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The old man leaned on the scratched wooden desk. His weary eyes adjusted to the dim light. Several intricate pieces were spread across the table top next to the broken watch. This one was a bit difficult. Not because of what needed to be fixed, but because he had to make it work.

A tiny bell jingled, and Fred Winfield looked back over his shoulder. Slowly, he got up from the table and made his way to the front of the watch repair shop. As he entered the main area, the tall man rushed toward him with an outstretched hand.

“Give me all your money!” he shouted with a shaky voice. The gun wavered. Fred let out a huge sigh.

“You don’t have to do this,” said Fred as he put up his hands. The stranger’s breathing was labored. His head and face were wet from the rain. His damp clothes clung to his thin frame. An unshaven face with bloodshot eyes. No more than thirty- or thirty-five-years old, Fred guessed.

“Don’t tell me what to do, old man…just give me the money.” The unstable stranger shoved the gun closer to Fred. “Open the register…now!” Fred shuffled to the vintage machine and hit the number zero. The drawer instantly popped open. Inside, there were a few one-dollar bills and change. He pulled it out and laid it on the counter.

The nervous man stared at what little there was. “You’ve got to be kidding me, old man. Haven’t you got a safe? Where is it? I want it all…now…or I’m going to put a bullet in your head. I mean it!” Fred crossed his arms.

“Go ahead, shoot,” he replied. The man shifted on his feet. He glanced around the store.

“What?” asked the man.

“I said, go ahead and shoot, young man. I’ve lived a full life. I’m not afraid to die. So, take your best shot.” Fred stood waiting.

The stranger lowered the gun. He collapsed onto the floor and wept. Fred knelt down on one knee. He patted the weeping man on the back.

“Everything will be alright,” said Fred. The man shook his head and sniffed back the tears.

“No, old man, it won’t. You don’t understand. I need money to pay the rent, or my mom will be evicted from her apartment. I gambled the money—her money, and lost. I thought I could double it and…” His voice trailed off into silence.

“I find it hard to believe a landlord would evict a senior tenant. And if it’s true, well, what is this world coming to?” Fred staggered to get up.

“Would you like a cup of coffee or tea? You know what they say…it warms the soul,” said Fred. The man looked up at him.

“Aren’t you going to call the cops?” he asked. He shoved the gun in his pocket. Fred smiled.

“And tell them a man is holding me at gunpoint with an empty gun?” Fred shrugged his shoulders.

“Wait…how did you know my gun was empty?” the man asked.

“I know a lot of things…I know you’re a good man…I know you’ve taken care of your mother since she became ill…I know you lost your job because of taking care of your sick mother…and I know you would never hurt anyone—including me.”

The man stood up. His eyes widen. “How could you know all these things about me?”

Fred turned around. “Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee—hey, old man, how did you know?” shouted the man.

Minutes later, Fred returned with a small oval tray. “Let’s sit over here at the table.”

The stranger slowly sat down across from Fred.

“I’m Fred Winfield, owner and proprietor of this quaint watch repair shop.” Fred outstretched his wrinkled hand.

“Jake Hanson.” The men shook hands.

“Nice to meet you, Jake. Cream? Sugar?” asked Fred.

“Oh…I drink it black,” replied Jake. He took the cup from Fred. The coffee was hot as he slowly sipped it.

Fred placed one sugar cube in his cup.

Jake remained quiet. He glanced around the decrepit shop. “How long have you been here? I never noticed your shop until I was looking for a place to…never mind.”

“As long as I’m needed.” Fred slurped the hot liquid.

“Most people use their cell phone for the time. And nowadays, watches are thrown away except for a Rolex. There’s not much inventory in here. In fact, there’s very little. You have a couple of glass shelves with limited merchandise. How do you make any money?” asked Jake.

“Who says I don’t make money? Besides, there are more important things in the world besides money,” said Fred.

“And what’s that, if I can ask?” asked Jake.

“Love and happiness.” Fred sipped from his hot cup.

“I also repair clocks,” added Fred.

“Isn’t that a thing of the past?” asked Jake. He leaned back in his chair.

“Funny you should bring up the past. If you could go back, Jake, how far back would you go? An hour? Several hours? A day? A week? A month? A year? How far, Jake, would you go to make it right again?” asked the old man.

Jake hung his head. If only he didn’t gamble away the money. If only it was Tuesday…before the race. If only… “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. Wishful thinking…it’s too late.” He stood to leave.

“Wait, Jake. I have a gift for you.” Fred got up and disappeared behind the door.

Jake started for the front door. He stopped for a brief moment when he heard Fred shuffle back into the room.

“For you, Jake.” Fred held out the watch. The one he had been working on before Jake entered the shop.

“A watch? No thanks.” Jake pulled on the door, and the tiny bell jangled.

“You’ll want this watch, Jake. It’s special.”

Jake stared at the old man. Something made him reach out and take it from Fred’s shaky hand.

As he touched it, the room began to spin. Fred’s face blurred. What was happening? The watch slowly slipped between his fingers as darkness crept in and surrounded his soul.

It was one o’clock on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. Jake stood near the window. He could see the horses lining up for the next race. He felt the money in his pocket. Sweat lined his brows. Should he bet the rent money? He could double it, or he could lose it all. Jake watched as others lined up to place their bets before last call. His fingers brushed against the crinkled bills. Time. He still had time to place a bet. But something deep inside stopped him—a whisper. Without hesitation, Jake bolted from the track.

Fred Winfield whistled as he hung the For Sale sign on the inside of the door. The tiny shop was dark and empty, leaving no trace of him or his special wares. He closed the door behind him and listened to the bell jingle one last time. The twinkling stars shimmered above and guided Fred to an unknown destiny. He held tight to the worn, leather bag of a timekeeper, then disappeared into the fading mist.

Originally published in «The Rabbit Hole – Volume VI – Weird Stories Destination: Journey»