C25: Lancelot

The very idea of me being a part of their family sure is too much to handle, although it won't make a big difference anymore. It feels like being their son is only a title, and is not even official. It makes me wonder how great my life could've been if I lived with them, yet, the truth that they used me as a payment for the people I grew up with hardly makes a difference. I was tempted to ask, 'What's the difference between murdering your child and giving your child as a payment to a group of murderers?' Annabelle seems to be regretful about the foolish decision they made in the past, but that won't change anything. What's done is done.

I ran my fingers into my hair and covered my face with my palm, my other hand pulling my necktie.

My entire life was a lie. I was raised to be a murder and originally came from a corrupted family who wants to wipe out the ones in their way in politics. They're all the same. All of them. My real parents told their sons, my brothers, that 'their older brother is missing' for many years. Missing. Ha! What a smart excuse. Missing isn't even close to being used as a payment. They're all heartless people who only think about wiping out the lives of other people for their safety and pleasure. They're all idiotic liars who should go to hell.

I grit my teeth as I hit the steering wheel with my hand several times and I leaned my head on it, and tears started falling from my eyes. Overflowing anger and sadness began filling my heart and mind. I want to go back home and spend the entire night alone, but part of me wants to

express my anger somewhere else. Thing is, I can't go out of the car being an emotional mess, because even if it's night, there will always be people that can see, which will only cause an unnecessary drama.

Meanwhile, my phone vibrated from my pocket, and I pulled it out to see the notification. It was a text from Evangeline.

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Evangeline: Hey Lance! I know it's pretty late, but I made some dinner. If in case you have the time, or if you want to, you can visit me here. But if you can't, it's completely fine! Have a good night. 😊

Me: Sure, I'll come. See you.

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This is certainly unexpected, but I could use some company. In my entire life, I avoided having friends for the safety of knowing my identity as a murder, and now that I need a shoulder to lie on, I have no one. Eve and I aren't close enough, but I suppose I can consider her as a friend. After all, she's the one who's being friendly. When Megan first told me what she's like, I thought that she'll be annoying. Megan wasn't lying or exaggerating, but the caring and the excessively friendly side was far from what I expected.

Half an hour later, I stopped my car in front of Eve's house and I pressed the doorbell next to the gate. It took her at least five minutes to answer, but she opened the gate with a warm grin written on her face.

"Hi, welcome. I'm glad you came," she greeted while holding a paintbrush and wearing an apron with some drops of paint on it, and a small paint on her face which she's unaware of.

"You … you're painting right now?" I asked. Way to say the obvious.

"Yes. It's not yet done, but close. Come, we can talk about it inside."

We headed to the kitchen and I sat on a chair as she re-heat the pizza. She removed her apron and sat across me and looked at me intently as if reading me.

"You don't look so good. Your eyes are swollen. If it's not confidential, did something happen?" she asked, her eyes filled with worry.

"I'm not ready to discuss the details but … someone died. That person suffered such fate from someone else's mistake," Died. I've always seen myself as someone who's dead inside, but

knowing the truth behind my life that was full of lies made it even worse. I'm not regretting that I met my real parents, but the entire story stings. It's not just a slap on the face, but a stab in the chest. Just like what everyone says, the truth hurts.

Eve covered her mouth in shock. "I'm so sorry. That must be a friend of yours. It sounds harsh. Whoever that person is, he or she deserves justice."

Powerful people are involved, and it won't be 'justice' anymore, but 'just us.' I no longer see the point.

"Also, for the first time, I met my real parents. Long story short, my entire life was a lie. Let's keep this between us, okay? I haven't told anyone. My mother said that she just gave me away as payment of some kind," I shook my head. "I found it hard to believe, that a mother can do that to her son. I figured that my real name is Victor, not Lancelot. I may not like the people who raised me nor my real parents, but that name sounds better. Mort Lancelot literally means 'dead servant.' On the contrary, the nickname that everyone gave me, 'Lance,' means a long weapon made of steel used by horsemen for charging. I like it. It's far different from 'Lancelot' which is a servant," I explained.

Silence falls over both of us as we look at each other's eyes. I can't tell what Evangeline might be thinking, but perhaps processing everything, wondering what to say, perhaps.

She smiled a bit. "Maybe I should start calling you by your real name, 'Victor.' It means a winner. After knowing the entire truth about your identity, though it hurts, don't you think that you won the battle you've been through all these years? Lance won the battle, and now, he's a Victor. What do you think?" her encouraging words lightened the burden I've been holding inside my heart. What she said makes a lot of sense, and having the right attitude is a must as I face this new chapter of my life. That's right. There's no point being emotional on everything, I cried and suffered enough. I should fix my eyes to the future, and do something to change everything.

"I like your proposal. Please call me that. I'm not willing to tell other people about the story, because if I'll tell them that they should call me 'Victor,' they'll ask why. Since you and Megan know that fact, I'd like the two of you to call me Victor, and the rest of the ones I know as Lance. That would be fair." Right, because Megan knows. She may not be aware that I saw her, but I have, and she secretly listened from afar.

Eve narrowed her eyes, curious. "How come Megan knows?"

"She didn't intend to listen at first. As you can see, I'm wearing a suit. I went to a social event, more specifically, Arthur and Vincent's birthday party, where Megan was also in. She happened to pass by, and secretly listened when I was talking to my real mother. I'm certain that she heard important details."

"Wait, you're telling me now that Arthur and Vincent are your siblings? Oh gosh, you can't be serious," It's interesting how Eve reacts on everything. She's almost too easy to read.

"You catch up fast," I chuckled. "I wasn't planning to tell you that, and there are lots of guests to choose from and yet, you considered Arthur's parents as my own. It surprised me too. To the point where it was hardly believable. But … that's the most that I can say."

"My uncle is the mayor, and your real father is the vice mayor. I can't believe the world can be that small."

"Enough about me. Let's talk about you. What are you painting?" I asked, and Eve clasped her hands together, her smile is a mile wide, and her eyes sparkling in excitement. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice that I changed the topic so that she won't push further.

She stood up and took the pizza out of the microwave, and placed it on the table. I stood up to help her, and I took out two dishes and utensils, placing it to their respective places.

"We almost forgot about the food," she said as she sat down. "About my painting … I can show it to you once it's done. The background would be a garden full of cypress flowers and its trees, and the man and woman are in the middle of the painting. The woman holds the man's left hand to pull him away from the fire since the garden is half burning. However, as he holds the man's hand, he's fading away … shattering into pieces – a mixture of glass and doves. The man is half-fading, yet, he has a smile on his face. A sad smile. The woman, however, is full of sadness as he fades. The painting's title would be 'Remnants of Departed days.'"

"Why 'remnants of departed days'? Also, if it's a garden, there should be different plants. Why cypress alone?"

"Remnants of departed days, because in my head, the man is, even though shattering, is happy because he found peace. That's why his fragments are made of doves. A mixture of glass, because what gave him peace also gave him pain … for fragments of glass are sharp. The girl is filled with sadness because she wants to help the man, but won't be able to," Eve poured our glasses with some water, and she drank as she continues. "In the language of flowers, cypress means death, mourning, despair, sorrow. The garden was burning because the purpose is to burn away the cypress, but it was too late for the man because he's fading."

"I see your point there. It is, however, sad. Do you have any person in mind when you planned this painting?" regardless if there is, it's tempting to tell her that the man sounds like me. Someone who felt free after knowing the truth, but it kills me at the same time. How can that even be related?

"None, actually. I happen to create some scenarios in my head. But … I do believe that such things happen in real life. I usually paint nature and people, and honestly, this is the first sad painting that I worked on. My paintings usually have no dramatic effect in it." she ate the last of her pizza and combined the utensils together, putting it at the corner of her plate. "By the way, starting on Monday, I'll introduce myself to the restaurant's crew. You're the one who should do that … if you wouldn't mind."

"Sure. To make things easier, I'll just pick you up at 8:30 in the morning. By the way, this homemade pizza that you made passed the chef's standards," I winked, trying to break the upsetting atmosphere caused by the painting's description.

"Great! Any room for improvement?"

"It can be crispier, and add more cheese."

"Thanks for the suggestion. I'll impress you next time," she assured, full of confidence. It's funny how her level of energy may be partly annoying, yet, it lightens up the mood … my mood.

An hour later after talking to Eve, it was already 11 pm, and as I enter my car, Megan is the first person that entered my mind, and I unlocked my phone to send her a short message.

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Me: I know you were listening earlier when Annabelle and I were talking. You better not tell anyone about what you've learned. Everything was shocking – both of us are I suppose. We can talk about it when we meet. Also, feel free to call me by my real name … Victor.