Killing Time | A short story.

“I'll go through them again,

A Tudor Black Bay M7941A1A0RU

A Zenith El Primero Chronomaster  03.2153.400/78.C813

A Omega Speedmaster Moonwatch Pro 3573.50.00

A Grand Seiko ‘Shunbun’ SBGA413

A Seiko Spirit SARB035

A Tag Monaco Sixty Nine/69

An A. Lange and Sohne Sax-o-Mat

A Rolex GMT Master II Pepsi

A Rolex Sky Dweller 336934 Green

An AP Royal Oak 15400ST

A Patek Philippe Aquanaut

A FP Journe Elegante

And a Rolex Daytona 116519LN."

I confirm the list for this halfwit.

"And that's a total approximate value of £250k. Wow, you know, that’s the same as what I bought my apartment for!” He says shaking his head.

I say nothing at this point, just give him a reverse nod, raised eyebrows with pursed lips half-smile look. And I think, who cares about your shoebox apartment.

“And those are insured?” he follows up.

‘Yes, they are.’ I say, and I think -of course they are you idiot but that’s not the point, it’s not about the money. These are precious timepieces, my treasured, curated collection, many of which I searched and sourced and negogiated for around the world, a few bought at half their current values. I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.

“I’m happy with my G-Shock, but you’re some kind of top tier collector”, says the halfwit bobby off the beat. I don’t want to stereotype but this guy isn’t giving me much leeway. If there were 7 tiers of collecting, I'd be on level 5 maybe.

‘Yea, nothing wrong with a G-Shock’ I say, ‘I have a couple.’ I’m not sure why I’m engaging - when it comes to watches I can't help it.

“They didn’t take those then?” says the halfwit.

Through gritted teeth, I manage a ’no, they didn’t.’ I take a breath and add, ’just those on the list, the most valuable ones that were kept in two watch boxes, actually the boxes were taken too. Two burl walnut watch boxes.’

”Burl, how do you spell that - B U R L is it?” asks the Police Officer of the Year.

‘Yes. They were about £250 each.’ I say.

“Ok, and to confirm; your wife is out of town, no chance she took them, aaand, no signs of forced entry, aaand nothing else taken that you have noticed?” he says.

‘That’s right.’ My patience is dwindling, I just want to get out of here. I already gave details to the police at the house. The halfwits ramblings are doing my head in. I check the time on my Cartier Santos Skeleton, 9:41pm. At least I still have you my little beauty, the movement is part of the chassis, masterful craftsmanship, a stunning piece. I remember the winter trip to Paris, where I picked it up, nothing quite like going to the flagship store on Rue de la Paix and spending some quality time.

Source: Cartier

They make me sign some paperwork and tell me about some register for stolen watches that I should add my watches to, with serial numbers if possible. Of course it’s possible, I keep all boxes and papers, as any self-respecting horolophile should. I just can’t get my head around this. Thirteen watches. I have never been robbed, never had a house broken into. Why didn’t the alarm go off? I’m sure it was set. I’m sure it was. I suppose thieves are pretty high tech these days, it’s weird, they targeted the watches, sure, but they took nothing else -maybe watches are easy to sell.

I walk out of the station, across the car park. I feel like I shouldn’t have driven but I didn’t want to leave her on the drive. I get to the 911 and look around, I need to be more vigilent. I just don’t understand how this could have happened. I hit the start button, the flat 6 is cold and I sit for a minute, my London is not what it was this morning. The talk is always of violent muggings for luxury watches, so machete wielding youths are always a concern. Once in a while a footballers house gets broken into and this or that many millions worth of watches stolen - usually Jacob&Co or other garish bejewelled malformations. This morning I couldn’t relate to either, though former was more the concern, now, the latter is reality. The next thing I know I’m parked outside the house and my head is on a swivel. I was sure that I wasn’t followed. Is there anyone watching me? Notting hill seems different to me now.    

I’m being paranoid, they’ve got what they came for, why would anyone be watching now. It was targeted, the damage is done - deal with it. I get inside and am faced with the fact that a stranger has been in my house. I'm struggling to deal with it. I feel weird and on edge, violated. Deep breath. I’m glad the wife was away with work, there is always underlying judgement and discontent but she’s generally fine with my watch purchases. I guess they knew the house would be empty. I wonder what else they know, how long had they been watching us, spying on us? Can they hack into cameras and device cameras and see in the house? I walk and around and peak out of blinds and drapes like an old lady.

I have a glass of Fiji and make my way upstairs. The wifes jewellery is tucked away in the wardrobe. I had to have my boxes out in plain view didn’t I? So stupid. I’d thought of buying a safe so many times. I’m tired, tired in general and tired of this train of thought. Captain Hindsight is in full effect - it’s hard to stop the torrential ‘if-only’ scenarios and potential solutions. I know I have a bunch of other watches in the drawer that I hardly wear any more but there is no comfort there. I’m keeping the Cartier on even though I don’t usually sleep with a watch on, it should be comfortable enough on the leather strap. Before I know it, my head is on the pillow. I text the wife again but she hasn’t responded - probably in meetings. If she’d been here it wouldn’t have happened as she would have been working from home. For that kind of a haul though maybe they still would have and it could have been a different thing entirely. Scary. I lie awake for a while, listening to hardly everything. Thirteen watches, god damn it! It’s not even about the money. I quickly search my inbox for the insurance company details and send an email for further instruction, or for someone to call me back tomorrow - no luck. I’m sure that won’t be straight forward.

I fell asleep quicker than I imagined but the sleep was neither here nor there, light and sprinkled with almost forgotten dreams. I awake around 0930, the disjointed sleep leading me to wake later than usual. I’m taking the day off so I can sort things out, and mope. I look to the dresser where my boxes usually sit, and a heavy, no, a morbidly obese sigh leaves me distraught for a moment. I’d like to find the bastards that did this and give them a f*cking beating. I have a missed call and a message from the wife, she says ’what’s happened is terrible, blah blah, she’ll call me later.’ She can’t understand. I take off the Cartier and wind it, watching the cogs and springs revolve through the sapphire glass, wonderful. A moment of joy amidst the gloom. I put it back on the stand while I get ready.

I wash up and get dressed while unable to stop the ’if-only’ merry-go-round. Why? How? Where are my watches now? I get dressed and go downstairs, slowly, cautiously. I head to the kitchen for that morning cup of joe, an hour overdue now. I switch on the coffee machine and before setting it to start grinding, I am made to jump out of my skin by the doorbell that is seemingly wired into my nervous system. I turn it on and proceed to carefully answer the door.

It’s a delivery, no signature required, no greeting or conversation either apparently. It's a small plain card box, no indication of what it is. Probably some trinket or other trash bought by the wife. Returning to the kitchen I shake the box. It jangles, like jewellery. I realise it’s addressed to me so I open it. Inside the box is another smaller white cardboard box. Inside that is a red velvet pouch folded with drawstring wrapped tight. I shake it, it clinks and clangles. I loosen the noose and upturn the velvet bag, a shower of small silver metal pieces and glass fall onto my hand, some escaping onto the green marble worktop below my hand. A heavy piece hits my hand, it’s a watch rotor, but it’s damaged, bent. Bewildered, I turn it over to see scratched misshapen text, ‘Zeni// El Pri//ro’. This black swan event takes a moment to register, is this… my El Primero? As pieces fall through my fingers, I deposit the Swiss shrapnel onto the worktop and put both hands on the counter to brace myself, this is insane. I have no clear thoughts, just confusion, nausea until… off goes the merry-go-round at top speed. I try to focus on the pieces, I don’t think any are their original shape, it’s like someone has taken a hammer to each one. It’s a monstrously unholy sight, like seeing one of your children brutally murdered, I imagine.

Who would do such a thing, who would want to do this? It wasn’t a theft, it’s something more personal, who would want to hurt me in this way, the worst conceivable way. They may have done this to all of them, oh please no! Suddenly, theft for resale doesn’t seem so bad. Will I get more packages today, or will it be everyday or week. How do I find out who sent it? Who would do this?

The box has nothing other than my name and address on it. I take a deep breath. Coffee. I pour myself a cup of joe and I hear a clunk in the pot and see some shiny steel exposed, a crown. An S, my SARB, fuck. It’s one of a couple of watches I bought on my first trip to Japan, it was minty fresh, old-new stock, possibly the best value money for watch ever bought. For a stupid second, I struggle to compute a sight that I never would have contemplated, and I wonder what the hell is going on. With half a mug of coffee in my hand, I automatically take a swig. I tilt the pot to make sure I saw what I saw, shit, crown popped, it has been properly, intentionally drowned, like an unruly, unwanted puppy. I fish it out, it’s probably fixable, a full rebuild required. Setting my mug down, it hits the worktop harder than intended, it rattles for a second, then stays, as I seem to slump down to sit on the floor.

I feel faint…I think I’m in shock. I walk towards the light and am hit in the face, like hard rain on a very cold day. Numb. It’s raining, shards of sapphire glass, main springs, cogs and balance wheels, smacking into me.

I suddenly come to with a start. An odd taste in my mouth. My face on the cold marble tiles, startled by a cacophonous metallic grinding and electric crackling. I get up, reaching and steadying myself on the worktop. There are sparks and flashes coming from the microwave, I quickly step across the kitchen to turn it off, it’s terrifying so cover my face with my arm, I go to the socket aside it and yank the plug out. The electric storm stops but a metallic racket becomes clearer, I turn around to see the blender on full pelt at the other side of the kitchen, tempestuously sparking and screaming. As I begin to approach, the jug smashes and the pieces of glass fly across the room, I duck behind the island as glass skits across surfaces and hits the floor. Silence. This cannot be happening.

What the fuck. I look at my wrist to check the time. I’m not wearing a watch, and the microwave is obviously unplugged, so I get my phone out of my pocket, it’s 1132. What? I was out for about an hour! I’m closest to the microwave, so I go to open it, what the fuck is going on? The glass door has black marks on it, and I open it and smoke pours out. I waft it out of my face, I know there’s a watch in there. No, no, no, it’s the Shunbun. At least I think it is, yea it is. The glass has popped out and is burnt and the once beautiful, blush pink cherry blossom, textured dial is now black. It was once one of the most beautiful dials in the watch world, not to mention the innovative spring drive movement. It’s a Shunburn now - puns at a crazy time like this, I do need cheering up but I don't think that's going to do it. I don’t try to touch it, I turn my attention to the blender. This cannot be happening.

I slowly walk over bits of glass, kicking the bigger pieces to the side. On the worktop I spot a leather strap. Post a deep breath, I look to the sky and ask why? My favourite question. With a sharp breath outward I continue to scan the worktop. I see a square watch case, black, with a straggling bit of leather strap on one side. It’s the Cartier. Mutherf*ckers. It was upstairs. Then I clock that whoever it is had been here while I was passed out - is that why I was out for so long? I automatically grab a knife from the block, it’s a bread knife so I switch it for the Global forged chefs knife. Then do a slow 360 and look through the doors, nothing. No noise. I end up facing the Cartier and pick it up, the once black case is mangled all to hell. To its credit the glass is severely scratched and chipped but hasn’t broken. The crown is gone which I imagine did some internal damage.

This is calculated. This is insane, precision mayhem. I realise I’ve been shaking my head for who knows how long. Who is doing this? Is this someone from instagram maybe - there are so many weirdos on there, or the guy from the Redbar watch meet. The creepy guy in the red hoodie, he was very interested in my pieces, and the 911, in me - I made it clear I was married. Wait, Josh from work, he’s definitely jealous of my promotion and I saw him staring at my FPJ - I didn’t tell him to have 5 kids and a divorce. Oh jesus, the Elegante, what have they done to it? They must be watching me. I am freaking out heavily, breakdown pending.

I consider the wife for moment, no chance, she has no reason to. This can’t be her doing anyway, the best she could do is try to drown a dive watch in the sink. I can smell burning, oh shit now what? I look to the microwave and the poor Shunbun, no additional fire or whatnot going on there. Then I look at the blender, I didn’t unplug it which I do now, but it isn’t the source of the smell. I notice the oven is on, oh christ! This cannot be happening.

It was the grill on full whack. I turn it off, automatically closing my eyes when I open the grill door. After the released nimbus clears, I see the poor Sax-o-Mat and the Rolex Pepsi have been thoroughly bien cuit. It’s no longer a surprise, but it’s a god damn shame. The Pepsi was the first Rolex I bought, it was one of two watches that I had wanted from a young age, before I really knew about watches, it was just the coolest thing. Now it was the hottest, the glass now brown and melty, the stainless steel no longer so. I pretend the tears in my eyes are caused by the smoke. That kind of heat will have deformed the innards as well. So, someone is playing sick, twisted games. For the first time I get really angry. An anguished wail unleashed in unison with a punch to the cupboard that does nothing but rattle the door and hurt my knuckles. The kitchen is great quality but I would have preferred to do some damage to something. Without thought, I grab the very hot tray of toasted timepieces and smash it on the ground making a hell of a racket.

Now I’m pissed and I need to find out what the f*ck is going on. Six watches have been murdered right here as if by magic, and considering the nature of the attack it must be someone I know, or who knows me, someone who was here just a minute ago. I start to panic again and grab that knife.

Taking a deep breath. Killed time enter my nostrils. I start searching around the kitchen to see if there are the remains of any of my other loved ones. I open the other oven, the fridge, the freezer, bins and all the cupboards. No signs. I search the rest of the house like a maniac, making a hell of a mess as I go.

I start to think of twisted ways that watches might be destroyed and look in corresponding places. I look in the vacuum cleaner cylinder, and each alcohol bottle in the bar. I search toilets, bowl and cistern, and empty a bottle of bleach. Nothing downstairs. I head up and take the bedrooms and bathrooms apart. I find nothing which is both frustrating and a relief. Now what, do I wait in for deliveries? Do I phone the police officer I spoke to yesterday or should I go there? I’ll go, I need to get out of the house. I’m not so eager to see more of my watches destroyed that I need to stay in and wait for a delivery. There is something else going on and the police need to know. Someone was in the house for fucks sake, again! I quickly snap a few photos of my watches/the undeserving victims/my babies, the manipulated killer-appliances and the kitchen in general. I swear a lot during this photoshoot. Not your usual insta-shots, I consider putting them on the ‘gram for a second, then think better of it.

I go out to the car on the driveway and look around it to see if there is any damage or a watch in the exhaust pipe, nothing thankfully. In haste I reverse the car around 2 metres and hear crunching in surround sound, a bumpiness and some feedback through the steering wheel. Oh shit, they’ve done something to the 911, fucking fuckers. It was definitely from the front, but there was a noise from the back too, maybe the engine’s been…oh shit I should have checked the oil and petrol. But there was no sign of any tampering, the alarm would have gone off for sure! Unless, the wife, the spare key, holy shits. What if…? Part of me doesn’t want to get out, doesn’t want to look. I pop the hood and the boot, as I get out I feel the adrenaline, I am hyper-alert, so on edge that any unexpected sound could cause a voided bladder. I know I will find another murdered child, and this time I will have actually killed it, manslaughter, watchslaughter, childslaughter.

I look to the front of the car and see some glass and shrapnel, but I checked the ground all the way around. However, I did not check the tyres. What I would have seen was the watch cases, bracelets removed, glued to the centre of the tyres, close to the ground and hardly visible. I realise I have to move the car forward again as the 911 is half on the pavement. Very fucking clever you creative ’FUCKERS’ - that one came out very loud. The Black Bay, the Speedmaster, the Monaco, and the Sky Dweller. The Monaco 69 was the other watch I saw way back when and wanted it for a decade and a half before finally buying it, it was a pain to find a decent one. Four beautiful timepieces absolutely destroyed. I reversed with urgency and must have rolled over them at least twice, then twice again - the damage was already done. It was childslaughter and I did it. If I had checked properly…for fucks sake. I feel tears welling up but I don’t break the seal. Instead a nervous deranged laugh finds it way out of me. I am mildly comforted by the fact it wasn’t the wife, the merry-go-round has picked up such speed it has taken off, knowing who it was would help though it might also make me do some murdering of my own. I get my phone out and call the police.

Part 2

I am sitting in my living room, with half a dozen police people roaming around the house and outside. They are taking photos, collecting evidence, dusting and discussing this bizarre, no - my bizarre, situation. A medic has taken my blood pressure and my blood, they think it's plausible that I was drugged somehow - I thought I just passed out. I am being questioned by one of these so-called people.

“So only four now unaccounted for, the most valuable ones, you say?”

‘Yes, that’s right.’ This dipshit is going to say something stupid and piss me off even more, I just know it.

“I guess they could be sellin’ ‘em on, but I guess if it was about the money, they wouldda sold ‘em all. Any guesses who it could be?”

“No, not really.” I say. “Why don’t you have a guess?”

“You’re not cheating on your wife are you? He spits out.

“No, you fu…” I stop myself, before I finish the sentence.

“No need t’ get testy.” He says sternly, “I had t’ ask. There ‘ave been cases of wives sellin’ their husbands watches and cars after findin’ out about an affair or cheatin’.”

“Even if I was cheating on her, she wouldn’t find out, and if she did she isn’t capable of doing something like this.” I respond, I can feel myself going red.

“Ok, take it easy Sir. Tha’s an odd way to frame it, but this is likely done by someone close to you, they know about your watches, they know how to hurt you, and they gained access to your house. Right? Does your wife own any or wear your watches too?” He says, with a serious look.

“No, she thinks it's a waste of money.” I say. She has a Cartier Basculante that I bought her, but I didn't bother sharing that - it's irrelevant.

“So, there is some disagreement there, do you argue about it?” He asks, I see where he’s going.

“No, she accepted this a while ago. It’s not like we can’t afford it...and I don’t buy them every week.” I respond.

“Have you spoken to your wife about what’s happened?” He asks.

“Just over text. She’s out of town, in the US, on business.” I’m getting angry and bored, and

then I realise it. She has got motive, she knows. She fucking knows, but how could she do all this. I get out my phone and immediately try to ring her, it goes straight to voicemail. No, no, no. She can’t know.

The police leave, they have managed to remove the squashed, crunchy, rolled over watches from each tyre, but advise that the car will need new tyres prior to being driven. They advise me to stay home, and that a patrol car will be parked nearby as they are concerned that there may be another incident. I call my local Porsche garage - they can pick up the car tomorrow. I call my wife - straight to voicemail, I hang up. I call the insurance company, who inform me that my watch insurance was cancelled last week - I go numb and hang up without further query. I call my wife terrible things. I call on God to give me strength. I call my wife, and leave a message - a calm message, no accusations, just information, ’call me asap’ I end it. The merry-go-round remains airborne, hovering, now descending, coming back to land on my wifes head.

Now what do I do? What if it’s her? I’m guessing she’s not coming back. It doesn’t make sense. I guess I’m writing it all off, my watches and my marriage. Seven years. Seven good years. I reckon I had 7 of those watches before we got married, she didn’t have to murder those ones. What a crazy bitch, I guess I should count my blessings that I’m still alive and to think I underestimated her so much. The phone rings. It’s the maniac - possibly with an ultimatum.

‘Hey…’ I offer a cold greeting but am cut off.

‘Hey babe, what the hell is going on? It’s sounds crazy, I’m getting an earlier flight back. Are you ok, how are you holding up?’ She speaks quickly, sounding sincere and concerned. And I am more confused than the CEO of Hublot.

“I, I’m ok, thanks, the police have just left. You don’t have to come back early, it’s only a few days more. I just can’t believe this is happening, it’s insane.’ I mumble.

‘Do you have any idea who is doing this? It’s like a movie or something - I'm glad you're not hurt. Are you sure you don’t want me to come back?’ She says.

‘I have no idea, it’s just baffling. I know I’m an arrogant dick but nobody hates me this much, at least I didn’t think anyone did or could. I don’t feel safe here, I might just stay in a hotel or airbnb for a couple of nights. So, makes sense you stay there. I am so glad you called, I was going a bit insane.’ I am feeling better, just making a plan and knowing it isn’t her... wait the watch insurance!? So I ask, ‘oh, I called the insurance company, did you cancel the watch insurance?’. Silence. There is a pause that feels long.

Eventually, she says “Oh god yea, sorry I forgot to tell you, the company that does the house insurance gave us a better deal so I switched it to them. I had to give them all the details but I had the list of watches already on the old insurance policy and sent them the same photos. I’ll forward you the details.’ Thirty seconds later I had the email and the merry-go-round, ablur, took off into the sky again.

‘Thanks hun. That had me freaking out a bit.’ I say, as a sigh of relief left my body in a state of longing and I realised that I hadn’t worn a watch all day. The first time that has happened in a long while.

‘Well, ok, you check-in somewhere nice and just try to relax. Hopefully the police can figure this out and at least catch this crazy bastard.” She said, I could tell she was angry but felt like she was holding something back. I was feeling very tired by now.

I followed up, ‘I’ll let you know once I’ve picked somewhere. You have a good day, love you, miss you.’ I said, and I meant it. I can’t believe I doubted her. She said the same and told me to call my brother, just to let him know something was going on. I’m not going to, he’ll just take the piss out of me, that bastards got a Greubel Forsey and a Patek, they are worth more than all mine put together. I should though, just in case it escalates. I’m not made for this kind of thing, I’m not a ex-soldier, gym rat or action hero. I’m a finance guy, a watch and car and piano and wine bro. That’s it. I'm soft. This thing, whatever is happening, is too much. I think I’ll pay more attention to my Seikos and Casios that are in the drawer, I shouldn’t have neglected them.

As evening draws in, the madness of the day doesn’t feel real. I’ve cleaned the kitchen to a point. The microwave and the blender, those need replacing. What the actual fuck. I start looking for somewhere to stay but feel that I shouldn’t be scared off either, especially now the police are properly in the loop. I should stay. It is reasonable to say the worst is over, or is it? I switch to the Amazon app to look for a microwave, I start scrolling. I wonder what a microwave designed by Zenith would look like, it might have a small see through window to the left like the El Primero, a Rolex one might have a cyclops to the right of the door so you can zoom in a bit on yesterdays Chinese being irradiated, and a Jaeger LeCoultre might have a door that spins around like a reverso or maybe just the clock section that reverses, no reverso's. Then I start to think about the remaining fantastic four and what their fate will be, have they already been destroyed or do I have more treats in store. Whoever it is seems to want to kick me in the watchbox rather than hurt me physically. They had the chance to attack me, kill me even but they didn’t. This is a somewhat comforting thought, I’m tired of thinking about it and frankly I’d rather not hear anything more to do with this. I text the wife to let her know I'm staying at home. Let’s see what tomorrow brings, hopefully nothing happens tonight.

Part 3

I slept reasonably well considering, though it took me a while to settle down. I dreamt about the blender and the microwave, the noise. I wake to a whatsapp message from the wife.

“Royal Lancaster whenever you’re ready. Park Suite, come on up…”

She must have caught an earlier plane overnight. Amazing. We had stayed there a few times before, and it’s only a 15 minute walk away. A hotel brunch sounds perfect - they have great food. I smile, remembering us there, it had been a while. There are no packages or letters. Surprisingly, the police are parked outside when I come down - not sure how long they've been there but it's a welcome sight. A weight is lifting and a smile returns to my face when I think of her. Maybe we’ll go for a walk and check out some watch shops, she’ll have to let me now. We have to be back by 12 as they are due to collect the 911 between 1-5pm.

It's cold but the sun is shining and the stroll is breezy, I collect my key card and make my way to door of the suite there is a something on the handle, it is not yet the do not disturb sign! It’s a watch! She’s bought me a present, oh she's is amazing, it’s the perfect start to a potentially beautiful day. I get closer and see that it’s an Audemars Piguet bracelet, I smile, this is unexpected. When I grab it, I see it’s the same as mine, an AP Royal Oak white dial, so classic, I slip it on - it’s even been sized. I let myself in and throw my leather weekend bag on the sofa in living area. The view of the park is always amazing, she must be in the bedroom. I announce myself with quiet ‘hellooooo' and make my way in.

The lights are off, it's very dark, she’s lying on the bed under the duvet, she must be asleep. I sneak up and grab her leg, she doesn’t react. She's usually a light sleeper, probably jetlag, I think. I think I should let her sleep but selfishly I grab her shoulder as well and shake a little, "wakey, wakey" I say, no response - something is wrong. I hit the light switch near the bed, and see her lying there with the duvet over her face, I lift it. I shouldn’t have lifted it. I shouldn’t have lifted it. On top of her eyes are two watch cases, I try to remove them but they don't come away. There is no blood anywhere. No pulse. She's gone. It’s an unreal, unbelievable sight. I re-cover her face and scream cry a few almost words. There is a note.

“You took away our time together, so, I took your precious time and hers.”

I can’t remember much after that. I called 999 and followed their instructions. Then I lose my mind.

Later

The police said they found the guy. There were no prints in the house, but there were in the suite, and he was caught on the cameras in the hotel. The AP on the door handle was mine, and he was wearing the Daytona when they arrested him. Apparently, he was obsessed, he had photos on his phone of both of us and a shrine to her in his apartment. They used to work together, but not closely, so she knew him but there were no signs that he had contacted her. I keep wanting to ask her about him. He had recently fallen on hard times, lost his job, got divorced and had developed an infatuation with her after that, or maybe it was before, doesn’t matter. He was clearly insane. She used to say having more than a few watches was insane. She died from amphetamine overdose, she had chloroform and fentanyl in her system. The FPJ and the Aquanaut were meant to be like coins that they used to put on eyes to ensure safe passage to the afterlife or whatever. They never found the bracelets for any of the watches. I didn’t want any more details. He'll go to prison for life. It was the guy in the red hoody.

The insurance money came in. I’ve got some hard choices to make.

THE END    

If you made it through that, let me know what you thought. I had fun writing it for sure.

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