Jakk Howler

"Have you ever been in love, Jakk?"

The question brought his lips curling into wolfish snarl. She was facing the sunset, toes exposed to the mango-maroon colored sky. He felt her slender form brush against the side of his arm, warm, gentle; then, all at once, felt the weight of her entire body as she nuzzled too comfortably against him, burrowing like a masochistic rabbit against his chest.

Women, thought Jakk bitterly. The greatest downfall of man was to allow a woman to come into their heart like Jesus and change everything about them. It came to him suddenly that the woman, whom he had quite forgotten the name of, had asked him a question to which she still awaited an agreeable answer. He refused to give her one.

"I don't believe in love." he told her.

She snuggled closer, wrapping her arms around his body. Her sympathy was apparent in her gestures. Yet he could hear the smile in her voice. "You should," she said. "It makes living a whole lot better."

"Oh yeah?" he tried to sit up straighter, but her weight was literally weighing him down, forcing him instead to surrender and lay on his back. A downed and foolish turtle. He let out a sigh, and she giggled and nuzzled her face against his throat. Her arms roamed over his thick, horse-like sides. He started to lift his arms to remove her, but then decided it was best to keep very still, least she suspect he was attempting to seduce her. He kept his arms limp at his sides and swallowed. "Do you know this from experience?"

"I do," she breathed.

"And then what happened?" Jakk asked, his tone rather brisk.

She sat up and looked down into his face. Looking up at her, the sun bleeding against her back, she appeared to Jakk like a shadow. A darkness. A thing of nightmares, whereas none of her features were able to be distinquished. She was nothing in every sense of the word. And deep inside, Jakk felt a growing sense of impatience, and fought the urge to shove her off of himself and leave her in the dust kicked up from the motorcycle they road together on.

"What do you..." she started, brushing the black strands away from her black face. "Do you mean why am I single?" she asked, uncertainty adding a quiver to her voice.

"Yeah," said Jakk. "Kind of."

"I-"

"I mean," Jakk interrupted, "How do you know that "believing in love" makes living so much better, if you lost that love? If you don't have it anymore?"

Her eyes darted, unseen. "Because I was happy with him... But then, it didn't work out... and..."

"So you're chasing your own happiness through other men?" Jakk growled. He didn't have to push her off, now. She scooted off of him and rubbed her arm, as if it stung. As she grasped for words to say, he spoke first: "How do you know loving me, or anyone else for that matter, will make you as happy as the first guy?" he asked.

"It's not like that," she said, standing up. "Love is different than happiness."

"Is it?" Jakk challenged. "When I ride my motorcycle, alone, with nothing but fields of flowers to the left and right of me, I feel happy. You could even say... I'm in love with life."

"So..." she started slowly. "You do believe in love."

He forced a laugh, sending her straight back into her internal den. "I think our definition of love is very different, my dear." he stood up, brushing the grass and dirt off the back of his jeans. "Have I ever been in love with a person? No. People change. Feelings change. You're born one way and die another. Love can't be applied to people. Love is applied to consistency. Understanding. If you fall in love with a dog, it's because you know that dog isn't ever going to behave like a cat. You trust in the way of the dog, so to speak. But the ways of men and women, they are always changing. You can try to love someone. But... as history proves again and again, people aren't meant to get married. It never works. We change, by the world, or each other, or the influences around us. Married couples may live together, but we are shaped and molded like the individuals we are." he gestured to the sunset, now a line of purple against the trees. "We each have a completely different memory of this sunset, even though we sat here together watching it." She turned and looked at the darkening sky.

"'To death do us part'," Jakk said softly. "...is just a slogan on a bumper sticker."

"You're not going to change my mind, Jakk," she said at last.

"And you're not going to change mine," he answered.
...

"It's a three hour ride to Bluewater," the tall man told the short man to his right. The short man gave a half-shrug, turning the map over in his hands. The tall man looked at the salesman. "And why haven't you claimed it yourself?" he asked. It was clear to Jakk that the speaker wasn't buying into his story, nor the map itself. But his companion was enjoying the hand-drawn details on the map, and considering the coins in his pocket.

Jakk echoed the short man, giving a relaxed, half-shrug. "I am like a hunter." he said, reusing the same lines which worked last week on an elderly couple seeking a fortune of their own. "I enjoy watching the hounds chase after their prey, hearing the bays of a successful hunt. That is enough for me. I've been alive for longer than I look: I have enough paper waiting for me in the bank."

"Then maybe we should just--"

The short man put a hand on the tall man's arm swiftly, halting him from drawing his weapon. He gave Jakk an apologetic smile and drew out his coin purse, handing over a couple of gold coins. "Whether or not there really are treasures to be found," said the short man. "I believe it is worth the ride. Man never died from having a little excitement in their lives, am I right?"

Jakk, grinning confidently, said, "I hear the women in Bluewater are quite agreeable, too. If you take my word for it, you'll find more treasure than just a box of relics buried in the sand. You might even find a few pearls."

The two men shared a laugh, while the taller man turned and grudgingly started getting their motorcycles ready.

Ten minutes after the men's departure, Jakk climbed onto his motorcycle and took the shortcut he knew to their destination, beating the other men there by an hour. He knew the taller man would talk his companion out of stopping "into the next town" so he wasn't worried about a delay.

The map he drew didn't even make sense, thinking back on it, as many extra "trails" he had scribbled onto the paper. They wouldn't be anywhere near town, which also meant that nobody in town would be able to hear their screams.

Looking up, Jakk noticed several vultures circling overhead. He had a funny thought, that perhaps these carrion knew him by now from his motorcycle; knew that he would be supplying the flock with fresh food...

When the two men finally appeared, their hands still gripping to the handle bars of their gleaming motorcycles, Jakk took aim from behind some trees, steadied his arm, and fired twice.

Bluewater... He chuckled to himself as he removed the men's clothing. Such a place didn't even exist.