Path of the Vampire forum

Peter’s intention at the mall was to visit Jersey – to finally see the place where she worked. And she still worked there, of course, regardless of her change in lifestyle. There were perks when one’s own boss was a vampire. One didn’t have to hide and lie. Peter himself had had to slowly back out of his job at the University. Maybe he’d go back, one day, when he felt more confidence in himself. For now, however, he was content to stay at home and read. And read. And read some more, before writing a little bit. He would become an academic. He would publish papers. He could do all that from behind a computer screen, and didn’t have to talk to anyone, face to face. He’d be forgiven the eccentricity of his sleeping patterns.

The Mall wasn’t somewhere that Peter had been before. He disliked behemoth shopping centres – he always had. There were always too many people, too many things, too much going on. Mainly, it was the people. A man who was supposed to be in hiding didn’t willingly step into a crowd. He preferred to keep his head down and keep to work, or to home, and maybe the smaller, less busy cafes and shops in between. Shopping centres could be avoided, when needed.

He’d finally overcome his anxiety, however. He had visited Jersey, and then had allowed her to get back to work. And now that he was inside the complex, he was intrigued. What shops had he missed, all this time? Was there anything in here that would catch his eye? Anything that he would just have to have? Probably not. Peter wasn’t an impulsive man. But he thought he’d have a look anyway. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to keep him occupied.

Soon enough, he stumbled across the Pet Emporium. Unable to resist, he stepped inside. If nothing else, he could things for the dogs. A fresh set of new collars, maybe. Some new treats – a different flavour, just to mix it up a bit. He wondered if this was where Jersey came, when she wanted to spoil the dogs. She bought enough for them – Peter didn’t really need to buy them anything else. But they were like the children that he had never had, that he would never have, and so he succumbed to the desire to spoil them.

Although he did browse for a minute or two, he was inevitably, interminably drawn to the cages. He wasn’t expecting this. A wave of remorse and anger rolls through him; he hated seeing animals in cages. Maybe that was why he had so many dogs already, but those that he currently had he’d rescued from the shelter. They’d have been put down, otherwise. But as Peter gazed at the poor creatures kept in the cages here at the pet shop, he couldn’t help but feel sad for them. A deep sorrow that had him wanting to buy them all, to take them all home. The cages were brightly lit. Too bright. And they were small. There were toys scattered around, and water dishes, sure. The cages at least looked well-tended to. But still. Still. They were cages.

Peter would stand there, for long minutes, just contemplating the animals. He didn’t know whether he could walk away. A deep frown was etched into his brow, as his fingers clenched and unclenched in his pockets—they were always in his pockets. No, Peter wasn’t an impulsive man, not at all—but he feared, if he caught the attention of one of the employees, if they asked him whether they could help him, he’d be very impulsive indeed. He’d give in. He’d buy them all. And so he stood, still and silent, almost hoping to blend as he tried to make up his own mind.

The blood clung to her clothing and to the bottom of her shoes. Red stained her pale palms to a cross between red and brown, the color of rust. She had taken bits of snow to clean the droplets and smudges from her face, leaving blood-stained snow in her wake. She had run when she should have stayed and waited for the authorities. She couldn’t recall making the conscious decision to flee, but her feet carried her away.

She left Gullsborough for Wickbridge and circled around the streets, unable to decide between left or right. The doors to Grosseto’s repeatedly opened and closed, but the people were smiling or laughing. She couldn’t put herself in such an environment. Just the thought of the food made her stomach churn.

Instead, she dragged her feet along the pavement, leaving a line of black markings right down to the concrete. No one noticed the blood staining her clothing, not in the night. She looked disheveled, but not to the point of attracting attention. If anyone looked in her direction, she forced a smile or nodded. She knew she had time before her face appeared on the news and her description hit the newsstands. And then she would bow out gracefully, probably by her own hand rather than at the hands of a stranger.

She never meant to stumble upon the Eighth Dimension Mall, but that’s where she finally stopped her wandering. The indoor lights bled out into the night, seeming to flicker or pulse with the aid of the handicap-accessible automatic doors. The music sounded almost nonexistent from where she stood, but she knew one step into the mall would have her lost in a swirl of elevator music and cheap perfume.

Pressing a palm to one of the long glass windows, she leaned in until her nose almost touched the cool surface. Her breathing left circles of moisture that expanded over and over again to show smudges forgotten by the cleaning crew. There were so many people inside. There were so many shops. If she went inside, she wondered if she’d meld with the crowd.

Clover jerked away from the window when she heard the echoes of sirens. Ambulances. Someone had called for ambulances. Darting over to the doors, Clover followed a mother and daughter into the mall and then moved around them to a nearby clothing store. The fluorescent lighting made the bloodstains on her clothes look like black ink, but the smell gave her away.

Normally one would have had to enter the store to lift merchandise, but there were racks upon racks of shirts, pants, and nightwear. She grabbed a handful of clothes and inched her way through the doorway of the store, going directly to the changing rooms. The store clerks had been distracted by a group of teenagers, so she had no problem slipping the clothing on and walking right out the doors.

The white t-shirt fit fine, but the jeans were a little baggy and the blazer hung from her shoulders and dwarfed her form. She would have gone right out the door if it weren’t for the security guards that had gathered near the exit. No. She couldn’t go that way. Clover quickly turned and jumped on the escalators, fleeing to the second floor. She felt surrounded, trapped, and she wasn’t sure how she ended up outside of the pet store, but she went along with her instincts. If her wanderings were instinct at all.

“The Pet Emporium!” The clerk snuck up on her and mumbled a greeting, but the last part, the name of the store, came out enthusiastically. The guy practically chirped the name of the store. Clover jumped and stumbled into a few of the cages, causing most of the animals to start barking or squeaking or squawking.

"Jesus! Don't do that to someone!" Clover might have been a little louder than necessary, but her heart was pounding out of her chest.

Clover almost felt bad about her reaction to the store clerk. Yes, he seemed like a complete tool. Yes, he probably spent his time scaring or irritating his customers. He still had feelings, even if those feelings resided deep below his thick, inhuman skin. She watched the man as he mumbled an apology and wandered off in another direction. For a moment, she felt like calling him back and asking for his assistance with some made-up dilemma, but she quelled the desire.

She stood there, awkwardly, and tried to ignore the sounds of the animals. The kittens and puppies had moved toward the bars of their cages and looked out with such an intensity--she wasn’t sure whether they craved attention or violence. Blues and greens and browns. Oh my.

Someone had addressed her and she missed most of what the man said. “He did seem persuasive,” she mumbled in response. Turning away from the cages, she watched the man’s attention shift back to the animals. He was an animal lover, or at least he looked like an animal lover. Clover didn’t share the sentiment.

She rolled up the sleeves of her black blazer, first the left and then the right, but she still felt hot and clammy. The lines like fine webs over her skin looked darker along her knuckles, the only places she couldn’t remove the blood. She had scratches and grooves from the punches she threw at her friends.

“Are you looking for a pet?” Clover quickly shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket and moved closer to a cage of kittens. The animals were small and dotted with orange and white and black, definitely not purebred. One particularly colorful kitten brushed its face and side against the cage. Clover took a step back to distance herself.

The fish tanks looked more promising, but she’d already spoken and didn’t want to wander off in the midst of a conversation. Even if she didn’t enter the shop to talk or shop, she had a choice between the two.