Catalyst for Murder

The ticking of the clock on the mantel started to irritate me. I sat at my desk looking at spreadsheets all the while the constant (tick... tick... tick...) sounded behind me. The sound of impatience.

I'd lost my place. Looking back at the top part of the screen I tried to remember where I had last left off.

(Tick... tick... tick...)

Something was wrong.

What time was it?

When had the sun gone down?

Why was there blood on my hands?

(Tick.. tick... tick...)

Blood splatters had dried across the keyboard. It was 8:58 pm. I had lost seven hours. Why wasn't Teresa home yet?

(Tick.. tick... tick...)

I needed to do something about that clock- it was driving me crazy. I glanced over my shoulder. The clock was gone. What had happened to my clock?

Maybe someone threw it away.

I stopped short of leaving through the kitchen's back door.

Outside I could see the large green garbage can's lid propped open, held up by a pale arm that hung out of it, like a thin tongue that ended in five limp fingers.