I'm up on the gravel roof top, three floor up peering over the edge. It's dark, wet and cold – the streets of Southwest DC. It takes a certain willingness to be out here at these unforgiving hours. The November chill penetrates my bones. The icy grip will not let go, relentless. A northern gust threatens to knock me off my perch. It blows my hair in front of my face. I pull out my blue skull cap and fit it on. The pavement below is damp from the day's rain. The air is saturated, the streets are bare. Only the darkness at this hour reigns the streets. Across the street is the abandoned bookstore. Its doors and windows are boarded up. A sign of the times. I lit the beacon over an hour ago. He'll come for her, He always does. Like a lighthouse, it signals its invisible laser eye, rays of warning or relief. Her husband does not wish to be out here but he little options thanks to me. The beacon tells him she's near, that we're near. He monitored her emails and texts, blocked those whom he did not trust. Deleted phone contacts and planted an invisible tracking app on her phone that now serves as the beacon. He won't give up searching for her. He thinks he sees her in the distant at every turn of the corner. Her petite frame and shoulder length black hair, then disappears. Was it really her? His wife. She left him but she would never do that alone. She's with me. The idea that she's with me creates unimaginable rage. She can be easily influenced, he told her so. He blocked the texts and emails to protect her from my influence. Fool! No one can influence another unless it's already inside that person to begin with, that was his mistake. His absolute belief that his ways are the best for her. Actually for him. She still does not know if I'm good or bad. She questions if she really left her husband or was she taken from him? She told me I'm not a nice person. She feels bad for her husband. I'm not sure exactly what she means by that. She is free to go anytime. I hear the footsteps down the street, he comes. The click click click echo's off the surrounding dampness. His gait is always the same. He's angry and tired and cold. The darkened air cloaks me. I'd be a shadow if there was enough light to cast it. I take a deep cool breath, then exhale. Frozen water droplets float into the frosty air. She comes up from behind me and slides her warm body against mine. I pull her close. She tells me I'm not nice. We kiss. I reach for her covered petite breast and glide my hand over her shape, reminding her of her charms. A cold blast of wind, we hold tight against it. Up here is our world of love and beauty if only for a brief moment. Down there is imprisonment, real and concrete. We hide, he stalks. We're still in prison. She takes my hand and says lets go. I turn off the beacon as we walk back towards the cement stairwell to descend. Below on the darkened streets, he turns the corner and stops. We're gone.