Flip the Coin [BL]-Chapter 471. Martin Lawrence

Henry’s POV

I looked down absentmindedly, trying to control my feelings, trying not to scream or bite into my arm while thinking of my dreams, which became more vivid with every time I slept.

"Last batch for today." An older guy stepped closer to me and patted my shoulder.

"Why space out? You didn’t even break into a sweat after a day of work."

I hummed, not answering him, and positioned myself in front of the next steel beam.

When the guy in front of me was ready, we lifted it together—a weight I could easily carry alone was now shared unnecessarily, costing time. But that was what we were here for, weren’t we?

To waste time.

We carried the steel beam to the elevator, and I watched it pull up slowly.

Today, we will visit Omar’s parents for more visions.

I will accompany him, and if I see something during Kenny’s visions that I don’t like, I will get rid of them immediately, no matter whether Kenny wants it or not.

The man who asked for his kid to spy on Kenny—how good could he be?

Another few steel beams and we were finished.

The elevator was coming down, carrying about ten to fifteen men, among them Kenny.

Each time I saw him so high up, I thought it was only fitting for a god.

At the same time, I felt antsy.

So far away, so easy to fall, so easy to break on the ground—though he wouldn’t.

When I saw him arrive, giving away the helmet like yesterday, coming to me with a handsome smile, my nerves relaxed again while my heart fluttered only more.

Writing messages with him that mostly consisted of plans for later wasn’t nearly enough.

I put an arm around his shoulder, bending down to tell him that I missed him.

Kenny chuckled, and we boarded the bus, where I leaned against him until we arrived. He messaged Omar that we would be there soon, as we would teleport.

Omar answered that his mother had to leave, but she wasn’t the most important target for today anyway.

"We’ll go nevertheless," Kenny decided.

I nodded, asking,

"How was work?"

"I found my original lunchbox in the room where the dirty water is stored and gave it back."

He pointed at the new lunchbox on his lap, which had, unlike yesterday, lain on his seat when we boarded the bus.

"You put it there so somebody else could eat it, didn’t you?" I asked, and he nodded.

He probably also conjured up other things for them.

I rubbed my head sulkily against his shoulder, thinking of the soldiers from yesterday who weren’t present today—they changed daily, as it seemed, but I still had that person on my list.

Even if I didn’t know his name for now, I was sure I would be able to find him.

Feeling Kenny’s hand on my head, I closed my eyes in bliss.

When we arrived at the city hall, we found Ethan waiting for us, looking even more haggard than yesterday, his tie loosened as if he had constantly fiddled with it.

This time, he didn’t ask anything about how work was, probably not wanting to talk about it himself.

"We’ll teleport to Omar now," Kenny said when we were close to the car.

Today, Ethan had parked in a different spot than yesterday—all safety measures so that we and our temporary home wouldn’t get discovered.

"Alright. Message me if you need something."

Kenny chuckled,

"Just leave some food for us."

Ethan smiled and nodded when Kenny told him he would go first.

I held him closely while he counted down until he teleported, but no matter how much I prepared, no matter how often I witnessed it, feeling him disappear from my arms always gave me endless anxiety.

I teleported after him, arriving in front of a mansion.

After latching onto Kenny’s back in front of me, I looked around; there were a bunch of trees, behind us a long lane that led to the mansion, and we could see the city from this position, so we were higher up, probably in the outskirts.

"There he is; I will flip the coin the moment I touch him." Kenny mumbled, and when I turned back to agree, I saw Omar coming out of the door with a man who looked nothing like him.

Where Omar’s skin had a darker shade, the man was pale, carrying the same light blue eyes that were the trademark of the rest of the Lawrence family.

Just that this blue was much uglier than my eye color even before upgrading.

Kenny surely thought so too.

Mr. Lawrence’s short and neat blond hair was also in stark contrast to his son’s black hair—one could say with assurance that Omar’s whole appearance was influenced by his mother.

Omar, usually on the calmer side, looked nervous but eager, as if he couldn’t wait to prove his father’s innocence while ignoring me completely.

"Mr. Howard," his father came forward and instantly reached his hand out for a handshake.

The motion and smile were friendly and welcoming; his eyes only gazed at me for a moment before falling back onto Kenny.

"Mr. Lawrence," Kenny smiled and shook his hand, while I didn’t let go of him for a moment, squeezing him tighter to make sure I would be present when he flipped the coin.

And to my relief, without further ado, my consciousness was sucked away.

I stand in a big garden, reminding me of the Lawrence residence, where rats had wreaked havoc not long ago.

Two boys, one big and one small, are playing tag not far away.

I instinctively look for Kenny’s figure, and not seeing him, I know he is inside one of the boys.

"I don’t want to play anymore," the bigger one breaks down in the grass.

"I don’t either," the smaller one imitates him, although he isn’t as out of breath.

They are resting in the grass for a while before the smaller one pokes the bigger one repeatedly.

"Ed, let’s go eat snacks."

HA!

The bigger boy catches his hand and twists it.

"Admit defeat?"

"Defeat!" the small boy shouts readily and is let go.

They stand up and walk into the mansion, bumping into each other on purpose along the way.

So the smaller boy is Omar’s father—the younger brother.

I would have thought it was the other way around, given the age difference between their sons, but then I remembered that Edward and Serena couldn’t get a child for a long time.

"Hah. Why do I even care?" I scoff quietly, feeling the familiar pull.

**********

We traveled from one vision to the next without a stop—but this time, it didn’t feel like when Serena’s despair was forcing us to hurriedly see her pain, but rather as if it were Kenny’s doing.

********

Now I stand in another mansion, seeing a man in his early twenties—clearly Omar’s father—on the phone trying to call someone.

The call doesn’t go through, and he looks at the phone in disappointment.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall, hearing him sigh.

"So you too..."

A beautiful girl walks into the room.

"Here I am~Why is there no butler with a mustache here?" She asks melodically, her long skirt smoothly hugging her legs, her hair long, thick, and black, put up in a ponytail.

"You like it? It’s our new house—so no mustache and no butler." The man lights up.

"Ayja~ I didn’t agree to move in with you after what happened." Her expression sours, her prolonged dark eyes looking at the man in front of her.

The man sighs again, but this time it is full of indulgence.

"Is that so? What does the little bun in your belly say about the house?" He bends down and puts his ear against her flat stomach.

The woman breaks into a breathtaking grin while sliding her long painted fingers through the blonde hair of the man.

"What does she say? She says it is acceptable, but you still have to improve yourself."

"A girl?" he asks with a laugh, straightening up to place his lips on her forehead.

My face fell seeing this.

"Kenny," I growl.

"Hopefully," she chuckles.

After a pause, he assures her.

"You don’t have to see them ever again."

**********************

Omar’s father, now in his early thirties, sits in front of a desk in what looks like a home office in a mansion.

He is on the phone with someone.

"Mother, calm down."

I walk closer to him and listen to the voice coming from the phone; an old woman is yelling.

"HE FINALLY HAS A CHILD AND NOW THERE ARE TALKS ABOUT HIM GOING TO JAIL?!"

"Who? Edward?" the man asks.

"WHO ELSE?" she screams.

"Edward and his wife have a child?" he repeats.

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

"You only come by when you want, sparsely even attending family dinners—WHEN SHOULD I TELL YOU?! I also haven’t known it for that long!"

I chuckled. What a fucked-up family.

The man doesn’t answer her, but she continues to yell.

"YOUR FATHER IS ON THE PHONE WITH THE POLICE CHIEF AND A FEW FRIENDS THE WHOLE TIME—"

"Get to the point." He squirms uncomfortably in his chair.

"GET THAT GYPSY BITCH OF YOURS TO CALL HER UNCLE!" she screams, and the man in front of me changes his demeanor.

2

What was discomfort turns into frightening calmness.

"What did you just say?"

A sudden silence.

"Repeat that," he demands, and the other side tries to apologize halfheartedly.

The man interrupts her with a chuckle.

"Don’t call this number again."

**********************

The pull then brings me into the same office from before. The man in front of me had aged a few years, and another person joined us.

Omar, as a teenager.

"I hate it. They are stuck-up and racist. I don’t want to go there anymore," the teen says.

"How are they racist?" his father asks, and Omar rolls his eyes.

"Not openly, but the moment they hear the Lawrence family name, they want to suck up to me. Then they are pretending to be ’confused’ about why my eyes aren’t blue and my hair isn’t blond. I don’t want that. I want a normal school."

Omar’s father rubs his temples with his fingers and nods.

"Alright, change schools next year."

"Thanks, Dad..." Omar hesitates.

"Yes?"

"I want to use Mum’s last name in the future," he says slowly.

His father chuckles,

1

"I understand. When you change schools, then you do it with a brand-new name."

"You are the best." Omar gives a small smile before leaving.

The man’s face loses its warmth when Omar has left. He takes a letter out of his desk drawer.

I walk behind him to read with him.

It is a letter from Edward.

In it were a few childhood memories displayed together with pleas for help, stating that his parents had thrown him into a clinic.

Omar’s father makes a phone call and dials the number written hastily on the end of the letter.

"This is Martin Lawrence; I want to make an appointment to visit Edward Lawrence."

The other side tells him that this won’t be possible, as the patient is prohibited from receiving guests and that this was an order of his parents.

"I am his brother, and we are both adults. There is no reason to inform my parents. I won’t take him with me. Just seeing him for a small moment."

***************

The scene changes completely this time.

Now we are in a small white room, with an emaciated blonde man sitting in white clothes on a hospital bed, staring into nothingness.

"HA! Edward Lawrence," I mutter, overjoyed to see him miserable—though not nearly enough.

"Ed, it’s me, Marty." Omar’s father, in a suit, stands near the door—in stark contrast to the man on the bed.

Suddenly, Edward looks up, and the light returns to his eyes.

"Marty! My little brother!" He springs up to hug the man who came.

Martin slowly pats his back.

"What happened?" he asks.

"You have to get me out of here. I have to go see my daughter now!" He pulls back frantically, holding Martin by his shoulders.

"You don’t know?" Martin pauses.

"She is dead."

"What?" Edward stares in disbelief at Martin before falling to his knees and screaming, then collapsing into sobs.

A nurse comes, but Martin sends her away.

"I only heard about it after it happened from Celene from abroad," Martin explains a bit later.

"By then she had already been buried, and the funeral was over—if there was even one. Our mother then invited us to a small memorial."

Edward sobs before suddenly stopping.

He erratically springs up again, wipes his face, and again holds onto his brother.

"We can do it again. It wasn’t successful with Serena; she was wrong too often, but what about another pregnant woman or this time a child??"

Martin looks utterly confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"Yeah, what are you talking about?" I ask with a smile, feeling thirsty for blood.

"We can turn it around again; we can still make everything better!"

And then everything breaks out of Edward: what he had done, that Kennith Howard was a real prophet, that he had acquired and injected his blood into his wife, that his daughter surely would have become a prophet as well if not for her death, etc.

Martin stands there and listens while looking at the floor until the crazy person stops speaking.

"Alright," he nods at the end.

"I will prepare everything."

Edward turns overjoyed and pulls a little paper out of his pocket, giving it to Martin.

"A talisman; I made it myself," he says with a sudden childlike innocence before changing back to being a madman as if possessed.

"I didn’t tell them the name; only you know it. I just said that it was the child of an..." He lets go of another sob before biting his lip while smiling self-mockingly.

"Acquaintance."

Martin stares blankly at his brother for a long time before leaving.

He exits the room, and I follow him, the nurse at the door asking.

"Do you have everything? Should I lock the door again?"

"Yes," Martin mutters.

"And throw the key away," he says, crumpling the talisman in his fist.

When he leaves the hospital, he throws the crumpled talisman away before taking out his phone.

"Arrange for my son’s name to be changed to his mother’s immediately. I don’t want him to be a ’Lawrence’ for even a day longer."

************************

We are back in the office.

Martin looks as if he has aged quite a bit, though not many years should have gone by, and he still looked younger than now in the present time.

His hands are folded in front of his face while he looks at a few documents in front of him.

When I get closer, I can see Kenny’s picture amongst the papers, and I feel the killing intent nearly overwhelming me... until the man whispers:

"This poor child..." he continues to silently stare at the documents.

He stays in the same position for a long time when he hears a knock.

He removes the documents from the table, letting them disappear in a drawer, before calling out.

Omar enters, holding a few pieces of paper himself.

"Dad, either one of these three schools."

Martin takes the papers his son hands him and looks through them, halting at one of them.

"This one?" he asks while holding up the paper.

Omar nods.

"It doesn’t matter which."

"Alright, then this one ..." Martin falls silent for a few moments while staring at the paper in his hands.

"If you meet a Kennith Howard in your new school..." He stops for a bit before continuing to speak.

"Maybe you could try to be a friend to him?"