The lion's den

After work, I realised it's been raining all day, so I chose to stay inside. Lazy mood upon my existence. Of many people that walked in and out, I recognised only one professor with whom I never had the chance to interact but knew he was a likeable persona, or so the students thought. And if such was students' verdict, then it's decided - he has to be this way. 

At first, I was reading today's newspaper, and then only pretending to be invested in the reading, I found myself right in the middle of a conversation between some couple that very conveniently for us three decided to sit on my left and right. (Now, that would be an extremely unlikely choice if it wasn't for the fact that, in the room, the availability of seats other than square tables was rather limited). Bits and pieces that I, against my wish, overheard, included some unusual account. At the very least as for college cafeteria standards.

"...and then he said to me: either way one of us is gonna die, so why bother? Just knock the bloody bastard off!"

"What are you talking about, Jill? This old man isn't capable of wiping his own ass, let alone doing any of us any harm..."

"Well, I don't know about that, but I hope he's out of my life for good. But Jack..."

"Jack! Give me a break! Will you please stop talking about him once and for all?"

"I just wanted to say Jack is so involved."

"And so what? Just because HE is involved doesn't mean YOU have to be involved." 

"You don't understand. Jack wants to do something really bad, and I will be held accountable for him... As his caretaker."

"Okay. Since when do you treat his words seriously?"

"It's not about that. It's about responsibility."

"You can't do anything about such things you know..."

"Why? Why it always has to be me? Ever since parents got divorced and died, shortly after, I feel like I'm the very scapegoat of each situation I happen to be in."

"What are you talking about Jill? Look at me. I said, look at me!"

"What?"

"Don't you scapegoat yourself, I swear, you don't know how lucky you are. You've got a stable job, you've got a roof over your head, you are healthy, good-looking, still fairly young. God, you've got me. You understand? You have got me. Don't you know how lucky you are?..."

"Shush! You are so pretentious! You think I am privileged somehow cause I have all those things, but you don't seem to mention that abusive piece of shit that makes all the difference!" 

"And so, what? Are you going to bore him to death with your whining?" 

"I wish... I wish I could do something about it."

"You need to calm down."

"Maybe I will kill him? Another day, another year, another fifty thousand dollars..."

"What?"

"My annual income."

"I see."

"Oh, by the way, you've said that he isn't capable of taking care of himself..."

"I said that he can't even wipe his own ass."

"Yes, but he is an active university professor."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does. It means he, in fact, IS fully abled. And your argument is invalid."

The more I listened to them, the more the impression grew on me that these two may be talking about someone I know. Not that I saw the connection immediately, but I sensed, on an intuitive level, that I may be familiar with the much-dreaded individual. Who was he exactly? Was he really that menacing figure? Or was it only their preconceived perspective?

The couple wasn't young enough to be counted among many students that came here. And I had no damn idea how they ended up in this place. Still, what initially made me quite annoyed, turned out to be a quite interesting experience. Much to my surprise, I found myself enjoying the talk. As time went on, new layers of that strange conundrum unfolded. 

"Well, I meant that he is just an old man."

"Well, of course, he is. But he is also a ruthless manipulator. And I bet my head on that he is somewhere here listening to all this crap. With his ability to shapeshift?"

"Coming here was a bad idea."

"I told you that, but you wouldn't listen."

"Are you afraid?"

"I don't give a shit. That he knows my sentiments is one thing, living with him in one apartment is another."

"You can always move. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"And where should I go?"

"I've always been telling you that I have a spacious flat."

"Nevermind. I can't leave Jack."

Silence. They exchanged glances. I kept my head down.

"Well, technically you can't."

"He's still a kid. That's what keeps me up at night."

"No. It's what he can do that keeps you up. Though I think that you give him too much attention."

"He's just this little hothead with no direction to go in."

Silence.

"Why are you so upset whenever I bring him up?"

"I don't like the kid. He's so full of himself."

"He's ill."

"If you define the ability to shapeshift as an illness..."

"It's all about the stamina. And you know that. His heart may give out at any moment. Shapeshifters don't live too long. And there are a few exceptions to that rule."

"Shame your grandpa is one of those exceptions."

"Shame my parents are dead."

"And what would they do, had they been alive?"

"I don't know. I really don't."

"They weren't shapeshifters, were they?"

"They died in an accident."

"Didn't know that. You never told me."

"You never asked."

The moment came where I felt nobody had anything to add. As a matter of fact, they were on the verge of getting up and walking away when something unexpected happened. Out of the blue, a monocled man of small stature, seemingly in his early eighties, stood up and said out loud. 

"Jill!" 

The short exclamation turned most of the heads in the vicinity of the guy. He's got part of the jammed room's attention, and apparently, satisfied with that, with a smirk on his face continued:

"It's high time." 

"High time for what?", asked the woman who was caught completely off guard, packing up her bag, half-standing and half-sitting. 

"High time for the world to see."

"To see what?", she was again echoing his words.

"This.", he replied, pulling a short-bore gun from his coat pocket and stuffing it in his mouth. 

The last thing I remember was an utter turmoil. A pool of blood and what seemed to be brain tissue on the floor right next to me. Nearly all of the people were desperately trying to get to the exit. I froze in one position behind the table where I spent all the time up to this point. I remembered that upon entering when I ordered a cup of tea I was thinking to myself, "What a peaceful afternoon." And I was thinking also, "it is a crowded place, but there's not much going on. People come here to chill." 

I tried not to look at the corpse of this old man. To no avail. The head was totally shattered and one could not recognise the man from a couple of minutes back in what was left of him at the present moment. Because of that, the truth couldn't be seen. 

The couple disappeared from view. I assume they reacted just like the others. 

Now that I'm talking about all this, it's about a month from the event. Necropsy that was performed only a couple of days later revealed that it was, in fact, Jill's younger brother, Jack, and not her grandfather.