The Mist of Death Chapter 2

Two weeks earlier...

Ezra had just awoken from an unusually fitful sleep. He remembered the horrific nightmare he had just experienced. He shuddered at the memory of his bones being snapped, one by one in to fragments and splinters. As he turned on the lights of his quaint second floor apartment building. He felt the usual remorse of moving to Chicago. The busy, bustling people and the crowded, noisy street made it impossible to sleep. He looked to his right nightstand and saw the source of his night terror. The book "Daemones Malificarum," a text that his friend Aaron had recommended. Ezra had not seen him in what seemed an eternity. The only break from the silence is the communication through E-Mail and social networking sites.

"Damn," Ezra said groggily, shaking his head.

It was only 3:37. He almost felt sorry for himself. Out of his group of friends, he was the only one who suffered from a schizophrenia. His case though instead of hearing voices, he suffered from lucid, realistic night terrors. He groaned as swung his legs out of his full-sized bed. As he saw the picture of his recently deceased fiancee, he felt a pang of remorse for almost practically causing it. He remembered the day it happened. He had been renovating the den, and then an old nail from the original structure had fallen. Ezra had not seen it. Julia, she had stepped on it. She'd contracted tetanus the next day. He had been helpless and distraught. He had had watched his beloved die of thirst right in front of him.

"She couldn't move her damn mouth," he sobbed miserably, breaking into tears.

He headed to his area with his treadmill and his '99 Mac desktop. He fired up his treadmill. He set it at a measly five miles-per-hour. As the machine started to hum, Ezra began his warmup. After the quarter mile was done, he set it up to a good ten miles-per-hour. After about a mile and a half, the phone, next to his computer, rang. He quickly jumped off, and stopped the machine. He strode over to the phone, and answered it with a curt 'Hello?'

"C'mon Ezra," the caller replied "is that the way we talk to old friends?"

"Jared?" Ezra inquired.

"Who else would call this number?"

"Good point. So what's up?"

"Nothing, just got you a..."

"A... what?"

"A... a... date!"

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"You seem so down all the time, so I decided it'd be a good idea to spice up your life, you know, romantically?"

"I appreciate it, but I am not going on a date."

"Seriously? You've had over a year since... well... you know what I mean. So, it's time to move on!"

"Alright, fine, but I want a picture of her first."

"Who said it was a she?"

"Very funny, now fax me the photo."

"Alright mister tough-guy, it's coming."

Thirty seconds later, his fax-machine began to purr and hum. The photo of the young woman was stunning. Yet something about her thin, tanned face, dark-maroon hair, straight white teeth, and large green eyes seems off. She seems to have a strange aversion to pictures. Only God knows why, I mean she's gorgeous.

"Alright, I'm interested. Where and when do I meet her?" Ezra asked.

"That's my boy! I'll send you the address right now." Jared responded.