The Horror of 2:07

Content Warning: Strong Language and Death



Waking up at 2:07 am for the second time in less than a nights sleep was the introduction that something was amiss. The second warning signal shown itself when I tried to subside my throbbing headache. 

I pulled out a container of ibuprofen from under the bathroom sink and popped four pills down my throat. Problem came when trying to turn my water faucet on. I pulled both the stainless steel knobs inward. Nothing. Shut it off. Nothing. 

I thought about waking Ezra but there was nothing neither one of us was going to be able to do at this time of night. Instead I walked back to my room to find it eerily quiet in Ezra’s just down the hallway. 

He always snores. Like possible sleep apnea bad. But in this moment it was keeping my headache from intensifying which is all I could ask in this moment.

I plopped myself back into my queen size bed and turned to my side. Unfortunately there was nothing that I could do to succumb to unconsciousness, so when counting 227 sheep didn’t provide me any further relief, I tossed to my side and peeked a glance at my alarm clock.  

It shown 2:07. Surely I had been in the kitchen for longer than a minute. 

Inspecting the pipes alone should have taken me over to 2:08 itself. 

Then the thought hit me. 

No. This cannot be happening! Why was this happening?!

I rush out of my room knowing well that there was no one to wake up. Not even Mr Barlowe in the apartment beneath ours, who would have heard me ratting around. 

I checked every clock to ensure this was no error. But when every clock confirmed my worst nightmare, I let out a bloodcurdling screech. 

I ran in terror toward the room that wasn’t my own and tried opening the door. 

Ezra you bastard! Why must you sleep with your door locked! I screamed out for him wishing he would just open the door breaking the truth I thought I was living. 

When he didn’t, it confirmed a nightmare. I tried running into the door but to no avail the locks and my absolute lack of physicality procrastinated my entrance.

I tried the only other entrance to the room. It had to work. 

Ten years ago a tenant had a child who would often go into seizures. This child also liked the privacy of their bedroom. Amidst the parents’ frustration they complained to the landlord at the time and asked for them to put in a bridge that wrapped itself around the backside of the building. In return, it connected one side of buildings’ fire escape to the other. 

I rushed into my room and climbed out my window. When I walked around and found Ezra’s window unlocked, I let out a deep sigh.

I lifted the sill and squeezed myself through the window. When I turned toward Ezra, my eyes drew to what I had feared.

——————————————————————-

Twenty years prior

The first time we discovered my capacities it was highly inconvenient.

“Get it!” My three year old self was in hysterics. A threat presented itself. For most people a bumble bee would mean nothing more than a nuisance to their daily routine. 

However there’s another particular set of skills that I possess and that’s an intolerance to their venom.  

So when my father came barreling in to save the day, the bee hitchhiked on my knee. I stood frozen in terror waiting for Dad to save the day. 

When my father missed the bee altogether, it hadn’t taken long for my unwanted passenger to realize that I was the root to their threat. 

The bee stung. It was the worst pain I have ever felt. My father did what fathers do and kissed it. It immediately relieved the pain. 

I continued to play the game of hopscotch that I was playing prior to my injury. On my venture toward number ten something strange happened. 

My life came to a halt. 

I hadn’t noticed the change immediately. I figured the car on the road put its brakes on and well maybe my family was playing freeze tag.

“Why didn’t you ask me to play?” I asked my father. Of course when he didn’t answer my frustration kicked in. 

“Why won’t you talk to me? Daddy!” I ran to Mom to find her response to be just as silent as my father’s.

At the time I hadn’t understood the significance of what I did next. 

I walked to the sidewalk where I had been playing and sat down. 

“Daddy! I need you! Your kisses are magical maybe you can get to me!” 

A rash had formed on my arm and my throat tightened. The allergic reaction had kicked in. An allergy that at the time didn’t know I had prior to today.

“What’s happening to me? Daddy? Mommy? please help.”

My knee started to send prickles to the skin.

“Darn you bee! I’ll get you next time you try to sting me!” I scrunched my face in determination of being every bees worst enemy. 

I sobbed uncontrollably hoping for a miracle.

“Honey? Are you okay?” My mother walked up behind me. Everyone was back to normal. When I told my parents what happened of course they hadn’t believed me. 

That was until about a year and a half later. We were inside watching television when all of a sudden we heard a loud squeal outside followed with everything standing still. 

Just like the first time, everyone around me didn’t care to respond to anything I had to say. I walked outside to see what exactly was going on. 

There was a red SUV in the middle of the road. In the driver seat sat a teenage girl with a panicked look on her face. 

But what exactly was she worried about? There was no one else out on the road with her? 

To my horror, I inspected every aspect of what had happened and right below the front set of tires lied a dog. 

She was trying to stop but she hit him! I thought to myself. And just like that time began to move. 

My parents explained out terrified they were to see me sitting next to them one minute and then gone the next. I again explained what had happened to an audience more apt to listen to what I had to say.

It was the fourth time we finally understood what was triggering these events. Death. What took me out of these happenings would be the exact moment I thought or said the cause of death. 

But when Mr. Jenkins passed at the age of 87 when I was in 7th grade, nothing happened. We initially thought it had finally worn off like how children are more likely to see ghosts. 

But in the 8th grade when my pet fish was floating at the top of his tank, statues again filled my house. 

We then started trials. What triggered these episodes and what didn’t. So we stood outside and we became exterminator to insects all around. My father grabbed a measuring tape to find out that any and all individuals within a 50 foot radius would set every one frozen. But what we had yet to encounter was this barrier would also be my constraints of my investigation. 

Most of the time the motive was pretty self explanatory that was until now. 

————————————————————-

I was paralyzed with fear. The realization of what happened suffocated any words that could come out. 

Sprawled across his bed lied Ezra stained in an unmistakable shade of red. 

His eyes stared vacantly at me as if he was accusing me for his demise. 

“I am so sorry Ezra. How could this happen?”

There was an even bigger fear that maybe the killer was coming for me next. If they had, then why didn’t they? I mean it wasn’t as though I was hiding. 

I spent the next moments I could muster grieving.

When enough time passed, I walked over to him to inspect the scene his body still felt warm to the touch. As expected, he had died at 2:07 in the morning.

What I didn’t know was how long I had been in this trance. I decided to peel back his sheets to inspect the damages. I may be tampering a crime scene but in the end, what’s it to the cops when the only way to get out of this mess if I fully understand what happened. 

Two shots to the leg. 

When my abilities became clear I became utterly obsessed with death. I did my research in the human body and what I do know is that these shots weren’t fatal if treated immediately. It was clear that he had bled to death. 

But why hadn’t he tried to call the police? I scavenged his room to find his phone no where to be seen. 

He always had his phone on him. There was no perfectly good reason as to why it wasn’t on him. The only logical explanation is that the killer took it. 

So I scanned the other parts of his body to see if there were other clues. Nothing was in his pockets and nothing visible immediately.

When I pushed his body to the side there came our first major clue. Another shade of pink bore a lip shaped mark on the side of his cheek. 

Ezra had a girlfriend to which was the type to show affection as if no one else was in the room.

Though now that I think about it I do remember her here last night. 

Could she really have done this? And under what circumstance? Was it a death of jealousy of some sort? Maybe he was cheating on her. She found out. 

I counted to 85 to see if my theory was correct. To see if the clock would change when all was right in the world but it didn’t. There was a good chance she hadn’t killed Ezra but the clock not changing didn’t completely rule her out. 

Gently, I placed his face back to rest on his pillow.

That’s it! Of course! He was looking at the window for a reason. Maybe the person that killed him climbed through his window and shot him. And maybe that person is still climbing down the fire escape. 

Please, Ezra, have died a quick death! I’m worried though that, after seeing his injuries, being outside 50 feet would be easy for the perpetrator.

I pulled myself back from where I had come and moved my way down as quickly as I could. I met no one during the descent however it wasn’t until I got to the edge of the bubble that I saw her. Walking with her shoulders high, down the sidewalk underneath our complex. Walking with little conviction.

Someone I recognized.

—————————————————————

“Are you going to tell him or shall I?” Bianca pulled her arms over my shoulder. 

“Ezra?! Are you crazy! That’s asking for a death wish!” I said.

——————————————————————

A memory from last night cleared up. 

I swallowed down a lump of my throat. I stood there watching her feeling as though I knew her dirty little secret. 

I considered she was in rage over him cheating but what if she was the one doing the cheating? He found out, confronted her, and bam! He dies in a messy confrontation. 

But when Bianca stays stationary there was clearly something I was missing. But what? 

Pink lipstick! There was no way to tell what color, if any, makeup Bianca was wearing. I tried squinting but my restraint was too much for my eyes to see. So instead I entered the apartment into Ezra’s room. 

Who could have done this?! I paced back and forth hoping that I would get an email report from the killer teasing me about finding them. Or maybe a witness would knock on my door.

Hoping meant the death of certitude. But why was Bianca here? If it wasn’t to kill Ezra. I had gone to bed early that night so she wasn’t there sticking around to see me. 

When I thought about it longer it was evident that everything about last night was a blur. This only happens when I have a little too much to drink. So maybe we were having a party?

I walked out of Ezra’s room toward our apartment’s fridge. There were some leftovers but there were also some that I hadn’t recognized. One that even shocked me more. So much so that everything immediately became clear. Even why Ezra died. 

————————————————————-

“It’s a boy!” Ezra shouted in the kitchen after cutting out a piece of the gender reveal cake. 

There’s nothing more to test how fake you are than when you’re at your best friend’s gender reveal party while sleeping with said best friend’s girlfriend. 

I never fancied myself to be a good person. When I first discovered how terrible of a person I am it was a hard pill to swallow. Now? Well it seems to be something I just accepted.

In all honesty, Bianca was too good for him. I saw the way he talks to her. The, “you can’t be friends with other guys” and the “if you loved me you’d get a better paying job,” drove me crazy. But Ezra was my friend so I stayed silent for a while.

Then Bianca and I got closer. I told her the way he speaks to her made me feel uncomfortable. She expressed her gratitude for my kindness but leaving someone you’ve once loved was harder for her than she thought.

So she stayed. And I stayed in our apartment as it allowed for me to keep a close eye on her. 

Then she got pregnant. Was this baby Ezra’s or mine?

I took a sip of wine.

I wasn’t sure what was worse having Ezra father Bianca’s baby or having Ezra raise mine. 

This thought alone caused me to drown in alcohol. All throughout the night I drank and drank as much as I could get my hands on. 

I mustered up enough liquid courage to plan and hopefully implement the one way to solve all of my problems. 

Ezra must die. 

It literally kills three birds with one stone. So as every one of Ezra and Bianca’s friend said their goodbyes, I pulled Bianca aside. 

I knew the likelihood of her agreeing to my plan was slim, I decided to give her fragments of the truth.

“Hey so, I’ve been thinking and I think there’s possibly a chance to fix all of our problems.” 

“How so?” She said with scrunched eyebrows telling me enough of what she thought. 

“Well.. I just.. uh…” and well for the first time in human history, I was saved from having to come up with an excuse because I puked all over the floor.

“You’re drunk enough for the both of us! Oh my God, go to bed!” Bianca helped me to my room.

I laid down for about a half hour before feeling better again. When I got up my phone read 1:49 am. 

I got up to find Bianca cuddling in the living room with Ezra. It makes me sick. 

“Oh you’re back up!”

“I’m sorry for the mess! And thanks for cleaning it up!”

“Well that’s what women are for am I right?” Ezra said. Rage took over me. I felt heat on my cheeks and my fist clenched obtaining the fist I wanted to use to knock out his teeth. 

I may not be a good person but Ezra was far from pleasing. 

Bianca looked at me in objection, shaking her head and mouthing the words “calm down.” Calm down? 

What needs to calm down is his prehistoric views on women. What needs to calm down is his heart beat if he fucking can’t treat a woman or anyone for that matter as they should.

Bianca, sensing the tension, got up from her seat and kissed Ezra goodnight. And when that door closed behind her my plan sprung to action. 

When he dies and time stops, I will have unlimited time to destroy any and all evidence. To hide it away in another apartment or to frame anyone besides myself. 

I walked in my room and took out the gun I had stored in a safe since I moved in. 

Walked to his room where he had parted for the night not a few minutes ago. Along the way I took a pillow from the living room. When I reached his room he had already been lying down. 

I placed the pillow over the barrel of the gun and pulled the trigger hitting him exactly where I knew he would bleed out. Allowing myself time to explain to Ezra exactly why I’ve done what I’ve done.

I wanted him to live his last few moments in emotional pain that he had put Bianca through. For him to regret everything he ever said to her. And when I was done, I took his phone. I locked the bedroom door, and departed from the fire escape that connected my room to his. Ezra took his last breaths three minutes later. 

————————————————————-

The fan in his room started moving again. The clock eventually switched to 2:08 am. The official time of an Ezra-free life. 

Bianca and our child is all the better for it! 

Unfortunately in coming weeks, Bianca knew immediately what I had done and turned me in. 

I had forgotten to destroy evidence while I was undetectable. Instead I went to Parks Pond across the street from out apartment. I tied a rock to the gun letting it sink to the bottom. It was quickly caught on CCTV.

The evidence was insurmountable meaning that it was 2:07 that marked the death of Ezra and 2:08 marked the death of my freedom.