Clockwork

       It was one of those blustery August mornings that make you want to sing the color orange, drink too much coffee, and indulge yourself in a book in the park. The sidewalk beneath my feet was a river and I a boat, gliding down all the tributaries I knew so well. I inhaled deeply, feeling a hint of fall on my lips and clean air in my lungs. I loved days like this.

The bell of the coffee shop chimed more sweetly than usual when I opened the door. “Hi Kathy!”

           “Hey Paul! What are you having today?” she replied sunnily. Kathy always worked on Tuesdays and Saturdays, and always looked as cute as she did right now.

           “Just the usual, thanks,” I said, smiling politely. I took my usual seat facing the window, sat down, and pulled out my favorite Dostoevsky. Then he walked in.

           He was a tallish man in his mid-forties with graying hair and a suit to match, and while he did attempt to blend in, his demeanor betrayed the light atmosphere of the shop. He appeared intensely serious, focused like a laser, yet when he removed his Ray-Bans I could almost see humanity in those steel eyes. He politely greeted Kathy and ordered a latte.

           He didn’t even see me in the corner, I was sure. Not once did he turn his head in my direction, even when he sat with his back to the window and opened the newspaper he had picked up outside.

           “Kathy,” I said softly, with a wave.

The man looked up briefly – alerted by the sound - then went back to his newspaper.

           She served the stranger his latte, then came to tend to me. “What can I do for you?” she said sweetly.

           “Could I get a coffee to go? I’m going to the park to read.”

           “Sure thing,” she answered. She adjusted her apron, poured my coffee, and set it on my table with a smile.

           “One more thing, have you seen that guy before?” I motioned quietly toward the stranger.

           “No, I haven’t. I bet he’s new in town or passing through or something.” She shrugged.

           I nodded and grabbed my coffee, walking until I heard the happy bell chime again, a little less cheerfully this time.

           “Have a good day!” I heard Kathy say after me.

           The door started closing. “Thanks, you too!” I waved and floated down the street.

           When I found the edge of the park, I could feel the world turning with the chirping of the birds and the laughter of joyful people playing with their Labradors. It was hot now. Shade was welcome, and I located my portion of it on a park bench. The town ran like clockwork, from the joggers in the park to my Saturday coffee runs, though I loved days like this, with smiling faces surrounding me with an aura of superfluous, superficial ecstasy. I knew the pattern by now, even if two parts of that pattern would be absent this Saturday. I shuddered. It wouldn’t do to dwell on my neighbors.

           An hour or two passed in peace and quiet. I read a chapter or three of my book.

           When I looked at my watch, I saw that it was half-past noon. I ran like clockwork, as usual. I got up from my park bench and started humming Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” and I stretched vigorously. Deciding to survey the park before I took my lunch, I paused a second when I noticed something jumping out of the painting like a rip in a Renoir. Graying hair and a suit to match. He was facing away from me, but I knew it was him again. I felt chills run down my spine.

           Even if it is him, it’s a small town and a nice day. This is just a coincidence. I calmed myself with that thought and followed the sidewalk river into the center of town.

           “Mayor Smith! How are you?” I called up the street. George Smith was a short, broad man that I liked very well. We had gone through high school and community college together, though I ended up going to a University afterward and he ended up running the town.

           He grinned graciously and hurried to shake my hand. “I’ve told you a thousand times to call me George when I’m not working, Paul!” He scolded. He frowned at no one in particular. “Actually, I think you’re right today. I forgot I’m supposed to go to the visitation for the Williams’s this afternoon. It’s a shame what happened between them. Are you going?” The mayor was serious now, seeming a little morose and quite irritable. I realized he probably wanted a friendly face in a crowd of mourners.

           “Sure. I hadn’t planned on it, but I don’t have anything better to do,” I said. His eyes showed signs of relief.

           He nodded, grinding his teeth in leftover frustration. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, but good. I’ll see you there.” He started to walk away.

           “Wait, do you want to grab lunch? We’re only five minutes from the diner.”

           “Sorry, but they’re closed for the funeral,” he responded, giving me a quizzical look. “I thought you’d have read about the closings this morning? You always do the crossword.”

           I felt a headache forming at the base of my skull. I didn’t think about that part, I noted. I guess I’m not running smoothly after all. I need to be more careful. I nodded in agreement with his comment, shoving my nervous hands in my pockets. “I would’ve, but somebody took the last one this morning.” It wasn’t technically a lie. “Gray suit” took the last copy when he walked in.

           He seemed to accept that explanation. “Anyway, would you like to have lunch with me and the wife? We’d be glad to have you over, and we live two blocks from the Williams’s house.”

           “I don’t want to cause you trouble on my account.”

           “No, never. You’re perfectly welcome to come, and Sarah always makes enough for an army anyway!” He patted me on the back and led me up the street.

           “Well if you insist, thank you,” I replied, maybe less generously than I should have.

My head was throbbing at this point. George didn’t seem to notice, but if he did, he probably thought it was the heat getting to me. The headache turned into a splitting migraine when I saw him out of the corner of my eye, that haunting form sitting on a bench on the other side of the street. The sunglasses hid his eyes, but I could still feel them boring into the side of my head. There is something wrong about this. I glanced suspiciously at his smug suit and tie. What should have been a glance turned into a glare, and before I could correct my error, he removed his glasses. There they were. Those steel eyes and their laser focus. And they were focused on me.

***

“Kevin Williams?” the limo driver asked.

           I nodded.

           The driver opened the back passenger door and motioned me inside. I didn’t say a word the entire trip into town. Long flight. Longer day ahead.

           The sun was just starting to go down that Friday night, though it seemed to be going down on my whole life. My brother and his wife were dead, and the official line was murder-suicide. I just don’t believe it. How can they believe Jim would do such a thing? I looked out the window, at the world spinning on without them. There’s something wrong about this.

           I must have dozed off. The limo had arrived at the house, and the driver was waiting with the door open. I blinked wearily and struggled out of the car, tipping the driver and slowly walking to the front door. It was a fashionable little house, not to large and not too small. Just like my brother to be normal. I pulled the key out of my pocket, grabbed the door handle, and the door swung ajar. The police left the door unlocked. I cursed under my breath and locked the door behind me.

           Jim left me everything. Life insurance, house, retirement, the whole nine yards. And I still couldn’t believe it. This was my house now, and the whole place screamed in eerie silence. Gave me the creeps.

           I should get the watch, before I get anything else.

           The watch was an heirloom from our father, a very expensive pocket watch from Germany. It hadn’t come up in the inventory of the house or the crime scene report, so I decided it was probably in a hidden safe somewhere.

           The more I searched, though, the more I began to panic. When I was sure it wasn’t in the house, I started to get mad. My ten-year career as a crime scene analyst came to the play, and the murk surrounding their deaths cleared up for me. Connie, Jim’s wife, died from blunt trauma to the head. Jim died from a gunshot wound to the side of the head at point-blank range. It seemed to follow suicide story, until I remembered that Jim also suffered blunt trauma to the side of his head according to the coroner’s report. Combined with the missing watch, it told me all I needed to know. Someone else killed both of them, and I was going to find out who.

           The next morning, I walked into the only coffee shop in town and grabbed a newspaper. I felt a little conspicuous in my gray suit, but I had to be dressed for the visitation later that day since I was the only surviving relative.

           I ordered and sat down to scan the paper. “Kathy,” I heard the man across the shop say. He was a brown-haired man in his thirties, wearing a light, plaid shirt, khakis, and a brown belt. The barista came over. I heard something about the park. The rest was too low to hear. She shrugged and went to the bar to pour him more coffee, and I went back to looking for clues.

           When I checked my watch again it was half-past eleven. The paper’s not getting me anywhere. I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.

           “Ma’am, do you happen to know anything about the Williams’s? I read in the paper that they died earlier this week, and the article said it was a murder-suicide.” I scanned her face for a reaction.

           Her eyebrows furrowed, she frowned, and shook her head. She couldn’t have been older than twenty. “I don’t know anything about it, except that it was a terrible shame. You should ask Paul Simmons, the English teacher. He was their neighbor,” she said. “Actually,” she corrected, “I’m pretty sure he was the one that called the police that night, poor thing. I’ve been especially nice to him. He hasn’t been himself lately, and I can’t imagine having to witness something so awful.”

           My stomach churned. I nearly leapt out of my chair. “Where can I find him?” I demanded, eagerly.

           “You just missed him, sir. He just went to the park about an hour ago,” she said, raising her eyebrows. I folded up the newspaper and stormed out. The barista said something as the door closed, but I was already too far away to hear it.

           When I got to the park, I saw Paul sitting on a park bench at the edge of the sidewalk in the shade of an oak tree. I walked behind him, barely noticing the few joggers passing me. I only saw him. He just sat there, oblivious to the world, reading Crime and Punishment and chuckling to himself. He was there for another thirty minutes before he got up and –

           “It was you,” I muttered under my breath. He looked at my brother’s watch like it was his own, without even flinching, without a hint of remorse. I turned around, sat down, and waited until I heard him walking down the sidewalk, humming to himself. My world just ended, and this psychopath is having the best day ever, I ruminated. I inhaled deeply. I should change that. He was in his own head all the way up the street, so walking unseen beside him wasn’t too hard. Paul stopped to talk with another man in a black suit for about five minutes, so I continued up the road and waited on a bench. When he started walking again, he was sweating and the spring in his step was gone. I took my glasses off just in time to see him staring at me as his friend led him down the sidewalk. He’s afraid, I realized.

           Good.

***

           I would face the same fate as Raskolnikov's, or worse. Everyone at the visitation knew the man in the gray suit was Jim Williams’s brother, and those close to the deceased told me he was a private detective and ex-FBI. I vomited in the Williams’s toilet, but the pounding in my head and the churning in my stomach just got worse, for no power on earth or above would pity my case. The gleaming watch I had stolen off Jim’s body was boring a hole in my pocket. If I try to dump it I’ll only appear more suspicious.

Between all the niceties of “Good afternoon” and  “sorry for your loss,” my mind perceived fangs, daggers which would dispatch me at a moment’s notice for my sins, and all eyes in the room seemed devoid of the humanity I craved, if humanity was ever something open to me in the first place. To top it off, his eyes followed me everywhere.

           I tapped George on the shoulder. “I’m afraid I have to go. I’m not feeling well, and I’d like to get some rest.”

           “Take care, and don’t let the heat get to you,” the mayor replied, shaking my hand firmly. There was my humanity, summed up in a handshake. I smiled for the first time that afternoon.

           I was humming again by the time I reached my porch, floating as the trauma of my crimes seemed distant once more. You over-reacted, I told myself wistfully. He was just home for the funeral, and he doesn’t have any reason to suspect you. I opened the door playfully, and walked in my house.

           I stopped. Even my clocks were quiet, and the house screamed in eerie silence. I heard footsteps on the porch, but I didn’t turn around to see who it was. I knew. Gray hair and a suit to match. The pit in my stomach became an abyss.

“Did you really think you could escape me, Paul?”

           The hammer dropped, and a crack rang through the summer air. I felt the bullet rip a hole where my heart had been.

           I gurgled, pulling the golden watch, now covered in blood, from my pocket. It was five in the afternoon, dinner time.

Like clockwork.