C10: Lancelot

"You haven't visited us for a month now. Is there something that matters?" dad asked, giving me a stern look. He rose from his seat and walked towards me, approaching me face-to-face, almost in a literal manner. I'm four inches taller than my old man, but his glare is good enough to make me shiver … deep inside. For many years, I was trained to shut down my emotions, and that's the main reason why it's not hard to hide fear.

I shrugged things off and rejected the nonsense thought. As far as I'm concerned, I didn't do anything wrong, unless we're talking about the murder cases.

"None. I've been working hard recently because I enjoy my job than anything else," I answered in a monotone, trying not to sound suspicious.

"I thought you enjoy your second job as well? I have a list of people that need to be wiped out. Although setting that aside, I want us to talk about Giovanni Mortalla."

"What about him?"

"Your brother Nate has been working on that case, right? And you're the one who killed Giovanni last January."

"And?"

"People, who get in the way should be wiped out, remember?"

Those words sent shivers in my spine. I get it. That's the motto that we have. I want to believe that he's not saying that I should kill Nate like the people that I killed in the past. Nate isn't the nicest person that I know, but if he meant that he should be killed too, that sounds like a different story.

How can I even kill my own brother?

I stepped back and narrowed my eyes, trying to study my father's facial expression, analyzing if there's seriousness in his tone. His face didn't show any hints of emotion, which made him hard to read.

"You're serious," I replied. "You can't do this. I CAN'T do this. How can you even kill your own son?"

"He wouldn't follow me. He's rebellious and will have us arrested. How can I even keep someone like that? I no longer consider him as my son. You are my only son, dead servant."

A normal person would think that being called like that would feel like a curse. I want to respect my parents, but they see me as a servant. I'm not grateful that they raised me with the name, 'Mort Lancelot' that literally means 'dead servant' if combined. As I can see, everyone's a tool for them and this is all because of the money that they're getting from selling drugs.

Nate kept on lecturing me about how insane everything is and that I can still change. For me, that's not it. Even if I'm going to stop killing people, it won't change the fact that I'm a criminal. The title will be there until I'm nothing but dust. If I'm going to tell my parents that I'm done with this business, I'm more than sure that they will kill me.

The thing is, there are times where I take pleasure in killing people, which is ironic. My mind knows that I should leave this kind of life, but what I desire is to continue it. Which is why I always have a war in my head, especially when I'm alone. It's an unending war inside me and I don't know how to end it. It's something that keeps me awake the entire night.

Now, what will 'my master' do if I'm going to refuse?

"What if I'm not willing to kill him myself?" I felt a lump in my throat as I said those words. I don't care about what he'll think of me, but I'm asking an honest question.

He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, disappointed. With a finger on his chin, articulating his thoughts for a couple of seconds, he finally came up with a plan.

A plan that someone else will do it.

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As I put my bag down on my bedside table, I threw myself onto my bed, moved myself a bit to the sleeping position, and stared at my room's ceiling. As I close my eyes, I see the faces of the people I murdered – most specifically, the latest one, Giovanni: how he knelt and begged, cried in fear, asking me to spare his life.

As I continuously close my eyes, I visualized the heat of his blood flowing between my surgical-gloved fingers. Everything felt and looks fresh from my memory, as it was just almost three or four weeks ago. I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling again, and I can't help but remember my boss's daughter, Evangeline, who was said to be Giovanni's closest cousin. I don't know what Evangeline is like, but she'll kill me when she finds out, and I can't let that happen. If she's the kind of person who embraces justice, not mercy, it's the end of my career in their restaurant, plus, I'll be stuck behind the bars 'til I breathe my last.

I picked up my phone placed on my bedside table and browsed my email. Currently, I have two unread emails – one from Evangeline, and one from Nate. Speak of the devil – I was just thinking of the two of them right now, then there's that.

---

From Hana Evangeline Perez:

Hey stranger. Thanks for messaging me, and your initiative to tour me around when I get there. It's February 1st, and I'll be there on March 7th. I already resigned, but my boss needs another month and all that. My dad mentioned that you already interviewed Megan. Thank you very much! I truly appreciate it. She's not the kind who knows how to cook, and since you're the head chef and my dad says that you're really good at it, I'd like to ask you to help her around. She's a fast learner. So yeah, see you on March 9th. Have a great day!

---

Her tone sounded cheerful, even if she's emailing someone she has no idea on who. I can tell that she's too trusting, as early as now. Her first name, 'Hana' reminds me of the woman I

dreamt of recently. She can't be that. After all, I've never seen her. Is it even possible to dream of someone you haven't met? Not that I know. It must be a mere coincidence.