I was silently sitting in the old torn up train. The rattling of the train was distracting me from rereading my file for at least the 26th time that day. I sighed, looking at a glowing lively. I smiled a weary tired smile and checked my watch, it read 11:37. "Damn," I muttered under my breath. The train had left an hour late. The file was still open in my lap and I decided to take another glance, and the newspaper headings with the stories paper-clipped together seemed to horrify
me, yet again. I also had in the light brown worn out file a few pictures of the killer himself, Alexander Williamson. I felt tears coming on when I saw a heading saying: ANOTHER DEAD, IS WILLIAMSON EVER GOING TO STOP??
This was too much, I could not deal with seeing her face in the way they found her, let alone other pictures I had gotten from several of the crime scenes. Shutting the remains of the file quickly but carefully so that no loose papers would come flying out and taking me 5 min. to retrieve (not exaggerating, I am a klutz) I hoped that I would arrive before the meeting. A hostess walked by, or should I say more stumbled with tiredness, and asked how I was doing. I answered fine and then questioned
in how many hours we were going to arrive. She started counting on her fingers and mumbled in a faint voice so that I could barely hear her that in 10 hours we were arriving and also
told me that my bunk was ready. She really could use some sleep, but when we were on the job sleep sometimes was not,and frankly sadly, an option. She stumbled away and after a few minutes I groaned and started putting my things away into my carrier bag, which was also stuffed with so many things I was surprised that I could carry it (even with the special training I did things were still heavy) and I let my mind wander to back home and what everyone must be doing. I then decided to go to bed.
