The Passenger by Daniel Hurst (ready to read books .TXT) 📗

‘These? I’m not sure,’ I say, making a big point of checking the back of the packet for the ingredients. ‘I don’t think so.’

But James doesn’t seem convinced, and I expect him to tell me that they must do, except he says nothing and just focuses on trying to get some air into his lungs.

I guess it’s tough to hold a conversation when you’re struggling to breathe.

‘What’s the matter?’ I ask him, playing the role of the concerned stranger in case anybody else in this carriage has noticed what is going on at this table.

‘I’m allergic to peanuts,’ he gasps as he holds his throat and goes to get up out of his seat.

‘Oh, my God, I think they do have peanuts in!’ I cry, and I immediately get up out of my own seat and rush to his aid.

I put my hand on his shoulder, and while to an observer it would look like I am trying to help him, I’m really just pushing him back down into the seat to make sure he can’t get off this train and seek help.

‘In my jacket pocket,’ he says, and I see him fumbling to take something out.

It’s an EpiPen, the only thing now that could save him.

‘You’re going to be okay,’ I tell him as I take the injectable device from him though I have no intention of using it. Instead, I slip it into my handbag before taking him by the hand and giving it a squeeze to show him my support.

As he continues to struggle for breath, I use my free hand to take out my phone.

‘I’ll call for help,’ I say, and he nods his head desperately, clearly aware that he isn’t going to last long without medical assistance. But really, I’m just doing this to kill a few more precious seconds, seconds that I know are vital to his chances of survival.

As I hold the phone to my ear, I use my other hand to slide the ring off his finger, and that’s when he realises that I might not be as friendly as he thought.

The grin on my face confirms it.

Lowering the phone and dropping it into my handbag along with the ring, he now knows that I’m not trying to help him at all.

‘This is for Louise,’ I say, leaning over him and whispering into his ear as he chokes to death. ‘And this is for me.’

I pick up the rucksack from the seat beside him and sling it over my shoulder before grabbing my handbag and heading for the door. But before I leave, I take one last look at James as he takes his last few breaths at the table.

His eyes are red and swollen, but I know he sees the smile on my face right before I step off the train and onto the platform.

Once out of the carriage, I vanish from his sight amongst the hordes of passengers here who will keep me well concealed as I make my way out of this station and to somewhere safer where I can get changed out of my disguise. I know I’m running purely on adrenaline right now, and the enormity of what has happened will hit me soon, but I need to be far away from here before then. The police are going to be looking for me shortly once they check the surveillance footage from both the platform where I pushed the man and the train where I put James into anaphylactic shock, so I’d better make sure I don’t look anything like this for too much longer. But I’ll be sad to take off this wig because it’s served me well over the last half an hour.

I guess it’s true what they say.

Blondes really do have more fun.

48

AMANDA

THREE MONTHS LATER

I find myself staring out of the window a lot these days. At first, I put it down to the fact that I’m a full-time writer now, so daydreaming is just a part of the job. But then I realised it had nothing to do with seeking inspiration from the outside world, and had more to do with the fact that I’ve never actually had a decent view to enjoy in the past. All my previous homes have either looked out onto a dreary street or a brick wall, so my current home marks quite the change. From where I am now, I can see rolling green hills all the way down to the sea on the horizon. This is definitely a view worth looking out of the window for.

But I didn’t rent this cottage in the East Sussex countryside just to gaze longingly at the scenery all day. I did it because it was a quiet place to come to get my book finished, so with that in mind, I turn my head away from the window and back towards the laptop on this desk. These words aren’t going to write themselves, and I didn’t go through everything that I endured over the last few years just to waste it all being lazy.

Within seconds, my fingers are tapping the keyboard again, and I feel better for it. Not only is this what I’m supposed to be doing, but when I write, I completely forget about the past and the events that led to me being here right now. But only for a moment. As soon as my hands stop typing and my head swivels back to that window beside me, I’m reminded of what I did and who I had to become just to give myself this opportunity.

I thought I’d experienced enough drama for one lifetime after that night in Charles’s apartment, but it turned out that was merely a precursor to the events that were to come a month later on the train. But just like the situation with Charles, I ended up being the last one standing. Both James and his partner are dead. Not many people can survive