Master.

"Master? What the?" Kyle stared at his possibly haunted phone incredulously. He blinked and then looked down at the dozen texts his wife had sent him a few...he looked around his office and saw that the light coming in throw the hole in his blinds that his orange cat Popeye had to break for him, was letting through dusks first light, not the shine of a high noon in May, when he stepped into his office, but the bluish gray of 630 pm or so, he guessed wrongly. His phone read 7:15 pm. "Huh?" He whispered to himself.

"That's not possible, Is it?" He shook of the feeling and returned to what he was doing, which was nothing. He was doing nothing. He decided he was going to drive around to ease his brain's overease at forgetting about what happened with that lost "6 hours, nah couldn't have been that long, five maybe, hmm, shit it's that late already..."