Jerry watched as Peter made his way from the hotel restaurant to the elevator. It was amazing, he had been watching Peter for weeks and he could not even count how many times he had heard him complain about his stage pants, and though he had yet to see him any anything but the leather ones. Not that Jerry had any objections; particularly because they were paired with his only partially sober gait, the swaying of his hips was nearly hypnotic. He moved slowly toward Peter, closer than he had allowed himself to come before; however, he still forced himself to stay a few feet away. Closing his eyes inhaling deeply, hoping to catch his scent. He heard a gasp just muffled underneath the sound of the elevator’s ding. As he slowly opened his eyes, they caught with Peter’s. He had been noticed when Peter turned to stand in the elevator. He allowed his eyes to darken and his feral smile to escape as Peter looked back at him in horror. Jerry savored the look as the doors closed. He strolled out of the hotel and stopped just outside of the entryway, pulling a green apple from his pocket. He smirked before biting into it, leisurely making his way home.
Peter had a terrible habit of wandering the strip late at night. This, of course, worked wonderfully in Jerry’s favor, but really one would think that after what Peter had been through he would show a little more caution. Either way, Jerry took the rare opportunity to fallow him as he wandered through the crowds. He was careful to trail behind so that he would not be noticed. It was fascinating to watch the rather famous Peter Vincent walk by people who have seen his face thousands of times, some who even wore his t-shirts and carried his insignia, but were unable to recognize him without his ridiculous wig and pasted on facial hair. Despite the leather pants, which he never seemed to take off, but which Jerry felt were a dead giveaway –really how many people could wear leather pants and look so adorable? Like a child trying to play dress up in their parent’s clothes, it was so endearing. The winter breeze was blowing the silly thin scarf (some fashion fads he will never, with all the time in the world, understand) he was wearing behind him in the wind. It left a nice little scent trail for him to follow. An odd mixture of smells coming off of his favorite human; the ever present Midori, and a mixture of cigarette odor and sweat that clings to anyone who steps foot in a casino, yet underneath even those was a smell uniquely Peter; it was soft and sweet like sugared tea and quite addicting. As the wind picked up the scarf unraveled from around his neck. Peter reached out in vain to attempt to catch it as it flew to the left before sailing behind him. Jerry immediately snapped out and snatched it from the air. Pivoting on the balls of his feet he quickly began walking away as he shoved it in his coat pocket, a satisfied smirk adorning his face.
It was quite hilarious really. He made his way through the different rows of vampire relics that were either all part of keeping with Peter’s vampire hunter persona or a way to protect against him, or perhaps both. Half of them were ridiculous of course, internet garbage made by new age scam artists. There were always idiots and internet shopping addicts willing to buy trash like this. There was nothing worth looking at overall; even the odd genuine article was not worth a second glance. He moved on to the main room, after all, there was no need to dawdle. He moved about, taking note of the slightly more personal knick-knacks in the room. It was a room of gaudy furniture and expensive trimmings that screamed of wealth. Off to the side he found a door that lead to a dark bedroom; dominating the room was a bed that lay far too close to an unnecessarily large television. There was much more of Peter to see in this room. The picture frames with real pictures, not promotional photos, the odds and ends of everyday life sprawled around, with clothing all over the floor and thrown over chairs. Jerry, the curious cat, opened the closet and poked around. On the topmost shelf there was an old photo album, he leafed through it admiring the changes in Peter over time. He paused over in his idle flipping at an image of Peter with his mother. He was very young; he could not have been more than six. His mother was dressed elegantly in an evening gown and little Peter he was immaculately in a small tuxedo. She was hugging him close to herself, uncaring of the wrinkles that must have resulted from such a tight embrace, and kissing his tiny face as he was laughed in delight. Jerry slid it out of its protective sleeve and brought it close to his face before slipping it into his pocket with a satisfied grin. It had slight wear marks from handling, Peter obviously viewed it often, and it would not be long before its absence would be discovered.
Peter wandered up and down the aisles of the little liquor store ignorant of Jerry's eyes trailing him. The man really was quite predictable. The shopping was done for him every Friday, he, being more than wealthy enough have people run his errands for him, but he somehow always managed to run out of Midori by Wednesday and Ginger simply refused to do his shopping. Those arguments were always hysterical, well to him at least. It was like watching a sitcom, but with more things being thrown and shattered glass. They always ended the same: Ginger would yell, “Just because she spoke with an accent did not mean she was the maid”, then she would lock herself in the bedroom of Peter’s penthouse (really, what that kid put up with). Jerry never got tired of it. It also meant that Peter had to sleep in the den by the fire for comfort and Jerry could watch him to his heart’s content, only driven away when he absolutely needed to go home in preparation for the dawn. Jerry allowed himself to move closer and closer as he followed behind Peter. Peter, who had his hands full of two bottles of Midori, and was searching for something in the confection aisle, Jerry followed through the store, eventually back to the suite, and watched as he settled himself before the fire. Peter got comfortable before drinking himself into oblivion. Jerry watched idly and waited until he heard the sound of light snores before he allowed himself to move forward. He nimbly slipped closer, careful to step around the bottles and kneeled next to Peter’s sprawled form. Peter lay with one arm under his head and the other stretched out as if reaching for the fire, his skin flushed from the warmth. Jerry sniffed along the side of his pale throat and basked in the familiar scent. He slowly licked down the side; he drew his tongue back into his mouth, savoring the taste. Peter’s prone form shivered from the sensation of the cold tongue and goose bumps rose over the flesh of Peter’s neck as the saliva dried. It was a test of his control not to bite. He licked again nearly giving in and slipping his fangs into the soft skin below them. It would take the barest amount of force to pierce. Jerry forced himself to get up and walk away, savoring the slow torture each step brought and licking his lips to relish the taste.
Jerry sauntered his way into the large theater; leisurely making his way to the front row in the middle section. While he waited for the performance to begin, he observed the other viewers. Most were young kids with too much eyeliner and adults with more than enough morbid curiosity, hoping to get a cheap thrill from the production. It was nauseating. Lucky for the audience, the show began and distracted him from his desire to rid the world of them. His eyes wandered over the stage as he watched the performance. It was simple for him to catch each and every little mechanical trick Peter used in his production. Despite this, it was fascinating watching him: to watch him fight and defeat vampires, as he was never able to fight and defeat Jerry. Every night people paid large amounts of money to watch Peter do what he wished he could have had the strength to do to Jerry all those years ago. They paid to watch Peter’s therapy sessions. It was fascinating the way Peter had molded his life around Jerry. It was flattering really. Sweet little Peter with his big brown eyes had grown up to slay monsters, ridiculous fake theatric monsters, but monsters nonetheless. He stayed half way through the show before making his way out. He let himself into Peter's suite and wandered through the hall full of relics, through the main room, and over to the bar. On top of the bar’s glossy surface, he spread picture after picture, filling all of the available space. Each photograph was of Peter. Some showed him sleeping, sprawled before the fire in the main room. Some showed him walking through the crowded strip. Some showed him eating. Even more showed him drinking. Some were taken while he was shopping. There were even some that captured some of his rare personal moments with Ginger that were not spent arguing. Jerry strolled out, smirking to himself and wishing he had time to wait to watch Peter’s reaction. It was too bad he had to get home; it was time to do something about that annoying neighbor kid of his.
Jerry watched from his darkened corner as Peter and Charlie made their way through the big empty space of his underground. Peter looked wonderful, determined, slightly intoxicated and extremely vulnerable. He could smell him; fear, anger, and Midori. He was quite striking in his blue jeans and yesterday's eyeliner. As they grew closer to him, Jerry jumped to the ceiling. They -ever oblivious- walked directly under him. Jerry leaned down and watched Peter as he walked away, enjoying the new pants. He knew it was time. He had waited years for this. Peter was finally ready to be his.