Chapter 12
Ican't go back to the hospital. The gravity of witnessing that kind of tragedy still sits like a lead weight in my chest. Even now, days later, the memory of that mother's wail haunts my dreams.
I need a different approach. One that involves as little trauma as possible. Maybe that’s selfish of me, but I’m not strong enough to witness that sort of agony again.
These past few days of being holed up in my room have given me plenty of time to think.
Too much time, really. The walls seem to close in a little more each day, but it's better than facing Ambrose after our last encounter.
Like before, I only venture downstairs for food, timing my raids on the kitchen for when he's elsewhere in the house or outside.
So, I’ve been thinking. If I can't handle the emotional toll of watching people die in hospitals, what options do I have? I’ve been mulling over ideas, and though I don’t have any solid plans, concepts are beginning to take shape in my mind.
Ambrose isn’t in the kitchen or the living room when I go downstairs in search of him, so I head toward the open doorway across the living room. There, in the midst of thousands of books lining the walls, is Ambrose, sitting on a recliner with a novel in his lap.
His gaze flicks up to me over the top of his book, but my attention is already diverted.
My jaw hangs open at the sheer volume of texts lining the walls.
Every wall, from floor to ceiling, is lined with wooden shelves packed with books.
The only open wall space is the perimeter around the brick fireplace, which I now see is a double-sides fireplace connecting this room and the living room.
Tucked back near the corner is a wooden desk, and the massive rug in the center of the room sits beneath two armchairs and a couch.
The windows let in the soft glow of afternoon light that beams across the maroon carpet—and Ambrose’s thick, dark hair that falls over his forehead.
“Hello, Brielle.” My stomach flips at the way he purrs my name, but I push down the traitorous reaction.
“I need money,” I say in way of greeting, though I have a difficult time keeping my attention on him when the massive shelves around me hold a lifetime’s worth of reading material. It’s stunning, almost unbelievable. I can’t believe I’ve been in this house without knowing this room existed.
“May I ask why?”
“So I can go shopping for different clothes. I only brought a suitcase worth, and I’ll need some different outfits if I'm going to carry out my end of the deal. I have a plan. Sort of.”
Without hesitation, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls a thick fold of bills from his wallet, holding a small handful out to me. “Go nuts.”
I stare at the money, suspicious of his easy acquiescence. “Really?”
He furrows his brows. “Yes. Why, what's wrong?”
“Nothing.” I snatch the bills before he can change his mind. “Thanks. I'll be back tonight.”
He merely nods and returns to his book, dismissing me as easily as if I were a passing thought. The casualness of it all grates on my nerves. How nice it must be to care so little about everything.
I grab his keys from their hook and hurry outside. The Camaro purrs to life beneath me, and I find myself remembering the mall I passed on my trip to the hospital, which is good since I didn’t get any directions from Ambrose in my rush to leave the house.
The mall is a refreshing reminder of the normalcy that exists outside my current circumstances, filled with people living their ordinary lives. They browse racks of clothes, chat over coffee, window shop with friends. They all seem so blissfully unaware of the darker things at work in the world.
I don’t exactly have a plan for myself yet when it comes to fulfilling the bargain, but I know I’ll likely need to blend in in different environments.
So, I pick a store filled with business attire first and peruse the racks of blazers, slacks, dresses, and blouses.
After trying on some items, I walk out with a filled bag in hand.
Next, I opt for some more casual wear, things that will allow me to blend into a crowd without notice.
Eventually, I have everything I think I need, but I still dip into a store that has a little bit of everything.
I pause at a rack of dresses, sliding the silky fabric of a little black dress through my fingers.
When I lift it off the rack and hold it against my body, I realize it would barely reach mid-thigh.
Joel would have lost his mind if he saw me even looking at something like this.
The thought makes me snag it immediately.
With a good chunk of money still in my pocket, I decide makeup comes next.
It wasn't exactly a priority when I fled home, but now, who knows what I might need. I take my time with testing out various foundations and concealers on the back of my hand before picking some out, along with eye makeup, lipstick, and a contour palette. If Ambrose didn’t want me spending all this money, maybe he shouldn’t have given it to me.
There’s nothing like a spite-fueled shopping trip, after all.
Next time, I’ll stash more away instead of spending so much, because he’s not getting any change back.
He probably stole it all, anyway. He doesn’t seem to have a job, but he’s clearly not worried about finances considering how much he so casually handed over.
It makes sense that someone so unbothered by murder would also have a propensity for theft.
The food court calls to me before I leave, the scent of greasy Chinese food and pizza wafting through the air.
I settle into a corner table with my mountain of bags at my feet and a plate of orange chicken before me.
Each bite is pure bliss, and for the time I’m eating, I pretend that everything in my life is perfectly normal—I’m just a normal woman shopping at the mall and eating amongst the cacophony of the food court and the buzz of people around me.
When I finally return to the cabin, laden with shopping bags, I head straight upstairs without looking for Ambrose. He's probably in one of his usual spots with a book, wearing his usual expression of detached amusement. I don't care.
In my room, I spread out my purchases across the bed, examining each piece and considering all the different contexts I could wear it in. I’ve got the clothes to allow me to fit in in almost any environment, so now comes the hard part.
I need to figure this out. I need to gather five hundred years—well, maybe closer to four hundred now, thanks to that poor boy.
If I only take the lives of those who are already near death, it could take decades for me to fulfill my end of the deal.
I need to find a way to do this as quickly as possible without completely destroying what's left of my already fragile mental state.
But how?