Pierre stood just outside the old man's door. He could easily hear his quiet crying behind the solid wood. It made sense, somewhat.
That he would be so disoriented.
Humans were easy to upset. And very hard to coddle.

"You really think he's gonna agree to it?" Callum asked softly, pressing a gentle hand into his shoulder.

"The other night when I was with Dr. Peleron he tried to stop him." He answered frankly. "Of course, I had the situation under control. But I can't risk going out without someone to use as an alibi."

"But he's just an insurance guy, I couldn't find any warrants or records on him he could—"

"I trust my judge of character," Pierre cut him off quietly. He turned to face his friend with a gentle smile, one laced with a palpable hatred.

"He is not a threat," he reassured Callum, "if he becomes one...I will kill him."
And that is not an idle threat.

Pierre pulled away from the boy, making his way downstairs as he loosened his tie and shrugged off his blazer. Callum followed, his bouncing steps turning softer as they neared the front door.

"You're going out again? I thought you said it was too dangerous?" He questioned, catching up with the boy as he slipped off any easily identifiable clothing.

"I've been in contact with Richard Dobson for three weeks now, the appointment will be at the mall on the outskirts of Fairtherbarny tonight. He'll be on shift doing rounds." He answered plainly, sifting through the desk near the door for some contact lenses. "He is scheduled on a flight to Amsterdam tomorrow— no doubt for the auction in Luxembourg. This is the only chance I have to take care of him before Robert agrees to the contract and we fly out."

"You want me to come? Bring back up? He doesn't know you're a bloodsucker right?" Callum gathered up the clothes Pierre tossed on the floor.

"It shouldn't be necessary. He's human. Shouldn't put up much of a fight." Pierre slipped on some tennis shoes, replacing his uniform with a much less noticeable outfit so he wouldn't draw nearly as much attention while he hunted.

"Okay...you sure though?" I'm a much scarier monster than he is.

"Keep an eye on Mister Dupont for me? You can spend the night in the second guest bed and— if you need any meat for the moon, I left a deer in the locker near the fridge. Fresh."

Callum gave a small, understanding nod and with that, Pierre slipped out the door and into the night.

The mall was far from Pierre's current residence. A solid fifty miles from the center of the city, though it only took around five or ten minutes for him to get there.
He strolled down the sidewalk as the moon rose in the sky.

8:30. Mall closes at 9:00.

The boy glanced around, checking the entrance of the mall as he watched the remaining patrons meander to their cars.

Dobson should be existing the west wing to his shack soon.

Sure enough, as predicted, Pierre watched a security guard in his late twenties walk out behind a band of mall guests. A family from the looks of it. He walked slowly, keeping his eyes trained on one of the younger members of the family. God you disgusting vermin.

The boy hissed under his breath and mussed up his hair, slipping in at one of the storefronts to make his way into the few stragglers left from the last showing at the theater.

"Mom?" Pierre called, straying back from the crowd and looking positively distressed. "Dad?"

He twisted around, swaying back and forth as he scanned the crowd of faces leaving the door, easily catching sight of the security guard standing in the corner.

"Hey, guard guy?" Pierre waved, drawing the man's attention and causing him to pull his coffee from his lips. "I can't find my parents."

Dobson offered a small smile and pulled away from the large potted plant he stood near. "Lost 'em huh?"

He nodded, flashing his sweetest sad face. Take the bait, creature. "Yeah— I can't get a hold of them. Can you make an announcement or something?"

Dobson made a face, his eyes flickered up and down, looking over Pierre the same way a starving animal looked at food. "I'm sorry kid, I don't have access to that— we're you here with anyone else?"

"I was with my uncle earlier," Pierre lied, "but he had an emergency at home and I don't have his number."

Dobson nodded. Don't question it. Just take the bait.

"You live far?" The man asked, glancing toward his dimly lit guard shack on the other side of the parking lot. "The mall's closing soon and it's dangerous to be out at night round here."

"Can't I stay inside?"

Dobson shook his head, taking an extra moment to make sure no one could overhear their conversation. His heart rate increased. Slow thumps that Pierre could hear through his chest. He could smell the sweat on his skin— something no average person could notice as easily as he.
The boy’s eyes drifted down, and Dobson moved around him, pressing his hand into Pierre's back.

"Tell you what, you can't stay inside, but I've got a guardshack in the parking lot. We can call your parents or the real cops and have them pick you up, right?"  The security guard gently pushed Pierre toward the door. He made himself believable.

This one was good at hiding. It took Pierre several weeks to find mister Richard Dobson. He was particularly good at covering his tracks. A connoisseur or depravity who liked to watch videos of children being raped and murdered. He had no record to speak of— but Callum was able to find a backdoor into his chatroom accounts.

Richard Dobson was very good at making sure those videos had their actors.

"They can find my house right?" The boy asked, allowing himself to be easily led to the secondary location. Dobson gave a short nod and opened the door to his shack, a small shudder running up his back when he realized how cold it was inside.
Pierre had no sense of the chill, but he could take advantage of it nonetheless.

"How come you don't have a heater or anything?" He asked quite innocently. Deceptively. He sat down on a tiny bucket. The room was nothing more than a ridiculously small box. A desk, and small box moniter with feed of the parking lot. Not live. It's on a loop— that white sedan left forty-five minutes ago.

"Budget cuts, you can have my jacket if you want?" Dobson had already stripped himself of it and held it out for Pierre to take. "It'll only get colder."

Pierre took the offer and wrapped himself up, putting on an anxious face as he glanced out the window. "How long before the police come?"

"Not long," Dobson took his single seat, pulling out what was no doubt his personal phone to check the time. "I have a friend in the force, good with kids about your age. He'll come by in his patrol car to take you home safe and sound— probably give your parents a good lecture too."

"Mom probably turned her phone off by accident again. My dad works nights, so I know he's busy." Of course you have a 'friend' in the force— you're known for being thorough.

Dobson nodded and leaned forward in his seat, looking Pierre up and down as the boy deliberately kept his gaze on the windows. He shivered on purpose, and let out a shaky little breath. It's been thirty minutes now. The police department is only twelve minutes down the road.

"Still cold?" The man's voice was much closer now, and Pierre could feel the heat of his breath on his neck.

"I'm alright," he stuttered the words out, and kept up his ruse as the security guard moved slowly. "What— what are you doing?"
Playing your hand already? Come now Dobson, it's only been a hour.

"Just helping you stay warm," Dobson wrapped around the boy, pressing him into himself as his hands strayed.
It would have been easy. To do it now. Take advantage of the closeness. Pierre thought about it. How in less than two seconds he could have the man on his back, begging for his life.

It's not enough proof. Pierre drew in a soft breath, and rubbed his eyes to conceal the way he removed his deep brown contacts. Dobson made a muffled grunt, and the boy could practically taste the blood running in his prey's veins.

"Please— please stop that." Pierre followed the man's hands as he brushed his fingers through his hair. You loathsome animal.
His breath caught in his lungs at the touch, fingers in places they didn't belong. Now I have my proof.

Dobson didn't even notice it. He was far too preoccupied with what he thought was a child he would soon harm. The man didn't even have time to block the sharp claw that dug directly into his jugular the moment his left hand strayed a little too far.

He gurgled, an awful choking noise that made the blood trickle down his neck when he tried to move.

"You'll die much faster if you try to run." Pierre couldn't help but smile at his words. The smell of this animals blood made his mouth water. But he wasn't good enough to eat.

The guard trembled, far too terrified to move. That slow, rhythmic heartbeat earlier had now turned to a rapid fire, inhibited only by the occasional murmur when he tried to breathe.

"Richard Dobson, I imagine you thought you could add another actor to those films you've procured?" Pierre spoke so casually, relishing in the shaky, terrified breath hitting the back of his neck. "Of course, not before trying it out yourself."

"I'll fucking—"

"Kill me? With this hole in your neck I think not." Pierre wiggled his finger, digging deeper into the puncture and causing the man to whimper and cry. The stench of his tears made the boy grimace. "It's uncouth to cry...considering you've contributed to an oceans worth of tears, Richard."

"What the fu—"

"No words, unless it's an answer to my question." Pierre cut in, wincing when the man pulled on something he shouldn't be touching at all. He dug his finger deeper, forcing him to loosen his grip.

"I know you were booked on a flight to Amsterdam tomorrow at six a.m. going to the auction in Luxembourg not far, correct?" Pierre relaxed somewhat, though he kept his sharp claws dug into Dobson's wrist over his waist. "Where is it being held specifically?"

"Will— will you let me live if I tell you?" The grown mad choked on the sob in his throat, prompting Pierre to hum in contemplation.

"Perhaps."

"Shauwenburg...in Bertrange..." he answered softly, hissing in an ugly breath when his shaking caused the claw in his throat to shift. Pierre chuckled at the thought. Of course that would be the locale. Mother loves familiarity.

"Good boy. Now get your filthy hand out of my pants."

Dobson nodded ever so slightly and ripped his hands away from the boy, allowing him to twist around to face him.

"Shhh...I can't have you scream," he whispered, his eyes flickering back out the window as he heard the imposter police officer pull in. "That would ruin the surprise for mister Tarney outside."

"You know about—"

Pierre pressed his finger to the man's lips, "I know about all of you. Dr. Peleron was very informative."

The guard gulped, his esophagus moved in sync with the action against Pierre's finger as he pressed further into him.
His gaze slowly returned to the man, boring into him like daggers when they met eyes.
Dobson flinched for a second, and Pierre could hear his nails dig into the cheap paint of the window sill when he met him with his glowing, crimson gaze.

"How many have you led to their deaths?" Pierre asked, almost gently, despite the burning hatred in his eyes. "How many more to worse?"

The man couldn't answer. Pierre already knew that. His vocal chords had already been sliced from the slow, incredibly painful tear of his claws.

"You don't deserve to live after what you've done." The boy’s lips twitched. It was so enticing. The delicious smell of iron that had enveloped the both of them. He wanted to taste it. To bathe in that magnificent water of life.

He smiled, a bright, uncanny smile that shined in the glow of the car park lights. Sharp fangs that were only visible when he was so close to losing control pressed into his bottom lip as his awful grin split his face.

It would be so easy. Just a taste— is all I need.

His smile dropped at the stray thought. And in an instant, he ripped his clawed finger the rest of the way through the man's throat, splattering blood and viscera over his stilled, emotionless face.

I don't eat shit.