You

Suitcase in hand, you head to the station. You look over your shoulder, ensuring no one has followed you. You look anxious as you flip up your collar and lower your head into the wool coat. Your eyes dart from one stranger to the next as they pass you on the sidewalk. Yet, you don’t see me. 

You enter the train station and make your way through the crowd to the platform, down the stairs and up an escalator. I hide behind a group of people, blending into the background, becoming but a face in the crowd. 

Your brow is arched in worry as you look down at the suitcase clicking across the concrete next to you. I wonder what it contains.

On the platform, I lean against a pillar, six feet to your right, watching you from the corner of my eye. The suitcase must be heavy by the way you keep adjusting it, shifting it from one hand to the other. I wonder why you won’t put it down. Is it something precious? 

A gust of wind from the other platform tousles your fair hair. You shift the suitcase to your left hand and brush a lock out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. Restless, you scan your surroundings. Why are you so nervous? You shouldn’t know I have been following you. I was careful, hiding in the crowd and keeping my distance. Unless you were distracted, I never directly looked at you.

You clench your jaw, I can see the muscles tighten. This time, I am almost close enough to touch you. I inhale deeply, trying to take in your scent only to choke on the harsh cologne from the gentleman in the dark suit. 

I drop back two steps as the train rattles in, noisy and demanding, announcing its arrival. 

The platform bursts into action. People leap off the benches grabbing their belongings and rush towards the edge of the platform where they expect the doors to arrive. 

A shriek has us both turning and we watch as an elderly lady dragging a trolley behind her stumble. A teenager in a leather jacket and impossibly white sneakers collides with you, his attention diverted by the events. You jump and jerk away, clutching both hands around the handle of the suitcase.

Then the train screeches to a halt. You take a step back and let the passengers enter before you. As usual, you are being courteous. Or perhaps you need a moment to calm yourself, to slow your heart which is beating rapidly. 

I stand behind you. This time, your scent envelopes me. I make a mental note of your fondness for honey and vanilla before I lose sight of you. 

There you are again. You stand close to the exit, your suitcase pinched between your legs while you hold on to the handle dangling from above. You bite your lower lip and your dark eyes are cast to the floor giving the impression you are distracted. But I know better. You are surveying the cabin, studying people and assessing the danger they pose to you. Do they know?

Your cold eyes land on me, hovering for a moment. I smile and your gaze flicks away. I wonder if you recognized me, if you realized I was following you. But your face remains an impenetrable mask. 

I reach for my phone and busy myself, taking notes and checking my email. I still have no idea what is in the suitcase. I wonder why you are on edge. What items you carry with you in the suitcase?

The train chugs along. One station. Two stations. Three stations. 

I sit down as the compartment empties and seats open up. You remain standing, your back to the wall and your body swaying with the motion of the train, your eyes trained on the world passing by.

I purposefully choose a spot facing away from you but keep an eye on you through the reflection in the window. Your left hand is shaking. You curl your fingers into a fist and shove it into your coat pocket. 

We roll into the next station. I watch you pick up the suitcase. Your knuckles around the handle are white. The door opens and you leave the train. This time you are the first to pass through the door. A hint of relief crosses your face and your posture relaxes. Or did I imagine that? I am not certain. 

I leap off my seat and leave through the door at the other end of the compartment, following closely behind you as you leave the station. 

Outside you hail a cab. I curse my luck as you take the last one. But another one arrives just in time. I tell the cabbie to follow you like a P.I. in a sixties noir. The irony does not escape me. 

Your cab stops in front of an old brick building with ivy growing around the windows and up its walls. I tap on the cabbie’s shoulder and tell him to drop me off at the far corner. As we pass, I see you ring the doorbell. I only hope I won’t be too late. I made it this far. I don’t want to lose you now. 

As I rush back, I catch a glimpse of you through the bottom corner window. I bow my head and duck just as you look my way, hoping you didn’t see, hoping you didn’t recognize me. 

I cross the street and hide behind a tree. I take out my phone and zoom in, trying to catch sight of you. There you are, suitcase in hand standing in front of a spritely gentleman with white hair. He looks at you confused until you open the suitcase. His face brightens as he reaches in and retrieves a tattered old book. He sinks into his armchair and looks up at you, clutching the book to his chest. A satisfied smile spreads across your face. 

For a moment I wonder if I got it wrong. I sigh and run my hand through my hair. I look down the empty street with its barren trees and parked cars. Perhaps, you are not who I thought you were. I push off the tree ready to leave. 

But a last glance back at the window stops me in my tracks. My heart skips a beat as I take in the movement behind the drawn curtains. I cower behind the tree, shaking. Could it be? I clench my teeth together and swallow hard. Are you her after all?

I decide to see what happens next, wait for you to come out. 

An hour passes. I am wrapped into my winter jacket but I can feel the cold seeping in, nonetheless. My feet feel numb and I shift my weight from one to the other to get circulation going. I put my fists close to my mouth and exhale onto them when I see you from the corner of my eye. 

A relaxed smile lights up your face bright enough I can see it from across the street. My eyes dart to the apartment window with its closed curtains. You skip down the steps the suitcase bouncing behind you. 

You turn left, and I notice a dark stain towards the bottom of your brown wool coat. My heart sinks. Could it be? Are you the angel of death?