He pursed his lips and swayed his body as he waited for someone to come to the door, since he didn't get an answer the first time. Someone that is bored out of their mind, Chump pressed his face against the glass top of the door to look inside. The empty walkway didn't do much explaining. Even though he acknowledged that the conditions outdoors are telling of a situation inside, Chump was not in favor of waiting. He glanced around at the overgrown weeds, deteriorating roof, and peeling paint on the exterior of the home. He lifted his hand to knock for the third time as he couldn't stand the chirping of the insects or the heat of an empty residential street reflecting on the doorstep.
"Holy Fuck!" Chump shuddered. He saw the shadowy figure standing a few feet away inside the home.
The person got closer and cracked open a small partition, allowing only one side of their body to be visible.
"Good afternoon, sir, sorry for disturbing you. I was looking for an address.'' Chump didn't give up any chance, even with a tiny gap between the two.
"Who are you? The elderly man asked with a tone of annoyance and grumpiness.
"Name's Brad. I'm from Newyork." He went for a handshake.
The man stared at his hand, without saying anything.
He pulled back in defeat.
"Went to college with a guy back in Germany, we lost touch, that kinda situation. The guy's name is Michael Wright; amazing guy." Chump eyed the old man, trying to see some reaction.
"Disappeared after graduation, no social media, no wedding invitations, no baby showers, like come on, we were close, you know, pretty much best friends. So, just like any good friend, I did my due diligence and looked him up, and here I am. Apologies if I'm intruding, but I was given this address, which I believe belongs to his parents. Foster parents, to be precise, Michael told me he was adopted. No offense." Chump was pretentious and quick with his lies.
"None taken!" The old man pulled the door closer to shut it.
"Mr Wright! Wait." He grabbed the edge of the door in panic.
"Let go, you!
"Son of a bitch!"
The old man struggled against the half-strength of the young supernatural.
"Now, now. I was told by the people who raised me that it was rude to swear.
The old man, exasperated, let go.
"My condolences. Really! Your wife's passing in the week of your daughter's anniversary must've been hard." He tried to get familiar with the unpredictable and moody elderly man.
The old guy sighed and brushed off the other person, and walked back to his house.
The wood of an old house creaked with the first few steps as he followed the owner inside. Chump took a chance to inspect every layout and detail of the home, including every picture hung on every corner of the wall.
He was seated on an old sunken sofa. While still gloomy, the house was still organised and kept clean.
''Nice house," Chump said, seemingly thankful as the old man put a glass of lemonade and some cookies on the table.
"My wife made this last week. Before. ahh.. I put it in the freezer. It's still fresh. I warm it up." The old guy mumbled words as he attempted to clarify.
"This is good," Chump lifts the cookie to appreciate it as he takes a bite.
"Ah.. go ahead." The old man gestured and walked back to the kitchen.
Chump chugged a cold lemonade to help swallow the dry, stale cookie. He nodded in satisfaction as he gulped the entire thing. He picked up a few pieces of cookies and put them in his pocket, and looked out for a man who was busy in the kitchen to venture around the house.
He flashed around the downstairs part of the house using his abilities and taking advantage of the old man's slow nature. Chump opened the lid of the mini trash bin near the corner of the back door. While at it, he probably should get rid of the cookies that he cannot consume, but couldn't say no to either.
Chump kept an eye out for an unpredictable old man who could snap at him any given second, as old people are. He might lose it if he sees him loitering around his house, also dares to throw away his wife's cookies.
Just before he could be quick with it, Chump eyed something inside the bin. He picked up the photo frame of the family that was unusually lying among the trash.
"Where's the boy?" Chump asked the old man who he knew was in the corner watching him.
"You found it, I see." The man said, his face blank of all expression.
"Where is he now?" Chump took a more serious stance.
"How did you know about my daughter's death anniversary?" The old guy added.
"I ask you first. Where is the guy? Where is Michael?" He raised his voice.
"Is this what you people do, force into folks' homes demanding answers?" The man was grim.
"Look, I don't want any trouble. All I want is the guy's whereabouts." Chump changed up his tone because, at the end of the day, he was dealing with an elderly person.
The old man pulled out a rifle that he had been hiding close to his leg.
"You lied. Walked into my house like it was nobody's business, and just now you throw the last of my wife's cookies in the trash. I was saving it! I don't think you're looking for trouble, you are trouble." He aimed the gun at him.
"That's gonna work for me," Chump made a snide remark.
"Oh, I know. I've seen and dealt with your kind before." The old man was serious as ever.
Just then, he felt a sharp pain in his lower abdomen, followed by a gut-wrenching chill down his spine. Chump wiped a heap of sweat off his forehead.
"That, did you do? What did you giv-? He attempted to walk up but lost his balance.
"Stay where you are, boy. I signed a deal with the devil a long time ago. It took a while, but he does come."
A loud thud hit the wooden floor.
"I'm not with the devil," Chump muttered his last word before he blacked out.
****************************
Freeman counted every second as she hung from the car seat. She glanced at the dead man, whose body was now twisted, and took a deep one, trying to calm herself and gather strength. She kicked the windshield, trying to pry it open.
She grunted and slammed her head back in the seat; pissed at herself or at her superiors who didn't properly brief or equip them for this mission, or at the boy who whipped the gun out of her hands in the dire situation. Maybe she's just uncomfortable lying next to a dead comrade who died in an undeserving manner; it could have been her.
Regardless, she still had a situation at hand; either she deal with them both, save herself, and leave. Or follow orders and get the boy by any means.
Freeman noticed that the boy had been dragged out of a car by some kind of invincible force.
The boy floated off the ground, struggling to move as he was tied with seatbelts around his body. He breathed heavily with anger and kicked his feet around, trying to loosen up.
The young woman snapped at the boy as he got closer to her, and he retorted. The duo went off on each other with language unknown to the other party.
The woman who was in control stared at the boy, her eyes misty. She twisted her head and twitched her lips as she stopped a flying object towards her midway. She smirked as the wood stump was crushed into pieces.
The boy grunted as the harness stretched and tightened on his body. The two went back and forth yelling at each other for minutes.
After relentlessly kicking, Freeman was able to break the glass. She scrambled around for the gun and crawled out.
Freeman staggered behind the car, paused, and collected herself before confronting something that she had never dealt with before. After all the years of training, somehow might not be useful in dealing with life and death situations.
She counted to three and yelled at the woman, pointing the gun at her.
"Put him down," she directed her eyes to the ground.
The teenager screamed as his heavy body hit the asphalt.
"Are you okay?" Freeman made her way to the boy and helped him sit up. He gritted his teeth and stared at the person responsible, his eyes teary in anger. He snapped at the woman and ripped the harness off himself.
"Okay. You kids better start speaking English, remember I'm the one with the gun here."
Freeman grabbed the boy by his shirt and made him stand close to her. "Now, you may have talents, but I'm an agent, I've been trained for these types of situations."
She added, her gun ready and aimed at anyone or anything.
The young woman scoffed, and the boy brushed Freeman's hands off his shirt; the two youngsters disregarded the only adult nearby.
"Hey, hey, where do you think you are going?" Freeman clicked her gun as she watched the woman leave for the forest, like she didn't just cause an accident and kill someone.
"Let her go, it was not her."
"What do you mean, it wasn't her?"
The two each went their way, leaving her in the middle, confused and frustrated. Freeman, who became more furious as she watched the woman disappear in the blink of an eye, rushed up to the boy and grabbed his arm. "You are going to explain everything right now."
"She didn't kill him." He snatched his hands off and bent down to get something from the backseat of a totaled car.
"Who was it then? And how do you know? And who the fuck is she?"
"My sister," The boy answered nonchalantly, busy rummaging in the car.
"Oh. Oh! My go-." She paused, trying to keep her cool. "You... need to tell me everything."
He got up and carried his backpack, getting ready to leave. "They are going to be here soon, if we don't leave now. They will kill you and take me somewhere I don't want to be, they have more people and many more of this and better also.'' The boy eyed the gun in her hands, English being his secondary language, the boy did as much explaining as he could, and walked towards the other side of the forest.
The exhausted 30-year-old could do nothing but go after him.
************************