Clockwork Heart (nanowrimo 2012) Featured in WattNaNo's Top Picks

Clockwork Heart Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Clancy’s Clockworks was sat in almost complete darkness as the town clocks chimed eight. It was pitch black outside as the late winter months ensured it was dark before five in the afternoon. Yet, despite the fact his entire work force had already returned home for the evening, Richard Clancy still sat behind his desk within the factory building.

His office, which overlooked the entire operations floor, was illuminated by a small lamp which flickered every now and then, casting taunting shadows upon the stacks of paper and metals around the small room. If Mr Clancy hadn’t been so distracted he might had been scared at the creeping and jumping shadows that walked along the walls.

Pushing away the papers, Richard threw his head into his hands. For  a few seconds he panted hard. Then, as sudden as a switch being flipper, he growled and pushed the papers off of his desk.

They fluttered to the floor, fanning out within the room so that most of the floor was now carpeted with stuff. Running a hand through his greying hair, the richest man in Portside stumbled back a step and fell into his chair. His face quickly became hidden in his hands.

If someone looked in on his at that moment, they would be unsure whether the man was silently sobbing or trying not to laugh out loud. Mr Clancy however, was stuck somewhere between the two. Frustrated tears leaked from his eyes and yet the man wanted nothing more than to laugh hysterically at the situation he had managed to get himself in. And then he remember his daughter, sitting at home waiting for him day after day and the disappointment he heard when she spent respective hours banging and crashing the doors to show her frustration.

He shook his head.

“Need to focus,” He muttered before pulling the key from where it hung around his neck. He lowered it towards his desk drawer before stilling, his eyes darting the shadows. His eyes widened as he watched the taunting shapes dance and flicker before turning his head the side. When no sound jumped out at him and nothing moved out of the shadows, Richard Clancy inserted the key into a barely noticeable keyhole in the leg of his desk.

With a sharp twist and a click, the bottom half of one of the drawers popped outwards. Inside, as light quickly filled the darkened space, there were several documents.

Reaching inside with trembling fingers, the aging man drew out the pieces of parchment with the tips of his fingers. Setting them down on his desk, the man released a sigh while his fingers hovered over the pieces of papers, hovering between touching like he desperately wanted to, and then being afraid to feel it once more.

 Finally, when he could take the indecision no more, he picked up the sharpened piece of metal he used pry the seals off of his letters. He rolled it over in his fingers several times until with a frown etched upon his features he used the piece of metal to separate the papers and flick several to the side.

His eyes were drawn to the sepia colouring of a smaller thicker piece of paper. He abandoned the letter opener and snagged the corner bringing it out into the lamplight so his eyes could feast upon the image.

She was beautiful, the woman in the photograph. He blonde hair which had tuned a whitish brown in the colouring of the print, looked too much like their daughter and yet not enough. While one hand held the photo and stroked across the image, his other hand stroked over his heart, which was thudding mournfully against the cage its owner kept it in.

Selena Clancy had been a beauty like no other. She had a kind loving heart and Richard could never quite believe that the woman had chosen him over all of the other people trying to win her hand. They had thirteen incredible years together before she died three months after Millie’s tenth birthday. So did Millie’s little brother.

Taking in a shuddering breath, the man drew the picture close and hugged it to his body. But there was no comfort as there was no one to tell him everything would be okay, and there was no warmth from the gesture to melt the ice forming around his unused heart.

He pulled the photo up and placed a kiss on the picture, pulling away so he could caress his fingers over the woman’s soft features before placing it on the table, as far away from the incriminating paperwork as it could get without being deposited on the floor.

Finally he turned his attention back to the papers. They detailed his private project from many years ago. It was one that no one but he knew was even in the works – had been completed and was successful. The first page, which was filled with his initial design – mere scribbles compared to his later work – was started almost ten years ago. He had used to the project at a crutch, to help him walk through the all-consuming grief of losing his wife and their new born son. But it was never enough and it would never be enough.

He pulled sheets towards him one by one, reading through all the details like he was memorising every formula and drawer his younger self had written on them. Then, holding the sheets between his thumb and forefinger he pushed them towards the lamp perched upon the edge of his desk. He held the paper just above the reach of the flickering flames, watching as the rising heat and fumes blackened the paper. Richard closed his eyes and dipped the paper so that the ends caught aflame.

His felt the heat licking closer and closer thus when it started to burn at his fingers, he dropped the flaming paper into a metal basket and watched as his work was consumed.

He repeated the motion over and over again until all that was left was the grey smoulders at the bottom of the bin, a photo of his lost love and a single piece of paper which detailed intricate clockworks that were encased completely within its own shields. This slip of paper he paid particular attention to while the remains in the bin continued to crackle and hiss on occasion. This was what had caused him too much trouble. The singular piece of the design had altered his life drastically…saved his life when it needed it most and yet it had continued on to destroy so many.

Folding up the parchment, he pulled his pocket watch from his jacket and clicked the button on the top so that the cover sprang open to reveal the clock face. The man’s eyes widened at the sight of the hands on the face but he merely used his nails to pry the dial forwards revealing an empty face behind.

Slipping the paper inside, he gently secured the clock face into place, ensuring it still ticked onwards before closing the pocket watch up entirely and pocketing it once more.

Richard Clancy then, after retrieving the picture of his lost wife, leant over the desk. Pursing his lips together he drew in a deep breath and then with his eyes closed he blew out the lamp. Immediately the office was left in darkness except for the smouldering ash glowing from within the bin. In the cover of darkness, Richard Clancy left his office, all evidence of his misdeeds now burnt to ash of hidden away in his pocket.

The darkness also covered the hooded figure who had watched the man’s actions from a girder intersecting the roof of the main factory floor. It also covered the hollow smile that turned up the lips as the Ripper watched the suffering man. Silently, the ripper followed the man out and hurried through the streets of portside. They had seen enough.  All that was left to do was plan. The Ripper couldn’t afford to fail again.