A cup of coffee, glass of water, and bottle of aspirin sat on a highly polished silver tray, arranged just so on the little table by the large bay window. A single white rose leaned from its porcelain vase, removed a little from the tray but clearly fresh, with a little dew still on the petals.
I smiled through the pain and glanced out the sunny window, looking at the expansive gardens below, stretching to either side with paths and benches weaving through them. Beyond the gardens loomed the large plant labyrinth that should’ve been so weird but somehow fit this place. Before I could feel too contented, I caught sight of Edgar walking across the grass, dragging a half-naked body behind him.
I flinched, bumped the table, knocked over the vase, and overturned the chair as I bounced to my feet.
“What in the—”
He was using the man’s socked ankle as a means to pull his body through the carefully tended grass. The man’s skinny jeans hugged his thin thighs, keeping in place despite the way he was being dragged along the ground. No shirt adorned the man’s upper body and a dribble of blood ran down his neck and onto his pale chest. His arms flared out to the sides and his head bobbed against the lumps on the ground.
“Oh my God,” I said, breathless, running around the table to the door. I stopped, quickly grabbed a couple of the aspirin with shaking hands, and tried to gulp them down with coffee. After burning my tongue, I swallowed them with the water instead. Priorities.
The next moment, I was running down the stairs with my phone clutched in my hand, my heart in my throat, and my fluffy white robe dancing around my calves.
“What is the matter, madam?” Mr. Tom said as I took the last couple steps to the foyer.
“Edgar is dragging a dead body.” I couldn’t believe what I was even saying. “I need to get a picture for evidence. Call the cops!”
“Oh no, I’m sure there is some logical explanation for this.”
I ripped open the door. “Call the cops!”
“Wait, madam—”
I ran across the front lawn and around the side of the house, confronted with a tall wooden fence with a large metal handle. I charged through, realizing too late that the gate led to a path of tan-colored rock dotted with little cement squares.
“Ow,” I said, the sharp points of the decorative rocks jabbing into my bare feet. “Ow. Dang it. Ow!”
“Madam, where are your slippers? I left them just below the robe.” Mr. Tom kept tight to my heels. It was probably good in case Edgar lashed out.
“Should’ve brought a weapon,” I said, half limping and half jumping to each little cement square.
Edgar reached the edge of the grass, coming my way. I hurried to intercept.
“I’ve caught you.” I pointed and shouted before unlocking my phone. “I’ve caught you red-handed. I’m calling the cops.”
Edgar halted his advance. He dropped the leg and raised his hands like he was being robbed, his nails much too long and quite yellow. “What’s happening?”
“What’s happening?” I repeated in disbelief, balanced on one of the cement squares, my feet and head both pounding with pain. I tapped into the camera. “That’s happening.” I pointed at the man laying haphazardly at Edgar’s feet. “Get my back, Mr. Tom, in case he charges.”
“His charging days are long over, madam,” Mr. Tom replied. “He’s more inclined to hobble. At best he might haltingly shamble. He really isn’t what he used to be.”
Edgar looked down at the man he’d been dragging. “No, no, he won’t run. He’ll be out for another few hours, at least.”
“I meant you. You charging is what I’m worried…” I tapped into the phone app and hit nine before Edgar’s words filtered in. I lowered the phone marginally. “Another few hours?”
“Oh yes, he’s just stunned.” Edgar smiled at me reassuringly, his yellow teeth stained with wine, probably similar to mine, making his canines seem disproportionately long. “He had too much fun.”
“It’s the drag of shame, isn’t that right, Edgar?” Mr. Tom said.
Edgar’s brow furrowed. His arms were still raised.
“Rather than the walk of shame, it’s the drag of shame, get it?” Mr. Tom prompted. “Because you’re dragging him? After a night of partying?”
“It’s not funny if you have to explain it,” I murmured, peering at the man. “But…he’s got blood on him. And he’s not moving. You’re dragging him, for criminy sakes.”
“Oh, the blood.” Edgar looked down on the man again. “Yes. That. That’s because…” He paused. “He…hurt himself.”
“Did he fall down the stairs or something?” Mr. Tom asked.
“Yes!” Edgar pointed at Mr. Tom. “Yes, exactly. He hurt himself falling down the stairs. Dicks tend to be clumsy. I was just walking him to get a…”
“Band-Aid,” Mr. Tom said.
“Yes! Exactly. A Band-Aid. So there, you see? All is normal.”