Tithe of Time

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Sharon’s notes: I like the concept of this story and may expand it at one point. I do question if the main character is as gray as I intended. Let me know what you think. 🙂 Warning: Icky hotel room. Yuck.

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Breakfast was trying to crawl up to say hello. The miasma of rotting cardboard, dead animal, and urine that hovered over the tiny motel was just such a chef’s kiss of awful. The street light-washed bile yellow color of the stucco siding complimented the stench. Why did murderers always choose the worst places to hide?

I pulled the compass out of my pocket and waved it back and forth. The sand in the small cup at the head of the needle dragged it to room thirteen at the end of the row. Unlucky, and poetic. No rooms were behind it, so I wouldn’t accidentally break into the wrong one again. That had been such a mess last time.

I’d brought my bag of tricks with me, an unassuming navy blue duffle armed with everything a modern home breaker needed. The doors had a simple reader so I plucked out my nifty little doodad, a small black plastic box attached to a blank card. I slotted quickly in and the light turned green. My tech guy had hooked me up with it and it hadn’t failed me yet. I’d been hoping to exercise my lock-picking skills, but that was happening less and less. I moved with the times because I refused to be one of those immortals who ignored that the world was moving on. 

I did miss the narrow, intense focus of seeing with my hands, feeling for pins as the tools slid through the lock. 

The door creaked softly despite easing it open and I clenched my teeth. I’d done this in the middle of the night to avoid trouble. Disturbing my sleep cycle would be for naught if the stupid door woke him up. 

It was for nothing anyway. He huddled against the wall, staring at me like I was the Grim Reaper come for him. Not inaccurate. 

He’d been drinking. The fumes of cheap alcohol stung my nose and my throat clenching in an effort not to choke on the overwhelming stink. Broken glass and beer cans crunched and rattled around my boots as I walked in, closing the door behind me.

“Did he send you to kill me?” His voice was rough, phlegmy. He’d been crying.

I pulled out my compass again for confirmation before I answered, and it pointed to him dead center. I’d used to ask for names, but those tended to drag you down over time. I’d been told his, but I’d forgotten it as soon as I didn’t need it to track him. Besides, scum didn’t deserve to be remembered.

With a put-upon sigh, I slipped it back into my pocket and stepped forward.”Your father-in-law? Kind of. He summoned me to extract a debt owed.”

“It was an accident,” he whimpered. 

“I couldn’t be here if you didn’t mean to kill her. You may have only meant it for a second and regretted it, but you intended to hurt her. You purposefully stole her time. I’m here to rectify the situation.” I shook my head and held out my hand with my palm flat. An hourglass, small with a battered and stained wooden frame, appeared. There wasn’t a lot of the golden sand left. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself, have you? You only have about five years. 1,937 days, to be exact. That means only about six months for me. Barely worth my time, but a deal is a deal.”

His lip trembled and his already red eyes started to shine with tears. He held out a hand to me as he sniffled. 

Oh great. A beggar. Why couldn’t I have gotten a fighter? A little toss-up to get the blood pumping might have been nice. 

“P-please, don’t kill me.” His words came out broken, stuttering. “I’m sorry! Maybe I d-did want her dead, but it was only for a second. I didn’t m-mean it. I’ll turn myself in and f-face what’s coming to me, but killing me won’t b-bring her back.”

Since he wasn’t doing anything that required my immediate attention I started unscrewing the top of the hourglass. Sometimes I felt a little overdramatic going through the physical actions when the whole process was metaphysical but, sue me, a little bit of drama was fun. “One, she isn’t quite dead yet. I can’t do anything for the dead. Two, killing you will absolutely save her. You owe her time, more than you have, but all in is always an option.”

“What? D-doesn’t make any sense.” He tried to push his way to his feet but his leg buckled, toppling him into a pile of cans that crumpled under him. For a second I thought he was convulsing, then he opened his mouth and vomited up all the booze he’d drunk plus some bile. 

My stomach twisted and I had to look away. Disgusting.

I walked over to the bathroom sink and laid out to hourglasses, the attempted murderer’s and his wife’s. Her’s was average-sized, but cracked on the bottom. I’d sealed it so she wouldn’t lose the little that was left, but she badly needed an infusion. Her soon-to-be-late husband provided, as I tipped all but my tenth to hers. He gurgled in distress behind me. It’s an uncomfortable thing to have your time poured away.

While I vanished the rest into my own glass, I watched as her fate reasserted itself, more sand appearing from nowhere. Four and a half years was more than enough time for her body to heal past the critical point and let her get on with the life he tried to steal. Six months was a drop in the ocean of the time I had spent and accumulated, but every grain counted. 

I didn’t even glance at the man on the floor as I left. His time had run out, his wife’s was started again, and I was no longer needed.