"'Scuse me, lass, d'you have a moment?" Eric asked, tapping the woman on the shoulder. She turned, looking curious, and he gave her a guilty smile.
Politely, she replied, "Yes, sir? Is there something I could help you with?"
He scratched the back of his head bashfully, grimacing. "I hate t'bother you," he started, "But could y'come with me a moment? I'm tryin' t'pick out an engagement ring for m'sweetheart, and I could use a lady's opinion." Adding a hopeful grin, he finished, "It's goin' to be her birthday next week, y'know, and I really want it special."
Hook, line, and sinker. The woman clasped her hands together in glee and excitedly answered, "Of course! Oh, that's terribly romantic. I'd be happy to help, sir." Eric's face lit up and he motioned for her to follow, which she did quite eagerly.
"Just down here," he instructed, leading her down a side street. The moment they were both out of sight of the street, he turned, picking up his scythe that had been leaning against the wall and drawing it across her chest. She slumped to the ground, her mouth opening in surprise, but had no time to make any noise.
His fake smile disappeared at once. Face impassive, he moved the body to the side of the alley, not bothering to hide it - he wouldn't be there much longer anyway. Pulling a small notebook from his pocket as he walked away, he found the correct page and went to cross out the previous number, but paused. This woman's soul would be his 333rd out of 1000; he was a third of the way there. A third of the way to saving Alan.
Feelings conflicted between disgust and accomplishment within him, and he carried on his way just in time for the first screams to be heard from those finding the body.