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PROLOGUE- Dead Man Tell No Lies

Dead men tell no lies.

              Those were the only few words going through the man's head as he stared at the traffic light in front of him, the red light currently lit up. When it suddenly flashed to green, he stepped on the gas pedal too hard and raced off into the storm. With a jerk of his arm on the steering wheel, he swerved into the parking lot nearby. Breathing heavily, he watched the raindrops trace frantic paths down his windscreen before getting out.

              The lights hanging limply from the ceiling of the corridor flickered on and off, seemingly to imitate the lightning outside. From below he could hear the sound of trains zooming under him on rickety tracks, its deafening sound only matched by the rain pouring down from above. Already drenched despite being in a brown leather jacket, he slowly took the stairs, one by one.

              Dead men tell no lies.

              Down, a hundred and eighty feet under, stood the man. "People usually lie six feet." He said to himself, breathing out a small chuckle into the empty space. The subway had a tranquil silence that unspooled and fixed itself in every nook and corner, but somehow the man's presence was jarring-- no, almost as if things had gone off axis. it was wrong. He walked over to the nearest bench and sat down.

And he waited. A minute, an hour, he couldn't tell. And when the train arrived, he boarded it without any hesitation. He didn't care where he was going, how long it was going to take. He just knew why.

              In the darkness of the tunnels, even the dimly lit interior of the train seemed to contrast sharply with it. The man sat, quiet as a mouse, still as stone. He then reached deep into the pocket of his jacket and held a gold pocket watch in the palm of his hand. Flicking it open, the interior revealed a clock, its black hands sweeping across the pristine white surface as it ticked the seconds away.

              There it was again. The ticking. Always there. Every second, every hour, every day. It never stopped. He closed his eyes, trying to shut the noise away, but it still was there. It always was there.

              "No... stop it..." He muttered incoherently.

The ticking kept getting louder. 

He violently clamped the watch shut and threw it onto the floor of the train, a sudden jarring noise against the sound of the train on the tracks.

The ticking kept getting louder, and louder, and louder.

He let out a bloodcurdling scream and took out a photo in his other pocket, yellowed out by the unescapable grasp of time. Looking at the photo through eyes glassy with tears, he felt something in his chest snap- a tether, snipped and falling away into the abyss, free.

The ticking stopped.

The man sat there in silence, staring at the photo. The tension began to melt away, leaving only a broken shell of a person. The watch still sat silently on the floor of the train, glinting in the faint light, just like the snow bathed in moonlight on the day he had to lay flowers on her grave.

_____P R O L O G U E_____

              A cold frisson of fear gripped my spine as I weaved in and out of the crowd. Through the protests, I managed to squeeze my way through and ended up in the lobby of the hospital.

              Please be there, please be there, please be there-

              Looking outside for a few moments, I saw so many people. So many were bathed in red, grazes and gashes everywhere. Most were being supported by others, some were bleeding so much I wasn't even sure if they could make it.

              So many.

              Turning back, the situation in the hospital was not any better. Doctors and nurses rushed from points to points, shouting out words I couldn't make out through the chaos.

              Gritting my teeth, I rushed to the counter. Priorities, priorities, don't leave me, please-

              "Nurse! Nurse!" I shouted through the commotion, over the rioting of the crowds, over the flood of doctors. "Do you have a patient? Eva-"

              She stilled, and it felt as if she was borrowing all the time in the world to look at me.

"Eva Robinson?" The tone of her voice, the despair, it froze me in my tracks, it sent a freezing chill that skidded down my spine and settled down in my stomach.

              She said it so quietly she could've been not talking at all.

"The least we could do... was to give her a bed."

_____P R O L O G U E_____

Dead men tell no lies.

The train slowed to a halt and the doors slid open. And he remembered why he was here. With trembling hands, he put the photo back into his pocket. As he got out, the train rushed off with the watch still inside.

So, this is it.

He stared at the tracks for a long time before climbing down onto the tracks. He went down the ladder slowly, one glinting metal rung after another.

I miss her. I miss her so much. And yet I wasn't there for her.

The man lay down onto the tracks. The rocks dug into his back and the tracks pressed against his spine, but he stayed regardless.

I loved her.

He waited.

I didn't need a picture. I needed her.

He waited.

I'm sorry.

The train came speeding over. The man closed his eyes over the blaring of the horn.

Dead men tell no lies.

And it's time I stopped lying.