by Krishna Ahir
Worse than the leers of the spotty attendant, the atmosphere at the train station was downright miserable. Grey clouds swarmed overhead, churning about themselves and rumbling, threatening a biblical downpour.
She hoped that the train would come before the rain started.
Leaning against the only wall on the platform, Maddie watched the station employee retreat back to the warmth of the free-standing stone office building. For a brief instant, she regretted not being nicer to him. If it got her out of the cold and potential rain, she could afford a false smile.
As she stood and thought, a dull ache spread through her body, reminding Maddie of yet another stroke of bad luck. Spreading through the base of her abdomen, the pain caused the muscles in her stomach to tense up and cramp. Her "friend" had arrived early.
Jesus Christ, uterus, she thought, rubbing one hand over her stomach, tenderly. So I didn't get you pregnant! No need to throw a fucking temper tantrum!
Maddie didn't like taking the pill, because of the way it messed with her hormones, but whenever her time of the month struck, she always considered going back onto it. The only good thing about having her period was the relief that she got knowing that she wasn't pregnant.
The laundry list of bad things was far longer. It made her feel tired and annoyed; far more of a bitch than she usually was, and that was saying something. She also felt hungry, a side effect that was not good for her diet, and the way her hormones were, eating the way that she wanted would almost certainly cause her to just get pissed off at herself. The pain was bearable, but not by much, and the persistent ache wasn't something that painkillers were very effective against. Worst of all, however, was how turned on it made her feel. It grossed her out. The fact that the time when she felt the most undesirable, the time when she least wanted guys to touch her, was when she felt the most up for it.
An image of Christopher invasively slipped into her mind. The glimmer of light that danced behind his hazel orbs. The way that his face crumpled when he smiled. The feeling of his weight on top of her; his arms wrapped around her body from behind. The warmth that he left in the bed that morning, after he had departed.
A tingle stirred in her underwear.
Face flushing red, Maddie cursed herself under her breath and gritted her teeth.
The last thing that she wanted was to make herself more horny than she already was. Thinking about him was only making it worse.
She also didn't like the fact that she was mooning over a guy. Fluttery, girly feelings annoyed her. Pining over him and getting herself hot and bothered over a guy she had just met (and a friend of her brother's at that) made her feel stupid. Like she was less like herself than the day before. Maddie wasn't the type to crush on someone; that's what she had always been like. Anything she did contrary to that caused feelings of anger to bubble up inside her.
Even so, something about Christopher kept her coming back to the thought of him. Be it his personality, his appearance or even an innate air about him, Maddie found Christopher Douglas irresistible. It was why, for one of the few times in her life, she had given him her real phone number.
And, God, she wanted him to use it.
Or (even more against her personal taboo) Maddie could be the one to text him.
Pride be damned, she wanted to.
Digging into the pocket of her coat, Maddie's fingers wound around the cool, glassy surface of her smartphone. After a moment's hesitation, it was out in the open air.
Without warning, a fat drop of rain fell from the sky and exploded against the screen. Flinching back in surprise, Maddie hugged the device to her chest, to save it from the moisture.
Within moments, the heavens had opened. Rain cascaded down upon the fields, thrashing against the tiny station and soaking the concrete. Puddles grew larger and larger before connecting and water falling down onto the tracks.
Frantically stuffing the phone back into her pocket, Maddie scrambled for her suitcases. Traversing the platform, for the attendants' station, she rapped against the door.
After several seconds, there was no response. Banging again on the wood, Maddie called out. "Come on! Open up!"
The acne-ridden face of the National Rail employee came out to meet the open air as the door swung in on weathered hinges. "Wadda'ya want?"
Hair close to soaking, Maddie swept her fringe aside. "Shelter? What the fuck else?"
"Ya' see the sign?" he grunted, jabbing a finger towards the metal sheet, tacked to the wood. "Employees only. No can do."
"Come off it! It's pissing it down out here!"
"Not my problem."
Incredulous rage gripped her. Her vibrant green eyes narrowed into daggers. "Well then what am I supposed to do?"
"Stand in it till the train comes, I guess."
"And when the fuck is that? It was supposed to be here ten minutes ago!"
The attendant scratched the side of his head, scattering a snowfall of dandruff onto the shoulders of the navy fleece that he wore. "Dunno. Got a call in a little bit ago. Apparently the train's been delayed. Something on the tracks."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Sorry love."
Without another word, he shut the door.
Finally giving in to her anger, Maddie furiously balled her fists and shouted. "Shit!"
Snatching up her things, Maddie pushed the suitcases flat against the wall of the small building, before doing the same with her back. The only option left to her was to hope that the overhanging lip of the tiles would provide at least some shelter.
Time passed in silence, save for the hiss of rain and the roar of an occasional passing car as, for several minutes, Maddie seethed to herself. In the back of her mind, a slew of guttural insults polluted her brain. Expectation rose in her chest every time she heard the creak of wood, as she prepared to release the manhole cover of her mouth and sling verbal sewage at the spotty bastard.
All of a sudden, the sound of a car horn perforated the air.
Glancing over towards the road, Maddie spotted the cherry red outline of a Nissan Micra, through the filter of rain. The driver beeped the horn a second time.
Ordinarily, Maddie wouldn't have ventured over. The car, however, was familiar. She had seen it parked outside her house the night before. It also didn't hurt that it was a potential escape from the rain.
Dragging the cases over, she arrived at the car just as the owner opened the passenger side door. Sat in the driver's seat was a teenage girl.
"You look soaked," she cried. "Come on, you can put your stuff in the back!"
Smiling her thanks, Maddie loaded the cases into the back seat before sliding into the front of the car and shutting the door.
"Thank you so much!" Maddie said again, pushing her damp hair away from her eyes. "You really didn't have to stop."
"It's okay, you looked like you needed a break," the girl replied, smiling.
Now that she was up close, Maddie realized just how pretty her savior was. Petite and looking far younger than she probably was, she recognized her immediately from the party.
"You're Eric's sister, right?" she continued, looking Maddie up and down. "Where are you going?"
"I was supposed to be getting the train to London," Maddie sighed, half-smiling with relief, now that she was out of the rain. "But Grand Stone Bay station is having repairs done, so I had to come here."
"Oh no, that's not good!"
"You're telling me. Now I have to switch at Lincoln and again at Newark. The Grand Stone Bay train usually takes me straight there, but now it's all just one big fucking mess."
"At least this train won't be long now?" the girl offered, hopefully smiling.
"Fat chance," Maddie scoffed. "Apparently it's delayed because something's on the tracks. Probably just a fucking stick or something."
For a second, the girl pulled a concerned face, before brightening up suddenly. "Wait did you say you were going to change at Lincoln?"
"Yeah?"
&nbs
p; "I'm actually heading that way myself," she said. "Not all the way, but I can drop you at Highwich. The station there at least has a canopy to stand under."
"Oh my god, really? Are you sure?"
"Of course!" the girl insisted. "It's only twenty five minutes down the road. Plus, I'm already going there to see family."
"Thank you so much, you're a life-saver!" Maddie gushed, blinking hard to stop tears from welling in her eyes. "That's so nice of you! And- You're helping me so much and — I'm so sorry — I don't even know your name!"
The girl smiled and offered her hand. "My name is Georgina."
Drake was in desperate need of coffee. The storm that was still descending had soaked him through to the bone, the wind plucking at the moisture in an icy chill. Coffee, he hoped, would help to warm him up. The least that it could do was help rid him of the lousy taste in his mouth. It would also give him something to focus on, besides the case. Something to hold in his free hand, to occupy even a modicum of his attention.
After driving to the Rosefield train station, they had found nothing there. It was exactly what Drake was hoping to avoid. An empty station was a trap of duality. On one hand it could mean that it was just another day, just another disused location. The other possibility was far worse. Whoever the Cat Hunter was trying to get on their own was long gone.
Initially, he had held out on the hope that he was just being paranoid. His brain screamed that there was no evidence to suggest that whoever was responsible for the mutilations would suddenly jump to kidnapping, or even murder.
Unless they were triggered by something.
The station attendant was beyond useless. He remembered there being a girl on the platform, carrying suitcases, however he was at a loss for a name, and the description of her was vague. She had paid for her ticket in cash, so there wasn't even a record of her debit card. Apparently all he heard was the honk of a horn, and then the girl was gone.
Either the girl had been picked up by somebody, or their sociopath had kidnapped her.
It added another layer to the investigations; another route that needed attention. They would have to sit on it and wait for a missing person to be reported. And until that happened, they had to operate as if both possibilities were true.
The cafe that Drake and Osborne were now sat in was a greasy spoon affair; plastic chairs bordering minimalistic tables, ordained with condiments. Dotted about the space, patrons tucked into their breakfasts, wolfing down plates full of bacon and beans before washing them down with mugs of tea.
His newly ordered coffee warming his hand, Drake sat and watched the rivulets of rain pour down the window.
Opposite him, Osborne was midway through mutilating his Full English. Having broken the yolk of his fried egg, he had mixed the yellow with the juice of his tinned tomatoes before carving up the various meats and hash browns, and mixing it all into an indefinable pink mess. Reaching out, he snatched up a bottle of Worcester Sauce and a shaker of pepper.
Part of the reason why Drake was observing the window was so that he didn't have to look at it. Watching the Detective eat made him feel sick.
"We'll start canvassing later today," Osborne muttered, momentarily setting down his cutlery to wipe around his beard with the cheap paper napkin. "Once the rain dies down." He picked up the knife and fork, and again began shoveling food into his mouth. "I don't want to be stood out in that shit again if I don't have to."
"Where are you thinking of starting?" Drake asked, turning back towards his associate, before attempting to form a barricade out of condiments and mugs, so that he didn't have to look at Osborne' breakfast.
The bulky man waved his knife around dismissively. "Earlier I would have said near where the cats disappeared from. Today? Around here. The houses closest to the train station. See if anyone saw anything suspicious."
"There aren't any houses near the station," Drake retorted. "Not for a good half mile. Even less near the tracks, where the dump was made."
"Check the traffic cameras then," Osborne shot back, speaking around the mush of meat in his mouth. "And you better not tell me there aren't any on the roads, or so help me I'm going to scream."
"Not many," Drake said. "But there are some. Here's hoping whoever we're looking for got spooked. It'd make things so much easier if their license got snapped for speeding."
"I doubt it," the Detective offered, unhelpfully. "Whoever's doing this is comfortable, and knows what they're doing. I don't think they'd get caught by something as stupid as a speed camera. Still, it doesn't hurt to check. I want to be thorough." He finished his breakfast and set down the cutlery, before tapping his index finger repeatedly against the table. "Tell Wilson and Sanford when they get here."
With that, he stood and moved to leave.
Drake flustered for a second, not expecting the sudden departure. "Hey! Hey! Wait! Where are you going? You're my partner, you can't just run off like this."
"I'm also the lead on this," the Detective Sergeant shot back, bluntly. "I need to get back to the Incident Room." Lifting one hand, he indicated his watch. "It's nearly twelve o'clock. I'm always at my desk by twelve thirty to type up my notes for the morning."
"Always?"
"Yes, always," he replied, in a matter of fact manner.
"Then how am I supposed to get back to the station?"
"Wait for Wilson, he should be able to drive you. I need to type up my notes."
Drake exhaled slowly, to compose himself. "You need a hobby."
"I have a hobby," Osborne replied, simply. "I collect animal skulls."
The odd statement remained hanging in the air long after the Detective Sergeant departed. It dangled on a thin and unsteady wire, emulating Drake's discomfort at it. But, despite the sinister implications of the statement, the uncomfortable feeling was different that the one he got from the cat killer. It felt more like Osborne had over-shared a deeply personal secret.
He would question his new partner about it later.
At that moment, however, he needed to draw up a distinctive plan of action; choose a starting point and plan his moves from there. He wanted something to give the other two Detectives, upon their arrival.
Settling on delegation, he pulled out a notebook and began to scribble down shorthand. Perry, he decided, would review that traffic camera footage. Even after only a day together, Drake could tell that he was good with the details. Examining the footage would suit him nicely. The best task for Sydney was one where she could exercise control; get people to move the way that she wanted. It was because of that that Drake opted to leave her in charge of the site, and the Scene of Crime Officers.
That leaves me and Osborne to canvas houses... he thought.
Joy... his mind added, sarcastically.
There was also the report to Harold that was due to be sent to the Chief Inspector on Monday morning. Something that he had yet to even start. His superior wanted a concise, detailed write up of all the information that Drake had amassed prior to his official assignment.
It made sense, yet Drake still resented him for it.
He'd been doing that a lot as of late. In spite of how curiously supportive the ageing Detective had been, Drake couldn't help but feel as if he was being tested. Scrutinized under the maximum magnification of Harold's microscope-like vision. He felt exposed and vulnerable.
His thoughts of his boss were interrupted as Perry Wilson and Sydney Sanford walked into the cafe. The duo sat down opposite him and smiled their greetings.
Detective Constable Sydney Sanford was a slight woman in her thirties, standing at not much over five foot tall. She was wearing a form-fitting navy dress, beneath a trim coat, and heels. She had good legs, and the outfit showed that.
Sydney was nice enough, however there was something very particular about her that Drake found increasingly annoying.
"Hey Drake. Where's Devon?" The way that she spoke rubbed him the wrong way. Her voice was strangely child-like, despite her age. She placed emphas
is on the wrong words.
"Gone," he replied, sipping from the mug of dark black coffee. "Apparently he had to type up his notes."
"That sounds like him," Wilson said, leaning back in the cheap plastic chair and looking up at the large acrylic menu, displayed over the front counter of the cafe. "He's got a routine. The problem is you don't fit into it yet."
"It's not his fault though," Sydney added. "It's a big problem for him. He can't control it, so don't make him feel bad."
Despite the infantile way that she weighed her words, Drake sensed something serious in her choice of phrase. "I'm guessing there's a story here?"
"Sydney thinks he's on the spectrum." Wilson railed it out in such a matter-of-fact manner that he was momentarily stunned.
"Really?" Drake asked, leaning forwards in his chair. He had suspected that something was different about Osborne. Now it seemed he was getting confirmation.
"Yeah, midway between Genius and Absolute Fucking Lunatic."
Unsure of whether to take the statement as a joke, he fell back into his seat and exhaled sharply. "That's not funny, you know."
Wilson's mouth curled into a smile. "I was only half joking. He's not diagnosed but we've seen enough people like him to know. His hitching post stands somewhere between Aspersers and Obsessive Compulsives."
"He's really good at his job, though," Sydney drawled. "I think better because of it. Because he can, like, see things different from the rest of us. And he focuses on some things more."
"Yes, but just because you focus on something more doesn't mean you're seeing everything," Drake replied. "You can get tunnel vision."
Wilson, upon hearing the statement, merely shrugged.
"So Drake," Sydney interjected. "What happened down at the tracks?"
"Just another dump," he replied. "Similar to the junior college; no witnesses. But..."
"But?" Wilson probed.
"Osborne thinks he did it to stop the trains, to get someone on their own at the station. He says that's what he would have done."