Swiss trains truly were a marvel. Abby moved through two cars dedicated to fine dining, complete with white tablecloths and tiny vases with flowers, then a playground car with a slide and fort and games, and finally arrived at the first class car, which was enclosed in curtained doors. Even the air was different in this car, cooler, a more pristine, slightly floral smell. Not a speck of dust on anything. And there, right at the very end row, was Cameron Arnott, his designer briefcase splayed out on the plush cushioned seat. He had his phone to his ear, and was so carefully listening he didn’t look up at her.
Abby gazed up at the ceiling quickly as she took a seat across from Cameron. Of course there were cameras in that car. She’d learned that Swiss cameras could basically track people throughout cities and on every form of public transport. It was tempting to try something now, just get it over with. But she couldn’t. Even with her bad disguise of a blonde wig and baseball cap she knew better than to risk talking to him.
But still she could look. Which she did over the cover of her Swiss fashion magazine.
He didn’t look like a killer, or even someone with a violent temper. His face was florid and his eyes were blue and piggy looking, his lips too shiny. He wore a golf shirt with various emblems on sleeve and color, signifying expense, but mostly just making him look effeminate.
“I don’t need to hear any more excuses, Fritz. It’s clear you have no clue what you’re doing. Once I arrive in Geneva I will take control of the situation. For now you will do nothing. Do you understand? You will not send emails or talk to anyone, you are to sit in that room until I arrive.”
The frantic voice coming from the cell phone alternated between pleading, then irate tones. I heard him say ‘accelerator’ and then Cameron cut him off.
“We are not discussing this any more.” He put the phone into his pocket and looked around the car. He gazed at me for a long time, not even pretending to be subtle. My face burned behind my magazine, rueing my pathetic wig and cap. He must know, he must know. I almost expected him to lunge at me with a knife or gun, cameras be damned.
Finally he looked towards the window and I relaxed a tiny bit. My hands trembled too much so I put the magazine down and forced myself to look out my window, noting I could see his blurry figure in the reflection.
For a moment we sat and watched mountains go by. I took out my own phone,and then looked up.
He was gone. Just gone. No sign of his briefcase. No sign that the heavy doors of the first class cabin had moved. The only thing I could think was that he’d hidden behind a seat.
I got up and moved down the cabin, peering under and around. He was truly gone. My breath came out in short gasps while my heart pounded. I ran down four cars , staring at passengers, before bolting back to first class. There was his water bottle, on the seat. I hadn’t dreamed him up. But where was he?
— Von
Abby gazed up at the ceiling quickly as she took a seat across from Cameron. Of course there were cameras in that car. She’d learned that Swiss cameras could basically track people throughout cities and on every form of public transport. It was tempting to try something now, just get it over with. But she couldn’t. Even with her bad disguise of a blonde wig and baseball cap she knew better than to risk talking to him.
But still she could look. Which she did over the cover of her Swiss fashion magazine.
He didn’t look like a killer, or even someone with a violent temper. His face was florid and his eyes were blue and piggy looking, his lips too shiny. He wore a golf shirt with various emblems on sleeve and color, signifying expense, but mostly just making him look effeminate.
“I don’t need to hear any more excuses, Fritz. It’s clear you have no clue what you’re doing. Once I arrive in Geneva I will take control of the situation. For now you will do nothing. Do you understand? You will not send emails or talk to anyone, you are to sit in that room until I arrive.”
The frantic voice coming from the cell phone alternated between pleading, then irate tones. I heard him say ‘accelerator’ and then Cameron cut him off.
“We are not discussing this any more.” He put the phone into his pocket and looked around the car. He gazed at me for a long time, not even pretending to be subtle. My face burned behind my magazine, rueing my pathetic wig and cap. He must know, he must know. I almost expected him to lunge at me with a knife or gun, cameras be damned.
Finally he looked towards the window and I relaxed a tiny bit. My hands trembled too much so I put the magazine down and forced myself to look out my window, noting I could see his blurry figure in the reflection.
For a moment we sat and watched mountains go by. I took out my own phone,and then looked up.
He was gone. Just gone. No sign of his briefcase. No sign that the heavy doors of the first class cabin had moved. The only thing I could think was that he’d hidden behind a seat.
I got up and moved down the cabin, peering under and around. He was truly gone. My breath came out in short gasps while my heart pounded. I ran down four cars , staring at passengers, before bolting back to first class. There was his water bottle, on the seat. I hadn’t dreamed him up. But where was he?
— Von
This reads like the middle of a really good crime mystery! What happened before? Who was killed? What happens next? What an imagination you have for the "high life." ---Macoff
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