The Train

He hadn't even dried off from the shower when his mobile began to ring, prompting him to run naked into the living room to reach it before it stopped. The moment the call ended he was moving, rushing around the bedroom in the house they shared desperately searching for something, anything to put on. His usual weekday outfit of shirt and tie was replaced with a mix of gray hoody jumper, blue tracksuit bottoms and trainers. He didn't even bother with any underwear, grabbing his wallet and phone and running out of the house as quick as he could. They lived a fifteen minute walk from the train station, yet he was pounding through the entrance less than five minutes after slamming the front door shut.

The information boards were a blur as he searched for the details of the train, hands on his knees sucking in air trying not to keel over. He had to be on the 7:49 am train to Manchester Piccadilly, the large clock on the wall above the main doors telling him it was already quarter to eight. His eyes bloodshot from the run flicked desperately back and forth through the list, finally seeing it was leaving any moment from platform three. Again he was off, sprinting as fast as he could towards the turnstile and vaulting straight over. No shouts from station workers meaning he hadn't been seen dodging the fair. He slipped through the doors seconds before they closed behind him causing a raised eyebrow from a middle aged man sitting on the fold down chair opposite the door. A whistle from outside signaled they were about to set off as he made his unsteady way down the aisle towards the first available seat, falling heavily into it.

It had been just over ten minutes since the phone call had ended. The short conversation left him with no illusions that Angela's life would end if he didn't follow the Frenchman's instructions exactly. The mixture of adrenalin wearing off and the exertion of the run had taken its toll, the air around seeming to vanish as he tried desperately to take in as much as possible. He didn't even notice his head dropping towards the table until he felt the plastic prod his forehead, bringing him back to sudden alertness.

He looked around at the people on the train in his vicinity. A man was sat at the table on the other side of the carriage, the tapping of the keys on his laptop accompanying the scowl of determination on his face. Behind him he could hear a group of women talking about a colleague whom they disliked immensely, all of them agreeing that "Sandra is a dickhead".

His gaze moved to the countryside slipping past the window. Fog was still sitting over the fields as the rising sun began its efforts to burn it away. The grass beneath was white, the result of the below zero night temperatures over the past week. He struggled to move his eyes away from the view, deep in thought about what was to come. The Frenchman had told him to be on this train with no exception and he couldn't believe he had actually made it before it had left. Did the man want him to miss it? Perhaps. Yet he was here, speeding his way to the address he had been given, not knowing exactly what to expect. In all honesty it didn't matter. All he knew was that he had to get to Angela before she was gone forever and his life would be changed for good.

His eyes moved back to the interior of the train, moving again from face to yawning face of his fellow passengers. The businessman had stopped tapping his keyboard, the laptop now closed. He hadn't noticed that the man was looking at him. Not looking, staring. His eyes behind his thin rimmed glasses locked onto his, unmoving. The stare made a shiver run down his spine, something about the man making him feel immediately uncomfortable. He turned his head away to look back down the carriage. In his peripheral vision he could see the man slowly and methodically push himself from his seat and edging his way in to the aisle. Maybe he was making his way to the bathroom, stretching his legs? He was unprepared when the man took the seat on the other side of the table opposite him.

"I am very pleased you made it on to the train Trevor" The calmness in which the simple sentence was delivered caused Trevor to freeze in his seat. The French accent multiplying the shock tenfold.

"I..." was all Trevor could reply, words lost in a haze of fear.

"It is good that you have taken my words seriously"

"Who are you, where is Angela. Where's my wife!?" Fear and anger starting to overcome the numbness.

"All in good time my friend. For now let us have a little talk. Questions can come later no?" a coldness to his voice clearly letting him know that it wasn't actually a question.

The suit the Frenchman wore was of a high standard. Dark gray pinstripes with a white shirt beneath. The collar was crisply pressed, clearly tailored and expensive. His hair was dark brown, styled to one side and held in place by some kind of product. He looked in good shape, his neck filling the shirt collar out in a muscular finish. Trevor wasn't out of shape himself but the Frenchman certainly seemed to be of another level.

"Do you recall a few years ago when you worked for a man called Robert Taylor?" The question caught Trevor off guard. He had indeed worked for a man named Robert Taylor, but that was a long time ago when he lived a far different life than he did today.

"Yes, why is it important?" he asked. A smile began to develop in the corner of the Frenchman's mouth.

"I too have worked for Mr. Taylor" the smile fading back into the unreadable face. "Although my employment didn't quite end as yours did"

"How do you know how mine ended?" Trevor was surprised that he seemed to know exactly how, despite the fact he would have never thought anyone could know.

"Simple. He told me of course"

"He told you?" He knew that couldn't be right, disbelief leaving his mouth hanging open.

"He did. It is surprising what people will tell you to save their life" the smile returning, this time extending further than just the corner. He was enjoying their little conversation more and more as he watched Trevor's face redden.

The squawk of the conductor over the PA system informed the passengers their first stop was approaching. They would be at Southampton within minutes.

The two men found themselves joined by a group of school children, each one trying to out shout the next. Trevor watched the Frenchman looking at the children, mouth closed tight and hands balled into fists on the table in front of him. He stayed this way for the full five minutes of the journey to the next station of Millbrook, at which point the noise makers all departed leaving the carriage quiet once again.

"As I was saying, I have a way of getting what I want. Sometimes it's as simple as pressing a gun to a man's head, other times putting it to his wife's" Vomit hit the back of Trevor's throat, his hands raising to his mouth to stop it covering the table.

"Why are you doing this to us...wha..what do you want?" The Frenchman looked calmly around the carriage, ensuring that none of their fellow passengers could hear what he was about to say.

"I want what our former employer promised me. I want your life"