with the stuff he wanted to do, without interruption. He also thought his dad desperately wanted to get back on his feet and do things for himself, for a change, and this was probably the reason he hadn't received a single call over the preceding days.
Oh well , Janus thought. I'll see you tomorrow morning, Dad .
***
Janus woke with a start and looked at his clock. It was just gone twenty past eight and Janus frowned. He had deliberately not set his alarm as he was sure his dad would have called at 7.30 a.m. on the dot, just to remind him that he was due at the house.
Janus got out of bed and jumped into the shower. After getting dressed Janus put the kettle on and made himself a cup of coffee. Whilst he drank it he flicked through the news on the teletext.
Still no call , he thought, as a dark and negative feeling enveloped him, making him shudder.
Finishing his coffee Janus rang his dad's number, after five minutes of the landline ringing Janus put his phone down. He must have gone for a walk or something , Janus thought to himself.
Picking up his jacket Janus left his flat for his dad's house curious as to whether he would be in or not, mentally avoiding the feeling that something was not quite right.
Janus knocked at his father’s front door, although he had a key he wanted to hear some reaction, some sound of movement in his Dad's hall. No sound was forthcoming. Janus opened the door to his Dad’s house and entering, he called out for his father.
“Dad?” he said in English, then; “Father,” he called out in Polish. There was no response. He quickly made his way up the stairs to his father's bedroom. The bed had not been slept in.
“Dad?” Janus called again, a little louder this time: still no answer.
Taking his phone from his pocket he rang his dad's mobile number. His dad's mobile phone rang out in the silence. The sound was coming from downstairs.
Janus scooted down the stairs taking them in twos and made his way into the lounge, as he entered the room he saw the back of his Dad's head poking just above the back of his favourite comfy chair, the one in which he always sat to watch the telly. The TV was off.
“Dad,” he said, as he walked up to his father. “What are you doing?”
His father didn't answer.
Janus was now standing between his dad and the television and saw that his Dad's face was almost completely grey, all colour drained from it.
As he reached to stir his father from his sickly sleep Janus glimpsed his father's trousers and recoiled in utter shock, dropping his phone. It looked as if his father had wet himself, not with urine, but a red-brown viscous liquid. His grey, silent and unmoving father was sitting in a vast dark and congealed pool of his own blood, the stain colouring even the front edge of the comfy chair’s cushion.
Janus tried to comprehend what he was seeing, but the longer he looked on, the more he began to notice things he didn't want to notice, but the things, no matter how hard he tried to ignore them, were there all the same.
He knew then that there wasn't any chance of waking his father from this sleep. Somehow his father had bled to death. But why? He had been doing so well and there hadn't been any problems since his dad had been discharged from the hospital.
Janus rushed to his dad's phone in the hall at the bottom of the stairs and called an ambulance.
Within ten minutes the ambulance crew arrived and Janus took them to his father. The two crew members were shocked by what they saw.
They looked at each other, there wasn't any chance of resuscitating this guy; he’d been dead for at least twenty four hours and undoubtedly the dead man had been drained of almost all of his eight and a half pints of blood; it was also obvious to them that the guy's son was more than aware of this.
“I’m sorry, Mr Malik,” one of the paramedics said to Janus. “We can’t take the bod… I’m sorry, your father. In circumstances like these the police need
Oh well , Janus thought. I'll see you tomorrow morning, Dad .
***
Janus woke with a start and looked at his clock. It was just gone twenty past eight and Janus frowned. He had deliberately not set his alarm as he was sure his dad would have called at 7.30 a.m. on the dot, just to remind him that he was due at the house.
Janus got out of bed and jumped into the shower. After getting dressed Janus put the kettle on and made himself a cup of coffee. Whilst he drank it he flicked through the news on the teletext.
Still no call , he thought, as a dark and negative feeling enveloped him, making him shudder.
Finishing his coffee Janus rang his dad's number, after five minutes of the landline ringing Janus put his phone down. He must have gone for a walk or something , Janus thought to himself.
Picking up his jacket Janus left his flat for his dad's house curious as to whether he would be in or not, mentally avoiding the feeling that something was not quite right.
Janus knocked at his father’s front door, although he had a key he wanted to hear some reaction, some sound of movement in his Dad's hall. No sound was forthcoming. Janus opened the door to his Dad’s house and entering, he called out for his father.
“Dad?” he said in English, then; “Father,” he called out in Polish. There was no response. He quickly made his way up the stairs to his father's bedroom. The bed had not been slept in.
“Dad?” Janus called again, a little louder this time: still no answer.
Taking his phone from his pocket he rang his dad's mobile number. His dad's mobile phone rang out in the silence. The sound was coming from downstairs.
Janus scooted down the stairs taking them in twos and made his way into the lounge, as he entered the room he saw the back of his Dad's head poking just above the back of his favourite comfy chair, the one in which he always sat to watch the telly. The TV was off.
“Dad,” he said, as he walked up to his father. “What are you doing?”
His father didn't answer.
Janus was now standing between his dad and the television and saw that his Dad's face was almost completely grey, all colour drained from it.
As he reached to stir his father from his sickly sleep Janus glimpsed his father's trousers and recoiled in utter shock, dropping his phone. It looked as if his father had wet himself, not with urine, but a red-brown viscous liquid. His grey, silent and unmoving father was sitting in a vast dark and congealed pool of his own blood, the stain colouring even the front edge of the comfy chair’s cushion.
Janus tried to comprehend what he was seeing, but the longer he looked on, the more he began to notice things he didn't want to notice, but the things, no matter how hard he tried to ignore them, were there all the same.
He knew then that there wasn't any chance of waking his father from this sleep. Somehow his father had bled to death. But why? He had been doing so well and there hadn't been any problems since his dad had been discharged from the hospital.
Janus rushed to his dad's phone in the hall at the bottom of the stairs and called an ambulance.
Within ten minutes the ambulance crew arrived and Janus took them to his father. The two crew members were shocked by what they saw.
They looked at each other, there wasn't any chance of resuscitating this guy; he’d been dead for at least twenty four hours and undoubtedly the dead man had been drained of almost all of his eight and a half pints of blood; it was also obvious to them that the guy's son was more than aware of this.
“I’m sorry, Mr Malik,” one of the paramedics said to Janus. “We can’t take the bod… I’m sorry, your father. In circumstances like these the police need
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