Beating the crowd was not difficult, to say the least. The extra police eyes on me granted this immunity from any form of potential enemy.
Having scaled the short distance unhindered, I seated myself on the bench across from Dylan and placed the food tray right on the table.
"Good morning," I said. My hands went back to toying with the last set of chips on my plate.
From around, I could feel the eyes that turned towards our direction that very instant, feeling them like a weight on me. Seems I just decided to bell the cat no one else could.
Maybe it was out of mere surprise, but Dylan was staring blankly without a word with a spoon of salad half way up his mouth. What in the world was so surprising about a greeting?
When everyone around was tired of staring, they glanced away, back to the noisy chatters and vain paces while considerably making me feel more confident.
I had been previously gulping down water so much that I didn't realise how low the level of the bottle had become. Looking over to that of my partner who still left my greeting hanging, I was glad to see his barely untouched.
"Can I borrow some of that?" I inquired. It was me trying to be as innocently pesky as I could be. I noticed his stare on me grow even harder and the eye contact was growing awkward.
Once again, a quick flash of the memories I told Noah about crossed my mind, specifically of the day I'd watched my father walk away and never return. As I narrowed my eyes into his, I saw the unmistakable grey pupil that ran in our blood. Noah, myself, Uncle Tim.
"What is your goal, Jeffery?" Dylan finally replied and lowered his filled spoon. That brought me back to reality and I suddenly felt numb.
Anyways, covering it up was something I did well. "For someone who saved my life, you have a cold shoulder," I shrugged, pulling the bottle towards myself. Deep down, I had this feeling that my suspicions about him were accurate enough mainly out of instinct.
He did not say a word while I emptied some water into my cup and shoved it back towards his side of the table. I did not miss the slight murmur that arose in the seats surrounding us. How could I? Why was Dylan feared anyway?
"Why do you think I…" he made quotes with his fingers, "…saved your life?"
After the question, Dylan crossed his arms and leaned back, waiting expectantly for my answer.
I paused, unsure of what to say. To be frank, I had no answer. "I'm not sure. That is specifically why I'm here."
"I'm suddenly wishing I'd have minded my own business and let you roast under the turbines," he rolled his eyes, feigning nonchalance.
"But you didn't…" I grinned. "Why?"
"Something tells me you have something in mind. A reason you wish to be true."
Of course I did, but how he knew that just added to my reasons for doing so.
He was mocking me with that amusement he had in his eyes, I could see it. The pain began to dig deep when I imagined what'd happen if he was right. He might end up not being my father no matter how much I wished for him to be. Not because he was presently fantastic at it, but because I wanted the family back together.
Instead of granting an answer to that, I asked a completely random question. "Where are you from?"
"I'm not even American…"
"You're lying…"
"You wish I am."
He was mocking again. It was surprising how suddenly my mood had changed from jolly to pained. It was the fear that he was right. Wiping my face, I stilled my shaky fingers and tried to stop imagining my Uncle before me right now.
"You remind me of someone," I finally found the words I wanted to say. "It's a blur but I feel you're familiar."
To that, he said nothing and studied me. The look on his face made it quite evident he was short of words.
"Do you know a woman called Laura," I pushed on.
I could almost swear I saw his face ashen in agony just before he'd quickly covered it up. "None that I remember. Now, if you'd excuse me…"
"You're afraid," I said. It was a skill I taught myself to use throughout these years. Tease the person until he's forced to a corner and confesses carelessly. "I do not believe a random stranger would pop out of nowhere and stop my death, especially someone as nonchalant as yourself. Your mere appearance speaks _familiar_ and you act like you know me."
" I've watched a couple games of yours," he sounded like his mood had changed.
"Of course I know you. You could also tag that to why I saved your life."
He was fast with his words, admirably.
Nodding, I stared down at my nearly empty plate, suddenly out of appetite. "Okay," I said. "Perhaps you're right and I have it all wrong, yunno."
I was up on my feet soon enough, tossing the napkin on the table. I felt bad for some strange reason I couldn't fathom, perhaps because I had fallen into a new loophole.
Noah had said. "If he proves too tough, he's probably not the one."
"Have a nice day, Dylan," I spat the words out and met his skeptical eyes still on me. The food tray could die there for all I cared.
As I walked out, all eyes followed me just like they had in the beginning. Given my present mood, I could see myself shattering a glass on somebody if any extra nerve was pulled. They all seemed to get the hint and moved aside as I approached.
However, from the corner of my eye, I could sight someone who did not get the hint. Squeezing through the crowd, he was pushing through to my direction.
"Jeffery, wait!" I heard the very familiar voice say.
That was the point I began to quicken my steps, praying the good Lord would calm my nerves before I did something stupid.
It was Jayden…it just had to be Jayden! What did he want now? To woo me again just so his brother would succeed in the murder attempt he'd failed before.
"Jeffery! Jeffery!" He called over and over.
I was a few feet from the door, but he was even much closer now to me. As I felt him nearing in, the sizzling frustration inside me began to boil into anger.
At that point, his hand gripped my shoulder to pause my steps. Without thoughts, without control, I spun around to face him and lashed out, sending my fist to smack across his jaw in one hard punch.
A murmur crossed the crowd and the inmates began to close in around the both of us. It was the usual scene you found in a death cell; where insane prisoners took sides and cheered to steam up a fight while two men were about to kill each other.
They wanted it now. And staring at Jay on the floor like that as he looked up at me, I wanted to give it to them.