Chapter 2 -"Echoes in Time"

The ticking never stops, not even after death, and some clocks strike twice.

Tick tock. That infernal ticking again. Always there, even without a clock.

She wouldn't stop ticking. So I stopped her.

He said she adored clocks, so I gave her a perfect one. But what time? What face? What hour? He suggested her first death. She'd already passed it.

Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes became hours. Then months. Then years. And in every heartbeat, I still heard that black-handed clock, swinging behind my eyes. Missed chances. Missed memory. The big mistake.

Tick tock.

The news played, flickering across the darkened room. No new discoveries. No deeper understanding. Just blood and guessing.

He sat watching. She sat beside him, hollowed by the sound.

Tick tock.

She stared at the grandfather clock. It rang every hour, once, twice, always too late. The ones, twos, and threes stared back. Mocking. They remembered what she was trying to forget.

She'd been pure once. Bright. She had ruined it. Lost it. Broke it.

The chimes rang again. On her wrist, the carved time read 12:03.

Tick tock

He said the clock never lies. She said the c**k never forgave. He didn't understand why she wept after carving. She never told him it was for herself. They knew, though, that being alone and uncaring was the safest. But sometimes they cared. 

Sometimes they weren't alone.

Those were the dangerous nights.

Nights like this one.

The wind outside pressed against the glass like it wanted in, moaning low through the cracks. The television flickered in the corner, the sound off now, light splashing shadows across the walls. A storm warning crawled along he bottom of the screen, red and pulsing like a heartbeat.

She watched it with one hand pressed to the faint scar beneath her sleeve. It burned. Not with pain, but memory.

Still there. Always there.

He stood across the room, polishing the edge of a blade that had no right to be as clean as it was. The air between them was thick with unspoken things-things they'd carved into time itself. There had been five. Soon there would be six.

"Where?" she asked.

He smiled. Not kindly.

"She lives alone. Keeps a collection of broken clocks. One of them still ticks."

She nodded once. The pain had faded. The mission was louder now.

Sometimes it was easy. Sometimes it was not. He didn't understand her words.

She didn't want him to.

Tick.

Tock.

The door creaked open as they stepped out into the waiting night. No words. No plan. Just time-and its reckoning. The street was damp, slick with memory. The city flickered slowly in the distance, unaware of what was coming.

In her pocket, the scalpel felt heavier tonight. Hungrier.

Together, apart, they kept ticking. But the rhythm had changed.

Tick tock.

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

You've hooked me, you're nudging me to read on and on. What a clever writer you are. At best, Time can be the greatest mystery.. your story perpetuates that and so cleverly. Great touch to have named characters, they add realism to what could be merely a few words making merely a few sentences. So pleased to have found your writing.. and will continue to read.. please nudge me if I appear casual at times, Haley

[HaleyB]

Thank you again. Please enjoy the rest of this book.