There was never a time or place that he chose, it was always chosen for him. A card was slipped between his fingers, a name flashing across his screen. Questions were never asked, names were never exchanged, and the job was never revealed until the next morning’s newspaper. Never needing to find work, for the work came to him. He left no trace, no name, no appearance, he was the thief with no identity. He himself only went by Pas de Nom, No name, in French. Interpol’s best had been chasing after him for years, tracking down clues that disappeared into thin air, hunting for the man with no name, until the thief became No Name. His life was the world around him, whatever they wanted him to be, he became. It really did not matter to him what they chose for him, for he was timeless.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The old grandfather clock, swung back and forth, the ticks matching the tapping of his leather shoe against the carpeted floor and the tocks matching his fingers drumming against the cushioned chair. Seconds passing as he waited for his thoughts to morph into time. His fingers stopped drumming against the chair and stroked the weathered material. He felt it slowly melt into soft fur, and soon his fingers were stroking the white fur of a very expensive cat. Swinging into action, he scaled his eyes around the Victorian mansion, scanning for the signature master bedroom. Spotting the golden lined bedframe, he ducked into the room and softly shut the door behind him. It was a classic Victorian room, with intricately carved furniture and immaculate linens. Painted a dim gold, with the sun shining in through the open window, it lit up with a slight glow of heaven. Ignoring all tapestry, jewelry, and paintings, he strode straight towards the dresser. Sliding the third drawer out and moving around a couple of undershirts, he reached in and brought out a medium sized velvet box. Popping it open, he allowed himself the lingering moment to admire what was in it. Eighteen pearls strung together, all perfectly round, all dazzling white except for the seventeenth that was a dark black. Blinking, the moment passed and he replaced the velvet box with an identical and relaxed on the old Victorian bed. His ears listened for the familiar tick tock and found it in a golden clock that stood on top of the dresser and the Victorian bed soon became a cushioned chair and the golden clock became an old grandfather. He was back in 1982, but this time with a velvet box tucked into his black coat.