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The sun finally goes down and the clouds begin to roll in. The dark clouds block any chance of an appearance by the moon. Soft rain seeps out of the clouds and falls gently to the ground. Even though it had been a smoldering day of heat, the air is extremely cool now, producing a rolling fog that spreads itself out to every corner. The fog grips the ground tightly and crawls around the parking lot like a massive hand.

The parking lot of the abandoned factory has been empty for years. The only presence now is the fog. The pavement is cracked beyond repair as tall weeds force themselves up and through the man-made rock. The factory looms over the lot, reminiscent of a giant that once was. The hollowed brick building filled with empty space looks like a skeleton rising. Some windows have been boarded up. Some have not. The rain falls into the factory through large holes in the mangled roof. The raindrops hitting the floors cause multiple echoes that weave in and out of the empty rooms. The relentless rain continues to fall and slowly washes away the fog. The drops begin to get bigger and louder. Tiny ponds begin to accumulate on the warped pavement. There is nothing but the rain. No lightning. No thunder. No signs of life.

Inside the abandoned factory, Joe is breathing heavy. His hands are shaking as he reaches into his pockets. He pulls the worn leather case out and unzips it very carefully. He's sweating. He can't keep his hands steady or his head straight. The headaches are especially painful. Too painful to think. He feels woozy because he hasn't eaten in three days. He doesn't have to convince himself anymore that the medicine will make it all better. As long as you take your medicine, he says, you will be fine. The baggy of brown sits in the palm of his left hand. It calls to him in whispers. Mr. Brown's voice comforts him. He lays all the materials down in front of him and unzips the case, pulling out the rusted spoon. The spoon has seen many days and Joe looked to it for friendship. A friend who never let him down. It is always just sitting right there for him. He picks up the lighter and begins his ritual, completely unaware he is not alone. Something is watching.

It waits patiently and quietly in the distance. It is waiting for the perfect time to strike. It sits steady in the distance, keeping an ever watchful eye on the third floor window. A flicker of a flame illuminates the open window. The fire makes its hunger grow deeper, but still, it waits.

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