When he made his way out across the vacant lot, dawn was burning off the last of the night. The slightest bit of rain had fallen the night before, creating a mist of fog that crept along the ground. He walked slowly, methodically, as if he did this every morning.
To all sides were the foundations of houses-houses that would never be finished. He supposed the frames had gone up five or six years ago, only to be left abandoned when the housing crisis hit. For some reason, it enraged him. So much promise for a family and a builder, only to end up failing miserably in the end.
Against the fog, he looked gaunt-tall and thin, like a living scarecrow. His black overcoat blended perfectly with the light gray wisps. It was an ethereal scene. It made him feel ghostlike. It made him feel legendary, nearly invincible. He felt as if he were a part of the world and it, a part of him.
But there was nothing natural about his presence there. In fact, he had been planning this for weeks. Months, really. The years that had come before had really just ushered him along, pushing him toward this moment.
He walked through the fog and listened to the city. The hustle and bustle lay perhaps a mile away. He was in a forgotten part of town, decrepit, a part of town that had suffered economic collapse. So many dead hopes and dreams littered the fog-strewn ground.
It all made him want to burn.
Patiently, he waited. He paced back and forth with no real purpose. He walked along the edge of the empty street and then into the construction area among the skeletons of houses that never were. He stalked about, waiting for another figure to show itself in the fog. Knowing that the universe would send it to him.
Finally, it appeared.
Even before the figure came fully into view, he could sense it through dawn's weak light and the slithering fog. The figure was feminine.
This was what he had waited for. Destiny was being knitted together right before him.
With his heart thundering in his chest, he stepped forward, doing his best to seem natural and calm. He opened his mouth and started to call for a dog that was not there. In the fog, his voice did not sound like his own; it was thin and wavering, like a phantom.
He reached into the pocket of his long coat and withdrew a retractable dog leash that he had purchased the day before.
"Sweet Pea!" he called out.
It was the sort of name that would confuse a passerby before they had time to really even give him a second glance.
"Sweet Pea!"
The figure of the woman came closer, stepping through the fog. He saw that she had her own dog, taking it for its morning walk. It was one of those small pretentious dogs, the sort that looked more like a rat. Of course, he knew this about her. He knew just about everything about her morning schedule.
"Everything okay?" the woman asked.
He could see her face now. She was much younger than he was. Twenty years, at least.
He held up the empty leash and gave the woman a sad sort of smile. "My dog got loose. I'm pretty sure she came this way, but I don't hear her."
"Oh no," the woman said.
"Sweet Pea!" he yelled again.
At the woman's feet, her little dog lifted its leg and peed. The woman barely seemed to notice. She was looking at him now. Something very close to recognition filled her eyes. She tilted her head. An uncertain smile touched the corners of her mouth. She took a tiny step backward.
He reached into his other coat pocket and wrapped his hand around the handle of the hammer he had hidden there. He brought it out with a speed that surprised even him.
He struck her hard on top of the head with it. The sound it made in the quiet lot, in the blanket of fog, was almost nothing. Thunk.
Her eyes went glassy. When she collapsed to the ground, the traces of that small smile were still at the corners of her mouth.
Her little dog sniffed at her and then looked up to him. It gave a pathetic little bark. He stepped toward it and growled lightly. The dog peed a little more, backed away, and then went running out of the lot, its leash dragging behind it.
He pocketed the hammer and the useless leash. He then looked down at her body for a moment and slowly reached for it, the only sound left that of the dog's barking, echoing endlessly in the rolling fog of morning.
