My Ex boyfriend Is A Pycho

Chapter 23-The Author's Place

"On your knees!" the old man demanded, threatening us by pointing his gun at each one of us momentarily.

He called Isabella from where she was standing and Camilla back to the parlor, who cooperatively walked to beside me. We knelt to his command reluctantly.

He hadn't seen Noodles and Noodles yet, since the kitchen was out of his angle of view.

"How many of you are here?" He quizzed erecting his gun at Camilla's head.

"Just the three of us," she confidently lied.

"I'm asking one last time young lady. How many?" He cocked the gun still at her head.

The old fella looked serious. He looked like he would kill her any time. His index finger against the trigger, his gun angled right at her face, and he had already cocked the gun to prepare a bullet to strike any second.

I wasn't ready to be the cause of her death. I had caused enough already. Yet to utter a word, I thought. The old guy would kill her if he noticed that she was lying, and indubitably I would be the cause of whatever punishment that would be given to her. I kept my mouth shut.

Like she didn't care about her brains getting blown into shattered unequal pieces, she lied once again, "like I told you sir just the three of us."

What I hoped the most was Noodles not to appear. That her instincts would somehow alert her, or the loud shot that had almost deafened us.

For so far had my hopes risen. Just what we needed. Noodles, the cat, ran out of the kitchen its face tomato sauced like it had dug into a whole extra large pizza by itself and laid itself on the floor lazily.

The old man noticed it and switched his gauze back to Camilla. "Is that___"

No sooner had he completed his sentence, than Noodles appeared calling her cat's name.

Her mouth was full to the brim like an almost popping balloon, bubbling as her teeth chewed the standing food stuff. Some crumbles finding their way galloping outside her mouth. They must have assassinated the entire kitchen and left the old fella nothing to ever eat.

Exposing herself, the old man grinned crookedly.

She was quick to notice the awkward silence, and shot a glance towards us.

Her eyes went wide ajar after noticing the shotgun. Her eyes then automatically shuffled to the ceiling. Noticing the hole standing, it confirmed to her suspense that the gun was real.

She passed out, falling like a bag of rocks on the mahogany floor. She was so heavy that there was a semi-earthquake in the room.

Abruptly, we heard a loud squeaking sound followed by a snap. It sounded like it was from the ceiling, and sure enough it was. The chandelier was slowly disconnecting from the shot chain attaching it to the ceiling.

The old fella turned to the ceiling. Before he could maneuver himself away from the falling chandelier's perimeter, he was met by it right at the top of his head. Black out he went and dropped on the floor the chandelier laying on his back.

We exchanged glances and slowly got to our feet still doubting his unconsciousness.

"Is he dead?" Isabella whispered faintly.