I was so cold. The air around me was like ice, and I pulled my jacket around me tighter and pulled the zipper up all the way to my neck. I wanted to find somewhere, any where so I could just duck in and get warm.

       There. A coffee shop stood right across the street and I ran towards it, dodging a snowplow, and dashed through the doors into the warm air that waited inside.

       I got a few dirty looks from the people who sat next to the door, but I ignored them as I went to the barista and ordered a hazelnut infused blend with two shots of espresso. I had a job to be at in half an hour, and I didn't want to be sleepy.

        I took the coffee and found a place to sit at a two person table with these tall stools, and pulled out my laptop. I might as well watch AHS while I could. I pushed play and was immersed in the Asylum (season 2). Just as Bloody Face was opening the freezer to reveal the body of the reporters girlfriend, a someone tapped my shoulder. I jumped, almost spilling my coffee.

        "What the-?" I look up to see one of the waitresses.

        "Sorry to scare you like that but that guy over there is staring at you." She says, flipping her long brown haor over her shoulder and nodding subtly to a booth in the corner.

        I take a deep breath and ask, "Creepy or checking me out?"

         "Both actually.....I would be careful." She replies and walked away.

          Shaking my head I go back to my computer but not before pulling out my phone in the pretense of taking a selfie.  I angle the camera and see him.

       After taking a quick snap I look down at the photo. Dark jacket, green eyes, light brown hair with blonde highlights, dark jeans, pointed features with a nice jawline. The nose is a little long and there is a scar running down the left cheek but he is without a doubt one of the cutest guys I have ever seen. But something disturbs me. He seems to be looking straight at the camera like he was pained, like he recognizes me even though we have never met before.

       "Looking at something?"

        I jump and look up to see him standing beside me. His voice is deep, but not scarily so. Nevertheless he just scared the shit out of me. I hide my phone in my pocket, or try to, when he grabs it and looks down at the picture.

       "Not very subtle are you?" He asks with a slight smile.

        "Well neither are you. The waitress saw you staring at me, and I thought it would be fair if I got to see what you looked like." I say, snatching my phone back and putting it in my pocket.

          He grins. "Hmm. Well, if we are going to stalk each other, we might as well know each others names right?"

         I narrow my eyes. "Right." Now that he was standing in front of me I could feel something tugging at the back of my mind....a memory of some sort but I had never met him so why.....?

         "Harriman, Kyle Harriman." He says, extending his hand.

         "Marisa Jameson."  I reply, taking it. I am startled when he pulls my hand up and puts it to his lips lightly.

          "Great meeting you Marisa. Do you mind if I sit with you a while?" He gives me back my hand and I'm blushing like crazy and I want him to. I really want him to because I felt something when he did that. Something deep inside me that stirred like it had been asleep a long time and had just woken up to the fresh air. But the clock refused to let me have the time.

           "I'm so so sorry, really but I have to go. I have work." I say, quickly putting my laptop in my bag and grabbing the remainder of my coffee. When I look back up the look of disappointment on his face is almost comical.

          "Oh. Well....could I at least have your number?" He asks. I grin like an idiot at this.

          "Sure." I say and write it down. Then I'm turning away, going out the door, and I can feel his eyes boring into my back the whole time.

************************************************************************

He watched her as she walked away, her short dirty blonde hair wind blown and messy, but beautiful as always. No matter the name, her face and appearance looked almost identical in each form. He had recognized her immediately of course. He always did. He knew her every curve, her every flaw and every perfection better than he knew himself. Its always how it was and will be. He just had to figure out a way to keep her alive. And most importantly she had to be safe from him.

         He looked down at the paper in his hand, amd the numbers that were on it in purple writing. Even her writing stayed the same. That slanted, slightly curled lettering that confirmed it. It was the same penmanship that was in all their letters from the past. He remembered how he kept them with him, and when technology advanced, his keepsakes became pictures to. He smiled slightly in remembering the 70s, when she had that "More peace less war" shirt and those circular sunglasses. And in the 20s when she had much shorter hair and worked in that speakeasy.

       But every time, like all his memories with her, it came to a bloody end. And always the same. That damned knife. That bastard killing her. The same damned curse that kept them in this endless cycle of love, death, and rebirth......

        It ended now.