The Chance to make a Change

Chapter 2: Inside his Home

Summary: You're inside Albert's house. Now to come up with a plan.
___________________________________

"So, this is my humble abode," Albert said, gesturing with his arms towards the couch in the living room. "Take a seat while I fetch you a glass of lemonade."

You smiled nervously at him but did as you were told, slowly sitting down on a corner of the couch that he had indicated. It felt soft, a dent clearly to your left which indicated a spot that was often set in. Was that Albert's spot? Of did his brother used to sit there? Perhaps even Samson, the dog? When you looked closely, you did spot a few black dog hairs that stuck to the fabric of the couch. The dog lived here all right.

Yet, looking around the room while Albert scuffled into the kitchen to fetch you a drink, you had to admit that sitting here was pleasant. There was something warm about this house, a homely feeling that did not match the cold serial killer vibe that you had expected.

A searing cold was what you had thought to find. An indication of the presence of ghosts. You'd seen enough supernatural series and vloggers trying to explore haunted homes online. You'd expected the place to be cold and dark and ominous. It wasn't like any of that though. Stripes of warm sunlight caressed the vinyl floorboards, adding a warm vibe with their orange color that seeped through the drawn blinds. The temperature felt warm, fooling you into thinking it was summer outside rather than autumn.

"The lemonade is gone," Albert's voice shook you out of your thoughts and you looked up to find him standing in front of you, two glasses in his hands. One he held out for you, offering for you to take it. "I hope you don't mind soda instead?"

Of course. Soda and eggs, you reminded yourself, and you had to suppress a chuckle at the thought of Albert coming over to you and offering you an egg for lunch. He probably would have, if you had said you were hungry as well. Wait, you could still do that. Check and see if your theory is right? Buy some more time until you came up with a plan to rescue that poor boy from his basement prison?

You gently took the glass from his hand, thinking that while it would be fun to see if he would bring you an egg, it would be risky as well. "Thank you, sir," you said, thinking about remarking how lemonade and soda were sort of the same thing, but then you realized that they weren't, and that it would just sound silly.

"Sir," Albert chuckled, plopping down next to you on the couch and filling the dent you had theorized to belong to him. You were right. "I like that." He ran a hand through his long hair, the grey and brown tresses slipped through his fingers before he raised his own glass to his lips.

You watched him, wearily, but caught sight of how his eyes moved to yours. He took a swig from his glass and made a sound of relief when the liquid cooled his throat. He then lowered his glass to let it come to rest on his left knee, hand still holding the glass so it couldn't fall or tip over. He tilted his head to the side and looked at you.

"Aren't you thirsty?"

You hadn't wanted for him to pose that question to you, and scared that you might be giving your game away, you quickly brought your own glass to your lips and took a big gulp from it. A little tickling could be felt down your throat and you realized that this drink was nice. You carefully took another sip from it.

Something about Albert's expression changed, though you could not quite pinpoint what it was. Perhaps the corners of his lips tugged a little further into a smile? Perhaps his eyes took on a darker tint? But whatever it was, the change was too subtle to actually see. You could only sense it. Like a foreboding feeling that this man, who was smiling warmly at you, was actually hiding something worse underneath.

Like his killer self, you thought sardonically. Not that you were going to say that out loud.

"So, you've done pretty well," Albert started, apparently quite apt at making small talk with strangers. You smiled up at him, though your mind was racing. What is he on about? "The cookies," Albert pointed at the floor, then realized the basket was still somewhere next to the front door and chuckled while he shook his head. "I mean, I'll get them in a moment." Now he looked up at you again with that broad smile. "You haven't told me your name yet, miss...?"