Chapter 23

The next day, I walked into the local division office and placed my application on the desk. Three days later, I received a notice for an interview. On the day of the interview, I carefully selected a navy blue skirt, a white blouse, and a matching suit jacket. As I entered the room, I greeted Chief Russell and Special Agent Ethan Townsand, shaking their hands and committing their names to memory. When I shook Ethan's hand, a shiver ran down my spine, and I couldn't help but meet his intense gaze. His frown made me think, "he hates me." The interview proceeded with each of them taking turns asking questions, to which I answered to the best of my ability. After the interview concluded, they mentioned that they would notify me if I was the right fit for the position. I thanked them and left the room. As I walked down the hallway, I heard Agent Townsand calling my name from behind. I turned to face him, the man with captivating whiskey eyes. He paused for a moment before speaking. He informed me that they had already contacted my previous agency, who had given me a glowing recommendation. They also mentioned that they were aware of the recent loss of my partner and asked if enough time had passed for me to handle the demands of the job. Sympathy filled his eyes as he spoke. I hesitated for a moment, still feeling the raw emotions. I replied honestly, admitting that I still hurt and questioned myself every day. However, I emphasized that I could only determine if I was capable by being given the chance to find out.

I had noticed a flicker in Ethan's eyes as I responded to him, a fleeting emotion that quickly disappeared. Eventually, he gave a brisk nod. "Thank you for your honesty, Miss Leathers. You may leave now." With that, I continued on, fully aware that I had completely ruined my chances of getting the job. But before I even reached the exit, someone called my name and asked me to join them for a discussion about my interview. Soon enough, I found myself in a phase II interview, face to face with my team leader, who turned out to be Ethan. From that very first day, as his gaze locked onto me during the interview, I felt an undeniable pull towards him. An attraction that one should never feel towards their married team leader. In my defense, pheromones can't be controlled, but I could have controlled my actions towards that attraction. Yet, it seemed impossible for me to stop the torrent of emotions that flooded in that day. In the first month, he was patient, generous, and understanding. By the end of the second month, I had developed a crush on him. And over the following months, I fell deeply in love with him. The rise and fall of Ethan and Ember's voices broke through the veil of memories. After one last glimpse at my pale reflection in the mirror, I decided it was time to return to the other room. I couldn't hide in the bathroom forever, I reasoned. Taking a deep breath, I composed myself and opened the door. As I stepped into the living room, I found a disgruntled Ember waiting for me. She gave me a disdainful look. "Ethan told me you took a blow to the head. Sit down, and I'll take a look," she ordered, her voice lacking any sympathy. I obediently took a seat in the chair she pointed at, stealing a glance at Ethan. He stood by a set of bay windows, briefly turning his head in our direction before returning his attention to whatever he was engrossed in. Ember put on a pair of latex gloves, making a show of it. Her actions implied that she suspected I carried some kind of disease and being near me would put her at risk. Annoyed, I rolled my eyes and silently muttered, "Why don't I just go out and find you a bio-hazard suit, for God's sake?"

A few more seconds ticked away, and Ember finally got down to the business of examining my scalp. As she ran her fingers through my hair, the sound of her nails scratching against my scalp grated on my nerves. The minutes dragged on, and I could feel the tension building in my muscles, ready to explode. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of Ember's perfume.

I clenched my fists, determined not to show any sign of discomfort. The pain from her hair-pulling and finger poking was unnecessary, but I remained silent, gritting my teeth. I refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing she had caused me even the slightest bit of pain. Finally, she finished her examination and removed her gloves, tossing me a smirk that spoke volumes. She knew exactly what she had put me through.

Turning away, she sauntered over to where Ethan stood, snuggling against him possessively. Their murmurs were barely audible, a secret exchange meant only for them. I watched as she rose on her toes and pressed her lips against his, a final caress before she stepped away. With a half-hearted wave in my direction, she grabbed her purse and left the room, presumably heading to work in her nurse's uniform.

Ethan's face twisted with disgust as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He motioned towards a tumbler on the low table beside the couch. "I poured you a drink if you're interested," he offered.

Walking over to the tumbler, I picked it up and brought it to my lips, studying his expression. As the liquid touched my tongue, an intense burning sensation ripped through my throat, making me gasp for air. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. The alcohol seemed to ignite a fire in the pit of my stomach, causing a searing pain.

Struggling to catch my breath, I could hear the faint tinkling sound of the Clepsydra from across the room. My mind wandered back to the first time I had laid eyes on it, captivated by its beauty for what felt like hours. Ethan had informed me that the Greeks used this water clock to tell time around three-hundred and twenty-five BC. He had shared the history, mentioning the ancient water clock buried in the tomb of the Egyptian Pharaoh Amenhotep the First during the fifteenth century. It later became known as the Clepsydra, or the Water Thief.

The reproduction of the Clepsydra in Ethan's living room was a round, bowl-shaped container designed to fill slowly with water. The markings on the inside measured the passage of hours as the water level rose.

Ethan's warm, husky voice gently pierced through the stillness, pulling me away from my wandering thoughts. The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around me like a cozy blanket on a chilly evening. I shifted my gaze from the clock, its ticking filling the room with a rhythmic melody, and met his deep, penetrating eyes.

"How's your head feeling?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. I sighed and replied, "Better, thank you."

As I looked back at the clock, its polished surface glimmered in the soft, warm light that streamed through the window. Memories of our previous conversation flooded my mind, like waves crashing onto a sandy shore. I recalled him describing the Clepsydra, a peculiar timekeeping device, and I couldn't help but wonder why he possessed such an intriguing artifact.

"Not so strange," he replied, breaking the silence. The sound of his words hung in the air, like the delicate chimes of a distant wind chime. "Archaeology has always fascinated me." His words carried a hint of nostalgia, as if he was transported back to his younger days. "When I was younger, I wanted to become an Archaeologist," he revealed, finally opening up about his past.

Curiosity sparked within me, urging me to delve deeper into his story. "Why didn't you?" I inquired, my interest now fully ignited. Ethan's gaze met mine, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and resignation. In a barely audible voice, he whispered, "A person can't always have what they want."

The weight of his words settled upon us, filling the room with a palpable melancholy and I sensed his words had a far different meaning than his career choice. That he was referring to me and him. The Clepsydra's steady drip echoed the rhythm of my heart, reminding me that time waited for no one, not even us.

"You know, it's funny how the Greeks thought of time as something that could be stolen," I mused, hoping to lighten the mood. "It's as if it slips through our fingers like sand, isn't it?" As I spoke, Ethan's gaze followed the path of the falling water droplets, his eyes reflecting a mix of contemplation and resignation.

"Or perhaps it's more like the water in this Clepsydra," he murmured. "Always moving, never stopping, dictating our lives with its inevitable flow." His voice, barely above a murmur, carried a weight of its own as he spoke of time's ceaseless movement, its relentless dictation of our lives.

In a moment of silence, we both sat still, the room filled only with the persistent drip of the Clepsydra, its rhythmic sound echoing in the air. I raised the glass to my lips, feeling the fiery burn as the liquid slid down my throat, providing a brief respite from the whirlwind of emotions within me. Ethan's gaze remained fixed on the clock, his mind clearly lost in distant thoughts. The weight of the decision to leave was heavy on me, but my legs felt as if they were made of solid lead, keeping me rooted in place. As if he could read my mind, he softly suggested, "To ensure your safety, and so I can keep an eye on you, why don't you stay the night here?"
I pondered his proposition for a few moments, fully aware that it was far from a wise choice, yet ultimately, I nodded in agreement.