<span style="font-style: italic">Tick tock. Tick tock.</span><br/><br/>How much would it hurt to be hit with a clock?<br/><br/>Well, obviously, it would depend on the type of clock. A round wall clock wouldn't do much damage. It would be more like a Frisbee, a fun toy to pass back and forth.<br/><br/>Unless you attached blades to it.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Tick tock. Tick tock.</span><br/><br/>Perhaps the ones they kept over fireplaces in old movies would do more harm. What were they called again?<br/><br/>Mantelpiece clocks. Of course.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Tick tock. Tick tock.</span><br/><br/>The most harmful was suddenly obvious. A grandfather clock. Those bad boys could squish anyone underneath them. It was easy to imagine someone trapped beneath, limbs struggling to lift the great weight off their torso. They wouldn't be able to free themselves, and as a parting gift the clock face would count down their last seconds on Earth before their chest collapsed or their heart erupted or whatever else happened when you were being crushed.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Tick tock.</span><br/><br/>Breya rolled over from her place on a plush carpet in the living room, emerging from her tangled thoughts. He was supposed to be home by now, wasn't he? The demon hadn't told her much, just dropped her off at the picturesque beach house with barely a word. In fact, the demon hadn't talked at all on their jaunt from Texas to Maine. It had almost driven Breya insane. Oh, the irony.<br/><br/>But this wasn't a vacation for her, a time to look out at the trailing sunset with a martini in her hand, relaxing in a nice chair underneath an umbrella. No, this was work.<br/><br/>And she wouldn't be able to hold a martini anyhow.<br/><br/>In training they had been told to go slow, but Breya figured she was going a bit slower than they had intended. It had been three days now of waiting, watching, waiting, watching. Breya knew his schedule, knew everything about Mica's sad existence at home. She also knew she was supposed to follow him to work; actually, she was supposed to follow him everywhere he went, but she hadn't piqued up the courage yet to leave the beach house. What if she got lost? Could ghosts get lost? It wasn't like she could just ask for directions.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Hey, have you seen a tall guy, last seen eating a hot pocket like a massive tool? Yeah, I'm kind of haunting him right now, trying to make him go crazy and all that. No, please don't run away!</span><br/><br/>She had to start her job today. For real.<br/><br/>The door opened. Breya froze from her place on the floor, then immediately relaxed. It was Mica, on time as usual.<br/><br/>Breya still had to get used to the fact that Mica couldn't see her unless she willed it to be so. She had spent too long in the Underworld since her last job and was used to hanging around other ghosts, who were much harder to trick.<br/><br/>Sitting up on her knees, Breya wrinkled her nose as Mica threw his sweat-covered uniform over the couch that was to her right. Couldn't he at least fold it?<br/><br/>It was time to move. Breya floated behind Mica, watching as he 'cooked' his hot pockets, then went over to his desk chair. So predictable that it was sad. Breya understood why The Boss chose him. Did other schizos work cases, just like him? The ones who were all alone, with nothing going on but a dead-end job and microwavable food? Maybe it was Boss' twisted way of sending them company.<br/><br/>"Cheers."<br/><br/>The single word echoed melancholically through the empty house, sending shivers down Breya's spine. She took a deep sigh before acting, pulling on her training from so long ago.<br/><br/>"Cheers for what, Mica?" Breya crooned into his ear. She let Mica imprint on the voice instead of creating her own. The words would come out better from his family, friends, or former lovers.<br/><br/>"You're a layabout, Mica. You're doing nothing with your life. Come on now, what's wrong with you? Who ever thought you'd turn into this?"<br/><br/>Start slow. Right.<br/><br/>Breya felt just a little bit bad for her case, but the twisted side of her enjoyed spitting out every last word. She hadn't spoken in three days, after all. It tingled.<br/><br/>Breya was excited.