This choice: Cruise the changing rooms at a department store • Go Back...Chapter #7The Test Department by: Unknown by Masktrix
Nirdlingers department store is the best idea you can come up with. You want to make sure nobody can trace it back to you if something goes wrong, and that means a stranger would make an ideal test subject. The school, even with all the people you don’t know, is too small a pond to fish in.
Instead you head into downtown Saratoga Falls; the Big Nird stays open for another couple of hours. You park up a few streets away, keeping your hood up and the mask in your backpack as you trudge toward your target. A few minutes later and you’re beyond Arnholm’s and turn the corner onto Fourth St., walking the full block past the crowds heading for home, to cafes or to bars. Occasionally you glance up at them. Men and women in business suits; college kids with a stack of lame plastic folders and textbooks clutched to their chest; owners pulling down shutters. You could be any of them, in theory. The faint smell of scented candles tickles your nose as you pass that hippy shop some of the goth kids like. Maybe it has ingredients for spells... if you had the money.
And then you’re at Nirdlingers. The shop front display is currently being changed, so the mannequins are all laid on their side, artificial limbs twisted at helpless angles. You stop and look at them for a moment, thinking hard about what you’re doing. What if the mask doesn’t work? What if it does and it turns the other person into some kind of shop doll? Does it just copy a face, or all of someone’s identity? You shake your head and try to keep it together. C’mon, Will...
You make your way to the third floor. First is mostly household, egg cups and spatulas; second is electric and the endless rows of TVs showing the same channel. Neither of those are good picks. Arriving at the third, you look around. Menswear to the left, women’s to the right. Men’s is almost deserted. There’s some older man there, hair thin and belly fat, trying to pick out a tie, but otherwise the attendants are sitting there in stunned boredom. You wonder if one of them could make a good subject. All you’d have to do is ask for help and...
No. Too risky. Too attention-grabbing. Instead you find yourself drifting to the right, past the cosmetics stands and a pretty, overly made-up assistant ready to spritz the next neck that walks past with the latest celebrity scent. Quietly, you slip into the aisles and sneak closer to the changing rooms. Slowly you set your rucksack down, swinging it out in front as you open the zipper in readiness. Find a subject. Grab the mask.
The whole place is a hive of activity. There’s a woman in her 40s, blonde hair and toned figure, taking up two assistants with her demands. You look at her for a moment, watching as a hand decked in fine jewellery waves them away. She reminds you a lot of Chelsea Cooper. Holy shit... that is Mrs. Cooper. You vaguely remember seeing her pick up Chelsea from practice. Away from her is a thin Latina picking out a skirt. She could be an... no. You watch as she calls her daughter over. Becoming a mom is out of the question. Edging forward, you can see a woman in her 20s head into one of the booths, clothes flying over the edge of the cubicle as she enters. Maybe she could be a good subject...
“Can I help you, sir?”
You spin around, colour vanishing from your face. Behind you stands a short woman, in her late 20s you guess, a large, smooth oval for a face, brightly coloured glasses perched on her nose. Her hair is tied up in a bun, and her overweight frame pushes out against her beige uniform. Mall cop.
“I... er... was just browsing.” you panic, staring around at your surroundings. You’ve crept straight into the underwear section. Oh God you are hiding among bras and panties. “I... was...” it’s hard to come up with an excuse. “My... mom?”
“Your mom?”
“Birthday?”
The security guard keeps a professional pose. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.” You gulp, blood running out of your face.
“I was just looking,” you say, muttering.
“Of course, sir. May I ask you what you have in your bag?” You look down. The bag is hanging in one hand, zip open. It looks like you’re trying to steal something. You quickly look around. It’s moments before Mrs. Cooper spots you. She doesn’t know you, of course, but you don’t want to take the risk that this somehow gets back to school.
“Nothing, I just...”
“Sir, would you accompany me, please?” She gestures for you to follow her - or rather for you to go first. Refuse and Mrs. Cooper will definitely hear. You’ve got no choice.
Five minutes later you’re in the back of the store, down whitewashed halls that smell strangely like garbage, and in a small office. A table. A few chairs. A list of phone numbers to call in an emergency and a bank of CCTV cameras. This is security. You’d completely forgotten about the cameras, too. They could track you everywhere, follow your every move. No wonder the guard grew suspicious.
“Listen, what’s your name?” She pauses a moment, sipping from a cup of coffee. She offered you a glass of water when you arrived. You focus on her name badge. Hewitt.
“It’s... I’d rather not say.” That was terrible, Will. You’re making things worse.
“Have it your way. But listen, please. We get a lot of guys who like women’s clothes. That’s not a problem. We can be discreet. But when you shoplift, it crosses a line. We’re not here to support panty raids. OK?”
“I didn’t take anything.” You plead. “This is just a misunderstanding.”
She smiles sympathetically. “It’s fine. You’re not in any trouble yet. Up until you step out of the store you haven’t broken any laws. I am supposed to let you do that - break the law then report you. But my kid brother went through a similar thing, and I don’t want to see you with a criminal record. So here’s the deal. You show me what’s in the bag, it goes back, we forget about it. What do you say?”
Your throat is getting dry. “There isn’t anything in the bag.”
“Then show me. And that’s all there is to it.” She smiles again. In her own way, she’s trying to help you.
Then a thought strikes you. No CCTV in here.  | Members who added to this interactive
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