The Hour The Clock Refused To Keep Us

The clock stopped at 2 17 and Ruth understood before she looked at the bed that the sound she was waiting for would not come again.

Morning light filtered through the curtains in a thin washed color that did not belong to any particular day. The house was quiet in a way that felt arranged. Ruth Margaret Ellison stood in the doorway with one hand on the frame and felt the stillness press back. The clock on the dresser had always been loud. Its silence felt intentional.

She crossed the room and touched his shoulder. The skin was cool and unresponsive. She withdrew her hand slowly as if speed might make it worse. She did not call out. She did not cry. The knowing arrived complete.

Later there were voices and questions and forms. Her name was spoken with care. Ruth Margaret Ellison answered when required. She signed where she was told. The pen worked perfectly. When they left the house returned to its arranged quiet.

That evening she noticed the clock begin to tick again. It resumed at 2 17 and moved forward as if nothing had happened. Ruth watched it until her eyes burned. When she looked away the sound followed her through the rooms.

She left the house and walked until the streets thinned and the old neighborhood began. The air smelled of leaves and distant rain. She did not know why she turned toward the closed train station but her feet did. The station had been shut for years. The clocks inside were rumored to still run.

Inside the gate a man stood near the platform clock. He was dressed plainly. His posture suggested waiting without impatience. The clock above him read 2 17.

You are early he said.

Ruth felt no fear only a tightening of attention. I am exactly on time she replied.

He smiled faintly. His name was Arthur Leonard Pike. He offered it when she demanded to know who he was. He said it as if reading from a ledger. Ruth Margaret Ellison gave her own. The names hung between them formal and untouched.

They stood beneath the clock. The air felt thicker there as if sound moved differently. Arthur did not cast a shadow in the usual way. It clung close to him regardless of the light.

The next evening she returned. The clock still read 2 17. Arthur was there again. They began to talk. About time. About waiting. About the feeling of something ending before you are ready. He listened without interruption. His stillness felt like respect.

She noticed the way the clock responded to him. The second hand hesitated when he shifted his weight. When she touched the clock face it was cold. When their fingers brushed the cold spread inward and steadied her shaking.

Days passed without measure. Ruth stopped noticing the hour elsewhere. Only the station clock mattered. Her name shortened in his voice. His name softened in hers. The full legal distance between them faded.

One night rain fell through the broken roof in slow steady drops that never reached the platform. Arthur watched them fall and stop.

There is a cost to staying here he said.

Ruth nodded. She had been counting it since the clock resumed.

The realization arrived in fragments. The way he never left the station. The way his reflection did not align with his movements. The way the clocks elsewhere avoided the hour she shared with him. She did not name what he was. She did not need to.

On the evening the house felt too quiet she lingered longer than usual. The clock ticked louder. Arthur turned to her with a look that felt like an ending catching up.

You cannot keep this hour he said.

She thought of the bed. The stopped breath. The sound she had waited for. I know.

He took her hands. Cold and steady. The chill traveled inward and loosened something tight. When he kissed her it was brief and restrained and full of goodbye. The clock shuddered.

Arthur Leonard Pike said his full name softly as if closing a book.

He stepped back. The clock lurched forward. The station filled with ordinary sound. The air thinned.

Ruth Margaret Ellison stood alone as the clock moved past 2 17. She felt the weight of time return.

She walked home. The house greeted her with creaks and settling. In the bedroom the clock read a new hour. It ticked evenly.

Ruth lay down on her side of the bed. The space beside her was empty. The sound she waited for did not return. She closed her eyes and let the hour go.