The first legitimate "chapter". There's been no real editing here I'm afraid, so any comments in that regard are much needed. They may get longer as time goes on, they may not. We'll have to see.

Necessary disclaimer: I don't condone violence. Especially against innocent victims. This is just a story idea I've had scrawled on papers a while that's starting to expand.

Mya didn't believe in fate. It was hard to believe, considering her stance on coincidences, but fate was a terrifying thought for someone who insisted on being in control at all times. Fate was a churning mass of power, so beyond her ability to perceive, let alone change. So for that reason, she refused to think it was fate that led her into the sporting goods aisle of the store. Had she not been admiring the eternal beauty of the fake flowers, she'd have long left. It was her own choices that led her to him, she would insist to herself for all the nights to come. There was no fate involved.

No fate, while she carried on as she was, observing the perfectly groomed boy just a few feet away, scratched glasses half off his nose as he stood there, discussing the finer points of hunting rifles with a purchase in his hands.

"Heading up to your dad's again, eh?" the older man behind the counter asked, plucking a package of bullets from the glass case behind him.

The boy nodded, looking small, fragile. Like a glass sculpture that might break if it were shoved off a shelf. She'd done that before, to see if it could be passed off as an accident. Such delicate objects smashing always could be. "Yeah," he managed, meek voice deeper than his slender frame would imply, "gonna see if we can get a decent sized buck this year."

He was lying, she decided, trying to casually finger the edges of the wreaths in front of her. Something about his tone would too casual, too easygoing. He was too breakable to be able to lift a gun without trembling, and yet he did all the time? It simply didn't match, not with his eyes flashing as they did.

Fingers twirling a plastic apple stem between them, the girl could hardly contain her excitement. Finally, this little hick town was starting to produce some playthings for her. It was about damn time.

The sun had almost completely set by the time Ryan pulled into the old MacMillan property. Later than he'd like, with the reds and golds of the sky making aiming at the targets an annoyance, but it would do. Making it at all was a blessing. His stepfather had some archaic ideas about family time, which meant sitting there while the rest of them played at being a happy family. Mumbling about a science project, he'd grabbed his backpack and hopped into the Ford.

Weekends were still his, with his trips to "visit his father". Generally, it took only two hours to drive up to the house, get rid of some of the refuse lying about and get back to his plans. The demure, caring son who went up north to hunt with dear dad the alcoholic. It certainly didn't hurt his image any.

Tucking the car into an alcove- cautious didn't hurt in a place where people remembered every detail about you- the dark haired boy grabbed the Remington 7615 and bullets from the trunk of the car. By the time he'd started up the hill to his target area, the tiny little weakling he normally seemed had disappeared.

Instead, he swaggered up the hill, posture making him nearly a foot taller than usual. Without the oversized hoodie he normally hunched in, it was clear that his physicality was grossly underestimated. That was fine with him, even as he replaced the ridiculous glasses he normally wore with a more fitting pair. The boy most people knew as Ryan was fine with being a guise.

There was no worry that anyone would ever piece together the two sides of him into one whole creature. It was inconceivable. And yet.

Yet, as he reached the clearing he normally spent his time in, with no one the wiser, a figure glanced up at him. Glanced at him and smiled as though he'd been expected all along. Dressed in a white sundress, she seemed like an apparition. An impossibility beyond he had never imagined.

Perhaps that was exactly what she was, he guessed rapidly, panic turning to thought. A dream or a ghost built up from fears of being caught. Caution had made him paranoid, that had to be it.

"You wouldn't have a sweater or something, would you?" the apparition asked, arms wrapped around her torso, "I was expecting you'd be here much sooner."

Ryan, forced back to reality, forgot the first rule of gun safety and let the rifle fall to the ground with a thump.