Chapter 148: 149: Wrong House

I was held at gunpoint. Should the old man shake the slightest bit too much, it was bye-bye-life for me. I was a coward. And as such, I didn't want to die. Sure, I felt like bashing my head to death sometimes. But I didn't want to die. 

Ironic? Yes. I admitted that to myself. Another ironic thing was the fact that this dead old man was never dead.

"Even through those glasses, I see a fool," the old man said. "I smell people like you. I can read 'em like the books. Not that I read books," he coughed, "I ain't got time on my hands for that anymore."

Hanso constantly shot glimpsed at me. I surely hoped he wasn't going to try anything stupid. Because again, I didn't want to die, at all. 

I had to think this through carefully. We didn't know this man. 'One wrong move could mean death for the three of us,' I thought. 'Wait—' recognition dawned on my face.

The old man glared at me. "What's with the face? Realized that you've entered the wrong house, or what? No ... it's not that. It's something else."

Hanso suddenly tensed up. He kept glimpsing at the door to downstairs. He had to avoid ever bringing up the third person in the house. We still had a chance to make sure at least one of us got out alive.

The old man sighed. "There's another one of you, isn't there?" The old man directed his gun at Hanso. 

Hanso nervously shook his head repeatedly.

"You see," the old man said, "that's the gesture of a liar."

"He's lying," I shouted brusquely. 

The old man calmly directed his gun at me again. He slowly titled his head. "What?"

"He's lying," I repeated. "There is a third person downstairs."

The old man narrowed his eyes at me. Almost squinting in a way. Then, he carried them back to normal state. "I'm inclined to believe those eyes of yours. The eyes are a reflection of the soul. Your eyes speak the truth."

"Yeah," I said, keeping my hands up. "The third person is," I looked at Hanso, "Hanso's pet cat. He didn't want to tell you because," I looked at the old man again, "he feared that you'd hurt him."

The old man paused. Then, he looked at Hanso, directing his gun at him. Everytime his gun edged away from my body, I felt like I could've breathed again. "You," he said, "is that right. A cat?"

Hanso nodded. 

The old man continued to peer at him. "What is its name?"

Hanso grimaced. "Huh?"

"The cat's name ... what is it?"

Hanso looked at me. "M-Miguel ..."

"Waw, what a stupid name for a cat," the old man chuckled, and then suddenly stopped. "You know, my son had a cat once. It was a little stray. He loved that mingy thing with all his heart. I warned him not to hold things to heart in that the heart would be broken once these things are gone.

"Do you know what happened to his cat? I killed it. Stabbed it to the core several times, and eviscerated it. When my son got home, he cried for hours. From that day on, I kept buying him more pets," he chortled, "and as you can guess, we've got a whole pet cemetery in our backyard."

"Why'd you kill them?" Hanso asked. "Didn't your son like them?"

"I was shaping my son into a man," he said. "I did a lot of things I don't regret. But the man he is today," he frowned. "Fuck it," he pointed his gun at Hanso's head. "It's time you kids experience what the pets did."

I looked at Hanso, and then looked at the old man. "Sir, we didn't mean to steal anything from you. We thought you were dead. And we really needed food. It was just for survival. That's what men do. Will a real man just sit down and die? If your son were in our position. Starving. Wouldn't he have done the same thing?"

"Actually," the old man said, "he would have simply robbed from people who are alive. And even if he did otherwise, who am I to judge? I only care about him. I'm a selfish man, boys."

"But aren't we all?" I asked, serious. 

The old man looked at me for a bit. And then he smirked. "Alright. Let's play a little game. If you win, you get to leave this place, with the food. I don't have long anyway. If I win, I get to use my ability on you and shoot who I wanna."

Hanso furrowed his brows. "Come on, sir. Can't you just let us go without all that?"

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The old man clicked his gun. "Well ain't somebody testing his luck."

I peered at the old man. "No-no-no, he's just scared," I furrowed my brows, "we'll play your game."

"Perfect," the old man said, "then we're playing Russian rolloutte."

Hanso gasped. 

My eyes widened. "S-sir ...? Russian rolloutte?"

"Yes," he said, "but in fact, we're playing that after we play two truths one lie."

"O-okay ..."

The old man quickly directed the gun at me. "Two truths one lie. Guess wrong, and I'll shoot you."

My heart quickened. "Okay. I'll play." I couldn't catch breath. I felt as though I was having a panic-attack. 

"I killed my father, I killed my wife, I killed my daughter. Which one is the lie?" The old man asked.

I quailed. I started to tremble on the spot. 'It's believable that he killed his own father,' I thought, 'it's also believable that he killed his own wife. I know what the conflicts in relationships can lead to. But his daughter ... I don't think he would have killed her. God damn it! I don't know!' I scratched behind my head relentlessly. 

"Five seconds," the old man said.

"Five."

'Come on!'

"Four."

'Think you coward fuck!'

"Three."

'The wife wasn't in picture. He definitely killed her.'

"Two!"

"THINK!"

"One!"

"THE THIRD ONE IS A LIE," I shouted brusquely. "You didn't kill your daughter, didn't you? You're likely to kill your father. Maybe he's the reason why you're like this, to begin with. Your wife was out of the question. She wasn't even in the picture," I furrowed my brows, "you didn't kill your daughter.

The old man smirked. "One rainy day like this ones I ended up using my ability on my daughter. It was unfortunate. She died holding my son's hand. My son hated me after that. 

"My father," he said, "wasn't killed by me nor my ability. I was planning to kill him. But he did the deed himself, and left me to suffer," he smirked, "you were ... incorrect."

I felt my heart sink. My lips parted. My brows rose. "What?"

The gun clicked. The old man drew his finger close to the trigger. His finger touched the trigger.

I closed my eyes. 

Suddenly, we started hearing footsteps rushing up the stairs. Then we heard a voice shout, "Guys! I found something! The old man he—" he darted into the room.

The old quickly tossed his hand toward Miguel as he came sliding on my feet. Miguel's eyes widened. I closed my eyes as a deafening gunshot sounded throughout the house.

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