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The last time I was here was Jackson’s high school graduation party. He invited our entire family. I’d never seen a celebration like that before. The decorations looked straight out of a magazine, with extravagant balloon arches and ice sculptures surrounding the sparking pool. Waiters in white gloves served appetizers that never ended. The cake had five tiers, looking too beautiful to eat.
My heart quickens as I approach the massive gates.
Why am I so nervous?
I roll down my window and press the intercom button.
"It's Brinn Parker. I’m Jackson’s physical therapist."
A buzzer sounds, and the gates slowly open.
Well-manicured landscaping borders the long cobblestone driveway that leads me to the front of the home. A massive set of stairs dominates the entrance, adorned with white columns on each side. The grass is so perfect I have the urge to touch it to see if it’s real.
Before I have a chance, an older, balding man descends the steps and meets me as I exit my car.
“Hello Miss Parker, my name is Kennedy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You, too. Thank you.”
He extends his hand and I shake it gently.
“I’m the estate manager. May I ask what brings you here today?”
"Oh, um," I purse my lips, "Jackson hasn't been coming to his sessions, so I thought I would check up on him.”
"That’s so kind of you, but I'm afraid now is not the time."
"Why?"
“It’s been a very difficult morning for him.”
"Let me see him, please," I say, moving closer to the door.
Kennedy shields the entrance. “He gave me strict instructions not to let you in."
"Is he in pain?"
"Yes. But he’s a very proud man and doesn’t want you to see him in his state.”
“If you care for him as I know you do, Kennedy, you’ll let me help.”
He sighs as he looks over his shoulder, contemplating. "Fine, follow me."
Quickly, I open my car, grab my bag, and run after Kennedy. I’m momentarily distracted as we enter the foyer of the house. I’ve never been inside, only by the pool. There’s an enormous gold chandelier lighting up a circular table filled with ceramic flower vases overflowing with bouquets. The black and white tile floors glisten. Every wall is filled with high-end art pieces with gilded frames.
Kennedy taps my shoulder when he catches me staring. “This way.”
He sprints up the left side of a double staircase. I’m impressed by the way he moves for a man likely in his seventies.
At the end of the long hallway is a double door. Kennedy gently pushes it open, and the darkness overwhelms me. The entire room is black, starting with the carpet and moving to the walls and furniture. It’s a stark contrast to the rest of the house.
When my eyes adjust to the room, the sight takes my breath. I scan its entirety quickly, ending at the canopy bed, where Jackson lays under silky black sheets.
His eyes are half-opened, his hair slick with sweat and plastered to his forehead. I see why he didn’t want me here. He looks so vulnerable.
I turn to Kennedy, whispering, “What happened?”
He gently guides me away from the bed.
