Clockwork

Chapter One

London 1906

Abir Najib locked the door to his shop and took two steps back. He looked up at the sign above that read, Najib's Clockworks. After letting out a long sigh he turned and started walking down the lamp lit street. The night was quiet, most people were in their homes, asleep. The London streets were always empty this time of night, it was peaceful, quiet. Abir looked up at the starry sky as he walked and shook his head.

"God. What should I do?" He whispered.

"After ten years in this country, I've finally found peace, and now I have to give it up."

He turned the corner and walked up to the door of an old brick apartment building. This is the place he's called home since he came to England with his wife, this is where they have raised their son, but he has to leave it all behind, he has to leave them behind, to protect them from things he hopes they will never have to have knowledge of. He unlocked the door and closed it quietly behind him. As he walked up the stairs he looked at the pictures on the walls with all the memories of his life so far frozen in time. There were pictures of him and his wife when they were young in Israel. Coming to England with her was the best decision he'd ever made. They left Israel together to build a shop in London where he could sell the clocks he made himself. Clock designing, carving, and the mechanics of them, started as a hobby that grew into what was now his career. When they decided to make the trip his wife was pregnant with their son and they decided to make the week-long boat ride to have a chance to create the life they've dreamed of. The other pictures on the wall were pictures of his wife holding a little baby boy, and then Abir with the boy much older, riding on his shoulders. The day Akil was born was the best day of his life. His pride and joy, his only child. He got to the top of the stairs and looked into a dark bedroom. His wife lay asleep in the bed. He walked to the edge next to her and kissed her forehead.

"I love you, take care of our son." He whispered. She stayed asleep, breathing slow and steady. He stepped slowly down the hallway to the next bedroom, a small lamp was still on. A small boy, no older than six laid with his eyes closed in the small bed.

"Akil, I know you're awake." Abir said. The boy opened his eyes and sat up.

"I didn't want to go to sleep until you came home." Akil told him sleepily.

"I know, I have a gift for you." Abir said and pulled a key out of his pocket, the key to his shop.

"I want you to take care of my clocks, can you do that for me?" He asked.

"Baba, I thought you said I had to be older till I can have your shop." Akil questioned.

"Yes, you do. But I want you to hold onto the key until then." Abir said. Akil took the key from his father and held is to his heart.

"I promise, Baba." Akil said. Abir smiled and kissed his son's cheek before leaving the room. Akil looked down at the old skeleton key and put it under his pillow. He laid his head down and fell asleep.

~

Akil awoke the next morning with golden sun, shining through his window. The home was oddly quiet without the usual sound of his mother and father getting ready for the day. He got dressed and went downstairs. He saw his mother standing by the window and walked over to her.

"'Umm, did Baba already leave?" He asked but he stopped dead in his tracks once he could clearly see his mother. Her usually sleek black hair was tangled as if she'd been running her hands through it roughly. Her honey brown eyes, identical to his, were red and puffy, her normally soft dewy face was blotchy and tear streaked.

"'Umm, are you okay?" Akil asked. His mother turned slowly toward him. She knelt down next to him and stroked his cheeks.

"Akil, your father has been arrested." She said, her voice gruff.

"Arrested for what?" Akil asked.

"I don't know." She answered. Akil couldn't speak, he didn't even realize he was crying until he saw a tear fall onto his mother's hand. He ran out the front door and down the street. There was no way his father could have been arrested, he's a good man. He was going to be in his shop building clocks just like he always is. But when Akil got to his father's shop, there were several men going in and out taking all the clocks and putting them into a large truck.

"Stop! Stop! You can't do this, these are my Baba's you can't take them!" Akil yelled, running up to the men and tugging on their coats.

"You're daddy isn't around anymore kid." One of the men replied.

"Then they're mine! He left them to me!" Akil said. A large man with a scruffy beard walked in front of Akil and poked his chest with the end of his walking stick.

"You stay out of our way boy, or you'll be with your father in a cell." His Italian accent was prominent and his breath smelled so strongly of Cigars that Akil could smell it from where he stood. All the men piled into the back of the truck and it sped off down the street. Akil walked through the still open door of his father's shop. It was completely gutted without a single clock left. He went back outside and closed the door. He took the key out of his pocket and locked it. He took two steps back, looked at the sign that read, Najib's Clockworks, and walked back home, tears streaming down his face.