dead end - Road Signs Mystery I
Bright red blood oozed from a wound in his head while more blood spurted from the gaping hole on his left calf.
“Sir! Sir!” John Tsai said in a tight, tense voice, as he bent his long legs into a crouch. “Are you okay?”
“He‟s unconscious. Check to see if he‟s breathing,” I ordered.
John lowered his head so his face was next to the victim's mouth. “Nothing.”
I pressed two fingers against the rubbery skin on the victim‟s neck. No pulse. I shook my head.
The day I found Mr. Timken dead in his apartment, a row of dominoes began falling against each other, one by one, through my life.
No, dominoes were to too nice, to child-like. It was as if someone put a bunch of metal trash cans in a row down the street and hit the first one, manically laughing as they fell against each other, spilling garbage and making a racket that woke all the neighbors.
In the beginning, I wasn't all that upset about his death. I mean the man was 80 years old, lived alone, and was the grouchiest soul I ever had the displeasure to meet. As far as I could tell, he had been hoping “to go” ever since he moved into Evergreen Manor Apartments four years ago. The day he died disrupted my pleasantly quiet life with a flurry of fire engines, people with questions, and unsettling happenings. Things would never be the same.