The time went slowly in the small interrogation room. The fluorescent lights blinked. Once twice. Number Six got up and walked around the room. He touched the walls, floor. Tried to get on the table and touch the ceiling. Then he walked over to the door. As his hand touched it, the door opened slightly. It had all been neatly arranged.
He thought he would take advantage of the opportunity anyhow. If they wanted a spy game they would get their fair share. He snuck down the hall, but it was unnecessary. There was nobody there. What had been a busy police office had now turned into an empty chamber. Nothing moved, except the flecks of light on a computer terminal.
Still he was cautious. After leaving, he walked back through the green dome and out into the courtyard. He was cautious, but realized that if they hadn't come after him now, nobody would bother him. At least not for a few hours, he decided. He traveled back to his house, whistling an old tune from somewhere, and looked around for clues. He wondered, casually, if he could have murdered this man. Smith had been an old trusted friend back when he was still who he used to be. A man with a name and a purpose. Why would he have killed him? The reason was there was no reason, and therefore he hadn't. He was sure of it. And if he was sure, he hadn't.
In the woods behind his house he saw a large red pool of blood thickening in the midday sun. How could this have been done? He moved closer and smelled the pool. It was odd smelling, like a combination of blood and paint, turpentine, vinegar, and lemons. A staged murder. Of course, this was the Village. But who could have done it? He looked around and found, hidden in the bushes, a gold wristwatch.
Time ticking slowly away. Slowly slowly. Time is all in the mind. mind is time number six. Mind time tick tock tick tock.
It was engraved with a name: Anderson. But who was Anderson? He remembered the watchmaker and decided to take it over to him. Walking through the Village, he saw men and women of many different numbers stare at him and then turn away in disgust. Apparently they'd never heard of "innocent until proven guilty," he thought. He paid them little mind and arrived at the watchmaker's door. He knocked twice and the door swung open as if pushed by an invisible hand.
"I have a watch here," Number Six explained. "I wonder if you recognize the make of the thing." He handed over the watch and waited for an explanation.
The Watchmaker looked at the watch carefully. He turned it over, shook it and then put it down on the felt above his table. "It's not my work," the Watchmaker said looking through his miniature magnifying glass. "Shoddy workmanship. But I can tell you where the watch came from. It came from America."
Was there anyone in the village from America? Number Six thought about it. Yes there was someone. Number 78. He was a gardener, or at least he was now. And Number Six had counted him as one of the prisoners, and not a warden. He went to pay a call on number 78.
In the observation room, Number Two stood watching the live feed of the cameras near to Number Six. He turned to the Supervisor. "Has he found the watch yet?" He was curious to see if Number Six was following the plan they had set for him.
"Yes of course," the Supervisor explained. "He is proceeding on schedule. The trial should start tomorrow as planned."
"Good! Good!" said Number Two. "That means he should be on his way to see Number 78." He turned back to the screen with a glint in his eye.
And number Six was on his way to see Number 78. But unfortunately for both numbers Six and Two, Number 78 was nowhere to be found.