Part 2 - Brian's Story

Brian's Story - Part 2

8-February-2002

  Passing through his study, converted from the second bedroom, Sam entered the adjoining walk-in closet and sat in the chair he kept there. The chair was facing a large oak-finished grandfather clock that stood against the back wall of the converted closet. Most of the wire shelves had been removed and those that remained were filled with clocks, as was most of the available wall space. Swiveling to his right, he leaned forward to check the water level of a fountain-clock that sat on the floor near the door. A pump ran the fountain, which powered a small wooden mill wheel, which in turn ran the clock which was housed in the model mill-house. Finding the water level satisfactory, Sam proceeded to sit back and drink from the glass of water he’d carried in.
   Turning back to the back wall, Sam studied some of his clock collection, smiling fondly at the few that Becky had given him as gifts. His collection consisted mostly of antique clocks, contrasted with some of a modern artsy design. His eyes were drawn to the Goofy clock that just didn’t fit in, running backwards with primary colored hands. There was a little plaque underneath that read “BECKY’S BACKWARDS TIME”. This was the first clock she had given to him, on their first Christmas after she found out he collected clocks. She had insisted that it be kept at least 20 minutes off of real time. She had been worried by what seemed to her to be an unaccountable fixation with time, so she had provided a clock that she felt would throw a cog in the wheels of this obsession. A faint smile played across his face at the memory.
   Sam turned back to the grandfather clock to watch the mechanical show it provided each hour, then proceeded to wind the clocks that needed it and checking to make sure all the clocks were accurate, and not losing time. As he went from clock to clock, his fingers traced the plaques that identified which time zone they corresponded with, and Sam absently wondered what time it was where Becky was.


   It was 6:30, and Becky was just returning from the Western Union office. Coming into her hotel suite, she set the package addressed to her father on the table, and proceeded to get ready for dinner.
   She let the warm water wash of the grime of the day as she pictured her grand entrance to the restaurant on the Nile. She imagined her appearance drawing the attention of all the patrons as she passed them to join a gentleman at the specified table on the water’s edge, with the box she had just picked up in her oversize purse.
   Becky hoped to negotiate with the representative sent to meet her, but knew it was not likely. Minions, as she thought of them, usually didn’t have any power to negotiate. However, it was nice to fanaticize that the way she looked in the low cut, high hemmed black dress with that lovely green silk scarf she had been given over a week ago thrown over her bare arms, would stun the gentleman sent to gather the package into working out a deal.
   She was jolted out of her daydream by what sounded like an explosion. Not bothering to turn off the water, Becky grabbed a towel to throw over herself as she rushed past the bedroom into the sitting room.
   Black smoke was rising from the trashcan, small flames licking the top of the metal canister. Becky threw the contents of the ice bucket in the trashcan, and using the towel to prevent burns, quickly picked up the can and set it outside on the little patio.
   With the fire hazard removed, she became aware of her nakedness, retrieved her towel, and placed it about herself. Sitting down, and forcing herself to be calm, Becky suddenly noticed that he box that she was to trade for information regarding her father’s whereabouts was missing.
   Her stomach was filled with dread as she slowly stood up, and reopened the door to the patio. The last of the smoke was now clearing. Looking into the blackened bronze can, tears filled her eyes. Underneath the shell of what looked like a homemade firecracker laid the charred remains of the box.