A House on Eden

17. Mike

It was Thursday and I was late getting out of the office. There were a few last minute contracts to be typed up and I had told Mr. Johnson that I would finish them tonight.

I walked out into the parking lot, expecting to see Mike's black sedan waiting there, its engine humming, its tainted windows hiding him from view. But it wasn't there. The parking lot was empty and deserted.

I drove home, continually checking my rearview mirror, but the space behind me was empty except for an occasional unfamiliar car.

When I pulled into my driveway, the sedan was quietly waiting. I assumed Mike was inside as I had given him a key. I let myself in through the kitchen door and searched the house. He was not asleep on the couch in the living room. The bathroom was empty, its door open.

I had noticed that Mike liked to walk through the neighborhood following the paved road that circled it, watching for suspicious activity. Sometimes Max accompanied him, running ahead of him and then turning back.

All is well, I thought, all is well. I prepared myself dinner, a small pizza hastily thrown into the microwave. I sliced the cooked pizza into four pieces and carried it out to the porch. The early evening was breathtaking, the setting sun's orange light coloring the sky and the trees.

I had rescued the garden as much as I could, picking up the heaps of water lily pads and the uprooted flowers. I had bought another ceramic girl holding her basket and a small stream of water was spilling between her hands into the pond. I had raked the flower beds and planted new flowers. I had done everything to restore the garden to its former beauty.

I ate the pizza and went back inside for a glass of wine. I sat on my rocking chair, watching the road for Mike and Max. I studied the black sedan and suddenly a movement from inside it caught my eye. Someone was sitting at the wheel, slumped over as if asleep.

I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of alarm and opened the driver's door. In the light leaking into the car I saw Mike sitting in a pool of his own blood. He opened his eyes, leaned back in his seat. His blue shirt was drenched in blood, his eyes focused on mine. He grabbed my hand tightly, his lips moving without words coming out. I brought my ear to his mouth.

"What happened, Mike?" I whispered.

"Son of a bitch knifed me real bad," he said, "never saw him coming. I need to be in a hospital."

"Did you see who it was?" I said.

"No, didn't get a look at his face," he said, grunting from the pain. "I was taking a nap. I'm really sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," I said and dialed 911.

The rescue squad arrived first. The EMTs lifted him out of the car, put him on a stretcher, put an oxygen mask on his mouth and drove away with their siren blaring.

Then a cruiser drove up. Three police officers got out, wearing their uniforms. Somehow it did not surprise me to see Bruce and Pete.

"We're here to take your statement, mam," the older officer said in an even tone of voice. "Can you tell us what happened? Do you know this man?"

"His name is Mike," I said, trying to swallow my anger.

"And how long have you known him?" The officer said, scribbling in his notebook.

"Only a couple of weeks," I said.

"And what was he doing in your drive way?" The officer said.

"He works for me," I said.

"Doing what?" The officer said.

"He escorts me to work and back," I said.

"Escorts you," the officer said. "Like a body guard?"