"Come on... come on, damn you..."
On an old street corner, best left forgotten by the higher rungs on the ladder of society, a man was having more trouble than he should with a match. His thick, patchy Duffle coat kept the bitter air away from his flesh while he worked, sitting and back placed firmly up against an old brick building. Once, twice, three times ground the matchstick against the rough patch on the bottom of the carton, supposedly there to help him light it. If it was here to help me it'd be doing its goddamn job.
"Come on..."
He scraped the match once more, and at long last a flickering orange light greeted him. Giving a silent cry of joy, he brought the flame up to a fresh cigarette, watching intently as the tobacco slowly lit under the amber glow. Already feeling better, he put the little treat up to his lips and took a long, deep breath. The closest he'd had to calm in quite some time slowly eased through his aching muscles. It had been weeks since he'd been able to afford a pack. He intended to savor these.
He leaned his back into the wall, buffering it and his head with his flat cap. He stared up at the cigarette as he held it up against the sky, examining it. He almost wanted to laugh. "Such a little fucking thing... and you're the only luxury I got left." He brought it down for another puff, trying to relax. He could hardly remember the last time he'd slept properly. Not even a bed was required, just some piled up trash or something. But he'd been doing nothing but hunting lately.
Alas, it seemed he was destined to do a bit more. A faint noise tickled his ears, and it caught his attention. A news broadcast. Groaning and cursing more, he felt his body revolt as he tried to stand. He propped himself against the wall to make sure he could actually get to his feet, before pushing himself off a bit to stumble down the side of the building. He came to the source of the noise. The building that he chose to collapse by was an electronics store, albeit rundown, and the last working TV at the front of the store was playing a newscast.
"This is a News Fifteen special report. We're outside the Phi Alpha Kappa house near Washington State University where we've just learned that a new victim of the Fairmount Butcher has been found. The special task force is already on the case, and we've learned the identity of the victim, Veronica Micheals. We'll keep you updated on this story as it breaks."
The man groaned, popping his jaw as he dug a grimy hand into his pocket. "No fucking rest." He dug out the item he sought: a map. Folding it open and grumbling all the while, he twirled the cigarette between his teeth as he picked out the University's location relative to his. He was close. Close enough, anyways. The man felt a new fire burning in his chest as he frantically re-folded the map and jammed it in his pocket. He adjusted his flat cap and quickly began to walk down the street, muttering to himself. "Hope you haven't gone far, Butcher. Kerry Mac's got an appointment scheduled with you."
