Chapter 15 - "Inherited Time"

Sarah knows what Eloise is capable of. But the killer sees no time left worth reclaiming from her.

The detective's words still rang in her ears: "We'll put a car outside. Just in case."

Just in case Eloise meant it.

Just in case the sister she once braided hair with and hid under bedsheets during thunderstorms was now a killer.

Sarah already knew.

Eloise's message hadn't been subtle. A voicemail-low, calm, deliberate.

"I remember the clock in Mom's room. How it ticked even after she died. Have you ever thought about how some people outlast their time? Tick. Tock. Love you."

She told the police. Showed them the message. Detective Cole had listened twice. Detective Vega three times.

They believed her, but belief wasn't enough. Not when Eloise was out there...somewhere. Watching. Calculating.

Sarah had moved twice in three weeks. Changed her phone. Didn't sleep much. The ticking was back, in the pipes, the radiator, the back of her skull.

Tick tock.

"...and police are asking for any tips related to the recent series of murders now unofficially dubbed 'The Timepiece Killings.' Authorities have yet to release details, but it is confirmed that carved clock imagery is consistent across multiple crime scenes..."

"...residents in three Bay Area neighborhoods are forming neighborhood patrols after reports that the victims appear unrelated and random. The Mayor has issued a statement, asking for calm."

"...earlier victims once considered suicides are now being reclassified. Among them: Karen B., a retired social worker; Greg Martinez, a substitute teacher; and Dana Foster, a parole officer. All three had prior reports filed against them by unnamed individuals..."

Tick tock.

Greg Martinez left work fifteen minutes early every Thursday.

Time, he said, was "his."

He had watched him for weeks. There was no violence. No sin. But there was theft.

Time taken that didn't belong to him anymore.

Martinez had failed to report an incident with a student ten years ago. Failed to act. He had read the sealed record. Knew the details. Time had moved on, but it hadn't been earned.

So he took it back.

4:47

That was the time he carved. The time Greg left work the day he died.

A correction.

"Their time was no longer theirs to keep."

Dana Foster had turned parole into punishment. She made people wait. Denied them seconds they hadn't lost yet. She spoke in delays.

8:22. The time she denied a man freedom he had earned.

She, too, was corrected.

Tick. Tock.

The walls of the task room were lined with clocks, drawn, printed, or pinned with photos.

The new board had two separate columns- Hers and His.

Mason circled the words "RECLAMATION" on a notepad.

"They're not random. Not to him," she said. "Every one of his victims took time that wasn't theirs-abuse of power, stolen hours, moral failure. And Eloise...she's something else entirely."

Vega added, "She's trying to steal his time."

"Or she already did."

He tapped a new sticky note onto the board.

SARAH DANNER-TARGET?

Mason stared at it for a long time.

"She's not just a loose end. She's a message."

Tick. Tock.

The police car hadn't moved all day.

Neither had she.

She sat in the center of her apartment, lights on, every clock unplugged or facedown.

She didn't notice the envelope until midnight.

No stamp. No handwriting.

Just three words, typed:

"Your second hand's slipping."