C6: Lancelot

She was wearing a chiffon dress made with layers of pale yellow and orange, matching it with a pearl necklace. Flowers and ribbons adorned her hair and light makeup was applied to her face.

Everyone clapped their hands as they see her descending the stairs, wearing her classic smile that is good enough to make someone do the same. She welcomed everyone who attended her party, until an hour later, she voluntarily approached me to start a small talk – when I isolated myself to the balcony. It was only the two of us, with her carrying two glasses of wine between her fingers.

She gave me one and asked, "What are you doing here all alone?"

"Thinking," I replied, "More like, thinking of the life decisions that I made recently. I can't help but wonder if I did the right thing or not," certainly wrong, I know.

"Well, you probably didn't do anything wrong if no one's badly affected or anything like that. You might be overthinking things. What's your name?"

"Mort Lancelot. It's an ugly name for parents to use."

"Why so? I'll call you Lance, then. What does your name mean? What made you hate it? I found it cool because, in the Arthurian legend, Sir Lancelot was King Arthur's close friend and knight."

"In that legend, Lancelot was a traitor. But the very meaning of it is, 'servant.' Mort means 'dead,' basically, that's it. Why would you name your child, 'Dead servant?' Don't you think that's terrible?"

"Now I see your point. But even if your name is terrible, you can always live a good life, right?"

"I'm a terrible man myself, miss." I corrected. "Your name is …?"

"Hana. It has a different meaning in different languages, but some of the meanings are 'flower,' 'bless,' 'one,' and 'grace.' I love my name."

Up to this point, I haven't asked why she left her own party, brought some wine and talk to me here – I'm basically a stranger to her. I don't know her either … not on a personal level.

And with that, a white light flashed that led me to … waking up from my sleep, with my phone's alarm ringing: 6 am.

I don't know what to feel after having that dream. All I know was, clearly, she was fascinating. Funny, even in my dreams, I feel ashamed of myself for being a big mess for one main reason – I'm a murderer. I can't help but keep on reminding myself that every day.

An hour later, as I arrived in the restaurant where I'm working, I headed to the kitchen to start preparing the dishes that will be ordered for later. As I cut the chicken, I found blood coming out of my finger. I winced as I felt the pain, but a sensitive co-worker came after seeing me out of my composure.

"Lance! What happened?" Arlene asked, her eyes filled with worry and questions longing for answers.

"I'm fine. I just accidentally cut my finger. Nothing I can't handle."

"Jun!" she yelled, calling another co-worker. "Can you help us here, please? Lance accidentally cut his finger!"

"Look, you didn't have to start a commotion. I'm not a child." I scoffed as I looked back and washed my finger with some running water. I pulled out the white handkerchief from my pocket and covered the wounded area – and that's when Jun came.

"Dude, what happened?" Jun asked.

"Arlene said it. I cut my finger but I'll be fine. It's nothing to be worried about. So you two shouldn't waste your energy looking after me. It's nothing."

"I know that you're a grown-up, but I hope that you won't push us away. Arlene and I are just worried about you. Checking on you isn't a waste of energy."

"That's right!" Arlene's high-pitched voice is annoying. I don't hate her or anything, but her voice and her actions … they're too unnecessary.

Normally at this time of day – 7:15 am, we don't have customers, because this is a restaurant, and normally people eat here at noon or so, mostly evenings, and they're often a family dinner or a date for two. I see couples almost daily, but Jun's usually the one who takes and serves their

orders. One of the most memorable things was when I saw someone proposing. I don't know them personally, but even as strangers, I feel happy for them.

Meanwhile, as I continued cutting the chicken earlier, my phone rang. I washed my hands and answered the call even without drying my hands or looking at who the call was from.

"Hello?"

"Hey, son. Can you leave your job for a while and head to my house? I have something to discuss with you. Something important." It was no one else's voice but Sir Elliot's. The only man who calls me 'son' and treats me as if I'm his own.

"I'll come," I replied, and he hung up. I finished seasoning the chicken and asked Jun to continue, because 'something came up.' Which is true, but I don't see the need to discuss further.

As I entered my car and head to the road. The thought of Sir Elliot asking me to come to him this early felt like something's off. Can't it wait after work hours?

----------------------------------------

"Finally, you're here." He opened the gate as soon as I stepped out of the car as if he's waiting for me from behind it from the time he called until I came.

"Good morning, sir. That was fast," I smiled awkwardly.

"I know the sound of your car, and I also know how long it's likely to take from my restaurant to our home."

That's right. He knows it well because he had that restaurant for seven years already.

"What made you call, sir?"

"You see, last night, I sent an email to my daughter," he began.

"You … you have a daughter? In that case, where is she, and your wife? I haven't heard of them."

"We talked a lot about different matters but now that I realized it, it's surprising that I haven't mentioned a thing about my family, don't you think? My daughter is in North Carolina. Her name is Evangeline. We made her study abroad, and she has a life there. A job, friends, house … you get the idea. But when my wife and I visited her there a month ago, we had this picnic and a child crossed the road without looking at both sides. She pushed the child away, but she was the one who got hit by the car. Currently, she's in a coma, and Evangeline's the one taking care of her. I told her that I want to take care of her mother, and on the other hand, she should be here in replacement of me so that she can handle the business. You're my most-trusted employee, and when she gets here, I want you to tour her around here. Tell how the business run and all that. It shouldn't be hard."

Now I see his point. Long story short, he wants me to help his daughter manage the restaurant.

"I can do that. If it's not too much to ask, why did you let her live there while you and your wife were here?"

"To put it simply, her life will be in danger if she's here. Someone … wanted to kill her, when she was a kid. My wife raised her there. When she was old enough, my wife lived with me here."

"I believe I can see the full picture. When will she come here, then?"

"She hasn't responded yet, but I want all of us to live here for good. Once her mother recovers, we all should be here. It might take her time to decide, because like I said, she has a life there. I'm asking for her to resign and leave everything. She needs to know her country, too. It will be a big decision for her to do, though." "You mean, she's never been here?"

"Once a year. She'll celebrate Christmas and new year here and go back there eventually. Literally just that. She knows some of our family members and had this cousin who was close to her – Giovanni. The mayor's son, if you can remember. I don't even know how to tell her that his cousin is probably dead. His corpse wasn't found in his house. You've probably heard the story because he was a well-known man. The news is in newspapers, websites, radio, and TV."

The world can't be this small. Giovanni Mortalla … the man whose blood was shed in my hands … was my boss's nephew? This can't be real.