They were in the middle of a game of gin rummy, well, in truth, it was nearing the end as Michael led by 200 points, when they hear the gurgling coming from the bathroom. So loud was the gurgling, that both Michael and June got up from the game table in the second bedroom and went to investigate. Even over the sound of the fan which commenced when Michael switched on the light switch, the gurgling was not only audible, but loud. It sounded like a stomach rumbling from hunger, but mixed with clanging of metal pipes.
“What in the world could be causing that?” June asked.
“I’ve never heard anything like it,” said Mike, leaning over the tub, attempting to see something in the tub. Everything looked fine. But the gurgling continued, and in fact, started to increase in both volume and pace. Mike put his arm in front of June, pushing her backwards, as the noise seemed to be reaching a crescendo.
“What…” June began to say, and then…
The drain belched. A brief, but extremely loud belch. A wet belch. The drain belched blood. It shot up maybe two feet, and painted the white ceramic in gooey red.
“Oh, God, gross!” said June, “is that...blood?”
“I don’t know...I don’t want to get too close,” Mike said. The gurgling persisted, but seemed to be subsiding. It was not as noisy, and intermittent. The belch seemed to relieve the drain of its indigestion, and its inner pipes were settling.
“Did you pour anything down this drain today, maybe yesterday?” June asked.
“No, I mean, I took a shower in the morning right after you did, but that’s it.”
“Do you know how we can look at the pipes. And is that blood?” June stared at the bloody tub and hoped to god it wasn’t blood, “oh, no, don’t touch it!” she pleaded, but she was too late. Mike had put a finger to the tub and touched the red liquid. He pulled it up closer to his face.
“Yup, it’s definitely blood,” he said.
“How is that possible? I mean, could like an animal die in the pipes or something. How can we check the source?” June asked.
“Remember when you married me, I was an artist, not a plumber, not a handy-man. I’m as in the dark about this stuff as you,” Michael said.
“Do me a favor, don’t touch it again. It might be evidence,” June said.
“Evidence?”
“Well, we don’t know whose blood this is, so it might be evidence.”
June watched a great deal of crime television. And not only the silly forensic procedurals with the way too good looking police scientists. No, she was a junky for true crime stuff, like the Forensic Files and American Justice. The nastier the crimes, the more she loved to watch. She munched popcorn as police uncovered fibers, and blood, and feces, and semen from crime scenes. So she knew if it was blood, it was probably evidence.
“Do you think these pipes are connected with Mr. Lumbowski’s plumbing? I mean, he’s directly above us,” Michael said.
June’s forensic brain kicked into overdrive. “Oh my God, what if somebody slit Mr. Lumbowski’s throat and let his body drain into his tub? We need to call the police, Michael.”
“Whoa, whoa...before we go reporting a murder, don’t you think we should check up on him?”
** ** ** **
They knocked on Mr. Lumbowski’s door. Michael prayed he answered the door, but also knew the old man was hard of hearing. June remained convinced he was dead, and feared the murderer might answer with a knife. Michael rapped the door again with his knuckles. Harder this time. They heard the shuffling of feet in their neighbor’s apartment.
“Yes, who is it?” the voice behind the door said. It sounded a lot like Mr. Lumbowski.
Michael shot June a look, as if to say, “I told you so.”
“What if it’s the killer disguising his voice?”
“Mr. Lumbowski, it’s Michael and June from downstairs.”
They heard the chain lock unlatch, and the door opened to reveal their elderly neighbor in his bathrobe. He carried his pipe, and the smell of pipe smoke wafted out the open door into their faces.
“What is it? I’m watching the BBC,” the old man said.
“We had a problem with our drain, Mr. Lumbowski, do you know if you’re tub is ok?” Michael asked. June coughed a little from the lingering smoke.
“As far as I know. I soaked my feet earlier, it was fine.”
“Thank you Mr. Lumbowski. Have a good night, enjoy your programs,” Michael said.
The old man slammed the door, and may or may not have said goodnight.
“He’s totally guilty, I’m calling the police,” said June.
“I’m calling the plumber,” said Michael.
“What in the world could be causing that?” June asked.
“I’ve never heard anything like it,” said Mike, leaning over the tub, attempting to see something in the tub. Everything looked fine. But the gurgling continued, and in fact, started to increase in both volume and pace. Mike put his arm in front of June, pushing her backwards, as the noise seemed to be reaching a crescendo.
“What…” June began to say, and then…
The drain belched. A brief, but extremely loud belch. A wet belch. The drain belched blood. It shot up maybe two feet, and painted the white ceramic in gooey red.
“Oh, God, gross!” said June, “is that...blood?”
“I don’t know...I don’t want to get too close,” Mike said. The gurgling persisted, but seemed to be subsiding. It was not as noisy, and intermittent. The belch seemed to relieve the drain of its indigestion, and its inner pipes were settling.
“Did you pour anything down this drain today, maybe yesterday?” June asked.
“No, I mean, I took a shower in the morning right after you did, but that’s it.”
“Do you know how we can look at the pipes. And is that blood?” June stared at the bloody tub and hoped to god it wasn’t blood, “oh, no, don’t touch it!” she pleaded, but she was too late. Mike had put a finger to the tub and touched the red liquid. He pulled it up closer to his face.
“Yup, it’s definitely blood,” he said.
“How is that possible? I mean, could like an animal die in the pipes or something. How can we check the source?” June asked.
“Remember when you married me, I was an artist, not a plumber, not a handy-man. I’m as in the dark about this stuff as you,” Michael said.
“Do me a favor, don’t touch it again. It might be evidence,” June said.
“Evidence?”
“Well, we don’t know whose blood this is, so it might be evidence.”
June watched a great deal of crime television. And not only the silly forensic procedurals with the way too good looking police scientists. No, she was a junky for true crime stuff, like the Forensic Files and American Justice. The nastier the crimes, the more she loved to watch. She munched popcorn as police uncovered fibers, and blood, and feces, and semen from crime scenes. So she knew if it was blood, it was probably evidence.
“Do you think these pipes are connected with Mr. Lumbowski’s plumbing? I mean, he’s directly above us,” Michael said.
June’s forensic brain kicked into overdrive. “Oh my God, what if somebody slit Mr. Lumbowski’s throat and let his body drain into his tub? We need to call the police, Michael.”
“Whoa, whoa...before we go reporting a murder, don’t you think we should check up on him?”
** ** ** **
They knocked on Mr. Lumbowski’s door. Michael prayed he answered the door, but also knew the old man was hard of hearing. June remained convinced he was dead, and feared the murderer might answer with a knife. Michael rapped the door again with his knuckles. Harder this time. They heard the shuffling of feet in their neighbor’s apartment.
“Yes, who is it?” the voice behind the door said. It sounded a lot like Mr. Lumbowski.
Michael shot June a look, as if to say, “I told you so.”
“What if it’s the killer disguising his voice?”
“Mr. Lumbowski, it’s Michael and June from downstairs.”
They heard the chain lock unlatch, and the door opened to reveal their elderly neighbor in his bathrobe. He carried his pipe, and the smell of pipe smoke wafted out the open door into their faces.
“What is it? I’m watching the BBC,” the old man said.
“We had a problem with our drain, Mr. Lumbowski, do you know if you’re tub is ok?” Michael asked. June coughed a little from the lingering smoke.
“As far as I know. I soaked my feet earlier, it was fine.”
“Thank you Mr. Lumbowski. Have a good night, enjoy your programs,” Michael said.
The old man slammed the door, and may or may not have said goodnight.
“He’s totally guilty, I’m calling the police,” said June.
“I’m calling the plumber,” said Michael.