Prologue

When Wendy had wound the watch, she was in an alley ... doing her damnedest to get away from a man who was bent on rape and murder. The watch was just lying there ... in the trash of the alley. It was a gold watch ... gold was thirty-five dollars an ounce and this watch weighed at least 4 ounces.

Discounting the guts there might be a hundred dollars worth. A well paid mid level executive ... like her dad ... might bring home one hundred dollars a month.

The second hand wasn't moving so she shook it and held it to her ear. She felt pretty safe hiding here behind a stack of cardboard and some pallets. She wound the watch and she was standing in a tremendous downpour. Soaked to the skin in an instant she still took time to to listen to the watch and shook it because she couldn't hear it tick. This pocket-watch made for Henry Graves, by Patek Philippe, was designed to be silent ... but she didn't know that so she shook it and listened again.

Some people haven't the sense to come out of the rain.

An enormous blow to the head left her lying in the rain ... unconscious. She woke up submersed in the immense bathtub in the nicely appointed bathroom of a home being looked after by a doctor ... and her head hurt. Excruciatingly. And she was freezing.

The water was hot ... not hot enough to burn ... but hot enough to take the chill off...

The pain grew to be too much ... she couldn't understand why the water was tinted red ... she needed to think and she couldn't. When she regained temporary consciousness, the Doctor was lifting a red mop off her head and she was out like a light. The pain of stitches woke her up and she had no luck remembering.

"Stop wiggling," the doctor demanded.

"It hurts," Wendy said.

"Did David do this to you?"

"No ... I remember a bus or a trolley and a good looking young man holding me up because the bus was bouncing all over," she said.

"The roads are atrocious," the Doc said.

"OH! OW! Oh Fuck Oh Dear ... I'm going to be sick!" she said.

And she was. The doctor had enough warning to hold her head over the tub side. But just barely.

The mop was half of her hair ... the stitches were the reason half her hair was left in the bathroom. The cut ... it was explained ... was from a hailstone that should have killed her on the spot. When she asked about her watch, the young man put the mashed case and a double handful of gears, posts and levers.

"The trolley ran over it after you threw it in the road," he said.

"I didn't throw it in the road," she said.

"Sure looked like it to me," he said "How's your head?"

"It hurts," and that's when she found out about the shaved spot.

You can read all about the hospital stay in the Broken Watch. Probably a good idea because the author is an asshole and his stories don't stand alone.

Pushing the stem of the repaired watch put David and Wendy in the alley she was hiding in before she lost her hair ... an observer of the reappearance would have been present at the disappearance and might wonder that there were now two older people where there had been one 14 year old girl.

"Hey," hollered the would be rapist and murderer. He was standing at the alley opening.

"You seen a 14 year old girl? She's a runaway."

"Nope," David hollered back. "But we just got here."

Wendy laughed.

"You sure? There's a reward."

"Nope, haven't seen a soul," Wendy shouted.

She's a redhead, about so tall," he held out his hand just about Wendy's height. "She looks like you, lady ... but younger."

"You're welcome to come look," said David.

"Naw, she must have doubled back, I'll keep looking."

"Where are we?" David asked.

"Lansing, Michigan."

"Where is that?"

Chapter 1 »