Birdbrained

A man arrives home to find his flatmate has a rather unwelcome surprise for him...

Birdbrained

 

 I pushed the doorbell. My arms were getting tired now from holding the shopping.

 “Are you in Martin?” No answer. I hadn’t seen him for a few days, but that was nothing new. Once I didn’t see him for a whole week, then he just turned up at three o’clock in the morning with no shirt on, sucking an ice lolly. He didn’t explain where he’d been �" just flopped down onto his bed and pushed the door closed with his foot.

 “Come on Martin, where are you?” I said under my breath. I lost my patience and dumped the shopping down. A quick trip down to the superintendent’s office and I had a spare key. I hadn’t had mine since I lent it to Martin when he lost his. I opened the door with it. The flat was dark. The strange smell that had been there yesterday when I left for Andrea’s was still there, and stronger now. Martin was probably growing something again. I flicked the lights on and brought the shopping into the kitchen. I left it on the floor as I approached Martin’s bedroom door and knocked.

 “Martin? Are you in? Didn’t you hear the doorbell?” No answer.

 “Martin! Come and help me unpack the shopping!” Still nothing. I decided to take the opportunity to investigate the smell further. It seemed stronger around Martin’s door. I turned the handle and pushed the door open. The light was on. I tutted. He was never concerned with saving energy. I reached to turn it off, and that’s when I saw him. Just lying on his bed, staring straight at me. I jumped.

 “Martin! What the f**k! Are you deaf? He just carried on staring.

 “I was out there for ages Martin. The Vienetta will have melted now!” He sat there still.

 “Martin!” There was something not quite right about him. He seemed even more spaced out than usual. Then I noticed the plate of food in front of him. It was moving �" covered in maggots.

 “Jesus Martin! How long have you been here?” He didn’t move. As I watched, a maggot crawled onto his hand and up his sleeve. And he didn’t even flinch. I took a step towards him now. My eyes watered from the smell. As I drew level with the bed, I waved my hand in front of his eyes. No response. I stepped backwards slowly, and moved out of the room, careful not to touch too much. I closed the door on my way out, leaving it as I’d found it. I sat down on the sofa. I was surprised how calm I was. Martin’s dead, I thought. He’s a goner. Popped his clogs. Kicked the bucket. I liked that phrase. No idea where it came from. I made a mental note to find out one day.

 A moment of panic swept over me suddenly, and I reached for the phone. I’d dialed the first two nines before I thought better of it, and put the phone down. I took stock of my situation. I had a dead man in my flat �" from the smell of him, he’d been there a few days. I couldn’t see what it was that had killed him, so he could have been poisoned. Or something like that. My fingerprints were on the door and my footprints were in his room. I was the prime suspect, if it was a murder. They’d get Andrea in. They’d ask her how the relationship was between Martin and I. Did it ever seem particularly fractious? Had I ever threatened Martin? And she’d have no choice but to say yes.

 I hadn’t killed him had I? I thought back over the last few days, and tried to remember when I’d seen him last. Sunday. Had it really been that long? Would the police believe that I hadn’t thought to check on Martin in over a week of him being missing? I definitely hadn’t killed him, I thought. I’m sure I’d remember doing something like that. Unless I’d done it accidentally somehow. Maybe by putting something into his food… But that was out too. I didn’t cook for Martin. He just seemed to survive off Pot Noodles and ready meals. If they cut him open (which I guessed they might have to) they’d find heating instructions, going through him like a stick of rock. So if I had done it, it would have been deliberate. I still couldn’t remember doing it though, so decided that I probably hadn’t.

 A thought occurred to me �" perhaps there was a suicide note! That would explain everything. I resolved to go back into his room and look. I felt even better now I was moving with a purpose. I pulled on a pair of yellow washing up gloves from the kitchen, so as not to disturb the crime scene, and took a deep breath, which I held as I opened the door again. I cast my eyes around the whole room, but couldn’t see anything that looked like a note. I left the room. Typical Martin, I thought. Never considering the difficulty he’s going to put other people to. Ten minutes, maybe less, it would have taken him. Just to pen a quick explanation, something where he could give his reasons, maybe with a little P.S. saying that I had nothing whatsoever to do with his death. But no. In true Martin fashion he’d just gone ahead and killed himself, not thinking about the possible consequences of his actions. Just selfish.

 I’d decided by now that it must have been suicide. I was sure that I hadn’t played a part in it, accidentally or intentionally. But he had the food, that was a problem. He clearly hadn’t been expecting to die, or why bother cooking something for himself? Unless he prepared it as a last meal or something. It was impossible to tell what it was under the writhing mass of maggots, so maybe he’d really pushed the boat out, cooked himself something really luxurious. Like the whole death row idea. I heard that Timothy McVey had Mint chocolate chip ice �" cream for his request. I decided to check if any of my food was missing, what with Martin not having much in the way of quality ingredients. I went through all the cupboards and the fridge, and found that the chicken I’d bought for tomorrow’s lunch with Andrea was gone. The oven had been used and not cleaned, and the tinfoil was torn haphazardly. It seemed Martin had made himself a roast chicken dinner. I remember him saying to me once, how he used to look forward to Sundays in his house because of the food his mum used to make. It was just about his favorite food, roast chicken dinner. That’s what he said. Perhaps he’d cooked it wrongly. Or he’d choked on a bone. But that didn’t go with the suicide idea. Or maybe he’d eaten himself to death! Yes! Like the fat guy in that movie, Seven! He could have roasted the chicken, and then gorged himself until his insides ruptured! That made sense! As long as there weren’t any leftovers in the bin. That would mean that he’d eaten it and got up afterwards to scrape his plate. I checked, but there was nothing in there. My theory seemed to be holding up so far. Although, come to think of it, it was a bit cheeky, even for Martin, to take an entire chicken. You’d think if he was going to kill himself with his favorite food, he’d at least go out and buy it himself �" I’d have thought it would make it all the more meaningful. Or perhaps he was just waiting until I bought one and he was sure I’d be out of the way long enough for him to cook it and gorge himself to death on it. It must have been like some weird game of Russian roulette for him, every time I’d been shopping, he’d be thinking “Right, if he’s bought a chicken then its Goodbye, cruel world”. I allowed myself a little smile at this thought, then scolded myself for it instantly. He might have been the worst flatmate ever, but he didn’t deserve to be mocked in death.

 Anyway, I had a watertight theory now. Except for the fact that there didn’t seem to be a reason for his suicide. I knew he had lots of friends, because he was always at parties. And he wasn’t in any kind of financial difficulty that I was aware of. And he always seemed fairly happy whenever I saw him. It was definitely suicide though. The chicken idea was too obvious for it to not be. There must have been something that I didn’t know about. I had no idea if he’d been seeing anybody �" perhaps a messy breakup? But the chicken idea relied on me bringing home a chicken, so he could have waited a long time for his opportunity. The whole plan seemed to have been designed with two aims in mind. There was the obvious one �" the ending of his life (the primary objective, if you like). Then there was the not so obvious one �" the aggravation of yours truly (which, for the sake of argument, shall be called the secondary objective). Martin’s death meant I would probably have to move now �" nobody would want to live in a flat where some weirdo had killed himself. Though that wasn’t quite as aggravating as the fact that I would inevitably be implicated in his death. If I ended up going to prison because of him, I’d �" um �" well, I didn’t know what Id do. What do dead people hate? I could probably walk on his grave or something, that’s supposed to be annoying. I think. Anyway, I was further aggravated by the fact that he’d taken tomorrows dinner, and by the fact that I’d never get the money for the electricity bill now. These probably felt like fairly minor concerns for Martin, up on his cloud, or down in his…whatever they put people in in Hell. But they were real and immediate for me. At least now he wouldn’t be able to annoy me anymore. Unless he haunted me. Which I’m sure isn’t possible really.

 I decided it was about time I phoned the police. I prepared what I was going to say in my head, and dialed 999.

 “What service do you require?” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

 “Police please.” I kept my tone calm. It’s not your fault, I thought. They can’t pin anything on you, you didn’t do anything.

 “Metropolitan police, what is your emergency?”

 “Hi. It’s not really an emergency as such, seeing as I think he’s been like that for a while, but my flatmate’s dead.” Calm, calm.

 “Are you sure sir? Do you require an ambulance?”

 “What? No, I’m fine.”

 “For your friend sir. Is he definitely dead?”

 “Yes. He smells awful.”

 “Someone will be with you shortly sir. Please stay in the property until they arrive.”

 “Righto.” I hung up. Perhaps that was a bit too cheery to report a death. I didn’t know, I hadn’t done it before. Maybe I had time to put away the shopping before they arrived. Didn’t want the place in a mess.

 The Vienetta was almost completely melted now. The great thing about it is you can still eat some of it after it’s melted �"all the chocolate sheets inside. For my money, I’d say they were the best bits. I’d explain about the chicken when they arrived. Just throw it in for discussion, just to bounce off them. They’d understand.