𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝟏𝟐 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

"David Jensen," I said clearly as if I was accusing him of all the sins he had committed, only by a name. The documents that I've found in his jacket told me about his identity, trying to fool me into thinking he was a teacher. Why would a mobster like him disguise himself as a boring teacher? Why did he kidnap my mom? And why he wanted to kill me and my best friend?

Those questions again. The questions that appeared in my head were written in blood and shouted that I can't deal with this person in the right ways. Brute force must be used.

"What David Jensen?" David tried to mask his surprise. I knew basic information about him, including where he lived. Maybe I should just get in the car and find out if he has a family like I had.

Had. That's right. Past tense. My mother was gone and so was my father. I was left alone for everything. Therefore, no one could blame me for the method by which I was going to get the answers.

"None. There's no David Jensen because I'm going to kill him," I revealed my plans, feeling like a cartoon villain character. The voice coming out of my mouth froze me and goosebumps jumped all over my body. Do all killers feel this way before they say the word?

KILL.

It was hard to believe my own words. Did I really say it out loud? Am I seriously going to do this? And if so, how?

David wriggled in his seat uncomfortably, and I noticed a box of something sticking out from his jacket pocket. I got scared of what might be in it. Otto searched him because he offered himself, saying it will make him feel safer. I guess I should have done it, just to be sure. It was my mess. I should take care of it.

With a slightly shaking hand, I reached into a hole in his piece of clothing and exhaled relieved as I looked at the harmless pack of cigarettes.

"Do you smoke?" I asked, first pulling out a cigarette from the box and then the fire from my pocket. Even though I didn't fall for an unhealthy habit of smoking, I've always carried a lighter.

My father gave it to me. He liked smoking, saying it makes him calm. Isn't this an excuse everyone uses? Is it really that way, or is it just a pretext for them to put poison in their bodies?

I realized that I was doing the same thing, desperately looking for a false pretext to give me some hint of peace. So that people didn't ask me the same questions over and over again.

How are you? – Fine.

Not: I'm not fine because my father killed someone in our living room.

What were you doing last night? – Nothing interesting. I was studying.

Not: I was burying a dead body in the woods. My typical program for the evening.

How much I looked like my father. Maybe he knew it. Did he give me this lighter because he expected me to start smoking, too? Did he try to indicate to me that sooner or later I will be completely the way he is?