Laddie had seen dead bodies during his almost eleven years, but the bodies had been lying in satin-lined caskets, not on a kitchen floor surrounded by a pool of congealing blood.
     "Oh, my gosh! Mister Gaddy, are you okay?"
     Laddie´s voice squeaked. I think he knew before the words left his lips that Mr. Gaddy was not okay. His limbs were splayed like a marionette whose strings had been abruptly severed and there was a deep gash on the back of his head. I sniffed delicately at Mr. Gaddy´s nose. He wasn´t breathing, nor had I expected him to be.
     The grotesque scene in front of us was unreal, the more so in view of the neat surroundings. The dead man´s luncheon dishes were neatly placed in the drying rack, the dishcloth folded over the side of the sink. The shelf was wiped meticulously clean. There was not a crumb on the floor, no stain except for the blood, now turning a sticky brown. Mr. Gaddy would not have liked the droplets that spattered his white shirt.
     "I think he´s . . . he´s dead," Laddie gulped. He seemed unaware of the tears streaking his cheeks as he pulled his phone from his pocket. "I´d better call nine-one-one."
     Breathing hard, Laddie wheeled himself back to the front room and made the call. His tears, more the result of shock than of grief -- that would come later -- had stopped, but his face was unnaturally pale.
     Most boys would have yelled for help, but Laddie was not like most boys. He took the time to think things through and knew calling for Mom would only delay things. If there was the slightest chance his elderly friend could still be helped, he would take it. And then call Mom.
     But he didn´t. He finished his call, giving his name and our address to whoever was on the other end. He stared straight ahead for a few seconds, then let his gaze wander. His breath caught and he stared intently at the curio cabinet in the corner. One hand rose to his face, then dropped.
     "Oh, no."
     He said nothing more, just waited for help. I waited, too, watching him carefully. He was my responsibility, after all.

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