Prologue
The weather was fitting; cloudy, freezing, and still. A snowstorm in the making. It was also incredibly inconvenient. Isaac’s Ford Fairmont was struggling to come to life, cold choking the battery and ice gripping the wheels in stasis. The windows had been coated with ice which cracked off when attacked with a small, plastic snow scraper and was now joining last night’s rain on the pavement in a pitiful puddle, threatening to refreeze. Inside the vehicle Isaac turned the key in the ignition over and over, pumping the brakes. This action was mindless, done without thought or sight. Much like the sky, Isaac’s head was filled with stifling, white fog; too thick for anything to penetrate be it sun or lightning. His eyes struggled to focus on the steering wheel in front of him, exhaustion carving a cavity in his chest. He was getting nowhere. He was going nowhere. He didn’t want to go anywhere. Not in this fucking car. This ugly car which used to carry twice as many people on the regular - and it never would again.
Isaac’s head fell onto his steering wheel, hands slipping off and curling into fists in his lap. He let the cold overtake him and his sleeplessness caught up to him. An uneasy, anxiety-threaded unconsciousness took his body and his brain, like the overcast sky overhead had descended to absorb him in its humid, deathly, yet comforting clouds. He didn’t feel like he slept. He never does, despite what the statistics on his smart-watch tell him. This is one of those times where he would never believe it if it wasn’t for what he woke up to.
The car was warm now. Isaac blearily raised his head off his makeshift pillow, resting his chin on the top of the wheel to observe the street. Sunlight tickled the snow on trees and a clear blue filled the heavens. Isaac sneered, perceiving the personal attack it inflicted on him. Such a day did not deserve to come today. He had much preferred the morning.
His anger was the first fully-fledged emotion he had felt today, acting to clear the brain-fog much like the sun. It cut through to his logical and rational brain, and, fueled by emotion, Isaac pumped the brakes and furiously turned the key in the ignition. As if in response to his positively dangerous wrath the Ford sputtered to life, displaying the time on the dashboard and flicking all the gauges on with such a speed that the little hand vibrated upon landing. He had somewhere to be, even if he didn’t feel like it. He had a job to do and a son of a bitch to confront.
