Gone? USUK

Chapter 9: I'm More Terrified of People

"How the hell did you find this guy, Alfred?"

I shrug, smirking at my albino friend (the only one I brought with me) before raising my fist and knocking on the front door of a decent looking two-story house, which is a gentle blue color. I didn't know something could be so misleading.

A few seconds later, the blinds to one of the front windows are pulled back by someone, telling me that people are indeed home.

The wide, white and wooden door is opened with a wide swing, not even squeaking on its hinges. They must be pretty well off, and this must be a pretty new house.

"Can I help you?"

The woman who opened the door is a blonde, very attractive for an older woman with a small brunette toddler hoisted up and resting on her hip. She is wearing a long blue dress that falls to her small, pale feet. She has a gentle, sophisticated voice and a bright smile on her face.

I grin as politely at the woman as possible, trying my best to seem like that classic golden boy people seem to mistake me for. 

"Hello, ma'am. Is Mr. Alistair here?" I ask. My southern voice decides it wants to make an appearance, which seems to charm the lady, judging from the smile on her face.

"Oh, that's my husband." She turns towards the back of the house and calls out for the said man, and he appears a few seconds later. Thankfully, his wife departs a few minutes later in order to calm down her rather cranky child -- who has decided that they want to return to their toys.

"Can I help you?" the man asks, Scottish accent faded from years being spent in America.

"You're Alistair, right?" I ask, dropping my charm as what this man has done comes to mind. It takes all of my self control, Gilbert's hand on my shoulder, and the thought of the small child a room away to keep me from murdering the man where he stands.

"Do I know you?" he asks, picking up on my hostility but obviously confused.

"No, but I know you," I answer, internally laughing with how creepy that sounded. "You remember Arthur Kirkland, right?"

The man's gaze turns fearful, and he steps out onto the porch with us, shutting the door behind him so his wife and child can't hear this conversation.

"Who the hell are you?" he asks angrily, keeping his distance from the two of us as he eyes us up and down. His bright green eyes are like acid, but I pretend as if his gaze alone doesn't disgust me.

"Was it fun?" I ask, ignoring his question as I cross my arms and casually strut around the front porch in the most menacing way I can. "Did you enjoy killing him?"

I can see the immense regret and anger in his eyes and don't even try to hide the evil smirk that comes onto my face because of it. This man disgusts me.

"You don't know what you're talking about, kid," he tells me, sounding bitter and sad.

"Says the murderer," I mock, making his face flush red in both shame and embarrassment.

"Shut up," he tells me, clenching his fists. "You don't understand," he murmurs, shaking in a swirling mix of emotions that I can't even decipher.

"What don't I understand?" I ask, trying and failing to keep the obvious distaste and mocking out of my voice. "You killed him. You and you're two little friends beat him to death in that abandoned house and left his body to rot," I tell him, moving closer so he's forced to look into my eyes. I have to hold back angry tears when I repeat the gist of the tale, because it's just to painful for me to handle.

Alistair blinks and lets tears stream down his face, not even trying to fight them as his body slumps. He sniffles loudly, and I'm tempted to feel pity for him. I manage to stand my ground, though.