3:45 

The steady ticking of the clock was going to drive Beck insane. He didn't think he had ever watched a clock so intensely before. Even in school, he'd never felt such an intense urge to run out the door. 

Contrary to popular opinion, work didn't stop for anyone, even people who had recent risen from the dead. 

Maxim Movie Store was a dying breed with thanks to the invention of Netflix, Hulu, and the like. However, thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Maxim and their seemingly endless supply of money, the shop stayed alive. Beck was thankful for that, and for more reasons that because it paid the bills. Walking into the retro relic was like walking into a time machine. Bright yellow shag carpeting, "fun" wall paper, and even a record player sitting by the counter-- it was painful to look at, but if you squinted, Beck found that it wasn't that bad. 

Mostly, for him, it brought him back to being a kid. Since the shop was close by his home, his grandfather had taken him there every Saturday consistently. Even now, he would still pop in on his day off to pick up a movie. 

3:49

The shop closed early today since it was a Friday and as it stood, he was the only worker. He could stand to wait a few more minutes. Yet, every time he tried to focus on the movie playing bulky television sitting on the counter his mind drifted off to the night before. Amy, the car crash, demons. People would walk by the shop and he'd stare through the window, wondering if maybe one of them were like Mal, hiding in plain sight. 

                                                                         The night before

The car ride to the hospital had been painfully quiet. Mal had stayed with him the entire time, even paying for the visit. Beck looked in disbelief as the demon (thankfully looking perfectly human now as he remembered to hide his features) snatched up the bill from the nurse like it was nothing. He thought it had simply been a kind gesture, but the man waved it off, simply saying, "Consider it another reason to keep quiet." 

Beck, as he'd thought, had a couple fractured ribs and fracture on his arm. The break hadn't been bad enough for a cast, but the doctor stuck him with a sling that would be there for the next couple weeks. He was lucky that was all he'd had and the urge to say so burned in the back of his throat.

Mal started to drive him home just as silently as the ride there. On the bright side, it was Beck's first time riding in such an expensive car. If it wasn't obvious back in the hospital, it was obvious now as Mal's suit had dried off more and Beck could see up close how expensive the material was. Despite the dilapidated state of his office, the man must have had money hidden somewhere. Maybe in his nice, black mustang.  

Swallowing, he worked up the courage to break the silence. "Hey. Thank you, for--" 

"Don't mention it." Mal barely spared him a glance over his shades. "Really, don't. Don't get the idea in your head that I'm doing this because I'm some kind person. It was a mistake." 

It was a mistake. 

The words burned in the back of his head, meanwhile, his body stayed still in the car, even as it had come to a stop in front of his apartment. Was he just trying to be cruel to shut him up or did he really mean that saving his life was a mistake? 

The bad part was, Beck couldn't argue with him if he did. 

All the same, he took a chance. Just as Mal was getting impatient and turned to him to tell him to get out, Beck surged forward. He wrapped his arms around him in a quick hug, being extra careful of his bad arm and ribs. 

Mal looked a little shell shocked as he pulled away. All Beck could do was smile and say, "Get home safe," as he ran for his apartment. 

Now, as he impatiently waited for work to end, the real reason he'd hugged him burned a whole in his pocket. He sighed and pulled out the small piece of paper once again. Mal'evolent Detective Agency was written in bold type along with the words Private investigations open to anyone written underneath it. He had an address now as well, but what was he going to do with it? Show up at his doorstep just to say thank you? 

It was hard to explain even to himself, but he had to see him again. Maybe it was just the heartbreak talking, but it was something new and exciting. It was dangerous to go visit him again, but it wouldn't hurt if he just drove by and explored the area, right...?

Right, that was all he was going to do. Just explore the area. 

3:50. Almost four. He could make it until then. He could make it--

3:51. He officially flips the sign to closed. The thrill of rebellion. 

Beck didn't own a car, so his great adventure to track down Mal's office began with him maneuvering through the city streets on his trusty bicycle. His grandfather had given it to him when he was still around as a sort of 'sweet sixteen' present (Beck had actually turned eighteen that year, but didn't say anything. It was more than what he'd had before, after all), but the bicycle had been prone to breaking down since day one (he also didn't say anything about that). 

Today was no different, and as he was almost to the building, the chain got stuck, sending Beck into a sudden stop that nearly toppled him. Maybe it was a sign from the gods that he should turn back, but then again, if he stopped every time something went wrong, he would've never finished high school.

He didn't even stop by his house to change his clothes. So, he looked a little strange biking into a nice, uptown neighborhood with his obscenely bright purple and orange Maxim Movies shirt (complete with an equally hard to look at visor. He loved his job, but he sometimes wondered if his bosses' had lost their sight already). He shouldn't have been surprised by the neighborhood, given what he'd already seen from Mal, but it wasn't often he found himself in neighborhoods like this where one house was worth more than his life. 

Even the office building looked too nice for Beck to walk into. Parking his bike beside the building, he walked in anyways. Beck read the card again-- judging by the number, he should have been pretty high up. Could a simple detective agency really make that much money? 

The receptionist didn't spare Beck a second glance as he walked in, something he was very grateful for. He quickly made a break for the elevator before anyone could stop him. He didn't want there to be a chance for Mal to realize he was here-- he didn't think the man really wanted to kill him, but he might change his mind if Beck pushed his luck.

Floor 14, right? That's what the card said... Beck thought, but as he looked at the elevator buttons, there was no fourteenth floor. He checked the card again, and of course it still said the same thing. 

Was he going crazy?

 He checked the top floor, then the next, and then the next. After exploring four floors with no luck and only concerned stares from actual residents, Beck sighed and gave up. Was this a fake then? Or maybe it was an old card. Then why did Mal have it on him...? None of it made sense to him. 

Maybe Mal was right. Maybe it would be better if he forgot all of this happened.

Exiting the building, he sighed. Thankfully, his bike was still sitting there where he'd locked it, but the ride home (or walk, considering how well it had worked going up) would be filled with quiet disappointment.

But then, what was he going back to anyways?

As he was thinking, he heard the sound of police sirens coming his way. This wasn't too unusual in his neighborhood, but to have three police cars whir by in this district was a little unusual. At the same time, a familiar figure catches his eye across the street.  Beck, being the logical person he was, ducked and hid behind a parked car the moment he saw Mal. 

The demon looked much nicer in his suit when he wasn't absolutely drenched. The sunglasses on his face made it hard for Beck to tell the expression he was making, but he could see him pursing his lips as he slipped into his own car parked right outside the building and sped off behind the police units. 

It was stupid idea. Police cars and sirens meant danger. He shouldn't-- 

He was following. 

He hopped on his bike, peddling as fast as he could so as to not lose them. Luckily, the area wasn't too far, and even as he lost sight of the cars for a moment, it wasn't too hard to find out where they'd went. They had gone from a quiet, uptown neighborhood to an area with more businesses and restaurants. Every building he passed had been cleared of people-- even the streets were void of life outside the officers who passed by. Beck took the hint at that point to ditch his bike and start creeping quietly. 

Hiding behind a police car, Beck crept as close as he could to the scene at hand. It was a morbid curiosity, he supposed. He'd saw the yellow caution tape from far away, but kept going all the same. When he saw a pale hand laid out on the side walk, however, his body went rigid.

Mal came into his sight for a second, the demon slipping under the yellow tape with a practiced ease, only to be stopped a moment later by a man in uniform. 

"I'm sorry sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to back away and go home. This area is for authorized personnel only." 

Mal shook his head and took off his glasses. He was gritting his teeth just to talk with the officer. "I'm a consult of the police. I work with you-- just please, let me through, she's my--" 

"Let him through, Jerome, he's with me." A female officer said. She was young, early thirties at most, with brown hair that was tied in a ponytail so tight Beck wondered how she still had hair. "He's a private detective working with the NYPD on the case. Did the boss not tell you?" 

The man huffed, obviously peeved. "No! He didn't say anything at all. I don't know why he'd tell you and not me." 

Their voices trailed off for a moment as Beck's eyes turned to Mal. He wasn't paying attention either. His eyes were glued on the scene that was just out of Beck's view. All he could see was the hand, adorned with a beautiful onyx ring. His stomach turned with anticipation. He didn't have to look to know what this was. He crept closer all the same, his head peeking out a little from behind the trunk. 

Even though he knew what he'd see, he was still shocked by the sight. Nothing could have prepared him for this. 

"She was my client." He could hear Mal saying to no one in particular. He muttered it as if even he couldn't believe what he was saying. "How did this happen?" 

The body was female, but if it wasn't for the dress hanging limply on the body and Mal's own notions, he would have never been able to tell. The body barely looked human. It was as if the entire body had been deflated so that the skin simply hung limply on the bones and empty body cavities. There was barely any hair on the body, aside from a few strings of blonde hair that clung for dear life to the bodies head. There was not a speck of blood at the scene, however. Just the woman, and her empty, lifeless, eye sockets, pointed right at Beck. Her jaw hung open, and like that, he could see the look of fear on her face she must have had when she died. 

He could hear the female officer's voice again talking to Mal, but he could no longer see her as his vision started to blur. 

"It's a shame. She's a witch. It's not often you see one of us dying.." 

He couldn't help it. He stood up and made a run for a nearby alleyway, a hand over his mouth to hold in what little he had in his stomach before he wretched it. He clutched the wall for support as he just stood there, shaking.

She was nothing but a skeleton with skin. How could one person even do that? It was as if everything in her had been sucked up by a vacuum cleaner.

But those eyes. Her empty sockets were burned into his brain. He knew she wasn't looking at him. That was just how she died. Still, it felt like she was crying for help. 

Finally, the officer's words registered in his brain. She's a witch. She's one of us. 

What did she mean by one of us? 

He didn't have much time to contemplate it. Just as his body had stopped shaking, he felt a hand on his shoulder forcibly push him against the wall. Pain registered in Beck's head, but not as loudly as the overwhelming oh shit going through his head as Mal glared down at him. 

"What do you think you're doing here, fuck face?"