The Favour

Always be careful what you ask for...

"You said you wanted me to give you a hand."

"I-I wasn't being literal," I looked at his expression for some semblance of recognition.  He was unmoved.  He was always unmoved.  "Where did you get it?"

"That doesn't matter.  I didn't ask you why you wanted it, did I?"  His blue eyes looked hurt.  There wasn't even a hint of confusion.

"F**k Michael, it's a human hand," I stared at where I had dropped it.  It looked back me as pale as a widow's face.  "We should call the police."  He bent his lanky frame over and snatched it up from the carpet.

"No, no, no police.  I'm not going back."

He clutched the hand tight against his chest and began to rock on the balls of his feet.  His words chilled me.  'Back to where?', I thought.  As we stood there, me looking at him, him looking at his feet, the silence of the house was suffocating.  It was definitely the last time I was going to ask a neighbour for a favour.