Author's NB: I wish I could say this was some of my more exciting work, but if I said that, I'd be a dirty liar. The next few chapters were written in the wee hours of the morning as I was on a night shift. I've read over it in a more Godly hour, so hopefully any hideous quirks of grammar, spelling and plot have been removed.

ooOOoo

Chapter 12

Vēnātor

(The Hunter)

It mostly served the industrial area, the small bakery, another couple of cafes a petrol station and a small clothing shop attached to the post office. Only the bakery was open at that time of morning. The comforting smells of fresh bread and cakes wafted out from the inviting doors and towards the woman, wrapping her in sensations and cravings she didn't know she could possess. Something inside sought desire, satisfaction, but something else brought her back into reality.

You have no creds.

Creds? She wondered what that was.

Its currency, which is exchanged for goods and services. You have nothing.

The thoughts passed through her mind, saddening her somewhat as she knew the experience would progress no further than simply smelling. That concept of a foreign modesty reminded her that she wouldn't be able to enter the shop. The woman gave a slight sigh and stood beneath a dying tree, trying to find shelter from the ever chilling rain.

The once pleasant morning, sunny and inviting had now seemed to have lost its footing to a day that would be gloomy, macabre and wet in its prospects. From her vantage she could see a man in the bakery, but his back was to her, and even if it wasn't, she didn't think he could see her. She couldn't even see him clearly enough to discern what he was doing.

Something caught her eye, outside the post office. An ATM. That voice in her head gave her a slight prod that she could gain currency from that. She approached it cautiously; aware that the man in the bakery would have a clear view of her if she was careless about where she stood. A woman in a soaking wet pair of shorts and singlet top and nothing else would gain suspicion. Maybe.

There was a natural sort of casualness in the action she took to wrap her chilled arms around her upper body, a hug anyone would give themselves as they started to fall prey to the poor choice of weather. Dipping her head she exhaled warm air down onto her arms, the breath catching against her damp skin, but only lingering for a moment. She crossed the road and walked as if she had every right to be there. The ATM was an older style machine, the numbers had worn from their squares, and the gaps between each one were filled with substances she thought better to consider.

The voice within her head returned, a whisper, or perhaps just a simple instinct that informed her that she required a card.

"Yes, that's right; I have to insert a card".

A moment where horror flooded over her, that she had spoken out loud in a public place... but there was no one within ear shot… well, there was no one.

She glimpsed quickly over her shoulder and the man in the bakery was no longer within her line of sight, he'd probably gone into the back of the shop.

What do I do now?

Good, keep those thoughts in your head.

But the social graces didn't help her now. She stood staring at the machine, what could she do without an access card? What could she do in such a public place? Even on such a miserable day humans would be going about their business, heading into this part of the city and while it may not have been the centre of the city and as sad as the industrial buildings were looking, it was a place that was going to be quite lively soon.

Humans?

Yes, humans, that's what they were called… she looked at her hands… that's what she was?

The thought was bumped out of her head rather quickly when she noticed she had stepped up close to the machine. One of those hands she had so intensely studied reached out and brushed over the well-worn key pad.

It was almost by instinct, by some well-honed understanding of concepts she could no longer grasp, her fingers started to press the buttons in sequences which seemed embedded in her head. The machine gasped out a rapid series of beeps and then the lip lifted over the slot and a rather large wad of cash protruded. That soft, cold human hand clasped the money and removed it. It seemed inappropriate to stand there and count it, perhaps even dangerous. She looked around and found no one in the street, although an elderly woman appeared in the window of the post shop slash clothing store, she reached up and pulled on a string that opened the blinds covering the closed door.

Arcee, though not knowing that was her name, approached the store and knocked on the door. The money still bundled in her hand. The woman's face appeared in the window and she seemed somewhat surprised. There was a click, and she opened the door, but only a few centimetres as the chain was still latched.

"Are you alright? Can I help you?"

"Ah… look, this is all very embarrassing".

Arcee stammered.

"I was out last night… I'm getting married you see… well, not today, obviously".

It was probably better to add in that element of marriage to justify any follow up description of drunken shenanigans, then just telling the old, conservative looking woman that she was out on the town and ended up half naked as a result… in an industrial area no doubt.

The old woman smiled knowingly.

"Say no more, come inside".

"I do have money".

She held up the soggy wad.

The woman chuckled and ushered her into the shop.

"I have to set up the till for the day, so pick out what you need and we'll go from there".

The shop keep pointed towards the racks of rather frumpy looking clothing and then disappeared behind a stand covered in seemingly dreary looking sympathy cards.

At one point in its history the building had been two separate shops, divided by a solid looking cinder block wall, part of it still remained, carefully, but probably illegally deconstructed enough to allow a wide arc way. The floor was strangely slanted towards the clothing and the wooden boards would creak in protest if someone walked through the division. The areas that were carpeted would have likely been more inviting without the faded slab of wool, what colour it had been was now unrecognisable – like the old woman's hair. Wall paper had been painted over, the windows were filthy, the curtains worn and tattered and it provided an unpleasant juxtaposition to the very new looking blinds. Despite the age of the building, the materials used in its construction, and the odd assortment of products within, the building had no character… could that be classed as character in of itself? The clothes mirrored that lack of order, that lack of personality.

Dresses hung from the first unstable rack. They were all essentially identical, with perhaps the only difference in sizing. A bleak looking tan colour, would probably hang below the knee and the neck line would sit just above the collar bone.

Whoever she had been, she was sure she would have considered this ugly.

There were only three other racks, one had an assortment of rather unsavoury looking blouses, mostly floral printed, long sleeved, and done up at the wrist with flower shaped buttons. The other two held a mishmash of clothes, pants, jackets skirts.

She selected a pair of black pants; they had no shape to them, were poorly tailored but were the only pair with pockets. For the top she took a dark pink cardigan, for some reason the colour resonated with her. It was larger and her frame was lost under it, but it was light wool and finely knitted, her only criticism of it was the zip seemed out of place on it. It had large teeth and the tab had a strange symbol, oversized and a little clunky. Probably the manufacturer's logo. She shrugged. It'd do the job. A few moments longer were given to shoe selection, given the importance of such an item. Finally, a pair of dark brown, soft soled lace up shoes, holding no feature of noteworthy value was selected but they fitted and they were somewhat comfortable. Approaching the counter she realised there were really only two selections in this store, what didn't appeal and what didn't fit.

At the counter she found a large stand holding scarves and hats, she stood for a few minutes examining a particularly well sewn beret. For the most part it was black, but it had a delicate pastel pink trim that ran around the edge. It gave it a level of sophistication that was out of place in this… dump.

Placing the items on the counter the older woman noted the prices and punched them into the ancient looking cash register. She was possibly 65, maybe a good 70. Her hair was totally white making it impossible to determine what had been her natural tone in her younger days, she had repeated that thought as she contemplated the carpet. Her eyes were a dulled grey but gave the impression she had lived a boring, uneventful life; that was the impression yet the young woman had no desire to converse with intent to correct or support that assumption. Her makeup was sparse, well done and considered which didn't seem right given everything else about the woman and her surrounds. The clothing she wore looked as if it had come straight from the shop. A frumpy looking jersey that hung awkwardly from her plump shoulders, tightened probably too much around her ample bosom and then had about as much shape as a sack around her mid-section. A long denim, faded of course, skirt finished the ensemble, and that's when the young blond noticed this woman wore no shoes.

Arcee, though unaware that was her name, handed the woman a few of the bills, made a comment about keeping the change, as she felt that was socially appropriate, thanked the woman for her kindness and left. For her part, the shop keep felt the early morning customer was rude, ill-mannered and a poor planner, woe to her future husband, but decided to step out of her character and hold her tongue. It was, after all, a probably ignominious end to a debauched hen's night, a fitting if not immoral end to singlehood.

The woman changed quickly behind the shop and as she zipped up the cardy was confident she could now walk the streets without arousing too much suspicion; at least in this part of town. An area of a more sophisticated slant might cause her issues. The rain still continued to fall, but it'd changed its form from sluggish, irritatingly large blobs of water, to wispy non-coherent sprays that seemed to have no logic or pattern to their trajectory. Bunching her long and now soggy strands of amber locks under the beret she leant against the unforgivingly scratchy brick wall. Yet another sigh escaped her, and she wondered if such luck would last, if finding out she could hack money machines and buying dowdy rags could be classed as luck. Just as she had finished that thought, she was overwhelmed by the feeling she was being watched. It was a feeling that was becoming all too familiar, and one that she had decided at its first instance was not welcome. She slowed her breathing and stood away from the building; she craned her head along the planes of horizontal direction and then looked up.

There.

In the window. Second floor of the three story building. An empty building. She hadn't noticed it before; it was directly opposite one of the smaller cafes which only now were showing signs of life. In that window, on the second story, a figure was standing… The bleakness of the morning, the darkness cast by the building facing away from the slowly growing sun light, the sheer of the misty rains, it all added to her inability to distinguish the direction the figure was looking, or even facing. Perhaps it had its back to her? No, it was definitely giving off that "I'm watching you", vibe. The woman hurried out of the side alley and onto the street, getting a better view of the structure. Perhaps the blatant fact that it was boarded up had detracted her attention and instructed her brain to just ignore it. It was condemned, or at the very least abandoned and so could serve no purpose. So how did the figure get in? How had they entered a building with all its exits boarded up tightly? Of course… she hadn't seen the back of the building or perhaps they'd just climbed up a fire escape and got into that second floor room. Whatever their path had been, whatever the lay out of the building's entrance ways, what was known to the young woman was that they were looking at her… following her… before it had just been an unsettling coincidence, now it was looking more and more like this individual was following her. Hunting?

Maybe they knew something about her past? Something about who she was? Perhaps then, this person was someone to be pursued, not feared? The figure was no longer in her field of vision as she stood out the front of the building. Regardless of their intentions and of her current predicament, she knew one thing, she was not armed, she had no way to defend herself. They could be. That was reason enough to be cautious. The woman decided to leave this area, to find out how the dead solider from the desolate cemetery could trigger a sense of familiarity in her.

It might not have been much, but it was a lead.