Witness

The train rattled over the elevated tracks, its windows smudged with the fingerprints of a thousand commuters. Claire sat near the door, arms folded over her purse, staring past her reflection into the shimmering city as it rushed past.

She noticed it before she got there. The flicker of red and blue lights bouncing off the windows and rain slicked brick buildings bordering the train station. As the train slowed and bumped into the station, she saw the yellow tape, stretched tight, cutting off a section of the street below. Blue uniforms surrounded it, plastic covers on their hats glistening with rain. A crowd of dark coats and umbrellas lined the far sidewalk.

In the center of it all, a yellow tarp covering a telltale lump. A long coat under a black umbrella lifted one corner of the tarp. A motionless, pale hand protruded from the opposite side.

Clair's stomach tightened. She looked away, but her gaze fell on a man in the crowd, taller than the rest, with no umbrella or hat. The rain pelted his short-cropped blond hair as he gazed at the scene. She stopped, her eyes drawn to the discrepancy.

He raised his head and locked eyes with her through the dirty train window. His face was unreadable, but there was something else there. Something dispassionate and cold that sent a shiver through her. Tattoos appeared from the collar of his jacket and ran up his neck and under his chin. She could not look away, her eyes lingering just a moment too long. Then she caught her breath and dragged her gaze down to her lap. 

Was he looking at her? Are the windows tinted? She couldn't picture what the train looked like from the outside. But it's dark outside, and the light inside the train would have back lit her, tinted or not. She clutched her purse, keeping her eyes down.

The train hummed, doors open, waiting. People exiting and entering, shaking the rain off their umbrellas. The car swaying as bodies shifted the weight load from one side to the other.

A man's voice in passing, "Did you see the blood?"

"I didn't look," a woman said. "So horrible."

Clair fingered the shiny clasp on her purse, suppressing her curiosity and willing herself not to look back out the window. Nothing to see here. Move along, people. Move along.

The doors hissed shut. The train lurched and moved forward. She exhaled, shaking off the moment. Her grip loosened on her purse. It was nothing. Just a coincidence. He wasn't looking at her, of course. There must have been a dozen curious eyes and a dozen craning necks. She could picture that in her head. It was just something that drew his eye. Out of all the people riding the train, why single her out? Silliness.

She raised her head, and there he was. Dripping wet, walking in her direction, he gripped the rail over his head. His cold, pale eyes grasped at hers and held them. Drops of moisture streamed down his hard face. The dark tattooed lines stood out against his pale neck. She couldn't look away. She tried to lower her head, break contact, but her eyes had a will of their own, and followed him. His steps deliberate, unhurried. He passed her seat, rotating his head, his gaze burning into hers. He passed like a shadow, eclipsing the overhead light. She squeezed her eyes closed. Her seat shifted when he gripped the metal rail looping from her headrest. A thump as he plopped into the seat. 

The seat behind her. 

The car rattled as it gained speed. His eyes boring into the back of her head, tiny cold beams piercing her skull. She squeezed her purse, drawing it deeper into her lap, her eyes still shut. She drew a long, shuddering breath.

"It's taken care of." A voice, deep and scratchy. 

Clair froze mid breath, her eyes flying open. Fingers clenching the edges of her purse, her knuckles turning white. She glanced at the window. Amongst the fingerprints and smudges, a reflection of the man seated behind her. Was he talking to her? He shifted, his knees banging the back of her seat. She glimpsed a cell phone held to his ear.

"Just a few loose ends," he said.

She shifted her eyes back down, her jaw falling open. 

Loose ends. 

The pieces fell together. The dead person on the street. A lot of blood. It was taken care of, but there were "loose ends". 

A witness. 

She saw him. She could place him at the scene. 

The loose end. 

She turned her head to the left, to the aisle. A man sitting across from her, engrossed in the Tribune. The head line read: "Body Found. Foul Play Suspected". When's the next stop? Two, three minutes? When was her stop? She didn't even know where they were. Her mind raced. Her ears rang. She needed an escape. A way out. Knees thumped the back of her chair. She cringed. Would he do it here? In front of all these people? His tone was too casual. "It's taken care of." Just another job for him. She meant nothing. Nothing at all.

"Oh, yeah, I'm just tired. A little shook up," he said. "I saw a guy get hit by a truck. In front of the station."

Clair's mind whirled. She clutched her purse, her breath coming in gasps. 

"Some homeless guy. He stepped right in front of it. Yeah, it was bad."

Her thoughts stopped. Started again. His words penetrating through the panic. 

An accident.

"I'll be able to finish the kitchen remodel in a day or so," he said. "Sorry for the delay. Talk to you soon."

She felt his knees pressing against her chair as he leaned back. She took a deep breath, turned her head, and cleared her throat.

"Sir, would you mind? Your knees are pressing against my back," Clair said.

He sat up.

"Sorry bout that."