The next day in school, Marilyn worried about Michael. She kept recalling his fall, replaying it over and over in her mind's eye: him desperately pulling on the breaks while at the same trying to steer clear of her. The wheels locking. The screeching of the metal as the front wheel gave in. His cry as he was thrown off. How he had hit the pavement, turning over like an inanimate object. And then how he had lain there, so terribly still.

"Hey, ugly-Edmond, what's the matter with you today? Wondering, if Beth has a pullover you didn't copy yet?" Brian had tried popping himself in the seat right in front of Marilyn's desk, but she had hardly noticed him. He had put quite some effort into it, distorting his long, pale face in disgust and pulling on his light brown, copper-tinted shock of hair to check, if her proximity had caused it to fall out yet – stating that it could only be a matter of moments, now, until it did – but to no avail. With no reaction from her, the game wasn't fun, and Brian had finally given up.

Michael's head had hit the ground so hard that he had lost consciousness. Marilyn had hit her head many times in her life. But an impact that would have made her pass out – she couldn't even imagine that.

She wished she knew how he was. What if he had been more severely injured? She wondered, if he had been taken to hospital in the meantime.

He had done it for her. He had taken those injuries trying not to injure her. Her, ugly-Edmond. Of course she knew he would have done that for anyone. He simply hadn't had time to think and consider who was in front of him. But he had done it for her, too, and that already felt like a whole lot.

Later in the afternoon, when Marilyn was in her room doing her homework, the doorbell rang. She thought it would be Michael coming for his bike, but when she opened the door, it wasn't. On the threshold stood a middle-aged man with a hat made of a light-colored cloth and a squared face that reminded Marilyn somewhat of a dog, a boxer, not unfriendly, but with sharp eyes and hanging cheeks. The impression was intensified by a mustache, that grew not only along his upper lip but also around the corners of his mouth, and thus emphasized the overall downturned features of his face.

"Are you Marilyn Edmond?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, who are you?"

He gave her a friendly smile. "I'm Bill."

Marilyn didn't move. She just looked at him expectantly.

"Bray," he continued after a moment of silence. "My name is Bill Bray. But everyone just calls me Bill."

"I'm sorry, that doesn't tell me anything. How may I help you? Do we know each other?"

"No, we don't know each other. But I think Michael left his bike with you."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Yes. Are you his father? How is he doing? Is he okay?"

Bill was white, but that didn't mean much. After all, Michael wasn't that dark, and maybe he just took after his mother.

"No, Miss, I'm not his father. I'm an employee of the family."

All blood drained from Marilyn's face, her lips opened and she suddenly felt cold despite the warm air outside. The family had sent someone to pick up his things! He couldn't do it himself. Wide-eyed she stared at Bill.

The man seemed to notice her reaction, because he nodded with a reassuring, almost fatherly smile. "He'll be fine. He'll be fine! You don't need to worry." His voice was low and had assumed a warmer tone, but even though Marilyn nodded, too, he failed to relieve the worry she felt.

"Well," Bill went on when she didn't say anything, "I'm supposed to get a new front wheel for that bike. I would need the damaged one to know what kind it is exactly. Do you think it would be possible for me to just take it off?"

Marilyn looked at him confused for a moment. "Oh... yes... yes, sure, of course..." she said finally. "Please come this way."

Bill slowly followed her through the house to the kitchen, and then into the garage, looking at everything with great interest.

"It's over here in the corner," Marilyn said feeling a little uneasy at his inspecting eyes. If he was here to take off the front wheel, he should just do so and get going.

"Oh, yes!" Bill took the bicycle and with one strong move lifted it out of its corner and set it back down wheels facing up.

"I'll get you a wrench, if you like?"

"Yes, that'd be kind."

Marilyn went over to the respective chest of drawers to get a small box of screw wrenches. When she turned back to Bill, she found him not concerned with the bicycle at all, but looking through the window at the end of the building into the backyard. She went over to where the bicycle stood upside down. "Sir?" When he turned she held the box out to him.

"Oh, yes, thank you, dear." He returned from the window, took the box and crouched down to loosen the screws. But he couldn't find the right wrench.

"So are you alone during the day?"

Marilyn blinked at the question, but the man didn't look up from his search for the correct tool. "Yes, normally..."

"Oh, really? Which school do you go to?"

He asked lots of questions. About what kind of music she liked, which church she went to, what her father's company did, which hospital her mother worked at. Marilyn didn't really want to answer, but she couldn't think of a way to get around it without being impolite. So she kept her answers short.

He tried at least three different wrenches before he found the one that fit the screws.

When he asked about her friends and what she liked to do with them, she answered evasively. Fact was, she didn't have friends she was doing anything with, but that wasn't this strange man's business. When he started to ask about Michael and the accident, she suggested that it might be better, if he'd ask him about that.

"You said you are an employee of Michael's family. What exactly do you do for them?" Marilyn was getting increasingly irritated at being interviewed.

"What do you think I do?" he returned in a friendly manner.

Marilyn frowned. "Well, you are definitely not a mechanic. You took longer to find the right wrench than I would have, and you're taking forever to unscrew that wheel. You ask lots of questions, but you don't seem to like giving answers. If you didn't say you're working for his family, I'd say you're working for the police. Is Michael in some kind of trouble? Because if he is, I want nothing to do with it."

"Do you have any experience with being in trouble with the police?"

"No, sir!"

He looked up, set the tool down and smiled. "Well, no, I'm not a mechanic. I used to work for the police once, though. You're a clever young lady." The compliment didn't fly with Marilyn, and he noticed it. "Michael isn't in any trouble," he continued. "I take care of him. That's what I do. I take care of him best I can – in any possible way."

"Isn't he a bit old for a nanny?"

Bill laughed, but made no attempt to reply anything.

"Why don't you take the whole bike to the store to have it repaired? Why all this trouble of taking off the wheel and coming back to put a new one on?"

"I don't know, Miss. I'm an employee. I do as I'm told."

"Hmm..."

With a swift tug the man removed the wheel from its hub and got up. Then he gave Marilyn another of his friendly smiles. "But I could try my luck with a guess... Maybe Michael would like a reason to come back... But that's just an old man's guess, Miss."

"Well," said Marilyn in a low voice. "I sure don't think that's the reason."

"Really? Why not?" Bill appeared surprised – taken aback, even. There was something sharp about his reaction that seemed out of place.

"Well, it's my fault that his bike is broken..." Ugly-Edmond. You're so ugly. Having to look at you every day is a real torture.

"His bike is broken because he likes to speed but doesn't like to break!"

"He liked to break alright!"

"You know what I mean, Miss."

Marilyn looked up and met his calm eyes. "Yes," she said smiling shyly and suddenly feeling embarrassed looked away again, "I know what you mean..."

Marilyn had the feeling that she had hardly returned to her room, when the doorbell rang again. She hurried back, thinking that it was Bill one more time, but again it wasn't whom she had expected. Outside stood a young man about her own age. She couldn't recall having ever seen him before.

"I'm sorry," he said, "do you live here?"

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I hope so." He made a face. "I'm sorry, I think I damaged your mailbox. I was trying to park my car, and I kinda hit it. Could you just come have a look?"

"Sure." Marilyn glanced over at the white mailbox sitting on top of its white post next to her parents' driveway. "But I don't think it's a big problem. It looks fine from here. I mean, it's still standing, right? Nothing a lick of paint couldn't fix."

"Yeah, I sure hope so," he said as he turned and went ahead.

Marilyn followed. "How did you manage to hit it? It's quite some way from the street?"

"Actually, you know, I was trying to turn and wanted to back into your driveway."

"Oh, okay. Well, that happened to me too, once. The mailbox survived alright, so I'm sure it's no problem this time, either."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. It was silly. You know, I was just—"

That was when something hit her head and exploded, cold and wet. Marilyn screamed. Another something came from the other side. Then something hit her back. She didn't know what was going on. The attack seemed to come from everywhere. Wherever she turned, it always seemed to come from somewhere else, again and again and again.

Something grazed her shoulder and exploded on her neck. The cold water ran down her chest.

Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. Marilyn stood in her front yard, breathless and wet to the bone, hugging her chest to hide her underwear that was visible through her drenched shirt, her make up running and her carefully done hair hanging wetly around her head.

Brian, Peter and Thomas were bent over with laughter.

But Marilyn hardly noticed them. She was just looking at the young man who had rung the bell. The one she didn't know. The one she had never seen before. "Oh, ugly-Edmond, you really needed a wash!" he snorted, before joining in with the others' laughter.

How could he hate her? He didn't know her. He had never even met her before.

"Yes, definitely! As I said, ugly-Edmond, you stink!" Brian managed with some difficulties.

"Oh, and how she's hiding herself!" Thomas snickered. "As if anybody wanted to see your tits, ugly-Edmond! Oh, please! You'll have to pay someone to look at them! Hahahahaha... You were no fun in school today, ugly-Edmond, but – Gosh! – you are such a joke right now!"

She should have turned and run back indoors. Any other girl would have done so. But she couldn't move. She just stood there, dripping and bewildered and ashamed.

"Ey, ugly-Edmond, you should probably dry up." Peter jabbed her shoulder a little harder than would have been friendly as he walked passed her.

"Yeah, dry up!" Thomas called back to her shivering form, as he and his friends strolled off, chuckling at the fun they had just had. Brian hugged the strange young man roughly round the neck, as they walked. They seemed to be close.

It was a warm afternoon, but still Marilyn was shivering and shaking like a leave where she stood on the garden path.

She was still standing there after the guys had long gone. It was the first time they had come to her home.

Finally, slowly, she stole herself back into the house.

~~~~~

 Hello! :) It's great to see you here again! :D

 I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that it made you interested in what will happen to Marilyn (and Michael ;) ) in the coming chapters.

Votes? Yes, please! :D

Comments? Always! :D

Have a wonderful day! And please come back... :)

Much Love,

Birdie <33