Chapter 2

Much like heavy fog shrouds the beauty of the lake, the town Alfred lived in was a remarkable town, had it not been for the poor weather and poor vegetation. The town, Coppermills, was built in the 1920s, once called Bloodcreek since the river that ran down its side had a butcher shop at its base that constantly poured the gore into it, staining it red. Then it could have been called Buttermilk, to make it seem welcoming. But in the end the settlers decided on Coppermills. In the thirties it was nearly overlooked by the Great Depression. Food was scarce, but otherwise life went on as normal. Then WWII struck and laughter ceased. And so on and so forth. It flowed with the world's course like a leaf might on a stream.

Alfred grew up with his little brother in a house just like all the others, with blank windows and a thick roof to protect from heavy snowfalls. It was outside this house that Alfred first saw Ivan. Ivan had just moved in at nine years old, coming from Russia, and was extremely shy. He hardly knew a single word of English. When he finally mastered the basics he opened up a little and a group of friends instantly swarmed around him. Alfred fell instantly in love and watched him from a distance, still too terrified to come too close.

Now, many years later, Alfred lived in an apartment across town. He sat alone in his room, listening complacently to the television, and stared out the window. People flooded through the streets, some businessmen, others elderly ladies chatting away in groups.

Violence was unheard of in this town. Sometimes there were unexplained disappearances or one or two cases of domestic violence every few years. Otherwise people lived in relative ease. Some even kept their doors unlocked when going a short distance away for an hour or so.

Alfred always locked his doors. He stood before his apartment door, room 176, and shoved the key in.

Behind him, a young woman with a circular face, giggled at him. He looked at her, his blood leaping and boiling like a nervous tide.

"Pardon me," she said, covering her lips with the tops of her fingers, "But why do you need to lock both locks? I'm pretty sure no one is going to break in anytime soon."

Alfred laughed shortly, but it sounded more like a cough, "I'm real paranoid."

"I see," she said and went away.

"Are you hesitating?" the lock asked.

"Shut up," Alfred slapped the handle and walked away, dragging his feet, and prepared for another act of extreme violence.