20/10/2001 - 6:43 p.m.

Part 5

Michael glanced out the window again. A minute later, the room was empty.

He started down the street in the direction he had seen her go. As he recognised dusk gathering, he knew he would never find her. He knew that finding her was practically the same thing as asking to get arrested. Michael also knew that he had to find her. His eyes scanned the people on the street, his heart beating every time he caught a dark haired woman in his glance.

He stopped under a street lamp, gazing into the shadows that had come out of hiding. In the back of his mind, Hercules shrugged and stomped off: this was too impossible. Michael turned to walk back home and she passed around him. He caught her elbow, unable to quite believe that he had just done it.

"Excuse me," he asked, "could you tell me what time it is?"

Lisa turned and looked at him incredulously, giving a scathing look to his arm still on her elbow.

"You have a watch," she said.

"It doesn't work," he lied. Her eyes were dark brown.

"Yes it does, I can see the second hand going round. Get away from me."

She shook herself from his grasp; why had all the loonies picked today to come out of the alleys and assult her? She turned to leave the street vowing never to return to that branch of the library.

He knew he had to do something desperate to keep her from passing out of the circle of lamplight around them.

"Look, I know you'll probably ring the police about me, and when you do, you can tell them my name is Michael White and I live on this street, Apartment 33, at the Craybil Building, but I just wanted you to know that I saw you from my window, and wanted to tell you you were beautiful."

There he'd done it, and he instantly hated himself. He wondered whether or not he knew where his lawyer's phone number was. He wondered whether he even had a lawyer.

Lisa turned and looked at him, unsure whether to be intrigued or terrified. Was he a freak or a romantic? The only way to know was ask.

"Are you a freak or a romantic?"

Michael furrowed his brow at her. This was a question that required some serious thought. He weighted the pros and cons of each suggestion in his mind, and finally came to a decision.

"Both. I'm a writer."

"Really?" He couldn't tell whether she beleived him, or if she did, whether she was impressed.

"Yes."

She smiled, and he assumed that was a good thing. She looked at him, and decided that maybe he wasn't a rapist after all. Then she admonished herself: rapists didn't look like him.

"My name's Lisa," she glanced at her watch. "It's six o clock. And I'm not going to call the police."

"Thanks."

"You really think I'm beautiful?"

"Well, um, yes."

He was embarrassed. He didn't know what to do. He'd just introduced himself to a girl he didn't know in the least, and now, he didn't want to let her go. This required something clever to say.

"I guess if you're not calling the police, you won't want my phone number," he said- absolutely not the clever thing he was going for.

Go to Part 6

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