There was nothing remarkable about the couple, and yet, they were completely infuriating. He saw the young woman lean into the boy, taking his arm in hers and linking the two of them together, so that they became one walking down the street, their footsteps in unison, a moment of public intimacy. He picked up his own pace, moving parallel to the couple, assessing them more directly, as a misshapen anger within him grew unchecked.

Their shoulders rubbed together as they walked, and they were each hunched slightly toward the other. O’Connell could see that they alternated between laughter, smiles, and intense conversation.

He did not think that they had been together long. The language of their movements, their gestures toward each other, the way they listened and laughed at what each other said, spoke to a newness and an excitement, a courtship that was just taking root, where they were still coming to know each other. He saw the girl grip the boy’s arm tighter, and he told himself that they had already slept together, but probably just once. Each touch, each caress, each moment of exploration, still had the electricity of adventure and the heady drug of potential.

He hated them utterly.

It was not difficult for O’Connell to imagine the rest of their night. It was late, so they would decide against sticking their heads into a Starbucks for coffee or Baskin-Robbins for a scoop or two of ice cream, although they would pause outside each and make a show of considering the decision, when, in actuality, what they wanted to devour was each other. The boy would keep up a chatter about movies, about books, about courses at whichever of the colleges he was at, while the girl listened, occasionally interjecting a word or two, while all the time listening more to who he was, and what he might mean to her. The boy would need no more encouragement than the pressure of her arm. They will get to the apartment laughing. And, once inside, it would only be seconds before they found the bed and threw their clothes aside, any fatigue from the long day instantly gone, overcome by the freshness of their lovemaking.

He was breathing hard, but quietly.

That’s what they think will happen. That’s what is supposed to happen. That’s what is designed to happen.

He smiled. But not this night.

He moved in tandem with the couple, keeping his eye on their progress from the opposite sidewalk. At a corner, when the yellow WALK light flashed on, he instantly moved rapidly into the crosswalk, heading directly for them, his shoulders hunched forward, his head down, aiming just to their side. They started moving toward him, so that they were like a pair of ships in a channel, destined to come close, but slide past. O’Connell measured the distance, counting down the space in his head, noting that they were still conversing and not paying full attention to the surroundings.

As the space between him and the couple narrowed to only a few feet, O’Connell suddenly lurched sideways, just enough so that his shoulder came into hard contact with the boy’s. The solid thump reassured him, and he abruptly spun toward the couple and shouted, “Hey! What the hell are you doing! Watch where you’re going!”

The couple half-turned in O’Connell’s direction.

“Hey, sorry,” the boy said. “My fault. Sorry.” They continued on after only a momentary glance in O’Connell’s direction.

“Asshole,” O’Connell said, loud enough for them to hear, but turning away from them rapidly. They had just gotten enough of a look.

The boy pivoted, still grasping the girl’s arm, obviously thinking of replying, then choosing against it. He didn’t want to say or do anything that might interrupt the mood and turned away. O’Connell counted to three slowly, giving the pair just enough time to put a little distance between them, their backs to him now, then he started following them. The sudden blare of a horn caused the girl to turn just barely, looking back over her shoulder and seeing him. He could see a small look of alarm on her face.

That’s it, he thought. Walk a few more feet, assessing the surprise, imagining a threat.

As soon as he reached the sidewalk and saw that the girl was speaking rapidly to the boy, O’Connell ducked into a darkened storefront, shoving himself out of their sight line. Disappearing into the small space, he wanted to laugh out loud. Again, he counted to himself.

One, two, three…

Time enough for the boy to hear what the girl was saying and stop.

Four, five, six…

Turning in his place and peering back through the shadows and arcs of neon light.

Seven, eight, nine…

Straining against the darkness and night, but not seeing him.

Ten, eleven, twelve…

Turning back to the girl.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…

A second glance, just to make sure.

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…

They start off again.

Nineteen, twenty…

An extra, unsettled look back over the shoulder to reassure himself.

O’Connell stepped out of the shadow and saw that the young couple had picked up their pace and were nearly halfway down the block. He followed quickly, crossing the street so that once again he was parallel to them, half-running until he came abreast of the two of them.

Once again, it was the girl who spotted him first.

He imagined the shaft of anxiety piercing her.

Across the street, the girl stumbled, twisting, and O’Connell fixed his eyes on her, so that when she looked in his direction, he was staring hard. With nothing but anger on his face, their eyes met across the road.

The boy turned toward him, but O’Connell had anticipated this, and he abruptly started to run forward, toward the end of the block, moving ahead of the pair. The sudden, abrupt, erratic behavior delighted him. It was not something they would have expected, and he knew it would throw them into confusion.

Behind him, the young woman and the young man would be debating. Go forward, in the direction of their apartment, or turn back, find a different route. Once again, he pushed himself back into a shadow and caught his breath. He took a quick survey of his surroundings and saw that the side street behind him was lined with small apartment buildings, not unlike Ashley’s street, where tree branches stretched out into the ambient city light, giving them a ghostly appearance. Cars were parked tightly in every available space, and wan light flowed from building entranceways.

He slid from the shadows and rapidly walked three-quarters of the way down the street, taking up a position in another dark space, waiting. There was a streetlight at the beginning, and he guessed they would pass through its arc as they closed in on their apartment.

O’Connell was right. He saw the young couple come around the corner, pausing momentarily, then moving rapidly forward.

Scared, he thought. Not certain that they were actually safe. But starting to relax.

He pushed himself out, hunched his shoulders forward, and, moving at a quick march, angled across the street to intersect them.

They saw him almost simultaneously. The girl gasped, and the boy, gentleman that he was, pushed her slightly behind him and squared himself toward O’Connell. The boy clenched his fist and positioned himself like a fighter ready for the bell to sound.

“Stay back!” he said. The young man’s voice had risen, high-pitched with uncertainty. O’Connell heard the girl choke.

“What do you want?” the boy demanded, trying to keep himself between O’Connell and the girl.

O’Connell stopped and looked at the boy. “What are you talking about?”

“Stay away!” the boy said.

“Just chill, buddy,” O’Connell said. “What’s the problem?”

“Why are you following us?” This was the girl speaking, her voice a panic-laced half shriek.

“Following you? What the hell are you talking about?”