3.2

On the evening of homecoming, I walked down the neighborhood, hands shoved in my hoodie pocket while I listened to music on my headphone. The air was cool and very soothing that as I dragged in each breath, my chest heaved in appreciation. The street was empty as usual, except for the occasional traces of expensive cars driving past, windows rolled up with people minding their businesses. That was one of the disadvantages of living in the expensive segment of town where no kids rode bicycles or ran around playing and giggling in excitement. The street was filled with sprawling mansions with manicured lawns and often extremely tall irons gates to keep intruders off.

My head was filled with thoughts. I imagined what fun my friends were all going to be having watching the game without me but shook out the imaginations before they lasted too long. Dragging down my headphone to rest on my neck and exhaling deeply, I stopped in front of the mansion that had always piqued my interest and stared hopefully at it.

Mr. Jefferson's.

A small white wooden fence was built around the mansion and it looked more like a stately home than a house for a lone, old man. A rose bush grew on each side at the entrance of the fence and a cemented, steep stairwell led inside. The mansion naturally looked like a giant guarded by the small fence: like a giant tree guarded by tomato and rose bushes. Even though there was no one around to spot, I shuffled nervously in front old man's Jeff's house having a second thought about my plan to visit and stylishly ask him some questions. Ever since I was a kid and  went trick or treating around the neighborhood with Dane and some other kids in the neighborhood, we've always bought the tactics to avoid old man Jeff's house. He looked spooky at that time and had no family with him, so a rumor sparked up within the neighborhood kids that he killed his family in a night and ate his grandkids.

He hated kids, intruders and refered to them as shenanigans that even most adults avoided him.

Weighing my choices and realizing I had no options, I unlatched the wooden gate and pushed it inward. It made way and opened with a guttural groan that caused me to cringe. I nibbled on my lower lip as I walked past his small flower garden on the path that led to the front porch, clutching hard in my chest the bouquet of tulips I'd managed to get on my way home from school to offer as a peace offering and ticket to win the old man's friendliness.

I clambered up the stairs leading up to the porch and stood still to sum up little courage before ringing the doorbell. "Mr. Jefferson?" I called, voice husky.

I lingered a few seconds longer, transferring the bouquet of flower from my left to my right hand before ringing again, this time with a little more urgency it could come across as rude and a little impolite. The door creaked open and the coolness of the hallway reached me, though the door was barely inches from hinges. My finger remained mid-air, hanging limpy.

Mr. Jeff's gruff, impolite voice caused me to cringe. "What do you want?"

Mr. Jefferson was frowning at me, his scorn look lingering on his face. I took a step back and smiled in the most innocent way I could. "Mr. Jefferson. Hi!" I chirped. "I was just passing through this morning when I saw that the tulips in your garden isn't blossomed yet. I decided to get some from the florist shop at the town square."

"Oh," mr. Jefferson uttered. His eyes gleamed with surprise and he opened the door a little bit further, "that's very nice and thoughtful of you."

A smile broke across my lips at how lucky I was being at that moment. Mr. Jefferson held his hands out and accepted the bouquet from me, with admiration glinting in his eyes. He was a stubby, old man. His  skin was pale, papery and wrinkly. The flesh around his lovely eyes had wrinkle lines that folded over each other with each and every expression that flashed across his face. I could tell he seldom smiled but the moment I sighted his lips tilt up at the corners, I realized he had a very nice smile that exhibited sparkling white teeth that didn't quite look the false one I expected him to have. Mr. Jefferson looked to be around his mid-seventies. His skin appeared very pale white and cute brown color freckles decorated and tinted his puffy cheeks. He had white, uneven stubbles growing down his chin.

"Uh—" Mr. Jefferson seemed to hesitate, skeptically studying me. "You're Andy and Pete's kid, right? Living few blocks away."

I nodded in delight, smiling like a kid with a gift on Christmas. "Yes."

"OK, kid. I love this tulips but I have nothing to offer in return," he eyed the flowers in his hand once again, and lifted it to his nose for a quick sniff. "I—uh. Uh—really think you should take this back."

My smile upturned. "Mr. Jefferson—"

"You're a good kid," he interrupted me. "I see you around the town, being helpful to every elderlies. Keep being a good kid, but I can't accept this without anything to offer. Except—except, if you want some money. Get yourself something nice."

"Mr. Jefferson. Wait!" I desperately said, when he made to proceed into the house with me standing by the door. Mr. Jeff halted and watched me for a few seconds, brows arched over the wonders and beauty of his old, wise blue eyes. I attempted to place my demand. "I heard about what happened to your dog—"

"Your mother mentioned it, didn't she? She promised not to," Mr. Jefferson interrupted me and turned defensive. His frown deepened and deeply marred his face. He stepped forward and barked in annoyance, his hold tightened around the bouquet of tulips. "What about Lester?!"

"Nothing!" I squealed and threw my hands in the air defensively. "I just have some questions for you and it's really important if you can provide answers to them—"

"Why should I trust you?—"

I got very desperate that my voice quivered when I spoke. "This could save lives, Mr. Jeff. Not just mine or yours but a lot of people might be at risk. You don't need to trust me, just trust your instincts."

Mr. Jefferson's brows ridiculously twitched and his mouth twisted in an odd angle. He shuffled about, from one weak leg to the other, his eyes skeptically eyeing me. "And how does saving the world have anything to do with my dead dog?" He reluctantly asked, passing onto me a ridiculous gaze.

I instinctively stepped foward and rubbed my sweaty palms against my hoodie. My gut was practically in knots, twisting sickly. "I know what happened to it," I shakily exhaled. "The pain and agony it went through. I can't give all answers to you, but I think I have an idea what might have happened to your dog. I just need your help to confirm my suspicion. I think your dog was infected with some sort of virus. Just a few questions and that's it. After this, I promise to never bother you again—" I continued to push my luck, "—please."

"Do your parents know you're doing this?" Mr. Jeff stood still, his old face frowning. "Trying to be a teenage detective?"

I said nothing in reply, ackwardly deciding saying nothing was better than denying or stalling. Of course, my parents had no idea about all what was going on. I couldn't even mention to my male bestfriend and brother, Dane, not to talk of speaking of it to my parents.

Mr. Jeff mumbled beneath his breath, grumbling incoherent words. He looked over my shoulders and let his eyes sweep through and across the empty street behind me, balls rolling and eyes narrowing before he stepped back and further pulled the door open. I heaved a victorious sigh and stepped inside, walking past him. The door closed with a click and I heard Mr. Jeff twisting the keys lock. I lingered by the door and waited for him to slowly and cautiously walk ahead of me. For a moment, I thought back to what my mother had said and wondered how a very old weakling could wrestle down a wild german shepherd dog who was ready for a kill in order to get to his gun. I wondered why he even had a gun on him but then thought he had it probably for defense against buglers who might decide to pay him a future visit.

"We should settle in the kitchen," Mr. Jeff informed me. "I could make you tea. Not that you're welcome but I could really use some company around here. No one ever comes around. "

"Maybe, if you try being nicer. Smile a little more," I advised. "Less more complaining. People might want to hang around."

"I've lived in this street twenty-five years of my life and still think it's better being alone than mingling with the proud housewives or braggadocio husbands that think they can control the world," Mr Jeff shared, "your mother's an exception. Not too certain about your father. Somethings about him seems too off."

I chortled in amusement, and glanced around. The interior of Mr. Jeff's house featured interior designs as sophisticated and rich as my parent's house, only a little bit older. Everything was polished, and an enormous staircase led from the hallway up to a magnificent second-floor balcony that overlooked the living room. An enormous persian rug in rich shades of turquoise, mint, and fuschia covered the dark wood floor in the living room, and the furnitures appeared to be antique, expertly reupholstered. A railing across the second floor overlooked the room, which featured an enormous cathedral ceiling. There was a big chinese porcelain vase from which dried eucalyptus branches splayed, filling the house with a sweet, clean odour.

As we stepped into the hallway, to our right, I got a quick glimpse of an ornamently framed oil hanging over the fire place which had an intricately designed iron gate standing beside it. The painting was of a young woman, pretty and dark in a white wedding dress and a man I made out as Mr. Jefferson, looking overly young and fresh in an army uniform. I glanced quickly, not wanting to pass any wrong feeling to Mr. Jefferson, in case he caught me gawking at his wedding picture. My heart fluttered at the realization that the grumpy old man once had a wife, and probably even still had kids and grandkids places in the world. The rumors that had spread like wild fire among the neighborhood kids had just being pure nonsense.

Mr. Jeff led me past a bathroom and a library before finally the kitchen that overlooked a sprawling backyard, heavily gardened. He heaved a gentle sigh and placed the bouque on an antique oval wooden table, and I dragged out a chair to set my butt and rest my aching legs.

"Lester was a really loyal dog," Mr. Jeff told me, a distance look lingered on his expression as he stared at me across the table, a nostalgic smile crawled up his pale lips. "It was a gift from a friend, days before he passed on a couple of years ago. I had him as a pup."

"Mr. Jeff, I'm sorry. It must have being hard to loose him."

Mr. Jeff looked at me with an expressionless daze, smacking his lips together and blinking occasionally. He turned away and in the direction of the cooker and shuffled about the kitchen with the attempts to get a kettle of water boiling. I got up the seat and walked around the table, practically not wanting to be a useless liability on the poor, old man. "Mugs in the top cabinet. The first one on your right," Mr. Jeff said, without even looking back, probably already got the hint that I had the urge to help.

I grabbed two white mugs from the cabinet and that gave  little clanks as I carefully placed them on the table and heaved a sigh. On the inside, I felt very giddy and excited. "I want to know everything about it. What happened that evening," I demanded, carefully tucking a strand of hair behind my right ear. "Were the symptoms similar to rabies?"

"Lester never came down with any dog ailment."

I settled back on the chair and waited for Mr. Jeff to finish with setting the kettle of water to boil. I twiddled my thumbs, legs shaking unstably under the table. When I took a quick glance at my watch, I realized the time was few minutes past five and looking outside the kitchen, I saw that the sun had begun to set, and the sky was a dull deep blue canvas. Then I began to get nervous and began to think of a manner I could speed up the process of making the old man give all necessary information I craved.

"I think your mother should have mentioned this, but that night, I let Lester out for his usual night walk," Mr. Jeff informed me as he approached the table, tugging at the sleeves of his expensive looking cashmere sweater with black and white polkadot design. "I never went with it. At least, I can say I stopped, after realizing it'd become loyal enough to understand here was home and was always going to be many years ago. A couple of times it went in the evening to play about the yard and came back through the doggy door before it was too late — sometimes with a dead raccoon or squirell to place outside the door."

Mr. Jeff brows was puckered hard, he pulled out a seat opposite me that noisily scraped against the wooden floor, and then he shakily settled down on it. "I should have taken Lester out on a walk past the yard that evening," he continued, clasping his hands together and looking over my head as if in an internal warfare. "My doctor had just recommended some evening jogs down the street to keep fit instead of staying decked up inside all day, but I was in no mood for that on the evening of that day. So I called for Lester, and then I stood right there—"

Mr. Jefferson looked over his shoulder and pointed at the kitchen door leading to the garden, his eyes hooded as if trying to recollect exactly how it had happened. "Yes," he nodded in satisfaction, head bobbing before he returned his hand to its former position. "I stood exactly there, with the door prodded open and watched it leap out the house with excitement, tail wagging in appreciation. It leaped everywhere but never between the garden. And—"

Mr. Jefferson paused and smacked his lips together in deep thought, eyes blinking. From the living room direction, I could hear from the TV a theme song for a News channel going off before it was momentarily cut off by some loud body beauty products  commercial. The best way to feel nice is to look it, the commercial was explaining, Be bold. Be fabulous. Be you.

Frantic, I leaned into the table and asked Mr. Jefferson. "And what? What happened after you let Lester out the house?" Desperation flooded out my voice. "You watched him from the door, right? What happened after?"

Like he was struck by sudden lightning of realization or memory, Mr. Jefferson's cobalt blue eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers together. "Ah, ah!" He exclaimed, grinning like a child. "My spooky new neighbour was standing in his yard, across mine, staring into space. He moved in months ago with his family and I always feel something's odd about him, especially that evening. Lester did, too. It looked up and spotted him, let out a whimper and barked, barked, and barked, than he'd ever done before. I went to rest and waited for my dog to return, but he never did, till the next day."

The tea kettle began whistling loudly and Mr. Jefferson rose up to get it, a eerie expression darkening his face as he stared at me across the table. My heart thumped and I inwardly shuddered in fear. "But that couldn't have been my Lester," he hoarsely muttered, "it would never want or try to hurt me, and that was why I gunned it down. I know someone did something to him. Because my Lester wasn't that monster that returned home to me."