Death on the Silent Express

I was never one for trains because they scared me. I’m still not a fan of them but 

sometimes it’s nice to have a variety of transportation. Something about trains makes them mysterious yet intriguing. The Silent Express is exactly as the name implies. Silent. It makes it perfect for people who want to work or for people who enjoy quiet. I enjoy the quiet. 

I gently place my suitcase on the seat across from me. Snuggling up towards the 

window seat, I focus my gaze to the outside world. People wave frantically, handkerchiefs sailing in the air,and tears flying. They act like they’re never going to see their loved ones again. Maybe they won’t see their loved ones again. Either way crying looks good on no one. 

Rain gently pitter patters as the train gives way from the platform and station. 

People make their way towards empty seats and other train cars. The red crushed velvet fabric on the chairs makes the aura of the train seem more like a child’s movie theater and less like a train to anywhere. The train interior reminds me of the train from Harry Potter. Glass and sliding doors to provide silence and privacy. Two sets of two seats facing each other in case you’re traveling with good company.

The train rides smoothly and effortlessly. It’s almost like the train is hovering 

and gliding just a few inches off of the ground. The town fades away and nothing but countryside fills the void. The trees, fields, grass and occasional house pan by in a blurry haze.

A petite woman walks down the center aisle with a small serving cart. She gently 

knocks on the glass sliding door across the aisle from me. An older gentleman takes a steaming cup of liquid from her. She smiles brightly. Turning to my side she knocks on the glass. Reluctantly sliding the door open I wait for her to speak. 

“Would you like some coffee or tea? Hot chocolate perhaps?”

I gently shake my head, “No. No thank you.” I slide the door shut and she 

continues her path down the center aisle. Making sure she missed no one. After a while she’s on her way to the next train car. I glance at the old man across the aisle. He sips his beverage occasionally while reading the paper. A small smile across his face shows that he’s satisfied and feeling carefree. Not much to see here. 

Outside is no better. There’s not much to see there either. Just boring scenery 

with a secluded arm house every once in a great while. Boredom gets the best of me and my fellow passengers. To stifle the boredom some people sleep, while others read, some people write and others just wander off into a fantasy world daydream. I could do any and all of those things but given my circumstances I would prefer not to. I’m too busy focused on my fixture and the path the lies in front of me. 

Being an undercover woman detective is hard and dangerous these days. 

Especially when it involves a homicidal maniac. Being just a woman is dangerous enough, but being a woman and a member of law enforcement is even more so. That’s why I’m undercover and I pretend I’m an author of children’s books. I took a job in Newportsmen but I fear it may be too dangerous. They need my help though. I wish I knew more about the crime scenes but hopefully I’ll be informed more when I get there.

A few hours pass and the day turns to nightfall. The same server woman comes 

back to make her rounds again. The older gentleman opens the door and attempts to hand her the empty cup. It clashes into the mahogany wooden floorboards and she cries out a shriek of fear and surprise. I stand up and open the glass door and look over her shoulder. The old man is lying on the floor grasping his chest and gasping for air. 

I look at her, “Go see if anyone is a doctor. Now. MOVE.” 

She quickly hurries and frantically cries out, “Is there doctor on board? Is anyone a doctor!? Please help! Is there a doctor?”

I look away as the man’s breathing shallows and then stops. I’m not here to watch 

people die. A few minutes later a younger man in his mid twenties, around my age, comes in carrying a doctors bag. I step aside and let him to work.  

“Friend of yours?” He jokingly asks.

“A man just died and you have the gall to make jokes?” I ask, infuriated by the improper emotions considering the events that just played out.

“Sorry.” He quickly replies. 

I step back into my little seating area but I leave the door slightly open. I still 

want to hear what’s going on. This could be my chance to solve what’s going on. He seemed perfectly healthy. Everyone knows not to board a train if you’re in poor health. The sever woman takes her cart and continues on as if nothing happened. People begging to murmur about what happened. 

I take my notebook and pen out from my suitcase. Jotting notes is something I’ve 

become good at. I started scribbling words down and trying to correlate them to the events. Old man. Drank something.. Coffee? Maybe tea? Dead. Seemed healthy and happy. Now dead. Hot liquid. How? Who? Natural cause like heart attack (“doctor” said so)? Or murder? (Doctor seems to be a quack or at least hiding something. Don’t trust doctor.)

 The doctor stands up and looks and the all the people who are praying for a look, 

“It was a heart attack. Natural causes. Now go about your day the lot of you.” He turns and looks at me. Grabbing the door handle he opens the sliding door. I slam my notebook shut before he can read anything.

“Can I help you?” I snark rudely.

“Maybe. What’s your name?” He inquires.

“Abigail Brunwick. And you?”

“John Addles.”

“Well I’d say pleasure to meet you but that would be a lie and a true lady never 

tells a lie. Now, Mister Addles, if you don’t mind I like to get what I care here for. Silence. After all, it is the Silent Express,” I make emphasis on the word silent. I shut the glass door in his face and slump down into the seat, facing the window outside.

“My apologies Miss,” his voice gently as his footsteps retreat.

Maybe I am over analyzing this. Perhaps this mans untimely death really was just 

natural causes. Looking back at my notes they look like a foreign language. They make no sense and have very little correlation. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Perhaps I’m too keyed up about my next real case. 

A skull splitting headache overcomes me and all I can think is some sleep and 

some hot chocolate. Maybe I should ask the server woman the next time she comes by. Maybe. I put my notebook back in my suitcase and close my eyes, hoping for some sleep. 

Although maybe hot chocolate from her wouldn’t be the best idea. It might not be safe drinking liquids from here. Perhaps I am paranoid but it may be for a very good reason. A loud crash and screams waken me from my drowsy state. 

“HE- HE’S DEAD! MY HARRY IS DEAD!” A woman screams as her shouts turn 

to sobs. 

John comes rushing back again with his little black doctor bag. I walk up behind 

him and he examines the body of another dead man. The woman, mostly likely Harry’s wife, sobs uncontrollably to herself. She rocks back and forth slightly as she sits in the seat by the window. John looks at me and shakes his head. 

“Another heart attack. It’s odd because this man is fairly young. Too young to be 

in such poor health.”

“Ma’am did he drink any coffee or tea today?” I ask her, hoping for some answers.

Between sobs she gurgles out an answer, “Y-yes. He had some tea earlier. Why 

does that matter?”

Ignoring her question I dash back to my spot and violently pull my notebook 

from my suitcase. I jot down some more notes. Another man dead. Harry. Too young. Dropped dead. Wife hysterical. Drank tea earlier. Suspect (unknown), motive unclear. Victims have no obvious relation or connection. I slam my notebook shut again as some people take the body away. 

John walks up to me and with a menacing and threatening tone he says, “I know 

your secret.”

“You’re not a real doctor are you?” I ask skeptically.

“Nope but it’s part of the job.”

“W-what job?” My voice trembles as an unexplainable fear sweeps over me.

Without a word John reaches into his doctors bag and pulls out a gun. Dropping 

his bag, he rest one hand on my shoulder while burying the gun deep into my dress at my stomach. With a sickening smile he pulls the trigger. BANG!

My eyes open and I jolt up. Looking around I see that a few hours have passed 

and day turned into nightfall. The same server woman from earlier comes back to make her rounds again. The older gentleman opens the door and attempts to hand her the empty cup. It clashes into the mahogany wooden floorboards and she cries out a shriek of fear and surprise. I stand up and open the glass door and look over her shoulder. The old man is lying on the floor grasping his chest and gasping for air. 

I look at her, “Go see if anyone is a doctor. Now. MOVE.” 

She quickly hurries and frantically cries out, “Is there doctor on board? Is anyone a doctor!? Please help! Is there a doctor?”

I look away as the man’s breathing shallows and then stops. I’m not here to watch 

people die. A few minutes later a younger man in his mid twenties, around my age, comes in carrying a doctors bag. I step aside and let him to work.