The Black Swan Effect

Chapter 1

22:56
One minute until a train.
Any train.
Anywhere.
Anywhere but here, that is.

The train coasted in. It was early.

Please mind the gap.

She turned left and side stepped down the aisle. The coach was completely empty.

Good.

Sterling?

Go for it. Why not?

It sounded nice. It was the third stop. About two hours away.

She sat in the corner of the coach: beside the window. Able to see down the whole aisle but it left her back exposed.

Oh well, good as any.

She leaned her head against the window. First stop Inverness.

No one got on.

The sun had now set. There was only a stretch of black and a stretch of deep blue to be seen outside the window.

Ten minutes passed.

A man came through the sliding doors. His brown hair combed back, blue shirt ironed, sleeves rolled up, dark blue tie loosened, suit jacket over his arm. Clean shaven. He must have gotten on at Inverness and been walking don the coaches since.

He briefly scanned the carriage. He glanced at her. Nothing to look at. He took a seat in a group of four chairs around a table. His rucksack seated adjacent.

She watched the blurred shadows outside the window.

He took out a mobile. Tap, tap, tap at the screen. Like mice scuttling.

Not mice... rats.

Rats behind a wall. Scratching, crawling, writhing. They had smelt the blood- they knew there was rotting flesh. They has smelt the pus, the vomit, the excrement.

Tap, tap. Scratch, scratch.

She felt the need to vomit.

Don't be stupid. It was only a dream. Nothing ever happened to you. You're normal. No one died. Nothing is your fault. You have no guilt.

The man put the device away in his pocket.
An hour passed. The train stopped at the penultimate stop. No one got on.
But the man moved.

She tensed. Perfectly still. Like a deer in lights. Her whispery breath stopped, her teeth barred her mouth.

He sat down in the empty chair.
The chair beside her.

"Atkinson."

His voice was low. He said the word clearly and quickly. Like a drill sergeant without the volume.

The girl clenched her fists which had been resting on her thighs.

Don't look at him.

"Miss Atkinson," he said steadily.

"Leave me be, young man. I just want to finish my train journey without hassle. I'm going to see my grandchildren.", she made her voice raspy. Full of age, full of weariness.

"Bullshit."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't play dumb. I know your age and you certainly aren't old enough for grand-kids."

Shit. The old lady trick had always worked before.

"Now I need to confirm whether you are a Miss P. Atkinson formerly of Kirkhaldie Drive."

"No."

'Liar!' A voice whispered.

"Well this Rail Card says differently."

He flipped open her rail card- her face and name showed.

MISS P. ATKINSON

He must have lifted it from her pocket when he sat down.

"Why ask in the first place then?" She hated people who danced around. He seemed the type.

"To see how trusting you were. To see how damaged you are."

He had been studying her face for some time now. He watched every muscle.

She turned her eyes from the card. She looked at his chin. Not a hint of anger or madness.

"And what would you know of me and how I was and am? Mr...?"

"McIntosh, Alan McIntosh."

"...Alan."

"I know of your situation. I know of your lack of .... proper education. I understand you are orphaned and your Guardian recently died under mysterious circumstances."

"Excuse me. It's my stop." The man stood and the girl shuffled past. Head down, no longer looking at his chin.

The train started to slow.

"Wait! I also can help you. I am part of an institution aimed at youths like yourself..."

"Leave me be. I don't want to be in some 'institution'." Her voice held strong yet remained calm.

The train stopped. She pushed the button to open the door.

"I also know about your...abilities."

The man had fought with his conscience to say this. She would either flee or join him.

She snapped up, eyes still on his chin, startled and confused. She appeared to resist the urge to vomit.

"Leave me be!", she hissed, eyes fierce now. She bolted off the train.

"It wasn't your fault! IT WASN'T YOUR FAULT!" He knew he would never catch her, not a young teenager, not in these trousers.

He stopped yelling from the platform. He pushed his hands through his slicked back brown locks. One hand went to retrieve the phone from his pocket.

They picked up immediately.

"Yes, I placed it on her. I can track her accurately to a forty mile radius....She's more difficult than others...well it's not my fault there's a lack of background info... Well anything would help! She didn't once look me in the eye!...Right Sir, Bye Sir."