Then he almost cut me. Sickle went whistling to my ear. Clintwood was surprised to see an old man get so agile in a sudden.

"Stop this madness! Killing an old man for no reason isn’t a wise thing to be done." I said and ducked again from another blow and got farther from him.

"You see this paper?" Clintwood bellowed at me by pointing at the paper which was now wet by beer, "It is the letter Dormer had written! I've read it all. It is the reason my son and many other people died!"

Then Clintwood launched the beer bottle in order to bust open my head. But it broke on the wall.

The noise scared away fancy cats.

Without any warning, he threw a vase at me and, unlike last time, it connected on my chest. I couldn’t breathe due to impact on ribs and lurched in pain. I breathed like I was choking. Old man has strong legs but same fragile old body.

Clintwood ran to me and punched me hard. His knuckles shattered three of my teeth in a single blow. The next jab shattered my nostril.

"I am going to kill you for this." Clintwood became insane, "You heard me right, I am going to kill you right here!"

"It wasn’t my fault." I spit out a tooth.

"My son had been telling me that someone had told him to deliver the letter to cops in case someone died. I didn’t believe him but he was talking of Dormer. I should have believed him and read the letter!"

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Then he punched me again. This time I felt like my jaw had been locked. Clintwood stomped on my stomach multiple times. He wasn’t thinking to give me an easy death.

"I should have believed him and snatched the letter. I don’t know how you killed him but you somehow did."

"Satan killed him, it was not me." I spat out blood.

"But you are also a cause of this mayhem. Dormer's is dead and Satan, if exists, is intangible. Now tell me, whom should I kill?" He strangled my throat. Then he left me and began to search the sickle which he had dropped somewhere.

He got it before I could even realize my neck was free. I still was on my chest.

Then Clintwood pulled my head by remains of cotton like hair and put the sickle's sharp edge on my neck. It was the perfect position for beheading.

"Drop the sickle, you maniac!" There came a hard sound from the door.

Clintwood looked back and discovered someone standing with a gun pointed at them.

The man on door pulled the trigger and the bullet hit on Clintwood's head. The angry father seeking redemption fell dead on my back.