The next few nights were steeped in bloody nightmares. Peter held out for the first two nights, trying to focus on his upcoming performance. On the third night of waking up terrified and hell bent on revenge, he gave in and headed out to his friendly neighborhood boozery.
The store was less than five blocks away, but as soon as he reached the bottom on the stairs he could see the police lights.
"Oh no, fuck me," Peter whined out loud. He was pretty damn sure than the store had been robbed again and the walk would be a waste of time, but his need for the alcohol compelled him to go anyway.
Sure enough, the store was surrounded by police cars and onlookers. There was absolutely no way Peter was getting in there. He swore out loud again for a good minute, then headed to the next closest store. The path took him into a weird part of town, new age shops and psychics, but they were not his concern right now. His destination was all that mattered.
"Excuse me sir," a woman called out from the doorway of one of the buildings he passed. Peter ignored her and walked on. He heard footsteps behind him and felt a tap on his back.
"What the fuck?" he turned, ready to hit whatever was keeping him from getting to the liquor store. A young woman was standing there, staring at him. She did not look startled by his reaction or even slightly put off. This lack of reaction made Peter nervous.
"Forgive me, but you seem troubled," she commented. He dark eyes were boring into him.
"Yeah, well, who isn't troubled. Now piss off," He retorted and turned to resume his trek.
"I can help with your nightmares," she remarked, almost offhandedly. Peter stopped dead in his tracks.
"What did you say?" he walked back to her, his face livid.
"You heard me. Now come with me," She turned and walked back to her building. Peter has a giant "Fuck you" all ready for her, but instead he was overcome with an intense curiosity and found himself following her.
The entry room was ludicrously decorated in moons, stars and brightly colored, wispy fabrics. Through the beaded curtain was the parlor. A large round table draped with a ridiculous tablecloth sat in the far corner of the room, a large crystal ball and an ancient looking ouija board atop it. Peter walked toward the table, but she walked past it to the wall adjacent to the table.
"No, not here, this is where I do the bullshit readings. I do the real thing back here," She pushed back the purple and gold wall curtain and slid a key into a door hidden behind. "Come on," she motioned him inside. Peter almost bolted, but that strange curiosity drove him into the next room.
This room was small and as unremarkable as the other room was ridiculous. A card table and chairs sat in the far left corner across from a cheap, plywood desk that looked to be her office area. Peter walked in, not sure what to do. She headed directly to the left upon entering to a kitchenette, and poured coffee into a mugs.
"Sooo," Peter wondered aloud.
"Have a seat," she tilted her head to the card table and folding chairs. Peter obliged, feeling weirded out by his own cooperation and manners towards this woman. She was attractive, but manners were the last thing he pushed onto a woman when he was interested.
"Now," she sat down across from him and looked at him, her dark eyes piercing into him, "you need help don't you Peter?"
"How the fuck do you know my name?"
"I know a lot of things. Don't bother asking how, you wouldn't understand."
"The fuck are you going on about? Are you going to be a fucking bitch or help me out?"
Again, she did not react to his aggressive behavior. "I'm here to help, but I need to know something first."
"What? Did you need my sign or some other bullshit? I think I'm a Sagittarius," Peter seethed.
"Oh please, Peter, bullshit is exactly what all that is," She waved her hand at him, dismissing his attempt at mockery. "I want to know about the other man I see in you. You wear his coat."
Peter's expression went from contempt to shock. "What?"
"You know what I am talking about. He is the one that keeps you focused on your mission -"
"The vampire," the words came out of their own accord, Peter slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Vampire?" She scoffed, then her brow furrowed, "You're serious."
"Fuck this, fuck this," Peter stood, nearly toppling the flimsy table.
"Peter, stop. Wait!" She ran after him, repeatedly grabbing his arm as he repeatedly pulled away.
"No," he turned, jabbed his finger at her, "Fuck this, and fuck you. I don't know why I even -"
"Here," she jammed something into his hand. He let it drop to the floor and spun to leave. She grabbed at his coat several more times, but he shook her off.
His feet took him back to the hotel room. He was so pissed off and exhausted that he forgot about the liquor store all together. Peter took off his long, brown coat and tossed it onto the headboard of the bed. After a shower and a leftover slice of pizza, he flopped down on the bed to watch some bad television. He was asleep ten minutes later.