- I -

The days had already begun to darken, and the nights grew increasingly cold. The leaves had started their journey, downward spiraling from the heavens to their cold, earthy grave below. She could feel a storm is brewing. The heavy clouds that enveloped the sky, so dark and so thick that not even a ray of sunshine could seep through, confirmed her suspicion. The grass, once soft and green, had lost its edge, browning, decaying, and crinkling beneath heavy feet. There was a chill in the air that bit the bare flesh it passed, raising small hairs on the skin with the goosebumps it left behind. Soft, thick fabrics wrapped tightly around her body tried to ward off it's presence, but still it lingered, lashing out from within as it made its descent deep into her lungs, filling it, chilling it, and marking its territory. Minutes began to feel like decades, hours like eons, as the autumn warning crawled slowly but surely to winter's frosty wrath. There was a strange feeling of confidence in the air, as though Jack Frost himself knew his time to reign neared. She walked swiftly as though her body were involuntarily trying to keep up with the thoughts that seem to pass through her as cold and hastily as the late autumn breeze. Her mind erratically jumped from memories of him to thoughts of the accident, from the familiar touch of his fingertips to the strange smells of the hospital. Still, she continued on her journey home, allowing her body to follow the path it had been conditioned to know as well as she knew the scent of his cologne while she absently surrendered to the thoughts that consumed her mind.

He walked surrepititiously behind her, each step careful, each movement exact, completely aware of his surroundings and utterly conscious of his target. He paused, setting down his black leather briefcase without a sound and kneeling to tie his boot. Though he bowed his head to face his matte black boots, his focus remained on her - the gentle clacking of her white stiletto boots on the dry, naked pavement, the quiet rustle of her smooth, white leather knee-length jacket against her dark, tight-fitted jeans, the clinking of the keys hanging from her right hand, also gloved in white leather. He stood and continued to follow her, his pace slow, steady, confident. He watched her as she treaded up a short flight of concrete steps that lead to an old building on their right. He walked by unnoticed as she opened the Venetian door of the front entrance and vanished inside as the first drops of rain began to fall.