《The tome of records. [Progression urban fantasy]》
Chapter 1
An alarm was ringing. Clark fumbled his arm beyond the comfiness of his blanket, searching, seeking. There. He found his twin bell alarm clock and turned the lever at the top, silencing the menace. He yawned and opened his green eyes to a pitch-dark room, thanks to the blackout curtains. He turned on the lamp on his bedside drawer, next to his clock. With the click of the switch, his eyes reflexively squeezed shut as they adapted to the light.
He opened his bedside drawer and pulled out a large book. It was somewhat heavy, but not only in the physical sense. It was a dark grey, almost black leather hardcover, with no title or writing. Not that there''d be space for those, as the cover ornament took the entirety of it, with a mix of something between symbols, geometry and decorative embellishments. Those were all made of a silvery metal that was embedded into the book''s cover, barely protruding from the aged cover, filled with what looked like small scratches and scuff marks all over.
Fingers slid over the cover as he felt the metal ornaments, not being able to feel any of the scratches and scuff marks that his eyes could definitely tell were there, the metal and leather felt smooth and flawless. He opened the tome, revealing aged, slightly yellowed pages within.
He flipped to the chapter list, tracing it down with his finger in routine, quickly passing by a mix of chapters written in either black or red ink. Passing a red chapter, abruptly pausing and going back to it, eyes widening. ''Samuel Hill - ...'' he read again. His brows furrowed as his lips pressed into a tight line. He let out a deep sigh before he traced the rest of the chapters, found no new surprises, and closed the tome with a snap.
''There''s a better time and place for these emotions.'' He thought as his eyes glistened after closing the book. ''I knew this would happen someday soon. I had accepted it. I thought I was prepared and ready. Guess you can''t truly prepare yourself even when you know it''s coming, if you get attached. Well, I did keep hoping for him to live another day, another week, then a month, before this finally came to pass. Four months is already more than I anticipated when I initially met him.''
Clark closed his eyes. He focused on a specific part from the stories of a woman whose chapter was also written in red ink. She never truly allowed herself to grieve the loss of her son in her later years and kept her emotions bottled up. That emotional repression was what Clark was focusing on channeling. Aligning himself with that specific aspect of her story, he felt the stone on his heart get lighter and lighter, until he could no longer perceive it. He slowly let out a breath as he opened his eyes, then got out of bed.
After he had got dressed in jeans and a deep red t-shirt, he walked out to his living area and opened the door to the adjacent bathroom on his right. A relatively small one with a shower, currently obscured by a curtain, with vinyl flooring, white tiled walls and wooden ceiling. As he was staring at his reflection in the mirror while brushing his teeth, he looked up before combing his brown hair with his fingers to get rid of bed hair, eyes slightly and uncharacteristically lifeless, mind elsewhere.
When he left his bathroom, he crossed his living room to his kitchenette and walked to his DVD player at the end of the kitchen counter. He looked through his collection of CDs. ''Not feeling this... Not that either... Chopin''s nocturnes? That fits the mood.'' He pulled the disc out and inserted it into the player, chose Nocturne 20, then put it on shuffle and pressed play. The melancholic piano started playing as he got to preparing breakfast. Two slices of ham and cheese sandwich along with a glass of milk, which he sat down to eat on his old but fairly well-kept, ornately carved dark wood dinner table. He noted how the food tasted... blander than usual.
As he finished eating and cleaning his dishes away, he glanced at his antique grandfather clock standing against his living room wall, noting it was 7:30 am. He took the prepared magazine with word puzzles from the counter before pausing and looking down at it in contemplation. Opening it, he flipped through the pages, the first third of the magazine filled with 2 different sets of handwriting intermixed. He sighed, shoulders slumped slightly despite the emotional repression as he thought, ''Guess I don''t need to-'' He paused. ''It''d be odd to not bring it with me. Act normal.'' "Might as well take it then..." he muttered, as he placed it in his black backpack along with his tome, turned the DVD player off, turned back to the kitchen to pack a few tissues, got his earbuds in, choosing the playlist with Chopin''s best from his phone to continue listening to the same composer through his commute.
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After putting his shoes on and wearing his backpack, he checked his pockets for his keys and phone, confirming them, he left his apartment, testing the handle to make sure it was locked. He then walked down three flights of stairs in the apartment building''s internal stairway, steps echoing loudly.
At the end of his 15-minute bus ride towards the more outskirts of the city, Clark was looking out of his window as brick buildings generally around three to five stories tall were whizzing by, Clark noted how the trees next to the sidewalks were getting properly green now. ''About time, it hasn''t been cold for a while now.'' As his bus slowed to his stop, he got up, and when the doors opened with a hiss, he got off. Turning to his left, he headed towards the familiar parklike area with fewer buildings, replaced by mostly grass and trees, with only a few sporadic buildings on the edges of it. After a few minutes, the elderly home came into view, a few separate and connected buildings, mostly older brick and stone, two stories high, surrounded by greenery.
Clark walked towards the building''s entrance, a string for the automatic door opener hanging from the ceiling outside the building. The door opened as he pulled on it, and as he stepped inside, he noticed someone coming, so he held the door open so it wouldn''t close on her, greeting her with a polite smile as she passed him. "Good morning."
"Morning. Thanks," she said as she hurriedly carried a cardboard box towards one of the elderly home''s side buildings.
Gaze lingering on her for a moment as he walked inside, turning around after a step. ''Is she a new employee or volunteer? Haven''t seen her before. Or it''s a random relative, carrying a box to the other building mainly for employees... unlikely.''
Stopping in the entrance, he reached into his backpack to retrieve the magazine before he focused on the story he had actively aligned with, before detaching himself from it. Then he entered the lobby and turned right, swerving past the large potted plant towards the reception desk, with a small smile and a wave with the magazine. "Morning, Claire!"
She looked up and a small smile appeared in recognition of the voice and the face, but it wavered as she looked at him, then turned into a small frown as she noticed the magazine. "Morning, Clark. I''m sorry, but I have bad news." She said slowly.
He slowed down his steps with a slightly confused expression, "Sorry?"
"Mr. Hill passed away last night." She said as her eyes moved back to the magazine in his hand, then back to him.
He stopped walking. His eyes widened before he looked down at the magazine in his hand. "Oh." he said softly, "I see." His eyes slightly teared up now that he had detached from the story.
Claire looked at him with a tinge of sadness, "You going to be alright?"
He pulled out some tissues and wiped his eyes. "Yeah- I mean no, but I will be."
"It might be better to take the day off today. We always appreciate you volunteering, but you need to take care of yourself. You and Sam had gotten quite close. Losing someone is never easy."
Nodding slowly, he answered after a moment, "Maybe I should." His gaze turned to meet hers. "Thank you. See you next time, then." He mumbled, then turned and walked back towards the entrance. Feeling slightly guilty.
His lower back felt like the tome in his backpack was trying to burn a hole through it. He knew he was imagining it.
Chapter 2
Exiting the building, Clark looked towards the park and started walking. Eyes still reddened, he threw out a used tissue to a trash can he passed on the side of the path. ''I know it''s necessary. I needed to save my reaction until I was supposed to be hearing the news for the first time. I don''t mind acting or lying to keep my secrets. But this time it felt... wrong somehow. Almost like I''m dirtying his death''
He barked out a sardonic laugh.
''Look at yourself, now I''m even making someone''s death about myself. Be realistic. Keeping my secrets won''t sully his death after it''s already happened, and I respect him and his memory. ...Why do I feel guilty, then? I had no part in his death. Survivor''s guilt?''
Brows furrowed, after walking and ruminating for a few minutes, he couldn''t see the elderly home anymore, so he sat down on a bench he stumbled upon. He let out a deep breath as he looked up at the canopy. He felt the breeze on his face and arms, as well as the sun''s rays heating his face through the branches, then he felt it cool down when the wind bent the branches to block the sunlight for a moment. Distant chirps echoed softly around him.
''...What am I doing? Should I continue volunteering? Can I?''
The canopy was swaying, almost as if it was weighing the decision with him.
''No. Not like I have been, at least. Spending this much time with someone, getting attached, then losing them. It''s... painful. I can''t keep repeating it. It''ll just end up hurting me in the long term. Granted, Sam''s initial prognosis had given him 2 months left to live when I volunteered for him, and he held on for a bit over 4 months. But I underestimated how long the initial 2 months were and how attached I''d get.¡¯
¡®I partially blame Sam for that. He was too likeable for my own good. If I could go back, I''d choose to do it all over again. But I can''t keep repeating this with others. I can''t keep getting attached.''
He forcefully squeezed his eyes shut, but a tear escaped and made its way down his cheek anyway. The wet trail it left behind felt colder in the breeze. ''I wish he had more time. I wish I could have given him more time.'' He clenched his jaw as well as the fists on his sides. ''I can do things that should be impossible. Why do I still feel so fucking powerless?!''
Angrily, he opened his eyes and unzipped his backpack. He gripped the tome with both hands, forcefully enough so his knuckles turned white. practically throwing the tome onto his lap.
Jaw set, lips pressed into a thin line, and as he lifted his right fist, he channelled several stories¡¯ specific aspects into himself.
One story of a man''s retelling of his physical prowess in boot camp before being deployed to Vietnam in his youth. He claimed to have the second highest physical score in his company, but the tome records only the truth, and it recorded him in 11th place.
A second story of a fistfight over a misunderstanding in high school, where both participants earned themselves black eyes, plenty of bruises, and a week''s suspension. Though the person who was recorded ended up knocking the other guy out in the end.
The third story is of a retired man''s diligent workout routine he kept consistent for years to stay hale in his old age to ensure he wouldn¡¯t be a burden on his family.
Finally, a fourth story of Samuel Hills bravely fending off a 30 kg dog from attacking his daughter, who was 5 years old at the time.
Clark felt a spiritual and mental pressure settling over him, reaching the limits of how much he could currently channel at once. Then he pushed the passive effects his stories bestowed upon him to their limits, temporarily enhancing them, while shutting down the passive effects irrelevant to what he was about to do.
Pressure mounting, causing him to feel dizzy, his sight going blurry, with an actual headache quickly going from a low drone to piercing, he brought his knuckles down onto the tome¡¯s cover. Dull pain radiated from his thighs that the tome was rested on, and a burning sensation was dancing on his knuckles, along with a cold wave washing through his right wrist. Clark sucked air through his teeth with a hiss, bending over and supporting his right wrist and hand with his left hand, already having released control on the stories from the tome at the moment of impact.
¡°Ow, ow, ow, ow¡¡± he whimpered. Wholly unprepared for the, in hindsight, obvious ramifications that enhanced strength would have when punching the tome he knew was indestructible, or at least invulnerable to the few things he had tried on a corner of its cover, then one of its pages. His very much scientific and well-thought-out tests included a lighter and a drill, to name two things he most assumed would have done something.
Within a few minutes, his headache was subsiding, and the non-physical pressure had alleviated to almost nothing. A large difference compared to his test to go as far as he could in his bed one time, where he passed out, only to wake up a whole 2 days later, dehydrated, groggy, and hungry. Along with what could have been a contender for the world¡¯s worst migraine that almost put him right back to unconsciousness. Thankfully it subsided within half an hour after waking up, almost like it had waited for him to wake up before appearing in the first place.
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With the pressure and headache almost gone, Clark focused and activated all his positive passive effects again. Feeling relief and the pain fading away from a combination of pain-reducing effects and increased healing. Having turned off the ones that increased his resiliency before he punched his tome in misdirected anger had been, frankly, a stupid move. Especially when the only reason he allowed himself to lash out like that was because he knew it wouldn¡¯t do anything to his tome.
Checking his knuckles and finding the skin ripped and that he had been bleeding over his left hand, he took a deep breath and focused on enhancing the passive healing effects as high as he could, before focusing on a story of a woman healing in almost miraculous speed from a very¡ difficult and bloody childbirth, according to her doctors. He chuckled. ¡®Elderly sure do love talking about their children. She had told her story like it was the highest mark of honour for her. Several times. Knowing how proud she was of her children, that¡¯s exactly what it was.¡¯
After losing track of time for a while, he looked down at his knuckles, no longer burning or stinging, and the wrist felt normal again. ¡®I agree with her doctors, the effect of this particular story is downright miraculous, though it was just broken skin and maybe a mild sprain. I wonder if it¡¯s enhanced by how many times she told it?¡¯
Clark took out some of his tissues, wiping his hands clean of the dried blood that had trickled from his knuckles. At least he tried, ending up having to forcefully rub the tissues over his hands for a good few minutes before he got it all.
He looked down on his tome, feeling a pang of guilt. Gently, he rubbed the cover, whispering, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I only have things to thank you about, and instead, this is how I treat you¡ I¡¯ll make it up to you.¡± He had taken to talking to it quite early, probably starting from when he accidentally dropped it, apologising to it after. Considering that it¡¯s magical, who knows what it is or what it can do. Better stay on its good side. And he hadn¡¯t been lying, the tome only deserved his gratitude.
Still caressing the cover, Clark fell in thought, ¡®That was very much unlike me. I don¡¯t lash out physically. The fights I got into in the past don¡¯t count, they weren¡¯t lashing out, they were self-defence or warranted by the situation, never started out of a need to vent my emotions physically around me.¡¯ He craned his neck and looked around him, thankful that the park had been quiet. At least when it came to the area he had sat down in while he was there, so no one witnessed his uncharacteristic outburst.
¡®Another point towards my decision to not continue volunteering the same way I did this time. I¡¯ll at least need to put it on pause until I figure things out. Apparently, I don¡¯t handle loss with ¡°grace and elegance.¡±¡¯ He thought as he was about to return the tissues into his backpack, his hand landing on the magazine instead.
Hesitantly, he picked it up. The blue magazine promising different word puzzles on its cover was marred with a few coffee stains, courtesy of Sam using it as a damn coaster. Small smile tugging at his lips, he flipped the magazine open and noted some of their banter around the word puzzles and crosswords.
A note in his own handwriting complained about Sam¡¯s ¡°illegible writing,¡± and another in Sam¡¯s called his own ¡°inhuman scribbles.¡± Clark¡¯s handwriting was, notably and without bias, objectively superior, thank you very much. Clark nodded sagely with his eyes closed, a full-blown smile on his face now.
Turning a few pages, his eyes had landed on a¡ simplified anatomical reference to male reproductive organs. Clark¡¯s eyes widened, as that had not been there the last time he bore witness to this page, and they had filled it at least two weeks ago. Clearly an exclusive Sam original. Never before seen. Clark first let out a small incredulous chuckle, then...
¡°Ha¡ ahahhahahahha!¡± Clark bent over laughing. The crude equivalent of middle schooler graffiti from the 78-year-old man, discovered posthumously, was so unexpected and absurd, it was like getting hit by a clown car in his own living room out of nowhere, then 78 clowns coming out one at a time to make sure he was okay. He laughed until his cheeks hurt, until his abs hurt, until he was crying from laughter, and just couldn¡¯t stop.
¡°Ha¡ haaa¡¡± He finally got it out of his system. Or so he thought, before he began chuckling to himself again. ¡°Old bastard is making one last attempt on my life from beyond the grave!¡± He doubled over once more for another round of now painful laughter. This one was shorter than the last, made so by the pain accompanied with every laugh.
Gasping for air after he was finally done, he wiped the tears from his eyes, ones not purely out of joy anymore, punctuated by the throb of his ribs. He dragged himself to sit upright, taking deep breaths, somehow feeling much, much lighter than before.
Chapter 3
Clark opened the magazine again, smirking at the ¡°art¡± Sam had left behind for progeny, before flipping through the pages, eyes peeled for something new he didn¡¯t recognize.
In the end he didn¡¯t find anything unexpected, but he was glad of the one thing he did find. It was almost like Sam was still here in a way. Still leaving his mark on both things and people. Figuratively and¡ literally, in the case of his artistic legacy.
He was about to close the magazine as he paused on one of their last pages. A lump caught in his throat as he saw the partially filled crossword and his vision blurred again, before he wiped his eyes and looked through the parts that had been filled in.
Sam finished writing the latest word down. "Next one''s a 3 letter word for greeting a Caesar" Clark paused for a moment as he was about to take a sip of his tea, considering before answering. "Ave" He took his sip as Sam scrutinized the page, poking his 2 inch light grey beard with the back of the pen, ¡°How do you spell that?¡±
Clark lowered his mug, ¡°A-V-E¡± he enunciated in English as he looked down at the magazine, taking another sip.
Sam smirked and scritched the answer down "You''re better than me at most of the questions about ancient history, and I''m supposed to be the ancient one here." He chuckled, his laugh lines deep.
Clark huffed in mock outrage, smiling. "Just drink your mud." He said as he glanced at Sam''s steaming mug that had "#1 grandpa" written on it "I just appreciate the classics and old things. I tolerate you, don''t I?" He smirked, leaning in closer to look through the crossword on the table between them.
Sam''s hand went for his mug "Hah! Couldn''t beat you off me with a stick. If this is you tolerating me, then I''d rather not see you turn into a tick if you enjoyed my company." He looked at Clark over his mug as he drank his coffee with a wry smile, eyes crinkled.
Clark tried to suppress a smile, poorly, as he coughed into his fist and continued "This one''s up your alley: 6 letter word for a card game ."...
Clark¡¯s tears were trailing down his face and falling onto the tome still in his lap, vanishing in the span of a few seconds each. He sniffled and pulled his tissues back out, wiping his eyes and nose. ¡®We¡¯ll never get to fill these crosswords again or banter with each other. I¡¯ll just have to treasure these memories I already have.¡¯ He thought as he put the magazine into his backpack protectively, along with his tome.
¡®I volunteered with the intention of recording his stories since he was dying. Then I enjoyed it. Keeping him company. Listening to his life. Not just for what I could gain from it. Two birds with one stone. Win-win. But why do I now feel bad about why I approached him? It was genuine after the first month or so.¡¯ He looked at the ground, stuck in his mind for a moment.
¡®Don¡¯t think the question will answer itself if I wait for it.¡¯ He thought as he got up and slung his backpack over his shoulder, before he started walking back, the gravel path crunching beneath his steps. ¡®I¡¯ll let them know I¡¯m quitting until further notice since I¡¯m already here. I¡¯ve thought it through enough.¡¯
As he walked back, the air felt crisper, cleaner, than it had on the way towards the park. He felt better, every deep breath he took seemed to clear his mind. Even his steps felt lighter, his posture straighter.
As he neared the entrance, he took out his phone and checked his reflection against the black screen¡¯s reflection. His face didn¡¯t look too puffy or his eyes too red. Not that he¡¯d have waited outside if they had. ¡®Why¡¯d I check if it didn¡¯t change anything?¡¯ he thought as he pushed the door open, then the second. He walked around the plant again and towards the desk, noting with a bit of surprise from the clock that he¡¯d been out for almost two entire hours.
Claire was looking down at some papers, writing something, as Clark walked to the desk. He smirked, as he didn¡¯t feel like interrupting, and she had the habit of¡
¡°Aaah!¡± Claire exclaimed as she leaned back quickly. ¡°I¡¯ve told you to stop doing that!¡± She whisper yelled as she held a hand over her heart. ¡°I really will put a bell on you, you know!¡±
¡°So you¡¯ve said, all naught but empty words so far.¡± he smiled wider. ¡°I¡¯ll remind you, I¡¯m not trying to be quiet, you just focus and shut out the world around you.¡±
Claire looked at him as if searching for something, before smiling gently ¡°You look a lot better than when you left, you doing okay?¡±
Clark leaned against the counter. ¡°Yeah¡ yeah, I am. Better. The park¡¯s good for¡ processing things, it seems.¡± he said, eyes going vacant, recalling the last two hours in his mind, before snapping back to the present and looking at Claire. ¡°You?¡±
She nodded. ¡°We¡¯re more used to it. The job does that to you. Well some people don¡¯t manage to, and they either change jobs or push through till they burn out. But we mostly catch the second type before it gets that bad. They also know what to look out for, but people can be bad at judging their own limits.¡± She explained as she leaned back on her chair.
¡°Makes sense.¡± Clark nodded slowly, retroactively connecting things from past interactions with the new context, relatively obvious in hindsight, but a lot of things were. ¡°I actually came to inform you that I¡¯ll¡¡± He took a moment to think it through again, pushing through. ¡°I¡¯ll be quitting my volunteering. Don¡¯t know if that¡¯ll change so I guess we¡¯ll assume it won¡¯t until it does.¡±
Claire nodded readily, seemingly as if she was expecting that. ¡°I think that¡¯s for the best, people need time, and you don¡¯t really know what you¡¯re getting into, until¡ you know from experience. A lot of people try it out and quit after they experience their first passing. Or until someone they became attached to passes away.¡± She reached out and placed her hand over Clark¡¯s as she said that. ¡°Completely normal.¡±
Continuing, she said ¡°Sam held on for a long time. I¡¯m sure you were partly the reason he was able to do so. Be proud.¡±
As he started to feel his eyes moisten again, she thankfully pulled her hand away. ¡°Oh, and Sam¡¯s granddaughter is here collecting things and helping around today, she said she had something for the person who was volunteering with Sam.¡±
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He tried to blink the wetness away ¡°The new girl I saw carrying stuff just before I came in before?¡±
¡°Should be. I think she had a grey cardigan if that rings a bell?¡±
Nodding, he turned towards the entrance, leaning backwards against the counter. ¡°Same person then. Thought she might have been a new hire since she was carrying boxes to the side building on the right, but she¡¯s just helping out?¡±
¡°Said she wanted to keep busy. Sounds like temporary volunteering with fewer steps and we have no reason to refuse, not the first time someone asks to help when they clear out their family¡¯s belongings either.¡± The phone on her desk started ringing and she extended her hand over the desk. ¡°She goes past here quite often, so you¡¯ll catch her if you wait in the lobby. Thank you for all the volunteering you¡¯ve done so far and good luck!¡± She said with a smile.
¡°Thank you for everything as well, Claire. It¡¯s been a pleasure.¡± He said, shaking her hand with a smile of his own. She then picked up the phone and he turned towards the lobby, walking to the chairs against the wall and sitting down.
Around 20 minutes had passed when Sam¡¯s granddaughter, Julia entered the lobby, and Clark stood up. It wasn¡¯t odd that he couldn¡¯t recognize her the first time, since the pictures Sam had were of his kids and grandkids when they were much younger, and she was currently in her mid 20¡¯s, but now he could see the clearly grown up version of the little girl in Sam¡¯s picture frames.
Shoulder blade length brown hair, grey cardigan as Claire mentioned, blue-grey eyes like her grandpa and she was quite tall, just somewhat shorter than he was. She looked a bit tired, which was better than he expected.
She visited Sam most out of his family and they were really close. The news must have hit her hard, but she¡¯s clearing things out the same day. The policy here was to collect things within five days unless they make an agreement over the phone if he didn¡¯t remember the number wrong.
¡°Julia?¡± He confirmed as he walked to her, hand extended when he got close. She turned to him, put the box she was carrying down and shook his hand. ¡°That¡¯s me, and you¡¯d probably be Clark?¡± he nodded ¡°Yes. I¡¯m sorry for your loss. Sam was a great man.¡±
She paused for a moment, giving a shaky nod. ¡°Thank you. That he was. And more.¡± She looked down at the box she was carrying before. ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel real yet. I guess that¡¯s a blessing in disguise, since I don¡¯t think I¡¯d be able to take care of everything if I¡ yeah. So I¡¯m doing everything I can, while keeping myself busy, until it catches up with me.¡±
She seemed lost in thought for a moment and he didn¡¯t interrupt her. She nodded again and turned to him. ¡°Sam talked about you on our visits. Thank you for keeping him company. I could only visit every so often, but he said that he didn¡¯t get to feel lonely before either me or you visited him again. Really, you have no idea how much that meant to him, or to me.¡±
She looked like she was about to tear up, hug him, or both, but ended up doing neither as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve as she dug into her handbag. ¡°He wanted me to give this to you.¡± She held out the old brass pocket watch Sam always kept on him.
Clark shook his head as he felt a pit in his stomach. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can accept that. Are you sure?¡± Julia flipped the note she was holding open ¡°This said to open it if you rejected it. And to say-¡± She paused abruptly. She looked¡ Worried? Hesitantly she continued reading, then looked Clark in the eyes.
¡°He said, and I quote ¡°I guessed you wouldn¡¯t accept a dead man¡¯s will the first time when told nicely, so if you don¡¯t want it, I¡¯ll be happy to just haunt you instead.¡±¡± She then hurriedly handed him the paper, which he accepted and read again. Sure enough, that¡¯s what it said, word for word. ¡°Sorry, his humour was always-¡± she began.
Clark scoffed, shaking his head with a small smile on his lips. ¡°Sam¡¯s been using that threat on me to get his way for a while now. I bet he was grinning ear to ear when he was writing this note.¡± His smile turned a bit sad as he kept looking down at it. ¡°Do you want to keep this note?¡± He asked.
¡°No, feel free to keep it too.¡± She said, as she was smiling a bit when he looked up at her. She put the pocket watch in his hand, closing his fingers around it. ¡°I have plenty of things to remember him by, but it¡¯s never enough. He wanted you to have ONE. It¡¯s not too much, if anything it¡¯s barely enough for what you¡¯ve done. He wanted you to have this specific pocket watch to remember him and the time you spent together.¡± He felt his eyes start watering again as he stared at it. He gently squeezed it in his hand and pulled it against his chest. ¡°Thank you. I¡¯ll treasure it.¡±
She was silent for a moment before continuing ¡°He also said you¡¯d actually use it even for a while, and that we¡¯d just let it collect dust. A waste of a perfectly good watch, he said.¡±
Tears threatening to run down his face again, he barked a laugh at that. ¡°That¡¯s just like him.¡± He said as he fished out his tissues again and wiped his eyes.
As Julia was nodding, she picked up her box again. ¡°I¡¯m glad I saw you today, I¡¯m planning to be done moving everything by evening, and I wasn¡¯t sure when I¡¯d be ready to bring it to you later, I wouldn¡¯t dare to send it by mail.¡±
¡°I quit volunteering today too, so it might have been quite the hassle for you.¡± Clark revealed, as he packed his tissues back into his backpack. She initially looked surprised by that, which quickly turned to understanding. ¡°I¡¯m sure they would have either given me an address or contacted you about it. It was nice meeting you. Thank you again.¡±
¡°Thank you too.¡± He said as he kept the pocket watch to his chest. Julia looked at the pocket watch before nodding in approval and turned to walk away to a different corridor.
As Clark started walking to the exit, he waved at Claire, getting a wave back before going through the doors.
He looked down, staring at the old brass hunter case pocket watch¡¯s front case and the pine tree ornaments on it. First he secured the chain around his wrist so he couldn¡¯t drop it, then he flipped the front case open so he could watch it ticking silently in his hands as he began his trip home.