She slowly walked back to the house.
She stopped at the car in the driveway.
She opened the door, and calmly reached in
and pulled out her bag. She didn't even
return to the house. There was nothing
for her to see there. The damage was done.
She walked slowly down the dark road.
Past the Toys 'R Us with the speckle of light
circles. Past the bird. A police car drove
past her. Then an ambulance. She wondered
about the Harbinger's message. She thought
about the police; were they looking for her?
She walked alone I silence for what seemed
like miles. Once in a more populated area,
she saw the saving grace of the taxis.
"Where to?" the driver asked. 'Good
question' Sera considered. It was too late
to take the metro back to Georgetown now.
She didn't even want to "Fuck it, take me
to the train station." she declared. It
was definitely time for a vacation. Go
where no one knew her. Where the deaths
would not affect her. What the hell, she
had a bag of clothes, and ample money. She
had been thinking about a trip anyways.
When she arrived at the depot, she
quickly scanned the departure list. She
didn't care where, just how soon it was
leaving. Dallas, St. Louis, and New Orleans
were leaving in about two hours. She chose
St. Louis. She had heard good things about
the Jazz Hall of Fame. It would be a nice
trip, she decided. She purchased her ticket,
and went to the waiting area. She didn't
want to think about what she was leaving
behind, good or bad.
With two hours to wait, she walked up
and down the tunnel. It was illuminated by
a blue strip of neon, embedded into the wall.
It made the whole tunnel a weird shade of aqua.
She felt as if she was under water. With no
sleep, and a hangover starting already, the
world felt fuzzy. She walked past a musician
playing a tenor saxophone. The hum of the
horn mated with the hum of the neon, and
sounded like a train themselves, an odd slow
train. The whole scene started to feel in her
muscles. It felt as though it was walking her.
Like she was on a moving sidewalk in the midst
of a music video. She found an empty bench,
and sat down. She hadn't slept, but wasn't
really fatigued. An old newspaper lay beside
her. She picked up out of habit, and turned
directly to the obituary pages. Sure enough!
That's what happened to that Michael guy! The
obits could be my journal.' she sadly thought
to herself. She promised not to look at them
ever again. She started reading the sports
page, for the purpose of killing time. The
Dodgers were doing well, and so were the
Orioles. These thoughts were interrupted by
an argument passing by.
It was a man and a woman, probably early
thirties. They were arguing so loud, Sera
couldn't help but to overhear them. The
lady was crying, and yelling that he made
her look stupid in front of her friends, or
something. He was saying it was over, and
they should part. This went on for a while
back and forth. Sera never looked up from
her paper. She just wanted the train to
hurry. Suddenly, she heard a terrible noise.
The incomprehensible sound of falling.
She looked up from her paper immediately
to the look of fear on the man's face. His
mouth already opened in a scream. Then she
heard it. Not the man's scream; that was
overpowered. The woman's scream, and another
sickly unidentifiable sound. She leapt up
quickly next to the man. She looked down at
complete terror. The man had buckled over
next to her from what he saw. Sera looked
down about five feet to the tracks, knowing
by the sounds what she would see. The
woman's twisted, screaming body twitched
with an ungodly frequency. Her limbs were
moving joints they should never had, and
the woman's face was already turning a color
she dared not see. This horrific scene had
frozen her. She sat and watched her roll
and toss and scream like a human had never
had done before. Seconds later, she felt a
firm hand grab her shoulder and her elbow
and pull her backwards. The viewing was
over. The police pushed everyone back and
to the left, like the courious cattle they
were. Everyone wondering, but not wanting
to see. Sera grabbed her bag and started
walking away. She stopped at the soda
machine, and fumbled in her pocket for
change. How odd it is to see something
like that. It's a scene no one should
ever see. To her, it was just another
check on the checklist of life and death.
She couldn't help feeling she was more
involved in the death process than ever
before. It was happening sooner, closer to
her. The quarters plopped into the machine.
She pressed the button for a Coke. An
announcement came over the intercom:
"Due to unforeseen difficulties, train
122 with service to St. Louis will be
postponed approximately three hours until
the situation is cleared up. 'Cleared up'
she thought 'more like cleaned up! Wonder
who had that lucky job? Who gets paid to
go scrape the still twitching pieces of
woman off the walls of the tracks? What
an odd situation. But more importantly,
I gotta get outta here. Fuck a three-hour
delay!' She went to the ticketeer's office.
"What else ya got?" she asked.
"Well, there's New Orleans on track four.
Departs in fifteen minutes." the ticket lady
answered. "I'll take it!" and traded in her
old ticket. Oh well, New Orleans is nice too.
***END OF PART SEVEN***