Enigma

Clock

My heels clicked on the cold tile floor, a sound reminiscent of a ticking clock. I guess that's where I got my name, my shoes counting down to the very last second before time is up.

I walked quickly down the hallway of a high end hotel, avoiding eye contact with the patrons around me. The air was thick and greedy, smelling of perfume. The people scattered around the hotel were the usual type, the ones you'd associate with champagne and family secrets. Socialites, as they were most commonly called. It's funny how my most high class clientele have the most twisted list of problems.

They call me the clock. No last name, no face, just the tick of time that is quickly running out. I often found myself in places like these, hotels, casinos, etcetera, doing the work that I do. Nobody wants anyone to disappear from their home. Maybe too many memories. Maybe just simple confidentiality.

Glancing around, I looked up at the paintings adorning the elevator walls. They were abstract, clearly not of too much worth, but believable enough that they looked expensive to the naked eye. The ceiling was high, and the accents made of a faux expensive wood. Somebody wanted the public to believe their hotel was expensive.

I waited impatiently for the elevator, glancing around at the perfectly kept gold wallpaper. It was nice, but clearly a facade to hide the heavily insulated hotel walls. Hotels like these are usually quite soundproof for reasons that aren't mine to explain.

The elevator door opened with a ding, and I was delighted to see that the small compartment was empty. It smelled of perfume and secrets, looking like a combination between a sun room and a time capsule. Believe it or not it was usually a slow ride and I had quite a few floors before my destination. I played with my satin gloves for a moment, looking in the reflection of the elevator glass at my appearance. I wore a black satin gown, a veil, black satin gloves, and a single hourglass necklace. Dramatic wear I suppose, but it was more subtle than you'd expect. No face or fingerprints, not even a trace of my presence.

Walking out of the elevator, my heels resumed their rhythmic ticking. It was only a matter of time and fate before I was finished with my job. I wiped my brow delicately with my small handkerchief before knocking quietly on the door. I was counting down in my head as I stood, my gentle frame making me look harmless.

That in fact, was the perfect facade.

10.

I knocked again on the door, waiting to hear the click of the deadbolt.

9.

I grinned at the peephole seductively, noticing that the hourglass around my neck had very little sand left.

8.

The room door opened with a click, interrupting my counting. I smiled, but my eyes remained cold as I lifted my veil. I stared at him with brilliant blue eyes and quietly lifted my lips to his, and in doing so, raised my gun to his temple.

7.

His eyes filled with fear as he felt the cold gun on his head.

6.

Tick tock, his time is almost up and the air is thick with anticipation.

5.

The door swings shut as we walk inside, my lips still locked with his.

4.

A single tear slides down the man's cheek as I stare into his eyes, my face inches from his.

3.

His eyes close as he has given up, accepting the fact that time stops for nobody.

2.

My face is inches from his as I move slightly, readying my gun and whispering to him gently.

1.

"Time's Up."