Doris Wyatt lay on her bed. She had just been given her last dose of medicine for the day and it was not dark outside yet. To that effect, she sat up on her large bed, courtesy of the hospital, and leaned her back against the headboard. She kept her eyes fixed on the long and short hands of the antique clock in front of her, watching the hands rotate around all the numbers. She noticed the thinnest of the hands moved faster, while the other two barely moved at all.

It was the subtle ...