This was when the magic began. At sunset on Malibu beach. She stood at the edge of the water, studying the oranges, pinks and yellows of the sky as the weary sun lowered steadily, drowsily dipping below the horizon on its way to slumber.

She took a deep breath and let it cast its spell. Her bare toes flexed and clenched the gritty, yet soft, feel of the wet sand as the gentle breeze lifted and played with her waist length blond hair, causing soft strands of it to dance around her freely. It was chilly-it was only spring yet. Even in summer though, the beach cooled down quite a bit as night approached. This was the time of day she lived for. It was the only time she felt true freedom and serenity. Sunset, then twilight-ensured night, with its magic, would follow.

The year was 1966, and Leslie felt more than thrilled in the fact that she'd been able to rent a small house here, so close to the beach. She'd always been drawn to the ocean. She loved the sea-it must have been in her blood, as her mother had harbored that same love for the sun, the sand, the shells, and the sound of the waves, especially at night. They lulled Leslie to sleep with their quiet, steady monotony, a gentle promise that the sea would be her guardian. There was a peace in that.

She was solitary. She'd lost a lot in life, and even more of her faith in things...well, mainly, in people. They had lied to her, stabbed her in the back, abandoned her, even left her in death. She knew it was no reason to feel sorry for herself. No one is immune to tough times. But just the same she had decided to embrace a solitary life. To guard against more of that hurt. One can only be so solitary-it was all relative. But even if she had to face people during the day, she could always look forward to the night... and the anticipation always began moments before sunset.

Leslie was 29, and she knew that most young women her age were either married, or close to it. She had no prospects, and wanted none. She told herself she could do without men. They only hurt you, cheated on you, took from you, abused you. She'd always been attracted to the "bad boy" types, but now that she was gaining some maturity, she realized she'd only sabotaged herself. She'd had choices-plenty of them, and still had made the wrong ones. And sometimes she feared the damage had been done and she was already jaded.

Was there such a thing as finding a kindred spirit anymore, as her grandmother would have put it? She wouldn't allow guys access to her-she didn't even date anymore. She couldn't deny that she felt vague yearnings; often they were a hell of a lot more pressing than vague. She did want that special someone to spend her life with, but she shrank away from opening her heart long enough to be hurt again. And she was so tired, for one reason or another, of having to say goodbye.

So Leslie was drifting, day by day and moment by moment. She didn't have a job, didn't need one. Her parents' death had resulted in enough of an inheritance that she didn't have to worry about working. Not if she lived simply. She had no need for fancy things anyway. But that was detrimental in some ways because it gave her so much free time to think...damn too much time to think about her lack of satisfaction and fulfillment in life. So she had been volunteering at a homeless shelter for the last few months. It gave her a satisfied feeling inside, knowing she was doing something charitable for those less fortunate than herself-but there was still no denying that an enormous, gaping hole remained, and she wasn't sure how she was going to fill it.

Yes, she was lonely. It had taken a very long time to admit that to herself. She turned her head to the moon. She spent a lot of time looking at it-almost as much as the ocean. It seemed to weep softly with loneliness too. Far away and untouchable. She felt an affinity with it. When it was full she felt some unnamed and untamed longing that tugged at her as surely as the moon influenced the tide.

Restless yearning. If there were any way to describe how she felt, that would be it.

Leslie walked along the beach slowly and aimlessly as the twilight melted into night, as smoothly as dawn would transition into daylight.

She walked until midnight-nearly four hours, although it didn't seem nearly that long; restoring herself with the moon's gentle glow and the sea's ebb and flow. She never wanted to go home after her walks, as her bed was empty and cold around the edges, and complex emotions crept in. Emotions she would not have been able to explain had someone asked.

As Leslie entered her little cottage, she smiled at the orchids she loved to grow on the windowsill and in various spots that were sunny by day, around the living room. They always cheered her. A few were preparing to bloom. Mostly yellows and pinks. Later on she might get some purples and reds, even some speckled browns.

She only had one bedroom-it was all she needed. Add the kitchen and bathroom, a small laundry room, and that made her home. It was plenty for her. She had a big window out of which she could view the ocean whenever she pleased, which was often.

She fixed herself a mug of hot coffee with plenty of cream and sugar, and sat on the couch, sipping it, pulling her feet up and underneath her, contemplating the ocean only 50 yards beyond.

She was a dreamer, and that could lead a person into trouble. Dreamers tended to expect a bit too much. In her case, it was romance. Reality had never agreed with her much, and she shrunk from it as much as possible. She preferred to imagine how things might have been different had she not been so foolish. Had she chosen her friends, and especially men, more carefully.

She had always fallen for the handsome, irresistible men who were too aware of their appeal. They always seemed to end up having at least half a dozen other girlfriends, and she had always found this out after she'd fallen for them. In truth, they had only visited her when it was convenient for them. She had been just a plaything. She could see it all too clearly now, but at the time she'd been naïve enough to think she was the only one. That she had really mattered to them. She should have realized that wasn't the case when they rarely took her out to dinner, or anywhere really, instead wanting to do little else but have sex with her. There were never any little love notes or cards, no flowers. No sweet gestures.

If only she could have seen it from the outside in. But she was too close to it, wanted it too much. She'd been blindsided every time, never learning not to be gullible. It had happened one too many times, and now she felt sure she had no more trust to give.

That night, by the time Leslie finally fell asleep at 2:30 am, she dreamed of a tall, dark handsome stranger. She wanted to be near him, but he kept drawing away. He was always just out of reach. Not in an obvious way, but still unattainable. She strained to reach him as if everything depended on it, but there seemed to be hidden restraints.

When late afternoon finally arrived the next day, it found Leslie at the shore, her toes sinking eagerly into the sand with abandon. Sunset was very near, and people had gone back to their homes, once again making the beach hers alone. There were some lavender hues in the sunset tonight. Every sunset was just a little different –each had its own mystique. As twilight set in, and then, slowly, darkness, Leslie was in her element once again.

Freedom.

Her spirits lifted and she felt she could dream freely, with none of the accompanying commotion and disorder of daylight. Night was unassuming and unobtrusive. Like a night creature who roams after dark, Leslie never gave much thought to the possibility of meeting up with some ill intentioned character.

So she was taken aback rather abruptly when she spied a figure not far away. At first she thought it was a figment of her imagination, an elusive vision, or that perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her. But as she watched, she saw that it was obviously a man standing at the edge of the water, looking out on the ocean, just as she so often did. A tall man, six feet or maybe a little more, and something about his stance caught her scrutiny. There was a plaintive air about the way he stood there, not moving much, and with his hands loosely clasped behind him, at the small of his back.

She stood there silently and stock still, hoping he wouldn't notice her. She wondered if she could outrun him. It was possible. She was a fast runner, and she would have an approximate 75 foot head start. But she wasn't overly worried about it, as his posture seemed to convey apathy. And apathy usually doesn't run like the wind.

She wondered what he was doing out here. He might have driven to the beach, but people don't usually do that after dark, except possibly with a lover. But not alone—not as a general rule. It was much more likely he lived nearby. In the many months she'd been coming out here at night she'd had yet to run across anyone except the very occasional couple, which, of course, she steered clear of.

She decided not to head home just yet. Besides, he might see her if she moved. That's what she told herself—but in reality, he held her interest. She was curious about him and his motives for being here. She felt a little protective of "her" beach, but reminded herself that there was no law keeping other people from using it too—and that included at night.

He had a lanky body, long legs, and, even though the moon was only half full, Leslie could tell he had dark hair, and she thought she saw wide sideburns too, but couldn't be certain from this distance. He wore boots—strange footwear for the beach.

After what seemed a very long time, but was in actuality only fifteen or twenty minutes, he began walking slowly in the opposite direction. Leslie sighed in relief. If he'd headed in her direction, he surely would have seen her. She felt more than a bit spooked, and decided to go home just in case he should decide to change directions and head back her way.

It was silly, but she felt infringed upon. As though he'd violated her somehow—trespassed on her territory. But a public beach was just that—public. He had as much right to be out there at night, or any other time, as she had.

The next day Leslie got up early, having nearly forgotten about the mystic man of the night before. Oh, he was there in the back of her mind, but she dismissed it when the thought of him popped up. In the light of day, the thought of him didn't seem so threatening. She did her usual errands in her older, yet usually reliable little car. She stopped by the library, being an avid reader, then it was the grocery store , then to the post office to mail a few bills. When she got home, she took a nap. It would enable her to stay up later for her beach walk. What a life I have, she thought. Her high point of the day was walking on the beach at night. But, at the same time, she realized, a lot of people didn't have that privilege and she knew she should count her blessings.

The moon was becoming fuller every night. Just two nights later, it was easier to see sharp shells and avoid stepping on them, but it also illuminated her more, and she could have done without that. She wanted to be left alone with her thoughts and dreams. Sometimes she felt just a touch vulnerable, although generally not, as the sea had a calming effect on her.

A half hour after the sun set, Leslie strolled along like a vagrant, letting the water slosh over her feet and wondering idly what most people would be doing this time of night. Parked in front of the television or reading a book, or maybe making love. Going out on a date to the drive-in movie, stopping by a fast food place afterward. Not having a boyfriend had its negatives, but added up to more positives when she actually tallied it. She didn't have to answer to anyone this way—could be who she was without trying to alter her basic personality to make someone else happy. Could do what she wanted, when she wanted. Didn't have to consult anyone. Or cater to their bad moods.

She was lost in these thoughts when she felt the hair on her arms suddenly prickle and stand straight up. She had goose bumps too. That was a foreign sensation. She wasn't cold, but she definitely had the creeps. And right out of the blue like that. Trusting her intuition, she looked around cautiously.

There he was.

The man she'd almost forgotten about. The man she'd seen only a few nights ago. This time he was closer—barely 30 feet away. This time she knew she was in immediate danger of being spotted by him. Not knowing what else to do, she froze in her tracks. He was looking out at the sea again, as he had been before, but at any moment he could turn his head toward her direction and see her.

She pretended to look out at sea too, surreptitiously eyeing him out of the corner of her eye. If he saw her, she certainly didn't want him to see her looking at him. Anything could happen… he could chase her down and rape her, or worse, rape, torture and kill her. No one would ever know, as they were the only ones out there, and the sound of the waves might well drown out her screams.

Oh my God, why didn't I realize this might happen again? She chastised herself inwardly. What a stupid move! She'd been too complacent in assuming she'd never run across him again. In fact, she'd never really seriously considered it. Now, because of her carelessness, she'd put herself smack in the middle of a clear and present danger. He could overpower her in a second. She weighed all of 115 pounds. He sent out a robust, compelling vibe. Apathetic or not, he had a presence that she could feel even from here. He seemed to emit a quiet power. Contemplative and melancholy, maybe, but also commanding. How did she get all this from a mysterious man, alone on the beach?

She just about jumped out of her skin when a voice suddenly came out of the night.

"You shouldn't be on the beach alone at night." A distinctively southern accent. A slow, lazy drawl. Almost certainly Texas in origin. He hadn't even turned his head in her direction. Somehow that made it even more creepy.

Oh my God…

Without a second thought, and acting purely on instinct, she turned and sprinted into action, running as fast as her feet would carry her. Panic was infiltrating her with each frantic stride. She imagined him close behind, chasing her, and this only added to her terror. She initially headed toward her house, but realized that if he were watching her, assuming he could still see her in the dark at that distance, that she shouldn't go directly to it. So she made a very wide circle and entered from the back, which would be blocked from his view. She dared a quick glance behind her and felt dizzy with relief when she realized he was not in pursuit.

Walking into the house, she didn't turn the lights on right away, and made sure both front and back doors were locked. The house was situated a full half a mile from where she'd encountered him, but still she wanted to take no chances. She lived alone, and it wouldn't take much for him to discover that. Her house wasn't in close proximity to others so she was fairly isolated, which made this scenario even scarier. She suddenly wished she owned a large, protective dog.

Her heart pounded in her ears and her breath came in gasps from the exertion and the fear. She shook, vibrating from the inside out. This man could be anyone, capable of anything, and she'd run across him twice in just a few days' time. In the dark, and alone. A warning bell went off loud and clear in her head. She must not let this happen again. She had to be more careful.

For the next three nights, Leslie did not venture to the beach. She was too afraid of what might happen. Even if he were completely harmless, it was way too risky to chance it. As a result, she felt like a prisoner in her home.

Mike was worried sick when she didn't show up for three nights running. What if something had happened to her? What if someone had, in fact, attacked her? He almost felt as if he knew her, after watching her these last few months, and her sudden absence ate away at him. He hoped she showed up soon, because he didn't know how to find her, and the trepidation of not knowing was really getting to him. He'd not watched where she'd gone at night after her walks out of respect for her privacy.

By the fourth day, Leslie realized that forfeiting her walks on the beach was not an option. For some reason, this bright, new day brought her courage. After mulling it over for a while, she no longer felt fear, but instead resentment and anger. Who did he think he was, approaching her on a dark beach? Intruding on her privacy? Scaring her like that? She now refused to give up her nightly walks. They were a staple in her life, and too important to give up. She was upset with herself for ever feeling like she had to give it up. She wouldn't. She had to come up with a plan…

It was simple, really. She would just start walking in another area, away from where she usually walked. That would solve the problem, and that guy could also have his privacy. Everyone would be happy.

First she had to decide where she would walk, and it was on her mind later when she put in some volunteer time at the homeless shelter, serving food. She did whatever needed doing, whether it was distributing blankets, clothing, food or merely being there for someone who wanted to talk. The local homeless people who were regulars knew her and were always glad to see her. Many were amazingly cheerful, even though life was tough for them. Others were often grumpy, and many were sad and depressed. Each required different approaches, but hey, she was good at it. Communicating came naturally to her. She was proud of herself for helping out—for doing some good, however trivial it might seem. She wanted to take them all home, but also knew that wasn't possible, and so she just did what she could when she could.

Mike felt terrible, positively rotten. He'd scared her badly. So badly that she'd run as if a demon were after her. That hadn't been his intention at all. He'd only wanted to warn her. He felt like kicking himself now. It was just that a beautiful young girl like her should not be wandering on the beach alone at night. It was only a matter of time before some unsavory character victimized her. And he just hadn't been able to remain silent about it any longer. He hadn't approached her really. He hadn't even looked in her direction. He'd tried to be as nonthreatening as possible. But he'd felt he had to warn her. And look at what had happened…

But what could he do? People had told him he could look intimidating. So common sense said he wouldn't appear particularly benign to her either. And the fact that he didn't smile a whole lot just made it worse. Now he knew for sure that she clearly saw him as a threat—precisely what he had wanted to warn her about. Predators. But how was she to know he wasn't one? And why did he even think she'd listen to him?

He'd been watching her from afar for months, never getting close because of the fear of what had now actually happened. He couldn't be out there on the beach every night, hovering around, making sure she wasn't attacked. Yet, he'd found himself doing something close to just that. As often as he could, he would escape the Pad, then find her, and stay in the background and watch for possible victimizers.

He'd never forget the first time he'd seen her. Her form against the background of the ocean had nearly taken his breath away. Her long hair, having a gossamer look as it fanned around her in the breeze. Her slender body, feminine curves. She looked more like an angel to him than anything else. He'd actually wondered at first if she were an apparition. But no… after he'd seen her for the second and third time, he knew she was real. It wasn't just wishful thinking.

Just about every time he'd hit the beach at night she'd been there, so he knew she had to live in the general neighborhood. And apparently made a nightly habit of this. He had come out onto the beach himself when he felt the need to get away from his roommates, or when he just wanted to be alone to think. Maybe ponder some woman, or do some philosophical thinking. Mike had always been a thinker. Sharing a room with Micky wasn't exactly the most peaceful, quiet existence. Micky was a great guy, as were all his roommates, but sometimes Mike just needed some quiet time, and the others knew this. So they never questioned his frequent moonlit walks. He'd kept his discovery a secret.

Finishing up her talk with Mrs. Marston at the homeless shelter, Leslie realized it was time to go home. Mrs. Marston was in her late 50s, with very little family left, and she and her daughter lived at the shelter. Leslie always looked forward to seeing her, as Mrs. Marston adored Leslie, eyes glittering when she saw her. And Mrs. Marston always had interesting things to say, as well as being fascinated with Leslie's various points of view on life. So they made a habit of talking for at least an hour every time Leslie came to the shelter. More often, it was two hours. Mrs. Marston would talk of the "old days" and her happy childhood. Leslie often wondered how Mrs. Marston and her daughter had come to be homeless, but she felt it wasn't her place to ask. When Mrs. Marston was ready, she would tell her.

It amazed Leslie how much of an effort Mrs. Marston put into looking decent. Combing her hair, putting on make up from her quickly dwindling supply, and making sure her clothes were always clean and mended, if not varied. Leslie had tried to buy her little gifts, but Mrs. Marston insisted that Leslie's company was more than enough. So Leslie would sit and eat lunch with her and her daughter. Her daughter, Veronica, was in her 30s, and very shy, and, Leslie suspected, somewhat challenged. Veronica didn't talk much, but she did seem to listen to and enjoy the interaction between her mother and Leslie.

Now that the day was over, Leslie looked forward to going home, eating dinner, then going for her beach walk. Damn! She'd forgotten about that pesky man! She would just have to take her car and go to a different area of the beach if she didn't want to have to worry about him appearing. What a nuisance. She felt annoyed and irritated at the inconvenience. But it was the only way she was going to get to see her sunset and have her walk, and she was not giving that up for anyone!

Hopping into her little car, she picked a place about a mile from home. She realized she probably should have gone a little farther, but she doubted he would walk that far. Both times she'd seen him, he'd been in roughly the same 150 yard radius.

Mike had seen her get into her car. He'd seen the area she'd come from too, and now had a pretty good idea of approximately where she lived. This behavior was so atypical of him. God, he felt like a stalker! He wondered where she was going, and then it occurred to him that she might be planning on walking in a different area to avoid him. Mike was bright—a very quick thinker, and he'd been thinking about it for the last three days. His long legs carried him quickly behind her. She was driving very slowly, so he had no trouble keeping her taillights in sight. It was quite a walk—somewhere close to a mile, but at last he saw her pulling into a parking space and getting out.

Again he thought to himself about how foolish she was being. Not only was she going to be out alone again after dark on the beach, but she hadn't even bothered to venture that far from where she'd seen him the last time.

He let her enjoy her sunset, then when twilight had almost turned to darkness, he made his move. This might be his last chance if she decided to start walking miles away, or another beach altogether. It was now or never…

He approached her as casually as he was able to considering he was a tall, imposing man, and she a petite woman, in near darkness. A complete stranger to her. He knew how she'd react—exactly as she had a few days ago.

"I thought I warned you about being out here alone at night," he said softly, trying his best to sound nonthreatening. He saw and heard her gasp, saw her eyes widen in the dim light of a nearly full moon, seeing and realizing briefly that she was a bit older than he'd thought. He was closer physically to her than he'd ever been—barely 10 feet away.

As he knew she would, she turned on her heel and took flight. Seeing no alternative, he ran after her.

Leslie was more afraid than she had ever been in her life. This probably crazy man out here on the beach, pursuing her in the dark. And he was closing in fast…