Dead Collectors

The cool breeze of the morning slapped gently against the open front door. The thick mahogany didn't budge as an older man in a white chef uniform stepped out. Confusion etched deeply across his face as he looked left and right. The man looked around while walking down the patio. He held the two bundles of the newspaper he had picked up at the gate. Does this mean the boss hasn't read the papers for about two days? He mused.His intuition told him something was wrong somewhere, but he kept walking around the large compound. The boss was probably in the greenhouse. After all, it was his new obsession. Looking up to admire the skies, he hit his leg against a heap. Frowning, he looked down, and right in front of him was the body of his boss. He screamed out loud and fidgeted as he hurried to check if his boss was still alive. The sight in front of him was gory. Sir Powell's face was a shade of blue, blending into a darker tone. His right eye was wide open, but the left one was hollow and empty. Right on his face laid a whitish ball that was beginning to attract flies. He screamed again as he reached for his phone in his pocket. His unstable hand gripped the mobile phone, which dropped to the ground. He bent to pick it up and was a few inches away from the hollow eyes. With fear, he grabbed the phone and dialed the emergency line. It was too late to save his boss's life, but he would still try to. Speaking with a shaky voice, he explained what he had seen.Help me save him, please. He whimpered.Minutes after, there were flashes of light and siren sounds. Help had come, but as the body was wrapped and trucked away, he realized one thing. His boss could no longer make it; he was two days late.