~~~~
Dr. Bruce Jameson was but a humble
archeologist who chose to take a train for his long journey home. However, he
was unique among archeologists in that he studied artifacts not form Earth, but
from other worlds. Some had tried to warn him off studying the remains of such
civilizations. You never know what strange and dangerous technology you might
unearth. Bruce didn’t care, he’d scour the ends of the galaxy for new
discoveries if he had to.
As a result, the only train that
could take him home was the Cosmic Express, one of the seven wonders of the
universe. It was a magnificent vessel that traveled between planets and space
stations, as though they were joined by train tracks. Normally, such a ride who
promise a safe, but wondrous journey, alas, Bruce was not so lucky.
“Who could have done this?” Bruce
commented as he observed a most grisly sight. One of the train’s maintenance
workers was in a puddle of his own blood, his battered head indicating some
kind of assault. Bruce and several other passengers looked on in horror as they
realized there was a murderer on the loose.
“We should inform the conductor,” a
well-dressed passenger, Mr. Andrews, exclaimed. “Hurry before the murderer
can-” Before the man could finish his statement, the train lit up with a
deafening siren and red lights. The doors that connected their train car to the
two adjacent were automatically locked shut, along with all the windows.
“No need to panic,” a young member of
the train’s crew spoke up, “it looks like the conductor already knows. The lockdown
is a failsafe to ensure the murderer cannot escape.”
“So, we’re trapped in here with a
killer?” Mr. Andrews pointed out, getting right into the younger man’s face.
“Well, it’s normally meant for
thieves and rarely assault, we’ve never had a murder before,” the young man
wavered.
“Contain yourself, Andrews,” another
man dressed finely, Mr. Johnson, calmed his friend. “The boy is just doing his
job, we should return to our cabin and keep a cool head.” The gathered group of
passengers agreed and quickly shuffled back to their personal rooms. However,
Bruce still lingered in the area for a moment.
“But why this man?” Bruce muttered
to himself.
~--~
Bruce had returned to his room where
the many precious artifacts he had collected from his previous expedition were
stored. He held a specific piece, a blue orb from a fallen alien civilization,
in his hand while he pondered the situation. The murder had occurred sometime
in the past hour, and there was no sign of the killer.
‘Why some poor maintenance man
though?’ Bruce thought, ‘Had he any troubles with the other passengers or
crew?’ The archeologist turned to see the other passengers had gathered in the
hall to discuss the event among themselves. Bruce peeked out into the hall to
observe the exchange.
“I remember Andrews,” a modestly
dressed woman, Miss Margaret, explained, “I saw you have a spat with that man
this morning. All because he brushed past you in the hall.”
“He was filthy and got grease on my
best suit,” Mr. Andrews defended himself, “but regardless, I am not so petty as
to murder a man over such a thing.”
“Stop it, you two,” Mr. Johnson
attempted to defuse the situation. “It is more likely he was the victim of a
grudge from a coworker rather than someone he met this morning. Wouldn’t you
agree?”
“Have you seen another member of the
crew, Johnson?” Andrews countered, “there is only that boy, the rest weren’t in
this car for whatever reason. Even now, they refuse to even contact us during
this blasted lockdown.”
“I concede to that point,” Mr.
Johnson nodded before his eyes glanced aside, “do you have anything to add Mr.
Jameson?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Bruce was caught
off guard, “it seemed more like a random, albeit planned, act of violence to
me.”
“What is that supposed to mean,”
Margaret looked at him incredulously.
“I believe the murderer had little
care over who he killed,” Bruce explained, “but was also well aware of the
crew’s schedules. That way, he could strike at the time with the least interruptions.”
“I understand your perspective, but
wouldn’t such a knowledge of the crew’s schedule mean it is more likely to be a
member of the crew?” Johnson replied.
“Not necessarily,” Bruce shook his
head. “If one has paid close attention these past few days, you might notice
there was a lack of crew around this time every day. I thought I was simply
mistaken at first, but yesterday I saw a member of the crew being yelled at for
being late again.”
“So you think the murderer is a
clever sort of a person who also noticed this pattern?” Johnson asked.
“It is just a theory, grasping a
straw really,” Bruce replied. “I’m more than likely wrong, as it relies on the
murderer having an uncontrollable impulse to kill.” As Bruce finished his last
statement, he noticed a growing concern on the faces of the other passengers.
“Let us hope you’re wrong then,”
Johnson commented.
~--~
After a lengthy discussion with
Johnson concerning the incident, Bruce returned to his cabin to secure his
artifacts. He didn’t intend to let an opportunistic murderer walk off with the
relics he worked hard to collect. All of them were precious and were the
culmination of hundreds of hours of work. Bruce was so proud of these finds
that he could spend hours looking into the blue orb alone. He'd barely even
notice the lost time as he celebrated his acquisition. Alas, there was no time
for that now; he needed to seal up everything tight to keep it safe.
As Bruce locked the blue orb away,
he glanced up at an intercom in the room. The archeologist hoped that the
conductor would finally make an announcement. As the intercom remained quiet,
Bruce shook his head and went on with his business.
“Dear lord,” Margaret cried from
just outside his door, which drew Bruce’s attention. The archeologist peeked
out into the hall again, to find Margaret standing by Johnson’s door, white as
a sheet.
“What happened?” The young member of
the train’s crew arrived on the scene.
“Johnson, he’s...” Her voice
trembled, “I think I’m going to be ill.” The woman slid down to the floor. The
young man’s face grew grim as he checked Johnson’s room to confirm his fears.
“Mr. Johnson,” the young man
quivered. Despite his better judgment, Bruce moved up to Johnson’s room to see
the sight for himself. Like the poor maintenance man before him, Mr. Johnson
was in a pool of blood, beaten to death.
“What’s this about Johnson?” Mr.
Andrews finally came upon the scene, “he’s dead, isn’t he, that murderer has
struck again.”
“It appears so,” Bruce replied, “we
had only spoken no more than ten minutes ago, so the murderer must still be
nearby.”
“Wait, if you were the last one to
see him, how do I know you didn’t do it?” Mr. Andrews accused.
“Do you see any blood on me? Have I
changed clothes?” Bruce gestured to himself, still wearing the same outfit as
before. “I know there are some instant clean devices on the market these days,
but such things are out of my price range. Feel free to check my room.”
“Fine, fine,” Andrews dropped the
subject. “If you’re done acting smart to cover your ass, you can find the
murderer.”
“I’m no detective, but I can
certainly try,” Bruce nodded.
~--~
An hour had passed since Johnson’s
demise, Bruce had attempted to contact the conductor directly with the young
crewman's help to no avail. Bruce wracked his brain over the situation but
could find no answers. How could the murderer slip in and out of rooms, kill so
silently, and then disappear without leaving so much as a blood trail. Perhaps
they did possess a device to clean their person instantly, but that didn’t
explain their silence.
“I should ask the young man if he
knows anything,” Bruce decided as he glanced at the case containing his
artifacts. Concern mounted over, having them out of sight. Still, he resigned
himself to the fact the situation was too drastic to have such concerns. The
archeologist exited his room and went back to where he last saw the young
crewmen. “Oh no,” only to find another horrid sight.
The young crewmen had also been
slain. The poor boy had been beaten to death as well and left in another pool
of blood. Bruce steeled himself and turned away from the sight. He power walked
out of the area and moved to inform the other passengers.
“What!” Mr. Andrews did not take the
news well. “You’re supposed to be stopping this maniac.”
“I’m no detective, I can only do so
much,” Bruce shook his head. “I'm more surprised at how silent the attack was,
despite occurring just up the hall.”
“Actually, I think I might've hear
something,” Mr. Andrews admitted.
“You heard it and did nothing?”
Bruce was aghast.
“Hey, I was in no rush to confront
that maniac, it was safer to just lock myself up in here,” Mr. Andrews defended
himself.
“Forget your cowardice,” Bruce
snapped, “we should warn Margaret, where is her room?”
“She’s at the end of the hall, but
don’t bother her. She’s been out like a light since Johnson went down,” Mr.
Andrews explained.
“I understand the need to preserve
her increasingly fragile mind, but she has the right to know,” Bruce argued.
“Besides, are you telling me she is alone?”
“W-well, I’m not leaving this spot,”
Andrews replied.
“Very well,” Bruce sighed.
~--~
After a quick check on the sleeping
Margaret, who was thankfully unharmed, Bruce returned to his room. He pondered
the situation in relative safely, behind a locked door. For the sake of
comfort, he took out the blue orb again as he theorized. Something was quite
wrong, and he felt it was more than a murderer.
“The conductor and the rest of the
crew still refuse to intervene,” Bruce talked to himself. “Are they waiting for
us all to perish, so they know who the murderer is?” The archeologist quickly
discarded that theory. He could not see the crew of such a famous vessel
allowing this many people to die. Disregarding the morality of the situation,
he knew their reputation would never recover from such an incident.
“What if they can’t help us?” Bruce
considered, but he wasn’t sure why that would be the case. “But, there’s no way
that would be the case unless...” Bruce’s words trailed off as he pressed his
free hand against the wall. “It can’t be.” The archeologist raced down the
halls to Andrews’s room but found the door locked and its occupant refusing to
answer. He dashed to Margaret’s room next, to find the woman had just roused
from sleep.
“What’s going on now?” Margaret
questioned Bruce.
“Margaret, we are in greater danger
than I thought,” Bruce explained. “Tell me, do you notice anything strange
about how the train is moving?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Margaret was
taken aback by the question.
“Exactly, because we’re not,” Bruce
revealed. “I believe our car has become disconnected from the rest. That is why
the train was locked down and why the conductor has done nothing to help us.”
“Dear lord,” Margaret’s panic
worsened to the point she fainted again.
“Oh dear,” Bruce helped the woman
back to her bed, before quickly leaving the room. “I’ve done her psyche enough
harm for now.”
~--~
Bruce’s attempts to piece together
the murder mystery had proven to be fruitless, and the eerie silence had done
nothing to soothe his nerves. The thought of drifting in space was horrific
enough. But, the idea of doing so alone, or worse, alone with a killer, was
terrifying to the core. Margaret and Andrews had not come out of their rooms in
the past hour, and Bruce feared the worst.
“This is no time to panic alone,” Bruce
affirmed, “at the very least, Margaret would accept my presence.” The
archeologist went to leave his room but suddenly remembered his precious
artifacts. “My life or precious history?” Bruce wondered aloud, “nonsense,
these artifacts will most likely be lost if I die here.”
He unlocked the door and exited out
into the hall. There was no activity, no sounds, not even a creak of the walls.
Andrews’s door remained shut, but Margaret’s was ajar. Bruce briefly questioned
whether this was the wisest decision. The short hall seemed like an endless
corridor to his frightened mind. However, as he noticed a few lights overhead
begin to flicker and die out, Bruce forced himself forward.
“Margaret I-” Bruce entered the
woman’s room but found it devoid of life. “Perhaps she is with Andrews?” The
archeologist dashed up the hall, but Andrews’s door was still locked, and there
was no sound coming from inside. “Is anyone even in there? There’s no way
Andrews could keep this quiet for so long,” Bruce realized. “Perhaps I...” His
voice trailed off as he looked back up the hall towards his room. In the
shadows, amid the dying lights of the train car, was a figure facing his
direction. Bruce desperately wanted to run away, but he was already at the end
of the hall.
“What do you want from me?” Bruce
yelled, but the figure made no reply. As the lights of the train blinked out
one after the other, the archeologist quickly lost track of the mysterious
person. There was no doubt in Bruce’s mind it was the killer, but how could he
escape the fate of the others? “This is the end then,” he pressed himself
against the sealed door at the end of the hall. “All my work for not, just the
victim of some madman.” Bruce’s legs gave out, and he stumbled to the floor,
awaiting his inevitable demise.
A minute passed, and then another,
until what seemed like a quarter-hour had slipped by. Yet, Bruce remained
unharmed, untouched, he didn’t even hear the figure move. “Are my eyes playing
tricks on me?” Bruce stood up from the floor, his eyes had adjusted to the
darkness, and he could faintly see the outline of the “killer” again. Against
his better judgment, he approached the figure and reached out his hand, he felt
soft fabric, but little resistance or warmth.
“It was just a clothing wrack?”
Bruce laughed to himself, “what was I so scared for-” His words cut off as the
figure fell over from his constant pokes and prods and hit the ground with a
dull thud. That was no wrack of clothes falling over, it sounded like a body.
Bruce swiftly returned to his own room to retrieve a flashlight. He flipped the
device on and flashed its light over the hallway, revealing the body of a
deceased Margaret.
“What, what?” Bruce dropped the
flashlight in shock, “does that mean? Andrews!” The realization sent Bruce into
a tizzy, he grabbed the heaviest suitcase he could find in his room and dragged
it up to Andrews’s door. With all his might, he tried to force open the door,
but to no avail. His eyes turned back down the hall, “maybe the young crewman
has a spare room key? No, if he had such a thing, it would be in the killer’s
possession by now.”
“I should just lock myself away
until this whole nightmare ends,” Bruce began to lumber back to his room. He
quickly checked his pocket for the key until he noticed something strange. “Why
do I have two keys in my pocket?” Bruce pulled out a set of keys, one was to
his room, the other was similar but had a different room number, Andrews’s room
number. “Impossible,” Bruce quickly unlocked the door with his new discovery,
only to find what he didn’t want to see. Andrews’s body was laid out on the
bed, beaten to death like all the others.
“But that means I’m the killer?”
Bruce realized, “no, there must still be another person, that’s right; I’m onto
you, reveal yourself!” The archeologist shouted, but his only reply was the
creaking of the derelict train car. “No, no!” Bruce cried as he ran back to his
room and locked himself inside. He picked up the blue orb again and tried to
calm himself down through deep thought. “Wait, didn’t I put this away?”
The orb, the bright blue orb from
some lost alien civilization, the more he stared at it, the less he remembered
the experience. In fact, Bruce realized he could barely remember most of the
day. So many gaps, he couldn’t even remember what happened before the
maintenance man died. The finer details of his conversation with Johnson were
lost on him. He couldn't even remember returning his room after speaking with
each of the victims most of the time.
“Nonsense, there could be no way,” his
sweaty hands dropped the orb to the floor. It hit the ground with a crash but
was undamaged by the fall. A single drop of sweat slipped off the edge of his
finger and landed upon the orb. It was quickly absorbed by the artifact like a
sponge.
“Now that I think about it,” Bruce began, “it
is fairly obvious why the maintenance man would have been killed. If the killer
is responsible for us being adrift, then the maintenance man would be the most
likely person to notice and try to stop him. After that, Johnson was the most
observant man aboard, he’d sniff out the killer before long, so he needed to be
removed. Then, the rest could be taken out as was most convenient.”
Bruce glanced at the blue orb again,
his mind raced with memories of warnings and cautionary tales. “Perhaps they
were right after all,” the archeologist admitted as he picked up the orb, “or
perhaps I’m more cold-blooded than I thought.” Bruce exited his room one last
time and made his way towards the location the maintenance man was killed.
There was a theory he needed to prove.
~--~
The Cosmic Express suffered a
massive blow to its image following the accident that involved the sudden,
unexplained detachment of several train cars. Mechanical failure was ruled out,
so most believed it was sabotage. In the panic to get the train back together,
one of the cars was missed. It spent days adrift before it was retrieved by the
authorities. Much to the Cosmic Express’s horror, it was found with one of the
doors opened and all the passengers and staff inside dead.
While most of the people recorded to
be on board were found, one body was not recovered, the archeologist Dr. Bruce
Jameson. It was considered a great tragedy to the archeological community to
lose such a brilliant man, but all hope was not lost. Thankfully, all his
possessions were retrieved, including all the artifacts from his last
expeditions. The most precious of which was a small blue orb found floating
just outside of the train.
~~~~
Sometimes the real culprit is literally right under your nose.
Until next time, Read, Comment and Enjoy
~~~~
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