He unscrewed the cap and took a swig. The artificial sweetness coated his throat, his body immediately recognizing it as another lie, another failed substitute.
"That's disgusting."
Charlie jerked around, syrup dribbling down his chin.
Mr. Denton stood in the office doorway, arms crossed.
"It helps with the nausea," Charlie said weakly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
"You know what helps with nausea? Not putting crap in your body." Mr. Denton grabbed the inventory clipboard. "No wonder you're feeling wonky when you're drinking straight syrup like some kind of sugar vampire."
Charlie almost laughed at the accuracy.
"Stock the beer cooler when you're done being weird," Mr. Denton said, disappearing back into his office.
The beer cooler. Right. Charlie could do that. It was nice and cool and would take his mind off customers and beating hearts and visible veins.
He grabbed the hand truck and headed to the blessedly quiet stockroom. There, he loaded cases of beer onto the hand truck, appreciating the simple physical task. No thinking required. Just lifting and stacking.
His phone buzzed with a text from Brent: "you doing okay?"
Charlie typed back: "fine. thanks for letting me crash"
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally: "i found some tomato flavor protein shake if youre interested :)"
The kindness of it made Charlie's chest tight. Here was Brent, still trying to help even though he thought Charlie was just some committed method actor having a breakdown.
Charlie wheeled the beer to the cooler and resumed stacking. The cold felt good against his fevered skin.
Sadly, he could not stay in the back forever.
The door chimed. Another customer.
Charlie sighed, letting the cold numb him a moment longer while he listened to footsteps move through the store. They were measured, deliberate. Not the shuffle of a drunk or the quick steps of someone grabbing cigarettes.
Charlie peered through the cooler's glass door.
He saw black boots, tactical pants, and a leather jacket despite the warm evening.
His blood—what little remained of it—turned to ice.
The hunter from the laundromat stood at the end of the chip aisle, examining a bag of pretzels with a casual air that could only be fake.
Charlie dropped to his hands and knees, crawling behind the beer cases. Maybe the guy hadn't seen him. Maybe he was just here for snacks. Maybe?—
The footsteps moved closer to the cooler.
Charlie held his breath, which was easy since he didn't really need to breathe anymore. One of the few vampire perks that actually worked.
The footsteps paused right outside the cooler door.
Then moved away, toward the register.
Charlie stayed frozen for another thirty seconds before carefully peering out again. The hunter stood at the counter, waiting. He'd placed a single energy drink next to the register.
Had he actually come to this place by coincidence? Was henothere to try to stake Charlie again?
Would he believe Charlie if Charlie lied about being a vampire?
