Emerson sashayed out of the changing room, smiling sheepishly as she buttoned up her Versace top. She glanced around, biting her lip seductively as she finished adjusting her skirt, hiking it down, and pulling her long, platinum blonde hair over one shoulder, completing her look. Pulling her L'Oreal lipgloss out of her black, matte leather Prada makeup bag, she spread the gloss thickly over her collagen-injected lips.

She paused momentarily, turning to admire her appearance in the mirror. Damn, do I look good, she said, as she ran a finger through her platinum blonde extensions.

But if they only knew what I just did, she thought to herself, giggling wildly, feeling the stolen merchandise hidden under the top layer of her clothes.

Not bad for a forty-five year old, Emerson thought with a giggle, as she smiled sexily at the changing room attendant, being met with a bemused by polite smile from the handsome young man.

Emerson made her way through the perfume counter, furtively stealing bottles of Hermes, Gucci, and Prada scents, stuffing them into her oversized Louis Vuitton tote bag. I could get away with anything, thought Emerson, as she smiled seductively at her reflection in the mirror that stood behind the L'Oreal Expert advertisement.

Or Almost anything...

Emerson suddenly flashed back over eleven years, back to that telling day when she was charged with a crime so horrible that even years of therapy could not remove the stain of the shame.

Emerson tripped on her Prada heels, falling headfirst into the display of Prada purses that lined the all-too-narrow aisles. All the bottles of perfume and clothes she had stolen rained over the other shoppers, as Emerson lost control, trying desperately to cling to a mannequin, only to have it topple on top of her, the glass bottles of perfume shattering all around her.

Children screamed, parents ran for cover, and someone pulled the emergency alarm, which resulted in all the lights in the main shopping area blinking on and off and the sprinkler system started going off too, drenching everyone and the merchandise.

Emerson screamed for help, trapped under a pile of mannequins, as she noticed that her light anywhere matches had fallen into the puddle of alcohol-based perfume, starting quite a large fire. Everyone raced for cover, but Emerson was trapped. She screamed, but no one answered. Help me, she screamed, louder and louder.

Would she survive?