The Waiting Room
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock,
It was a constant. An ever present noise throughout the house. And it is not a small house. By no means a stately home but, big. It is detached and in its own plot the size of a regulation football pitch. Surrounded by mature pines trees.
Tick tock, tick tock.
The grandfather clock stands to the right in the entrance hall of the house. The ticking, rather like an old style gate latch being lifted then snapped down again, resonates throughout the building. It never misses a beat.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
The large lobby has a magnificent, eight feet wide,centrally placed, mahogany staircase directly opposite, and some thirty feet from the grand entrance door. These stairs leads up to a similar sized lobby on the upper floor. An area that has a floor to ceiling window overlooking the gravel drive up to the house. There are three bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, on either side of this expansive lobby.
The house is much like a large, square box with a with a four sided apex roof. The large sash windows to all elevations, two in each room, make the bedrooms light and bright.
Tick tock , tick tock, tick tock.
It never varies. Constant and uniform.
The clock itself, though standing eight feet tall, is still way short of the downstairs ceilings. It has a plain, white dial with the name “The Equilibrium” in black enamel hand painted in a semi circle around the top of the round dial. The numbers are Roman numerals. The manufacturer’s name, in small script at the bottom of the dial reads, G.O’Donnel and Son, Clerkenwell, London.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
Strangely, the sound of the mechanism resonates as loud in the upper hall as it does in the lower. All to do with the acoustics and materials used in the building. These allow the sound to reverberate up the stairwell – as if bouncing around the house collecting its own echo on the way to sustain or even increase its volume. The clock can be heard upstairs in each room clearly until and unless you close the door on yourself.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
Paul Mallon sat at the desk in one of the upper bedrooms. The door was open and the clock downstairs sounded to be just outside the room.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
He liked the sound. Its regularity. Its monotony.
It reminded him of his school days. A visiting church dignitary once explained to the boys about his reasoning of God’s existence. He, the clergyman, had likened God’s presence in our lives to a clock ticking away in the background. Constant, unnoticed, almost unheard. Always, always there. But, one day it stops, no longer there. You would notice instantly the clergyman expounded. Immediately. If, or perhaps when, God should decide not to be all around us. Our silent, unseen, often unnoticed protector, companion and comforter – gone. Only then, like the too familiar and ignored noise of the clock stopping would we notice His absence. Paul Mallon remembered and liked the simile. He had come to appreciate God. Especially these recent days.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
Without the noise of the Grandfather clock downstairs there would be no sound in the house at all. Nothing.
Paul sat at the desk with a Gold and Blue Mont Blanc fountain pen in his fingers. A writing pad, still blank, faced him. He did not write but instead listened to the regularity of the clock. Today he was more conscious of its role.
Tick, tick, tock, tock, tock.
The switch-blade made no sound as it opened.
The large scruffy man inserted the blade in the sash window and pried the catch open. He lifted the lower sash and eased himself in.
Tock, tock, tick, tick.
The intruder kept the knife held in front of him. He would not be adverse to using it. His large workman’s boots left muddy marks on the parquet floor. He opened the door to the lower hallway lobby. He stepped gingerly out into the hall and, hearing the clock, looked at it. He admired it. Not for the craftsmanship or beauty but for the value. He saw the name on the dial. Equilibrium. What the fuck does that mean? He thought.
He slowly began ascending the stairs, blade first.
Tock, tock, tock.
Paul Mallon, so in tune with his surroundings, and himself these last days, felt the house change.
He placed the Mont Blanc pen down on the pad and adjusted it until it sat central on the pad. He then sat back in the chair. He admired the pen so much and wished he could take it with him. He steeped the fingers of both hands and let his face relax into a soft smile. He waited with a patience he’d seldom had all his life.
Tick , tick, tick.
The heavily tattooed intruder reached the top of the stairs and listened, cocking his shaven head first one way then the other. Eyes squinting in concentration as if it would help him hear better. He looked as a Blackbird does when listening for worms. All he heard was the clock. As loud as if it were there on the top stair. Next to him.
Tock, tock , tock.
Paul Mallon sat not twenty feet away in the nearest bedroom.
Tock, tock, tick, tick.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
“Who is he?”
“Had a wallet with the name Paul Mallon in it. But the driving license shows a different photo.”
“Who owns this place?”
“That’s it guv. Strange but it’s not listed anywhere. No records at all.”
“None? There must be something”
“No. It’s obviously centuries old but no-one knows of it. It must be worth a fortune and look at the furniture. Bloody priceless.”
“So. How did he die? ME say?”
“Broken neck. Could have fallen down the stairs I suppose.”
“Looks like he had a few bob. Nice clothes. Hand made shoes as well. Can’t be ‘aving with all the tats though. I have always hated tattoos.”
Tick tock, tick tock.
The detective glanced at the clock as he spoke, “Who found him then?”
“A postman. He was delivering up the road and walked past. He said he’d never noticed the place before and he’s been on this round for over two years. Saw it, the gate was open and he wandered up ‘cos he was astounded not to have noticed it before. Said he couldn’t believe it. Walked up to the door to see if it had a name or number and saw the stiff through the open door at the bottom of the stairs. Called us. Said he never went in.”
“We’ve had a good look around?”
“Oh yes Guv. Every room inside thoroughly checked and the gardens too. Totally empty. Not even a scrap of paper. But every bed is made up as if for guests. Weird if you ask me.”
Tick tock, tick tock.
The detective scowled at the clock.
Upstairs, Christine Smith sat at the same desk. The door to the room was open.
She listened to the two policemen talking.
Christine glanced down at the pad in front of her and admired the Gold and Blue Mont Blanc pen laying next to the pad.
One word had been written on the otherwise blank page. Equilibrium.
It had been underlined.
Christine picked up the pen and held it gently as she smiled.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
The policemen stepped back to allow the medics to remove the body and ended nearer the clock.
Tick tock, tick tock.
“I’ve a good mind to take that home for the wife.” said the senior man. “With luck it will drive her as mad as it already has me.”
They followed the stretcher out.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
“Who in God’s name winds it up anyway?”
Equilibrium The condition of a system in which competing influences are balanced, resulting in no net change
: a state in which opposing forces or actions are balanced so that one is not stronger or greater than the other
a state of emotional balance or calmness
a state of balance between opposing forces or actions