Evalyne (1)

Neon lights flickered across the mall's polished marble floors, casting multicolored reflections that danced with each pulse. The once-bustling shopping center had quieted as the evening wore on, with many stores pulling their metal shutters closed for the night. The air carried the mingled scents of cinnamon pretzels and coffee from the few remaining open food vendors.

Bobby strolled past the darkened storefronts, his footsteps echoing in the near-empty corridors. His loosened tie swayed with each step, and his suit – once perfectly tailored – now hung loose on his frame. The evening's earlier crowd had dwindled to just a few stragglers, mostly employees finishing their closing duties.

"That was an interesting family," he said to himself, fingers playing with his tie as he passed by 'Mitchell's Fine Menswear.' "I do hope the father has more fun with his twins tonight." A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he recalled the encounter.

Bobby paused, catching his reflection in the boutique's dark window. The harsh fluorescent lighting from above highlighted the dramatic changes in his appearance. Where distinguished silver had once graced his temples just weeks ago, dark hair now grew in thick waves. The subtle lines that had mapped his life's journey around his eyes had smoothed away, leaving behind skin as fresh as spring morning dew. His reflection showed a man in his early twenties, though his eyes held depths that betrayed far more years of experience.

"Looks like I lost a few more years. Or gained some. Whichever." His fitted suit from Brooks Brothers, once snug in all the right places, now draped over his transformed frame like borrowed clothes. Despite the ill-fitting attire, his physique had improved – lean muscle replaced what had been a settling middle-age spread, his shoulders broader, his posture more natural.

"I might need some new clothes soon," Bobby observed, lifting his left hand to examine the chrome band that encircled his ring finger. The metal seemed alive, shifting and flowing like quicksilver under the mall's artificial lighting. A deep crimson glow pulsed from within its depths – visible only to his eyes – matching the rhythm of his heartbeat. "All my heart's desire, huh? I don't desire this, but I'm not complaining."

His attention drifted toward the mall's anchor tenant – a massive cinema complex with its towering marquee. The bright neon sign listed current features in bold lettering, including "TERMINATOR 2: JUDGMENT DAY - STARRING SYLVESTER STALLONE" among the evening's final showings. The sight drew a melancholic smile to his lips.

"She had always did love the Terminator," he whispered, memories washing over him like a warm tide. Images flashed through his mind: sharing a tub of buttery popcorn, her perfume mixing with the theater's familiar scent, stolen kisses in the darkness while John Williams scores soared through the speakers. "Wonder what she'd think of me now..."

The chrome ring flared at the thought of his late wife, sending ribbons of crimson light dancing beneath his skin like liquid fire. Bobby flexed his fingers, watching the display with practiced familiarity. "Probably nothing since she's dead."

A moment of silence passed, as Bobby contemplated the event that took her.

"But not forever," he purred, observing as reality warped around him. A familiar silhouette materialized – a young woman pointing excitedly at the movie times, her form semi-transparent but achingly familiar. Bobby reached out, his fingers brushing against her hand. Warmth flooded through the contact, and he felt the subtle shift as years returned to his form.

"Then nothing is forever," he murmured as the apparition faded like morning mist, leaving him alone once more. His reflection now showed a man in his early thirties – still younger than his true age, but older than moments before. "Alright, stop wasting power, Bobby."

After another glance at the showtimes, he made his decision. "Maybe I'll catch a flick to clear my mind."

The ring's glow dimmed to a subtle pulse as Bobby approached the ticket counter. Behind the glass sat a teenage girl with bright purple hair clips and a name tag reading "Jenny." She barely looked up from her magazine, the latest issue of "Seventeen."

"One for the 9:30 showing," Bobby said, sliding a crisp twenty-dollar bill across the counter. Jenny glanced up at his voice – the deep, gravelly tone at odds with his youthful appearance – before returning to her bored expression.

"Uh sure, theater 12 on your right," she droned, the ticket printer whirring to life. "Want any concessions?"

Before Bobby could answer, the glass doors at the mall entrance swung open, admitting a group of college students. Five of them entered the lobby, their laughter and chatter filling the space. Two young women led the group – one in a cropped University sweatshirt and high-waisted jeans, her blonde hair pulled back in a scrunchie, while her friend wore a floral babydoll dress with Doc Martens. Behind them, three guys in grunge-inspired flannel shirts and ripped jeans carried on about the latest Pearl Jam album.

Bobby's lips curled into a predatory smile as he observed them. "Oh, I'm sure I'll find something to satisfy my appetite~"

"...Whatever," Jenny muttered, already returning to her magazine.

The theater itself was sparsely populated for a late showing. Bobby selected a seat in the back row, sinking into the plush recliner as preview trailers began to roll. His ring pulsed steadily while his eyes wandered over the scattered audience members.

In the middle section, a woman in her mid-thirties sat alone, her attire suggesting she'd come straight from work. Her dark hair was styled in a professional bob, and she absently twirled a strand while watching the screen. Three rows ahead of her, a younger woman in her twenties shared popcorn with her friend, both giggling quietly over their Diet Cokes.

The college group had spread out across two rows, with the blonde in the sweatshirt now sitting closer to Bobby's section. She'd removed her scrunchie, letting her hair fall past her shoulders as she settled in with her friends. The soft glow from the screen highlighted her profile, drawing Bobby's attention more than once.

Several other patrons occupied seats throughout the theater – couples sharing armrests, singles seeking entertainment after long workdays, and a few older moviegoers who'd likely come for the discount prices. Bobby noted each one, cataloging details with practiced ease while maintaining his relaxed posture.

For now, though, he was content to enjoy the film. The familiar scent of popcorn and the encompassing sound system brought comfort, even as the ring reminded him of greater possibilities. The night stretched before him with promise – both for entertainment and other pursuits.

"To you, my love," Bobby whispered, raising his left hand in a solemn toast. The chrome band caught the light from the screen, its hidden crimson glow steady and sure. "For when you will be in my arms once more."

The house lights dimmed completely as the feature presentation began. The opening sequence filled the screen – a chrome endoskeleton materializing from crackling energy, its metal frame gradually covered by living tissue until Sylvester Stallone's distinctive features emerged.

Bobby relaxed deeper into his seat, a satisfied smile playing across his forever-young features. The night held infinite possibilities, and thanks to his accessory, time was the one commodity he had in abundance. His eyes darted once more to the scattered audience members, particularly the blonde college student and the professional woman in the middle section.

The ring pulsed once more, as if acknowledging his thoughts. Bobby returned his attention to the screen, where Stallone's Terminator was explaining why he couldn't cry. The night was indeed still young, and like the timeline-hopping cyborg on screen, Bobby had all the time in the world to accomplish his goals.

In the darkness of the theater, his chrome ring continued its steady pulse, its crimson glow a reminder of both power and purpose. The goals might vary – entertainment, satisfaction, or the ultimate pursuit of reuniting with his lost love – but the night was his to shape as he pleased.

The sounds of gunfire and explosions filled the theater as the movie progressed, but Bobby's mind wandered to the possibilities ahead. Each patron represented a potential story, a possible deviation in the evening's path. The professional woman checked her watch despite being engrossed in the film – perhaps running late for something, or someone. The college students whispered and shared snacks, unaware of the attention they'd drawn. Even the tired-looking middle-aged man three rows up had a story, evidenced by the way he flinched at certain scenes.

Bobby's ring responded to each observation with subtle pulses of crimson light, like a compass pointing toward possibility. He'd learned to read its signals over time, to understand the ebb and flow of its power. Tonight, it seemed particularly active, perhaps responding to the charged atmosphere of the theater, or maybe to the memories this place stirred within him.

The movie continued to unfold on screen. His attention remained divided between the film and his fellow moviegoers, his mind already plotting the various paths his evening might take once the credits rolled.

In the flickering light of the silver screen, Bobby appeared just another young movie patron enjoying a weekday's night showing. But beneath that youthful exterior lay decades of experience, a mysterious power, and a singular purpose that would guide his actions long after the final scene faded to black.

The ring pulsed once more, stronger this time, as if in agreement with his unspoken plans. Bobby smiled in the darkness, his expression hidden from the other patrons. The night was still young, and so was he – at least for now. 

And in this mall cinema, surrounded by unknowing strangers, infinite possibilities awaited.