If Roosters Crowed Every Time Someone Died

It's Like a Burglary in Your House II

The three of us stood in our places, waiting for him to move. But nothing happened. He just laid there on the floor.

While Moka untied Samuel, I approached the body to check that it was... well, a body. I kicked his leg softly to no reaction. I crouched down by his side and put my hand on his chest. His heart beat calmly, palpitating against my hand, oblivious to all that had happened.

"He's still alive."

Without fully realizing the gravity of the situation, the three of us tied him to a chair with the same ropes he had brought. We went outside to fetch the phones and look for the other guy. But little was not our surprise when we didn't find him by the window. Anyway, we went back inside the house to lock ourselves in, this time with the garage door closed.

In the garage was the clown we did catch, tied to a chair, unconscious. We stood there, observing him, silently debating which one of us would remove the mask from his head. Yes, we had tied him, but we hadn't taken it out just yet.

"I cannot." Samuel spat and left the room in a hurry.

Moka stepped up, angrily grabbed the kanekalon curls with her fist and pulled upwards. She removed his mask, and the head of the sleeping clown fell to the side in an almost boneless manner. Moka's hatred turned into confusion, her eyebrows knitted.

"Why would someone like this... do these things..?"

I walked to her side to try and understand what she was talking about.

"I guess evil doesn't choose by appearances."

Moka was right. Before us lay a young boy, good-looking, pretty like a model. With his eyes closed, he looked like a grenade with a loose pin, seconds away from waking up and blowing everything up. He was of pale skin, with thin lips and a nose a bit upturned. His angular face looked like carved marble, with hollow cheeks and defined temples. I wondered what his eyes were like. Yes, that same eyes that had glared at me with wrath, a luxury I couldn't afford just yet.

Moka and Samuel were in the dining room calling the cops. They didn't want to be close to the "crime scene", they told me. So I had been left here to watch over him.

While I was dissociating, I heard a grunt. The boy was waking up. His shoulders raised and lowered each time he took a breath. He opened his eyes slowly and discovered his body immobilized. He examined himself, tugging softly on the tightly tied ropes, moving his shoulders, stuck to the chair backrest. He seemed too calm, too peaceful for the situation he was in. I bet that was a mask, a façade to cover whatever he really felt.

I stood there, silent, afraid of ruining his peace.

"Like what you see?"

I jumped when he spoke to me. This time, his voice wasn't threatening in the least, but silky, a bit husky. He turned his head, and his maroon eyes attacked mine fiercely. He had half-lidded eyes and pinkish under-eye circles, which brought an air of eternal tiredness to his serious face. He had caused such a physical reaction in me that I had to take two steps back carefully, but I stepped on a rope that was there, on the floor, and almost tripped. He looked down in that same serious manner, but I knew that he was holding back a smile. It was at this moment that I could identify two main problems: it shouldn't have felt good, to make him laugh, nor shouldn't I have been there, testing the shallow waters that were unfreezing inside of me every time the danger approached.

I stood still. I just had to keep my mouth shut. And I knew it. I knew I had to leave the garage, close the door and wait for the police to arrive. But every idea got erased when I heard his voice again.

"You hit me."

"I had to so you wouldn't break into my house twice."

"But this is not your house." He argued.