. Moving through the house, he stopped to stretch at the door before tugging on the knob and holding it open. Are you coming? He smiled while Jonathan shifted forms.

Before turning to the street, they walked under the carriageway and into the back yard. Lily looked like an apparition in the odd pre-dawn light, white blonde hair framed her face before folding into four thick braids that she’d pulled over her shoulder and curled into her lap. She sat with a bag of bird seed nested in the braided coils and watched the early rising sparrows and finches hop around her bare feet as she scattered a small handful of seed on the ground.

When Paul gave her a Good Morning she looked up and smiled. Walking? It was his habit when he woke. Sometimes she joined him.

He nodded.

Well, I think I’ll stay back today. Lily looked at Jonathan, smiled again and watched them until they rounded the corner of the house.

Walking along the boulevard Paul remembered what the city looked like when they first bought here. It had been a beautiful neighborhood surrounding the park, reminding him of the first home he knew. Wealthy. But times changed, mansions fell into disrepair, many were even converted to apartments. No longer walking the boulevard, people stayed indoors to avoid the violence that gradually ate into the streets, businesses and sometimes their homes. And then it changed again, was changing now. Gentrification began on the other side of the nearby industrial corridor and jumped hesitantly over the wide avenue—coloring a house here, creating condos there. It was one thing he liked about who he was, watching change—seeing its cyclic nature, feeling the rhythm and moods.

He grunted, Jonathan paused and looked back, Paul threw him a thought, It’s nothing. After long sleep he was often pensive—ideas and memories woke with him, followed him through subsequent days.

Looking across the park he watched the sunlight finally untangle from the horizon; buildings and trees alike seemed to glow. He watched Jonathan’s pattern of figure eights, the sign for infinity. He circled in front, trotted to circle behind, finding purpose in protecting him. Perhaps that was why canine was the young man’s favorite shape, aside from the fact that it blended in so well; he was expected to investigate everything—which was what Jonathan tended to do anyway. Picking up a stick Paul tossed it and smiled as Jonathan retrieved and ran again before abandoning it as they left the park behind them.

They turned down a block with storefronts and two flats that were only interrupted by one condominium development. As he strolled, he felt for the presence of those in the buildings they passed. Most slept. But not all. He smiled to himself as he sensed the girl in the apartment over the bar. He couldn’t remember when he had first noticed her, it was a gradual recognition, an acquaintance of sorts… it must have been two or three years prior. She was often in her window when he took these walks and because of that he had grown accustomed to her presence. Even fond of it.

Looking up he met her gaze and proffered a single wave. He pushed a sense of familiarity toward her and she raised her hand, slowly extending her fingers and waving back. Dipping his chin he strolled on, thinking he’d like to meet this young woman who watched the street from her window.

~ ~ ~

Jonathan was taking a newspaper from the machine outside Lolly’s Corner Tavern when someone turned the lock and the door sounded like it was kicked open from the inside. The girl from the window appeared on the stoop.

Sorry. The door sticks. She toed the stop into place.

You open now?

Not really. But you could grab me a paper if you’re coming in—I mean before you close the box.

Doing so, he followed her inside, dropped the paper on the bar and looked around. Built-in booths, wooden bar, hutch, tin ceiling in fair shape.

Are you going to make an offer?

One side of his mouth pulled back. Just looking. He slid onto one of the stools, opened the paper he paid for.

She nodded, squinted at him, You look like— Nodding again, she opened a cooler and pulled a bottle out. Glass?

No thanks. He watched her pop the cap and slide the bottle over.

A car horn blared and she glanced toward the door; daylight washed over her face. He noticed her eyes were two different colors—one distinctly blue, the other distinctly green. In the light they stood out with the brilliance of gems set into her pale, angular face which was framed by dark brown hair, cut to a shaggy length somewhat even with her jawline.

When she looked back at him he was still considering them, perhaps impolitely, but she grinned. You noticed. Most people don’t in the bar.

So what do you put on your license?

They always put DI. It means dichromatic. You know, two colors.

Jonathan nodded.

She jerked her head lightly toward the bottle. It’s alright?

He checked the label, 5 Barrel Pale Ale, nodded and reached into his pocket.

Don’t bother. I’m not officially open yet so I can’t sell anything.

Tipping the bottle to her, he watched her turn away.

Going back to the paper he skimmed headlines and read captions while following but not watching the girl’s movements. She washed a couple glasses, ran a rag over the bar top, stocked the coolers and pulled out another ale, popping the top and setting it beside a photograph next to the cash register. Glancing at him she smiled but offered no explanation.

She was flipping through the mail when he folded up the paper, he could feel her irritation at a particular envelope. She tore it open to purse her lips at a bill; she didn’t notice he left.

Returning home Jonathan found them just where he’d left him. Paul was lounging in a hammock stretched between two oaks and swaying slowly in and out of a patch of sunlight as he pushed one foot at the ground. Lily sat nearby on a Craftsman style bench, drawing in the sketchpad folded open in her lap. Going to her, he bowed over to place a light kiss on her brow.

She smiled but didn’t speak; she was drawing Paul.

I was thinking, Paul glanced at him. When you finish this we should have the next gathering here.

Jonathan looked around. The quarter-acre back yard was crowded with trees—an unusual forest in the city. They’d let it go when the neighborhood declined but since the upswing Jonathan had been clearing overgrown shrubs and planning the landscaping, again. Bobbing his head lightly he moved to crouch beside the hammock, meeting Paul’s gaze.

She works at that bar below her apartment.

You went in?

Jonathan nodded.

Paul smiled and closed his eyes. Tell me.

CHAPTER 2

Sighing, Lauren flopped back in the chair. The bar’s manager, Alex, watched her flex her clenched jaw, holding her comments close. She was as mule-headed as her dad, Hank, had been. He lit a cigarette and drew in a deep breath.

They were sitting in the beer garden behind Lolly’s. Her dad’s old Nova was parked there and all but two of the tables were up-ended on others. Business had dropped after Hank had a stroke in the bar on a Saturday night. Most of the regulars who came because of Lauren’s dad continued on for awhile and business even picked up when he came back to hold court at the end of the bar, slurring through the stories with old pals—Hank’s way of saying goodbye. He hadn’t lasted long after that though and the place was like a shell without him around. It lost its heart. The changing neighborhood became a convenient excuse for most of Hank’s customers to drift away.

Alex watched Lauren pretend to study the back fence. She was trying not to tear up and he felt like a bastard. If he wasn’t hard on her, though, the place didn’t have a chance. It almost didn’t anyway. Out of habit he flexed his bicep and stretched his arm out to the side. Taking a last drag from the cigarette he crushed it under his thumb in the ashtray, rose and leaned against Hank’s car. He had good reasons to stay with this sinking ship. The most obvious being that Hank had set him up with a paycheck for five years after his first stroke, the one that didn’t take his mind. He’d wanted someone to look out for the Lolly’s—his daughter and the bar.

Alex had a personal interest too—this was destined to be a prime location and he had a vision for it. Unfortunately, Lauren owned the building, the bar and the license. As it was, she was just making enough to pay bills, taxes, license fees and keep the place adequately stocked. Not a cent of profit—hardly enough to pay Olive, their other bartender, minimum wage. And still, Lauren didn’t want to change a thing.

Lauren, Alex sighed. The old-timers aren’t here anymore. If you don’t make some changes Lolly’s will just be an eyesore that the people moving in will avoid.

She replied flatly, Olive wants a karaoke night.

Fuck karaoke. He lit another cigarette. We could start with the jukebox. Might be nice to have some selections from the current century.

She instantly grew all glassy-eyed again.

It’s been three years but you haven’t changed anything. Sometimes I walk in and half expect to see your dad standing there. He paused, spoke softly, It’s okay to move on. I think Hank would expect it.

Jukeboxes are expensive.

It’s a business expense, you can write it off.

Let me think on it.

Now she sounded just like her dad. Except when Hank said he’d think on it that meant forget about it. Alex hoped he was swaying the girl somewhat. Sure, maybe at twenty-six Lauren was old enough to run her own business but he didn’t think she seemed to have the balls to make it successful. He’d noticed lately when the nighttime crowd arrived she tended to slip into a barback role. Maybe he intimidated her… he hated to admit it but he hoped he did. Then he could make some changes. But he couldn’t tell—she wasn’t easy to read. Always polite, usually quiet but friendly enough, she seemed to be holding back. Drawing on the cigarette, he looked at the back fence too.

~ ~ ~

A week later, Lauren stood in front of the jukebox. Two hundred vinyl forty-fives of songs that her parents thought would get the joint jumping. Or something like that… Led Zepplin, Rolling Stones, Roberta Flack, Marvin Gaye, Michael Jackson, Rod Stewart, Queen, Al Green, Black Sabbath, even Captain and Tenille for crying out loud… Alex was probably right—but these were the songs of her whole life. The ones Dad used to sing and dance to around her when he’d had a few.

Hey Lolly. Lolly!

For a moment she thought her dad was calling her; but it was Jasper, the only regular left from the old days.

Lolly, you got some customers!

Striding back to the bar she squinted at him. What’s my name?

Lauren, he rolled his eyes, turned to the people down the counter, she acts like I didn’t know her from when she was yay high. He held his palm face down just below the height of the stool.

Following his gaze she was surprised to see four people had come in. Two figures silhouetted by the light from the door were sitting at the end and a young man with a guitar and a girl with a fiddle were walking toward her. She thought it sounded like the start of a joke… so this guy with a guitar and a girl with a fiddle enter a bar, right?

Guitar guy spoke up, Lolly’s a good nickname; you should keep it.

Lauren nodded, I don’t really have a response for that but I’ll think on it.

It’s like that chorus from the campfire song, the girl sang a few notes, in a remarkably clear voice, hey lolly, lolly, lolly, hey lolly, lolly, low…

I didn’t go to camp, I came here.

Guitar guy spoke up brightly, And today, campers, we’re going to learn to mix drinks!

Pretty much. Lauren couldn’t help smiling. What can I get you?

An audition.

If I had any connections other than the Rockola over there, I’m sure I’d see what I could do.

He glanced at the jukebox. It’s a classic. Tapping a hand on his chest he said, I’m Shamus and this is Natalie. I noticed you don’t have live music and you might be figuring out that we don’t have a gig. He grinned.

Lauren thought he was sort of cute, in an elfin way. You want to play for me?

That’s the idea.

Alright. She shrugged, want a Coke, Sprite or something?

Water’s good.

Lauren filled a couple of water glasses for them. Wait ‘til I take care of these gentlemen, she motioned toward the silhouettes, then I guess we’ll all give you our opinions.

That’s great. Thank you very much. He smiled broadly. Natalie was already taking out the fiddle.

Jasper leaned over to him, I’ll tell you what I really think too. I’m very honest.

That’s cool. Shamus nodded amicably.

Moving to the other end, Lauren set out cocktail napkins, Sorry about the delay. She looked up, What can I get you two?

The older man spoke up, I’ll have whatever you’ve got on tap.

Harp, Guiness, Pabst…

He shrugged, Eh, I’ll have a Pabst.

And for you? She looked at the younger man, he seemed familiar—and good-looking, with his dark hair and eyes that smiled at her. And perfect skin. Flawless.

Guinness. Please.

Got it. She angled the glasses under the tap so there would be just the right head on the beers. Wondering if they were father and son she eavesdropped on their conversation.

The older man was describing a crime scene that sounded pretty disgusting, ending with, Yeah, it was gruesome alright.

Lauren set their drinks in front of them, Are you guys cops? She looked from one to the other.

The younger man pointed at the older one who held out a hand for Lauren to shake. Detective Lou Fisker. Homicide. Retired and enjoying it, thank you. And in the corner here, managing to both slouch against the wall and lean on the bar at the same time, is Paul Christian, civilian.

Paul dipped his chin and winked at her when Lou kept talking.

This fellow, he’s like a little brother of the elderly—picking my brain for important information. Now he winced and shrugged at the same time, you could say he makes me feel relevant. And it’s not, he shook a finger at Lauren, because he has an unhealthy interest in the macabre. It’s purely professional.

Wow. A professional interest in crime, she raised her eyebrows at Paul, that could mean many things.

Don’t worry. He writes those crime stories that take place in the city here. And…

Take a breath, Lou, Paul smiled lightly. Those kids over there are waiting to audition. He smiled again, looked at Lauren.

Yes… thank you. She tapped her fingers on the bar. I’ll be looking for your input, if you don’t mind.

I’ve got a good ear, Lou tapped an earlobe.

Paul gave a thumbs up. Lauren thought she could feel him watching her as she walked away but she wouldn’t let herself look back. She smiled to herself. She wasn’t really used to being looked at, certainly not when she was in her dad’s shadow. And since Dad died? She found she was scared—about making mistakes, about who to trust… She knew thinking like this didn’t make her very accessible, she knew that—but it was what it was. It left her a little short on friends. Like, with none.

You guys ready?

Yup, Shamus nodded.

They walked to the center of the room, bowed their heads and Lauren heard one almost whisper, One, two, three.

Then Natalie looked up and launched a cappella into an Irish-sounding ballad. She paused and started up again with Shamus accompanying on guitar and adding vocals for a chorus; he sang the next verse while she tucked the fiddle under her chin and accompanied. Lauren thought it was those fiddle notes that made her eyes tear a bit. Folding her arms across her stomach she blinked a few times and concentrated on watching their body language. The song finished on just a single note from the fiddle that faded sadly into the air. Lauren nodded.

Natalie held up her hand, Wait, we want you to know our variety.

They performed four songs by other artists and ended with a sultry, bluesy version of School House Rock’s Conjunction Junction that left Lauren with a grin. She knew she wouldn’t get the lyrics out of her head for the rest of the night.

Shamus approached the bar as Natalie put the instruments away. Well?

Have you guys not tried anywhere else?

You didn’t like us?

I just can’t imagine a place set up for music not wanting you.

We’ve been told we’re all over the place.

Excuse me, Jasper sounded impatient. You’re supposed to get our input too.

Lauren looked at him, Okay?

Yeah, he nodded, they’re okay and your dad woulda liked ‘em.

Lou called out, you’re kind of weird but you got my vote.

Lauren walked toward him, noticed someone else had joined them. She smiled at the big-shouldered, blonde guy that gave her a newspaper the week before. What can I get you?

5 Barrel’s good. He nodded.

Grabbing a bottle from the cooler she popped off the top and handed it to him while looking at Lou, What did you like about them?

Anyone that sings Hank Williams is okay by me.

She looked at Paul, Well?

They are all over the place but they’re entertaining.

And you, she looked at the other guy, did you hear them?

He shrugged, they’re good.

Paul spoke up, What do you think?

I like ‘em. But the guy my dad hired to help me with the bar probably won’t.

Why not?

Hmm. She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. I get the impression he wants this to be a sports bar. Looking around she tried to picture numerous TVs on the walls and shook her head. No way.

It’s your bar? Meeting his gaze while he studied her, she nodded. He repeated his question as a statement. It’s your bar.

Stepping back she bit a nail as she looked at him. She was trying to figure out how to make things work and considering Paul at the same time; noticing his liquid brown eyes while thinking maybe she shouldn’t be so worried about making mistakes. What was the worst that could happen? Well, aside from going out of business. But she was close enough to that anyway. Okay, I got it. She turned to the musicians, Shamus?

Yes Ma’am. He met her half way.

Leaning across the bar she lowered her voice, I can’t pay you a guaranteed fee but I’ve got an idea. I think it’ll work but you have to promise, promise not to tell Alex. Are you following me?

Cloak and dagger. Shamus nodded.

I’ll give you any night of the week, your pick for like, three months. I give you and Natalie ten percent of the drawer… that’s where I’m going to lie, okay? If he asks, I’m going to tell Alex you’re working for tips. I’m not doing so well—so ten percent can range from fifty to two or three hundred dollars. It’s usually on the low end. You do the flyers; I’ll put an ad in the local entertainment papers. Maybe we can help each other out.

He thought a moment, You can do this? You own the place? He evaluated Lauren as she nodded. Is Alex like your husband who’ll kick my ass?

Lauren couldn’t help the laugh that jumped out of her. My dad hired him, he’s the bar manager. Not a bad guy but he’s not a match for me. She chuckled at the thought.

Shamus looked at Natalie, who nodded. Okay. They both stretched their hands across the bar to shake on it.

What do you call yourselves, anyway?

We were kinda thinking Tramps and Thieves, it’s from an old Cher song.

I know. It’s in my jukebox.

So, what’s the next great story going to be?

Paul glanced at Lou, I’m kicking around some ideas—that’s why I called.

You could just watch the stinkin’ news; I don’t know what the heck’s wrong with people. Lou shook his head, Man, I sure miss smoking in the bars. I’m gonna grab one outside, I’ve got something in the car for you anyway.

Paul watched him lumber out the door before turning his attention back to Lauren. She was getting the names and phone numbers of the two musicians, checking their IDs and finally, giving them a couple of beers. Glancing his way, she smiled and her smile looked like she had a secret. He was a bit charmed by it. More than a bit. She moved over to the man she had scolded for calling her by a nickname—the bar’s name. Jasper she called him. Lauren had a different energy now than when he’d first come in. Then, standing in front of the jukebox her presence ached lightly, as if she was missing someone or something. Now, she was filled with nervous anticipation, a lilt was in her voice. And her peculiar eyes were dancing.

He was aware of Lou coming toward the door before his smoker’s cough announced his return. Dropping a file folder on the bar, he hefted himself onto the stool. Copies of the odd parts of some old files from home. You know that last book of yours, the one where you thanked me in your dedication? Lou shook his head, that was sure something. Looking at Jonathan, he grinned, you got quite a boss here.

Cocking an eyebrow, Jonathan repeated, Quite.

Glancing at Jonathan, Paul suppressed a chuckle and opened the file. Leafing through the pages he scanned paragraphs of crime scene descriptions, copies of photos and an FBI profile. This was a serial?

Yeah, about twenty years ago.

Was it in the news?

Not much, you know, they don’t much care about the prostitutes; And on our end, connections weren’t made right away and by the time they were, well, he was already a goner. It was disgusting.

Hmm.

Yeah. Something got to him… you’ll know what I mean when you look at those pics. Not too far from here either. His last vic was the only one on this side of town, turns out he knew her.

Paul nodded. The nature of his life was that he was often in situations to observe things that would normally not be seen—some more memorable than others. As such, Paul recognized two of the photos, the last victim and the killer. He remembered what the man had looked like when they’d come across him. It was ironic that he, himself, would use the word inhuman but it was appropriate. The memory disturbed him.

Turning to Lou he considered the man’s profile. Thanks.

He winced, Just try to make some sense of it.

I’ll do my best.

Lou offered a short laugh, That’s usually pretty good. Look, I gotta go. The wife’s waiting.

Lauren watched Shamus and Natalie pouring over the selections in the jukebox. Apparently they were big fans of the seventies. They’d picked the coming Saturday to start. It was already too late to place any ads in the entertainment paper but they promised flyer saturation.

One side of her mouth pulled back when she turned to look at her Dad’s photo by the cash register. She’d given him a shot of whiskey today. She whispered under her breath, They love your songs, okay Dad?

See you tomorrow, Kiddo. Jasper stood beside the barstool, shorter than when he was sitting on it. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing. Your dad would be proud of you for following your gut.

Even if he wouldn’t’ve done it?

He waved his hand, like shooing a fly. Eh, that’s not the point. He looked around, I know that you know that I’m the only one a the old crowd left. I mean, I really know it if you know what I mean? Hunching his shoulders up he raised his eyebrows, A lot of ‘em are gone… but just ‘cause you’re doing something different doesn’t mean you’re forgetting about ‘em. He leaned forward with a grin, Okay, Lolly?

Okay. She half-smiled, watched him hike toward and out the door. Retired Detective Fisker followed, seeming to be twice Jasper’s height, until he also stepped down to the sidewalk level.

Checking on Shamus and Natalie, Lauren thought they looked like they were planning where to set up and what, if anything, they should stand on. She was glad they had ideas about that, she sure didn’t. Grabbing a rag she wiped her way to the customers left at the end of the bar—Paul and the paper boy, Lauren turned that over in her mind—it sounded like a children’s book, except Paul would have to be a blue dragon or something like that. Not the, well, not the guy she was aware of near the door.

Something else?

Sure. The same. Paul closed a folder before handing it to Paperboy.

Setting their drinks in front of them, Lauren smiled. I haven’t had this many people in on a Wednesday afternoon in years… if ever. As if six was a crowd. She looked from one to the other, Well, I’m Lauren, you’re Paul and you are still the guy that gave me a newspaper last week.

Jonathan.

Great. And you guys know each other but it’s none of my business. However, she looked at Jonathan, if you guided this gentleman and his friend to Lolly’s, I’ll give you another free drink.

Thanks but I’m good. And Paul’s my boss. He’s quite a guy. A suggestion of a smirk crossed his expression.

Paul shook his head, leaned back to look at Lauren. You seem pretty happy with your decision.

I am. I’m doing something different—at least for me. Have to admit, though, I’m a little nervous about the post-happy crash.

Maybe it won’t come.

That’s like saying tomorrow won’t come. As if on cue, Alex’s car rumbled around the corner. No Olive to drop off, she only bartended weekends. Screwing her mouth to one side, Lauren watched it pass as he looked for a spot. Butterflies didn’t flutter, they fought in her stomach. She wanted to confide in someone, she wanted someone to bolster her decision to make a decision. She thought she heard Paul say, You’ll be alright. Looking at him she smiled, Thanks.

He tipped his head, watched her.

And Lauren felt compelled to meet his gaze, his dark eyes.

Paul stood up, reached over to touch her arm. Hold your ground. If it doesn’t work it won’t be the end of the world.

She grinned, Thanks. She felt big inside. I’m giving you a free drink if you come in again too.

I can’t pass that up.

She watched him move to the door with Jonathan and collected the money they left on the bar. The tip was too much. She looked up to see Alex stop to let them pass. Paul paused on the step and offered a wave that was more a flick of his wrist. Lauren suddenly remembered where she’d seen him before. Half-smiling, she waved back.

~ ~ ~

Paul stood at the mission style table in the center of his second floor office. It was meant for dining but he liked the space it provided to lay out his sources and ideas. He’d separated the parts of the file that Lou had given him and beneath each case were copies that Jonathan and Lily had made of any news articles that alluded, however briefly, to the life, disappearance, kidnapping, or subsequent murder of each victim. The prostitutes were first, receiving virtually no media coverage. As Sidney Stanley Thomas’ crimes escalated in their volatility, apparently the boldness of his choices did as well—streetwalkers to call girls to mistresses and finally, a housewife. Regardless, no person deserved to die the way Thomas had killed them. Even Paul could see that. In some ways, he thought, it didn’t matter what he did because people would always, always do worse.

Walking around the table he looked at the stories being told. Sometimes pausing to look at a picture, article, or report, other times to close his eyes and see the images that crossed his own mind. He shared these with Jonathan who stood off to the side, eyes following what he touched.

Paul stopped and setting an article back in its place looked at Jonathan and gave him a thought. I like her. Something about her moves me… Looking away, he sighed, feeling vaguely irritated with himself. And I’m hungry—the food isn’t filling me.

Paul moved around the table and Jonathan could feel the ache of attraction emanating from the man. He almost smiled with the thought of Paul finding a partner, a lover, someone to fill the empty place at his side. It’d been too long. He watched the man go over to an old, framed map of the city and surrounding towns dated a century earlier. Archaic, it did not reflect the frenetic change of the area; but it was good enough for them because, unlike the subject of Paul’s next novel, they had no desire to be discovered. Paul chose an area opposite in circumstance and population from his last.

Midnight found him in an alley, near the rear entrance of a huge, condemned apartment block. It was an area that had slid into decline and didn’t seem to have a hope of climbing back out. In some ways, this made Paul a bit sad. Staring at the halo of a streetlight he reached and felt the area with his mind. A homeless man he’d come across before slept in a stairwell on the opposite end of the structure and Paul found himself a little pleased at the familiarity.

He was aware of Jonathan, back in the shadows. And a short block away a man lapsed painfully into unconsciousness while two young men ran away—from their apparent victim. Paul touched them both with a suggestion, something worth following and without a thought they turned to jog in his direction. When they were close enough, just around the corner, he let them rest, panting. He felt first for the strongest and healthiest and then for the one who felt no guilt, blood pumping in exhilaration. Tonight they were one and the same. Paul pushed thoughts at him, listened to him tell his friend to go on, he had some business to see to. One came around the corner while Paul sent the other away.

Meeting the young man’s gaze, he almost smiled and turned to enter the building. The young man followed and Jonathan entered discretely after them both. Paul took the stairs at a comfortable pace, letting his need trail after him until they stood in the same vacant apartment. He had learned not many could resist his hunger when they thought it was their own.

Scowling the young man shook his head, What the hell… He shook his head again, slapping his forehead as if it would wake him up.

Walking around him, Paul inhaled. He pushed his desire until the young man’s breath increased with it; then he pushed insensibility and watched the young man sway and nearly swoon. Catching him against his chest he slid his arms around him, bowed his head against his, held him close for a full moment, listening. Anticipating. He could hear his pulse, then feel it as he pressed his lips to his neck; his tines projected through skin and muscle and into the artery, then retracted, bringing the taste. And while the pleasure of the minutes was not sexual, it carried the same urgency—the need was for relief… from hunger and the emptiness it created. It was all he knew; his only awareness was drinking. Until he was full.

Sinking to the ground with the body, he took the last from it that was possible and felt the sense of gratefulness that came with satiety. He looked at the young man, who now seemed not much more than a boy. Drawing a hand over his face he closed the boy’s eyes, rose and moved to a window. The warmth spread through him, not unlike the way alcohol had felt when it still affected him. Lifetimes ago.

A metallic clink caused him to turn. Paul watched Jonathan crouch over the body, customized folding hunting knife in hand—to change the nature of the wound, which usually was an understatement. Who knew what a crime lab would do, could do? Fortunately, for him, the elements, rodents and insects tended to take their course before bodies were found; because sometimes bodies were found.

Giving his attention back to the street Paul folded his arms on the window sash, set his chin against them. He stood there, listening to the scrape of rodents in the walls, the floor creaking as Jonathan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and the odd gnawing sound of whatever he was doing with the knife. He heard the crack of bone splitting but didn’t look back again; he had enough grotesque images in his mind.

Done.

Avoiding the body, Paul moved out to the hallway. He liked to walk a bit after feeding, even when the atmosphere wasn’t inviting. It was a time when he was slow and thinking of sleep already. And when the neighborhoods were challenging he often walked in the charred darkness of condemned buildings. They were safe enough for him. He thought ahead to Saturday, that perhaps he would go to Lauren’s. He was full, content, and this gave the attraction a comfortable place to settle inside him. Smiling to himself he considered the inky space ahead of them before turning toward the stairs at the other end.

As they drew closer to the man in the stairwell, Paul could feel Jonathan’s urge to steer him in the opposite direction.

Paul glanced over, We’ve met this one before.

The man woke when they were on the flight above him. Paul went down alone, found him hiding behind a mildewed square of old carpet. Pulling it away he viewed the man gently.

The man squinted, even in the dark. You’re the angel.

That’s what you said last time.

A lot of people dying round here but I don’t see you for a long time. I mean a long time.

No, you haven’t.

So who’s takin’ them?

Paul thought about the crime in the area, the people preying on each other. Others.

You comin’ for me now?

No.

Why stop?

You were here. I thought I should.

Where’re your wings?

Stepping back, Paul gave him an image of wings, stretching from wall to wall behind him. The man smiled.

Go back to sleep. He said it and the man did.

~ ~ ~

Police cruisers and unmarked cars, as well as a wagon from the morgue, were parked somewhat haphazardly by the alley entrance of the condemned building. A uniformed officer was apprising a detective of the situation.

You’ll find the witness very useful, sir.

The detective looked at the uniform, and why’s that?

The uniform read flatly off a notepad, He said, ‘The angel of death was here. He does that every now and then. Visits me.’

The detective looked at his partner, Guy’s got connections.

His partner jerked his head in the direction of the homeless man, It doesn’t seem to be doing him any good.

Yeah, you’d think he’d have a better set up.

CHAPTER 3

Sitting in a corner booth, Alex bit into his takeout double cheeseburger. He was chewing away his anxiety. When Lauren had told him she was having a live band on Saturdays for the next three months he didn’t let her know he almost had the same stroke her dad did. He didn’t even ask how she was paying them and she didn’t offer. Now, taking another bite, he was watching this collection of pixies set up a makeshift performance area with amplifiers and microphones. He realized that he had told her they needed to change things but he couldn’t quite figure out where this came from. It wasn’t exactly a new jukebox.

On top of it, she was glowing. Moving efficiently up and down the bar, glancing up at the duo as if they were her children… tonight she actually looked like she owned the place. He smiled to himself. If this had anything to do with the talk they had the week before, he supposed he should feel pretty good. What the heck. Pushing the last bite into his mouth, he washed it down with beer and shrugged. His check was the same no matter what he did. He’d see how things went.

Sliding out of the booth he balled up the bag and watched Lauren as he finished his beer. He had always thought of her as Hank’s kid. Tonight, though, she seemed grown up. Crossing the room, he leaned on the bar.

So what do you want me to do tonight?

Lauren took the balled up bag from him and tossed it in the garbage can. What you always do, I guess.

Live music changes things.

Biting her lip, she scanned the bar before looking back at him. People drink, people talk—what changes?

He grinned, Well, if things work out you get more people for one. More people, more potential for problems.

Hm. Lauren rapped her fingers on the bartop. Think we should check I.D.s—I mean, if it looks like more people will show up?

Sounds good. When are they planning on starting?

Well, Shamus said he’d like to try three half-hour segments—at ten, eleven and twelve.

Odd.

It’ll be like having a lounge act. Brow wrinkled, she nodded, then shrugged. Yeah. A lounge act.

Looking at the duo and the two friends helping them set up, Alex couldn’t help but wonder at how thin they all were. He looked back at Lauren, Do you think I should offer to feed them?

~ ~ ~

Retired detective Lou Fisker sat at his dining room table staring at his microwave entree. He didn’t have a wife anymore and his kids had moved to both the coasts—not, he hoped at least, to get away from him. It was Saturday night and he was lonely. Maybe if he didn’t lie to people and tell them his wife was waiting, maybe then they’d invite him out or something. But it was embarrassing, embarrassing to have your wife leave after you retired.

He looked at the T.V. glaring at him from the corner of the living room. He hadn’t touched it in months, having gotten sick of looking for something to watch amid the glut of reality shows. Hooking reading glasses over his ears he perused the movie section of the daily paper before shoving it and the untouched microwave dinner away. He opened the writer’s last book, read the dedication again—it thanked him and an officer from the small, downstate town of Handy for their invaluable assistance in seeing the story told in the approximation of true events. For without your guidance this story would just be fantasy. He looked at the cover. It was about a series of kidnappings and murders in the late sixties. Lou had read the book twice.

He considered the file boxes stacked in one of the corners of the dining room. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d made copies of certain cases over the years but at some point he’d started bringing things home. It sure had been useful when the writer called. He wished he had the man’s number, he could go for a drink and a rehash of old times. Paul seemed to be about the only person who could stand listening to him drone on about this case or that case anymore. He supposed that was why the wife left. He had retired but never quit. And she never really understood how some cases never stop eating at a man’s mind.

Pushing the chair back from the table, Lou went about getting dressed; finally, checking his revolver and slipping it into his holster before donning his jacket. A man of complete habit, he continued to dress like he had on the job every day since he made detective. Besides which, he believed that once you were on the job you had a duty to continue to serve and protect—even after retirement.

Double-locking the door behind him, he headed out to his car. He wasn’t sure where he was going but anything beat sitting at home and staring at the walls again.

~ ~ ~

Lauren felt giddy. Shamus and Natalie had a great first two sets and more customers had arrived before the last one. She hadn’t seen this many people in Lolly’s since the months after her dad died. Of course, that only meant that about eighty customers were sitting and milling around but she wasn’t going to complain—it was more than twice as many as they usually had on a Saturday night. It seemed that Shamus and Natalie had invited all their friends and maybe some of their relatives; many of them resembled each other—perhaps it was just the similarity of the clothes they wore. She also thought most of them looked like teenagers but Alex had assured her they all had good IDs and suggested she was just getting older.

Either way, this was a stark contrast to her dad’s customer base, which had an average age of sixty. The exceptions were mostly the group of Alex’s friends who came regularly because he threw the occasional free drink their way, well, that and because they were his friends. Funny to think, his friends used to be the youngest group in the place and tonight they were the oldest. Except for Jasper.

Lauren couldn’t believe Jasper had shown up. He said that he wanted to support her. And sweetheart that he was, he’d come behind the bar to wash glasses and occasionally serve. Grabbing a tray, Lauren went out into the room to collect empties and wipe up spills. Glancing back she saw Shamus leaning over the bar with a slip of paper that he was reading off to Jasper, who listened intently before nodding with enthusiasm. Olive stood near them, smiling and chomping her gum while listening in. Heaven only knew what that was about.

She was about to pick up her first empty when a young man lurched past, knocking roughly into two other customers. Taking two long strides, Lauren caught the customer’s arm. He turned in surprise.

Hey!

Hey yourself. While he was still surprised, she pulled him back to the people he’d bumped into. Apologize.

What? He tried pulling his arm away.

She was pleased to realize that years of carrying cases of beer in and out of the cooler and upending chairs onto tables so she could mop the floors had given her quite a grip. She leaned towards him, This is my bar. It’s not a dive and it’s not your house. Apologize to the people you barged into. He did nothing and she glared.

Fuck! I’m sorry.

Lauren turned to the couple, that good enough?

Both smirked, one said, Perfect.

She turned back to the young man, swaying a bit in place, Are you a friend of Shamus or Natalie?

He nodded.

She released his arm. Don’t embarrass them, okay?

He nodded again and Lauren watched him weave away. Collecting empties from the tables and booths she worked her way around the edge of the room, took them to the bar and was ready to start over again from the other side.

Interesting way you have of handling your customers.

She looked up to see Paul leaning against the back wall and shrugged. It wouldn’t have worked if he was bigger than me.

I suppose not.

Or sober.

That too.

So did you just get here?

Pretty close. How’s the night going?

I can’t believe it. These guys have a lot of friends. I hope they come back next week. She moved to stand beside him against the wall, You know, I thought you looked familiar and I finally placed you. It’s the way you wave. She imitated how he waved from the street and at the door of Lolly’s.

He smiled, That’s very good. It’s all in the wrist, isn’t it?

I think so; it’s much better than a parade wave—obviously more memorable. Do you need a drink?

Jonathan’s getting them. But thanks.

She scanned the room: Alex was looking big as he leaned on the jamb of the open door, chatting with one of his friends—he had a crazy habit of flexing his arm and rubbing his bicep while he talked. His other friends had moved down the bar and one was checking out Olive and her tight jeans while she made change for Jonathan; only one other person seemed to be waiting for a drink. Jasper had disappeared. Lauren bounced the tray lightly against the side of her leg as she looked for him. Not necessarily an easy task since he was so short.

Going on tiptoe, she looked over the room again before turning to Paul. You’re taller than me, can you see Jasper?

She watched his eyes as they swept across the space; he smiled lightly and tipped his head toward the front. He’s by your musicians.

Jonathan walked up, handing a bottle to Paul and nodding at Lauren.

Hi, Jonathan. She grinned then looked at Paul, What’s he… she stopped when she heard Jasper’s voice over the microphone. He was standing on a chair, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, holding the paper Shamus had read to him earlier. He brought it closer to his face.

Ladies and gentlemen. Pausing he looked over to Shamus but spoke into the microphone, Is this thing on? Okay. You can hear me? I should tell them who I am? What do they care? Waving Shamus off, he looked back to the customers as if the young man was nuts. He began again but didn’t read from the paper Shamus had given him. I probably need to adjust my hearing aid—especially because I don’t want to miss a single song these two sing. Aren’t they just beautiful young people?

Almost everyone clapped or hooted. Grinning, Lauren stepped back to lean against the wall. For some reason she felt proud of Jasper. He continued, apparently ad lib based on Shamus’ expression.

You know, these two were gonna call themselves Tramps and Thieves but they changed their name and I’m glad because I don’t think Shamus is a tramp or that Natalie is a thief. So let’s give a really good welcome to Jukebox! He looked around for someone to give him a hand off the chair and grinning from ear to ear handed the mike to Shamus.

That was Jasper everyone. Please give him a hand because we do care who he is.

Lauren bit the inside of her lip against a rising surge of emotion. There was such a familiar feeling…

Alright, everyone listen up. Her dad held up a hand until everyone was quiet. It’s Lolly’s birthday today and I wanted to do something special. Unfortunately the group of you refuse to go anyplace else on a Saturday night, on Christmas Eve no less, so we have to celebrate it here.

Everyone seemed to cheer when he hoisted her to one of the table tops.

Hey Sweetie. He spoke into an unopened bottle of beer then held it to Lauren.

She leaned forward, touching the neck of the bottle, Hi Daddy.

Tell everyone how old you are today.

She leaned forward again, Ay-yate.

He looked at his customers, Christ, do any of you dinosaurs even remember being eight?

A woman called out, I can’t discuss that in front of the kid, Hank.

He pointed at her, Watch your mouth, Sue. Everyone else, we’re gonna sing Happy Birthday to Lolly eight times—and I don’t want it to sound the same way twice. Got it? Rita, you start, you got the best lungs here. Yeah, you do that, put out your cigarette first.

Gathering Lauren in his arms, he paraded around the bar while everyone sang Happy Birthday eight ways from Monday. She giggled and laughed when her dad joined in, when he nudged her cheek with his five o’clock shadow and especially when he said,

Reviews for A Sigh for Life's Completion

[wifilibrarian · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I really like this book. I hope more people find of about it so I'm giving it 5 stars. I've not really read anything like it, but it does have a touch of the romantic and emotional tones of Anne Rice, but focused much more on humans and how we would react to finding out about supernatural creatures, who weren't necessarily bad, but did have to kill to live like any animal including man.