PART A
The broken clock winds backwards, despite being fixed by several professional clock makers, the cost of the repairs far exceeding the cost of the pocket watch itself. That was my first clue that it was important.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It's so quiet in my house. Well, it's not even my house. It's the house of some lady I met the first time in town at Sobey's buying batteries. My flashlight keeps on eating through batteries like they're chips, so I have to keep buying them. Two bucks for ten, what a rip-off for a flashlight that goes through two a night. She's a quiet little lady, has a cross in every room, has me say grace before dinner. I haven't said it in awhile so the first time I fumbled she raised her eyebrows. She's usually up by five am, I can here her clattering around in the kitchen, making eggs or toast before she's out the door at five thirty. That's usually around the time I go down for sleep. I always have to have my phone plugged in, getting calls at odd hours. Then again, it's odd business. She thinks I'm a police officer, I can see it in her eyes and the way they sparkle with misplaced admiration.
"You must be a very busy man, getting those late calls. You'd think they knew you needed some sleep." She says, shovelling scrambled eggs onto my plate with toast. I smile at that, say "I don't sleep much. Bit of an insomniac. Helps keep me occupied. Thank you again, Martha, for having me. I just didn't have enough money for a hotel and the place doesn't have any empty cells." She waves the compliment away, wiping her brow. "It's alright. Besides, you wouldn't want to stay in a cell like one of those criminals, would ya?" she asks, sitting down to eat herself. She cracks some pepper onto her eggs, glancing over at her cabinet of collectable plates. My stomach clenches as I set down the fork. "No. God, no. I try to catch those men, I don't wanna catch their evilness by... whadda the smart folks say? Something to do with cells. Osmosis, that's it!" I say, snapping my fingers and snatching up the fork, sending a spoon flying. "I'll get it. You know, my husband, Frank, said that if the man himself was pure then nothing evil could corrupt him. God bless his soul." She set the spoon on the table, tears shining in her eyes. I scoop the last of the eggs into my mouth, down some orange juice, and head to bed.
Or at least, I throw the covers on and stare at the ceiling, hoping that the queasiness will subside. Lifting up my shirt, I see the letters being carved on, most of them scarred over. I wonder who's handwriting it is, because it sure as hell isn't mine or my fathers'. They're angry with me, though. The handwriting is different every time, so it can't be the same person.They slash and make it as deep as they can, because they only have four letters. LIAR, written across my skin, over and over. It started on my arms, crawled it's way down to my groin. I guess it started with my grandfather, who cheated on my grandmother. When she found out she knocked him out soon as he got home, pinned him down and got out her pocketknife she carried around when she went into the city for her waitressing job. By the time he gained consciousness he was already bleeding out, the knife biting just beneath the skin and blood dripping as he cried for her to stop, her hands wrapping around his muscular neck and squeezing until she couldn't feel anything moving.
He didn't really stand a chance, probably already weakened by blood loss and he didn't want to hurt her, he felt like shit anyways. She didn't call the cops or my dad or anything. Just sat there and laughed, the blade shining red under the kerosene light and the smell of oil in the air and life trickling down the drain. Then she stopped laughing. She sat for I don't know how long, knees hugged to her chest and watching the endless current of blood spilling from her husband, watching with those icy water eyes. My dad came the next morning to check up on them since it had been awhile since they'd talked, almost a month. He opened the door and knew something was wrong. The only reason he knew what had happened was because he'd been there when she confessed to his murder. My dad said she didn't even stutter once, just repeated the events in a dry tone, toying with the cuffs and asking the officer if he did that with his wife. Tied her up, she meant. For fun. She said Adam was never into it but she was willing to give it a try, smiling all sexy at a murder confession.
