Some Kind of Life (3)
‘Michael? Michael?’ big blue eyes were looking at the sleeping face, lying on the soft cotton pillow, ‘Michael, a phone call for you. It seems important.’ Michael woke up. Half still in dreams, replied ‘Yes, yes. I am taking it.’
Sunday, Brussels, early morning.
Michael raised up slowly, letting his blood recirculate through his veins and get speed pulled by the gravity. Feet seeking the slippers, when found and feet comfortable inside, Michael stood up. He picked up his mobile phone in the living room. He didn’t want it in the bedroom, health and noise reasons. A good sleep is a sleep without technology around, he thought.
‘Hello? Yes it’s me’, silence and phone whispers , ‘no I never worked with him,’ phone whispering continues, ‘sure, sure, I understand, I’ll do that,’ just silence. ‘Silvie?’, Michael called his wife. Silvie appeared through the door connecting the kitchen with the living room, ‘yes?’, replied looking towards a Michael still holding his mobile phone in his right hand. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow to Moscow. Someone that worked in our unit was killed yesterday night.’ Silvie gasped, ‘who is he? do I know him…or her?’. ‘No, you don’t. I don’t, either. We don’t have much information, but they want us to help in the investigation.’ ‘Michael, You don’t seem surprised.’ ‘I know. It’s strange, but I was expecting it. Don’t ask me why, but I knew something like this was going to happen.’
***
