Being the first and eldest of the ElderEpis
These were the epis as originally written on CrowePeople
from the summer of 2002 to the end of 2003. In this very
first of the first, Joimus meets her General, Terry's equipment
becomes a plot device (thanks to annsmac), and the characters
are added one by one. These have had to be edited down, and
you will note the difference in them from the classic epis, but
can see their genesis and how they developed over time. In the
very beginning, the characters don't yet have their names as we
were only just meeting them. As this storyline was written
not that long after the Academy Awards ceremony of 2002
during which a certain actress was overly glad that Russell
did NOT win the Oscar, the identity of the, um, victim is,
well, not...unexpected.
by Jo, annsmac, Michele, Janna
(thanks to Jessie for the
pink bandaids!!!)
The characters board the Orient Express
...please have your tickets ready
Date:
Part 1…Jo
I stood
there dripping wet, not only from the pouring rain but from having swum the
afternoon . A cold wind nearly whipped my soggy ticket from my hand. Turning up the high collar of my grey trench
coat, I boarded the last passenger car of the Orient Express just before it pulled out of
As I put
my boot on the step, the wind gusted fiercely, revealing that the large man
behind me had a concealed short sword under his rust- colored cape. My
razor-sharp brain made a mental note to keep an eye on this person.
Opening several compartment doors, I finally found one occupied by only two
other travelers. One had dust all
through his hair in spite of the storm and I could see wide marks on either of his wrists from some former time spent
in manacles. His clothes were torn and disheveled and I wondered what had brought him to the Orient Express this
cold night.
A rusty old gun stuck part-way from an inside pocket of his coat. He seemed very, very tired...so tired he had not
noticed the gun was no longer totally hidden. Across from him, a slim, younger man was hoisting a bag onto the
luggage rack. There was a sound of clinking and then a clear shatter of glass. He looked at me almost sheepishly,
with light brown locks of hair falling across his forehead, and said, "My dishes. Just my dishes... that's all." I
wondered why he would be carrying such breakables in a canvas sack. It didn't seem to fit. I took the seat next to
the tired man with the dusty hair, studying his profile for a moment as
he seemed to be dozing. He was quite handsome despite the grime.
Suddenly there was a loud noise outside the compartment...as though someone had been roughly shoved against our door...
Part
2: annsmac
... then the door bumped open. There, at my feet, fell the body of a tall, slender woman with flowing red hair and some
of the biggest teeth I'd ever seen.
She had died in mid grin.
I gave
a little yelp and felt myself beginning to faint. But before I could do
anything substantial, the hands of my dusty companion grabbed me around the
waist. I looked down at the curious mixture of his dusty sleeve being
intermingled with the drops from my wet trench coat.
Faster
than I could follow, his gun was in his other hand and only when he looked into
my eyes to see that I was still
alert did he let me go. He was advancing into
the passageway. Then he turned to me, saying, "The clock. It
clicked."
The
younger man swooped in next to the dead body, his nose sniffing her. I watched in amazement as he leapt to his
feet, smacked open his luggage and pulled out two wine glasses. Crushing them, he began feeding the pieces into the dead woman's oozing wounds.
I
thought, "What is this, the Twilight Zone? Who are these two people and whose dead body is THAT?"
It was
all too much for me. I went ahead and fainted.
When I
came to, there was a puzzled set of blue-green eyes framed in long, thick, dark hair peering intently at me.
I sat up, smacking my head against the hockey stick he was holding in his hand. "Ouch."
Part 3…Michele
"Did you hear that, did anyone hear that?," Michele asked. Everyone around her was sound asleep except for the
man sitting across from her.
"Yeah, I heard it!" He quickly put his fedora on and grabbed
his camera, a pad of paper and a pen. Michele jumped out of her seat
the same time he did. They knocked heads and landed back in their seats.
Frantically she spoke as she got back up again, "It sounded like a
gunshot."
"No," he said beating her to the door, "it was a big thud."
Part 4: Jo
Clonking my forehead on the hockey stick as I sat up had resulted in a small cut above my right eyebrow. The friendly man with wavy dark hair who was
holding it, whipped out a small bandage and immediately applied it to my wound.
There was concern in his eyes but a suggestion of a smile played about his lips
as he softly remarked, "This seems to happen to me quite often." I had no idea what he might mean by that, but
his blue-green eyes were so delicious, I
didn't care. Then I glanced at the floor and saw the form of the tall red-headed woman with very large teeth.
The younger man I'd seen earlier with the clinking canvas sack was doing something very strange involving broken glass. My mind was whirling! What was happening? Just then a man in a fedora and a woman appeared in the
doorway. Who were THEY?
Where had the beautiful man with the dusty hair and my raindrops on his sleeves
gone? My eyes flew back and forth between the man with the long soft hair who
was bending over me and the body on the floor. He seemed strangely unconcerned
about her. Was that a red smear on his hockey stick? I couldn't be sure.
Next a large, burly man with really short hair and blazing eyes pushed the man in the fedora to the side rather roughly and entered the compartment himself. He stood there, giant in his masculine presence, with one leg on either side of the prostrate form, looking down at the murder victim with glittering eyes. Glancing over at me, he asked, "Are you all
right, Miss?"
The man in the fedora was now back in the doorway. I noted there was a large sausage tucked in the breast pocket
of his grey suit coat. Was that a red smear on the sausage? I heard the sound of heavily-striding footsteps passing in
the corridor and behind the man in the fedora passed quickly the rusty- caped person who had gotten aboard the train right after I did. Was that a red smear on the short sword that was only partially hidden by his large, fur-topped cape? Why was a man in a cape on this train in the first place? What was the fedora- man doing with such a large sausage in his coat pocket? Where had the man with the hockey stick been when the body had thumped against my door? Who was this angry man standing over the body? Was that a badge of some sort I could see a bit of on his coat lining? Was that
a red smear on the badge? The air was suddenly filled with a high-pitched wailing shriek coming down the corridor
from another
compartment....
Part 5 :
Michele
The women took off running in the direction of the shriek. Michele, knocked down, found herself with a shoe in her
hand. Then strong hands slipped underneath her and lifted her up from the floor, "Are you all right?"
She
followed his gaze to the red spot on the shoe. In a panic she said,
"What shoe?," as she threw the shoe down the hallway.
The shoe flew, hitting a
bald-headed man loaded with tattoos right above the eyebrow. Angry he yelled, "What the
f***!!"
Part 6: Jo
As the man with the tattooed body and heavy black coat, held the shoe that had just struck him on his forehead, causing a slight cut above the right eyebrow, the man with the red- smeared hockey stick ran past, calling out over his shoulder as he continued in a hurry down the corridor, "That happens to me a lot, too!"
The large man with the crew cut snatched the shoe and examined it carefully, noting the red smear along the length of the high heel. He glared at the bald man with the tattoos and growled, "Is this YOUR shoe?" Instantly, there was a switchblade in the tattooed man's hand accompanied by a wild look in his intense eyes. The man with the crew cut just glared at the blade with contempt, noticing it, too had a red smear down its blade. Turning his back casually on the bladed hand, he strode back to the compartment where the large- toothed, red-haired victim lay still sprawled on the floor, face frozen into that wide grin. Standing over her now was the man from the other compartment. He was wearing plaid pants and a mismatched plaid shirt and kept murmuring to an unseen person he believed to be beside him, "I
TOLD you she was a spy! I told you, but you wouldn't believe me!" This person had written a series of numbers across the victim's forehead in black marker, connecting them with criss-crossed lines. There was a suspicious red smear on
the marker.
A low moan came from the hallway where the man in the fedora was getting back to his feet. "Anyone get the number
of that hockey stick?" he said hoarsely through clenched teeth. The man with the crew cut, turned abruptly and smacked him, opening up a small cut above fedora-man's right eyebrow.
"Be quiet!" he snapped. "I'm trying to think!" The younger baldheaded man came up quickly and shoved the crew
cut guy roughly from behind, causing him to bump his head on the luggage rack and opening up a small cut above his right eyebrow. They faced one another, fists clenched, ready to have at it...but just then I stepped between them, putting
a hand on each of their chests. I could feel the heaving muscles in both of them as they raggedly inhaled and exhaled in battle readiness.
Just then a sleek man in a purple suit poked his head in the doorway, surveying the scene with a look of pleasure in his rather disturbing eyes. He smiled, keeping his lips together, then asked, "Anybody seen a young twerp with a bag of glass?" We all turned and looked at him. There was a red smear down the front of his purple suit coat. Crew cut's
eyes narrowed and his nostrils dilated.
Part 7: Jo
Choking and gasping, the women ran blindly down the corridor. (I'm giving up and naming names at this point!!) Pausing, as the sound of on-coming hoof beats assailed their ears, the women hugged the wall as a naked man on a
horse rode past them. He called out, "Which way to the baaaaarrrrrrnnnnnn?" as he rode quickly away. I found this
to be one of the more strange events of the night, not having seen more than a dozen naked men on horseback in all
my train-riding years. I watched him, noting he did not duck in time to miss the overhead light, which, striking him a glancing blow, opened up a small wound above his right eyebrow. Even more interesting, I thought, was the red smear
on his horse's left rear hoof.
"Where do you think he is going?" my friend asked.
"Probably East," I surmised. We continued down the hall toward the murder scene, where a sleek man in a purple
suit was leaning into the room. I heard him ask about the young man with the canvas bag of dishes and I recalled my earlier sight of him feeding the crushed glass into the victim's wounds. I glanced down at the sprawling, large- toothed redhead and saw that the wounds seemed to have disappeared, but she remained quite stone-cold dead. I wondered
what had been the actual cause of her demise. Who was she? Why was she so hated? What had she said or done to generate such ire in the heart of another? What could possibly have caused crushed glass to heal her wounds like
that?
The purple-suited man, who informed us his name was Sid with some funny number or other after it, just smiled the
most Cheshire cat smile I have ever seen on another person, turned rapidly, and in a series of athletic somersaults, disappeared down the corridor. I started to call out after him, "A horse just went down that way...!" but it was too
late and his left palm had already been firmly planted in a digestive remnant. After removing several doors and a
good part of one wall in his wrath, he continued through the far doorway. "Strange
man,"
I thought to myself. "Very strange."
Turning my attention back to the
compartment where the body lay, I licked the last bit of peanut butter ice cream
from my lips, and watched in some amazement as an older, sorta plumpish grey-haired man slid into the room past
me. He had an unsmoked cigarette in his hand and I noted the red smear around its white paper. Crumpling the
cigarette in his palm, he threw it down at the dead woman, shouting, "Take it!" Just then the train gave a huge
lurch ...
Part 8: Jo
The wing of an airplane tilted at a crazy angle from the roof of the car, slid sideways and the entire plane tumbled off, rolling over several times and breaking into pieces in the gully alongside the tracks. Bud had just pulled his head in
and turned to speak, when a pair of feet in shiny black shoes were thrust in through the still-open window....followed
by a man in a blue uniform. Straightening his jacket, he saluted the group, readjusted his cap at a jaunty angle, and
said, "G'day mates... I'm
Removing his foot from the dead woman's chest where he had inadvertently placed it, he raised his eyebrows,
remarking, "What HAVE we here!" He studied the sprawling form for a long moment before commenting, "Did she
bite herself to death with those huge teeth?"
Bud shoved him aside, causing him to hit his forehead on the doorframe and making a slight cut above his right
eyebrow. "Why'd you do that?" demanded Bud roughly, grabbing the lapels of the plumpish grey-haired gent and pointing at the crumpled cigarette reposing on the dead woman's upper lip. "That's blatant disrespect of the female
dead!"
"Female, HA!" retorted the man, whose name turned out to be Jeffrey.
I hoped he would explain that remark, but just then yet another man poked his head in the doorway. I stared at him in some wonder. Never had I seen a man whose sideburns were so massive. And it was not just their width and length, but the tiny red geraniums that were woven through them that grabbed my gaze and would not let it go. I stepped closer to him, the better to see the blossoms and discovered that they were actually there in an attempt to hide the red smear that matted the individual hairs of the left sideburn.
"Who...who...are YOU?" I
managed to ask.
"The name's Colin," he replied with what would have been a
nice smile had the sideburns not grown completely across his lips. He looked at the body and asked, "So, did she run off with a Japanese lady's husband?" I had no idea what he meant as all the Japanese ladies and their husbands that I knew were nice, friendly folk. Lighting a cigarette, he turned and strolled casually down the hall, disappearing into the third compartment and slamming the door behind himself.
Bud commented, "That guy's trouble!" then turned back to the body where the man named Nash was getting ready to write the number 43 on the tip of her nose. "Hey...YOU...stop that!" Bud shouted, knocking the pen out of Nash's hand, causing it to bounce up to the ceiling and drop down on Nash's forehead where it made a small cut above his right eyebrow. Suddenly Bud lurched backwards as though some invisible hand had punched him in the jaw. Nash smiled
and said, "Thanks, Roomie."
part 9: Michele and Janna
As I walked to my cabin down the corridor I noticed mud tracks on the floor. They looked like they would fit about a
size 12 shoe. Whoever owned those tracks had big
feet. I decided to follow the tracks to see where they would take me. That's when I heard it
"Naaayyyyy!!!" It sounded like a
horse. I HAD seen a horse running in this direction earlier on. But who did it belong to and why was it on the train? Just then, a
tall handsome man in dusty black stepped out
"Howdy ma’am, are you looking for something?" I was absolutely stunned by his looks. Then I saw a red streak on
the man's whip.
part
10 (the Maximus scene...you
KNEW I would!!) : Jo
The crime scene was getting to be too much for me to handle…not to mention quite crowded with people both seen
and unseen. The final straw had come after Bud had been punched by that invisible hand. Instantly he was on his feet, fists swinging through the air. I could have sworn I saw a small red streak appear...as though some invisible person
had
just had a small cut above his right eyebrow.
The train was climbing over mountains now and I held the handrails as I made my way down the corridor. One of the shades in the door windows was half-way up and I peeked in to see if the compartment were vacant, thinking I might
get at least SOME rest this night. It was quite dark in the compartment and I couldn't see a thing. I decided to try it, opened the door, and plopped wearily onto the seat. Leaning my head back, I gazed out the window for a long while
at the passing trees, their needles glowing in the soft moonlight.
Closing my eyes, I must have dozed for at least an hour. The train jerked slightly, awakening me. A startled gasp escaped my lips. In the shadowed corner of the facing seat, was the silent figure of a large man. The moonlight was
just now illuminating part of that section of the compartment. Had he been there all along? Had he been watching me
as I slept? I suddenly felt very vulnerable. Remaining quiet and with lids half lowered, I studied him carefully. The moonlight on the curve of his cheek highlighted a face of remarkable beauty. I could make out the shape of a neatly-trimmed short beard and the shadows of long lashes lay upon his cheekbones. Around his neck and shoulders was a
wide circling of some sort of long fur. Again I gasped, but more softly, as I realized this was the man who had boarded the train just after me...the one in the rust-colored cape and with the red smear on his short sword. My heart began
to beat quickly. I had not really seen his face before. I felt this strange mixture of vulnerability and slight fear
tempered by an oddly magnetic attraction.
As the train rounded a slight curve, the moonlight moved across his face, revealing more of his fine features. I
became aware he was studying me in turn. There was just the slightest upturn to the corners of his mouth. My own
lips could in no way stop their upturn in response. I noted he had a slight cut above his right eyebrow and wondered
how he had gotten it. I thought that quite unusual, never ever, ever, ever having seen a man with a cut above his right eyebrow before. He shifted his body slightly to the right and the moonlight gleamed for a brief second on the metal of
his short sword. Again, there was the dark suggestion of the red smear down its blade.
My whole body tensed. Was I alone in a darkened compartment with the man who had killed the redhead with the
huge teeth and the crumpled cigarette on her upper lip and the strange numbers written in marker on her forehead
and the airman's footprint on her stomach and the wounds healed by having crushed glass fed into them? WAS I?
I started to rise slowly to my feet, but his deep-soft voice said, "I wouldn't do that." Settling back onto my seat, I
studied his face once more. In spite of what he had said, there was still a twinkle in his eyes and that suggestion of a
smile playing about his lips.
Gathering all the courage I could muster, I whispered hoarsely, "W...why....not?"
His smile grew into a full grin as he leaned forward across the space between the facing seats and let his lips rest ever
so lightly on mine. Moving his lips up my cheek to my ear, he said in the lowest possible voice, "Because .......
Part 11: Jo
Just then the door to our compartment splintered and broke in half under the weight of something heavily thrust
"Sorry 'bout that!" he called out. "I've been having one hell of a time gettin' this thing the length of the train. Would
you know if there's a gas station in the caboose, by any chance?" As I stared at the red smear on the front left fender,
the man wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and stated, "Name's Zack. Fellow back there with giant sideburns
said he was
having very much the same problem I am." Just then a loosely-hanging splinter dislodged from the doorframe, striking Zack on the forehead and making a small cut above his right eyebrow.
The rusty-caped man (I had not yet learned his name, but had the strongest intention of doing so) gave the convertible
a mighty shove with one boot, and it scraped its way out of our doorway and careened toward the end of the railcar.
I marveled at how such a wide car could do that in such a narrow corridor. Perhaps it worked in the same manner as
the plane landing on the roof and the horse galloping in the hallways? I did not know. At that moment I did not really care. The sweaty man had run off after the car, filling the air with curses about some ditzy blonde getting him into this
fix in the first place.
This left me alone once again with my rusty-caped stranger... tall...dark....and very, very handsome. "We can no longer
remain here," he said in a half-whisper. "Come with me," and, taking my slim,
white hand in his own giant one, helped me step over the ruins of the door.
"Who ARE you?" I asked as we entered the corridor together.
Half lowering his lids and obviously remembering something painful, he replied, "My name is Gladiator." I had heard
a lot of men's names starting with a "G" like George or Gerald, but never Gladiator. Oh, well. I decided it suited him somehow, though I was not quite sure just why that might be. I began to lift my hand toward that quite unique cut
above his right eyebrow, but he grabbed my wrist in a strong grip, discerning my intent, and did not permit the
movement to continue.
"This man has a story," I thought to myself. I determined then and there that I would discover what it was. But not
yet. Not yet. We continued in silence down the corridor, picking our way carefully over the trail of tail pipes,
mufflers, tire tread, and equine digestive remains, and coming once again to the crime scene. "Oh, no!" I thought.
"NOT the crime scene!!" Gladiator could fill an entire compartment with just his own powerful presence, HOW
would he ever fit into that already crowded room?
As I looked in the door, I was please to note that the invisible guy was no longer there. He had taken up SO much
room! Nash, too, had departed, as had the young, jaunty airman. Bud and Jeffrey were still standing next to the
oddly sprawled body of the red-haired woman. For the first time I noticed she had a backpack which had slipped to
one side as she had crashed unceremoniously to the compartment floor. Kneeling next to it and being watched by 3
sets of masculine eyes, I lifted the unbuckled flap and pulled out its single content. It was the lower half of the golden statue of a man holding a long sword in front of his legs. There was a red smear across its base. What COULD it
have been a statue of when it had been whole? Why in the world would such a person as this victim EVER had such
an item in her possession in the first place? It could not have possibly belonged to HER....could it?
Bud reached down and took the half-statue from my hands, examining it closely. "Hmmmmm?" he mused. "I may
have seen something like this once before. I think it was mass produced for some reason on the west coast of the
reminded me of a gun- slinging preacher I had once known. A sudden memory hit me like a sledgehammer! The
dusty-haired man I sat next to when I first boarded! It had to be him! It just had to! Why had I not recognized him?!!
He even bore a striking resemblance to Gladiator himself. Where had he gone? I looked back at Bud as he frowned
at Gladiator. He, too, resembled Cort. My brain reeled. I needed air! Quickly! I darted out of the compartment and
down the hallway toward the caboose, tripping slightly over a rear bumper and stepping in 3 different mounds of... well...you know...in my mad dash to get to a place where I could breathe....and think.
I darted through the caboose, barely noticing that it was full of black, hornless cattle accompanied by a man in an elbowless blue checked flannel shirt, playing a guitar and singing to them. In my haste, I bumped into his guitar,
causing it to flip upwards and making a small cut above his right eyebrow.
Holding onto the rear railing, I gulped in great gasping breaths of the cold night air. I could feel my entire body trembling, but then a large hand was placed gently on my left shoulder. Turning, I saw it was the blue-flannel man.
Was my singing that bad?" he asked in a deep-soft voice that sounded strangely familiar.
Where had I heard that voice before? I shook my head in an effort to clear my thoughts. "C...cows..." I managed
to murmur.
"W...why the cows?"
Leaning his guitar against the rail (as he did so, I noticed the red smear across one edge) he explained. "These were
the ones culled for market. I just couldn't let 'em go. Just couldn't. So the practical thing to do to protect 'em was to
put 'em on the train from
I had to admit his logic was flawless. Just then the whole train sort of bucked, flipping me over the end rail where
my boots were bouncing raggedly along over the ties and gravel.
"Hold on!" he shouted, grabbing my wrists....
Part 12: Jo
As my boot toes bounced along the tracks, the strong hands of the cowsaver had my wrists in such a grip that I knew
in my heart he would not let me perish and become a mere red smear across a railway tie in some high, cold mountain pass on this moonlit night. I had seen enough red smears this night. I had no intention of becoming one myself! Besides,
if I could only think of it, there was some pressing reason I had to be in
Inch by inch he dragged me back over the railing till he fell backwards through the open door of the caboose with me atop him. We lay like that for what seemed a long moment until I grew tired of the cow slobber dripping into my hair
and rolled to the side. Assisting me to my feet, he plucked several pieces of straw from my collar, then, leaning one
bare elbow on a cow's back, grinned at me. "Not the best way to get off a train," he cracked. I noticed the index finger of his other hand kept tracing around the outer edge of the bovine's ear. She had her neck partway curved around his
hip and was looking at him with a look of unadulterated adulation in her large brown eyes. I could not help but think were he doing that to my ear, I would probably have that same look in my eyes. He, too, reminded me of Cort. The synapses in my cerebral cortex began to fire rapidly as I tried to piece this puzzle together.
"Thank you for saving my life, " I said, "but I have to get back to my car. You see, a red-haired woman with the
lower half of a golden statue in her backpack was murdered a while a...." I stopped when a dark scowl crossed his handsome face. What did HE know about it? Why would such a cattle-lovin' man scowl at the thought of a large-
toothed red-haired woman with a golden statue? I could imagine no possible reason. "Er...I have...I have to go now,"
I said softly as I wove my way gingerly through the milling mass of bovinity. He was so lost in thought that he failed
to notice my departure. Closing the caboose door behind me, I crossed back into the last passenger car.
part 13: Jo
Once again entering the last passenger car, I paused a moment, wondering where Zack had put the convertible.
A young man in a sweaty old Aussie uniform started to step into the corridor from the first compartment. He had a
set of dirty dog tags dangling from his left hand. I noted a red smear on one of the dog tags just as he did a rapid
about face and shut the door quickly. I knew I had not seen this particular person before, but, yet, he still looked
familiar somehow.
A dog barked. A dog? What was a dog doing on the train? I followed the sound to the 4th compartment. The door was slightly ajar, so I cautiously peeked inside. There WAS a dog in there! A man was crouching nearby, but had his back
to me so I could not see his face. He was wearing a stockman's hat, tipped low in the front, and was engaged in the act
of putting
another log on the small campfire he had built in the center of the compartment. Hoping that he had taken the
ventilation problem into consideration, I watched in some fascination as he set up a coffeepot to heat. As he reached
for yet another small log, I clearly saw a red smear on its wood, shining in the reflected glow of the campfire. I
gasped slightly, but it was enough to make the man turn sharply, smacking himself in the forehead with the log
and creating a small wound above his right eyebrow. As he got to his feet and reached for the door, I slammed it
hard and took off down the hall, ducking into compartment 6 and closing the door quickly but softly behind me.
This compartment was unlit, and I stood in the darkness a moment until my heartbeats slowed somewhat. The moon
was behind a cloud so not even its light illumined the pitch blackness. The fingers of my right hand reached out, attempting to locate one of the seats. They encountered instead soft, long, fur. Ah, it was my Gladiator again! The beginnings of my smile, however, froze on my face as I discovered lips beneath the fur. Colin! In the darkness I had
not been able to tell the difference between the wide fur shoulder piece of Gladiator's cape and Colin's sideburns.
They were of equal size, so no wonder I had made the mistake. "Pardon me!" I breathed quickly, stepping out into
the corridor again.
There was no sign of the Man or his dog. As I listened, the distant sound of mooing came to my ears and I surmised
they had thought I'd gone the opposite direction and the dog was attempting to herd the cattle in the caboose. I decided
to return to the crime scene. Arriving at the open doorway, I gasped in shock. Jeffrey and Bud had been stowed in the luggage racks and the body of the red-haired woman was gone! So was her backpack and the lower half of the golden statue. Quickly releasing the two men, I asked them what had happened? Where was the body? WHO had taken it.....
and WHY?????
wondered. And then I realized, I was wandering. Not even knowing where I was going, not even caring.
And
then it happened.
The moment had arrived. I was lost. Wandering in darkness, hoping to avoid unpleasant material on the floor, surrounded by men with near- identical looks, right down to the near- identical cuts above their eyes. Except
Gladiator. He was unique in that respect.
As I
inched down the wall of the train, the movement captivated me. In another time, another place, it would have
lulled my senses. My fingers caressed the wall and finally felt the unmistakable indentation that meant I had reached
a compartment. Did I dare? Could I find the strength within myself?
rescue me from this weary life of excess.
"Rescue me," I breathed into the fetid air. Suddenly, the door to the compartment slid open, so silent and so smooth
I would never have known if my fingers had not been pressed lightly against it.
"I'll rescue you, luv," I heard a voice at my ear say. Warm breath upon my neck and then strong hands gliding
around my waist. He pulled me into the compartment. For some unknown reason, I wasn't frightened.
"Do
you know what's been happening here tonight?" I asked my rescuer.
He laughed gently. "Why, yes, I do. You've been kidnapped and I've come to rescue you."
Oh, no, I thought. Surely there was one sane person on this train? "No, you idiot. I haven't been kidnapped," I said,
the words coming from me in haste and sounding harsh even to my ears. "There's been a murder. A strange creature with red hair and horrid rabbit teeth. I think she was stabbed. And now her body's disappeared."
"Hmm.
That sounds like…" he stopped suddenly as the lights went on.
"You know her? The victim?" I asked, turning in his arms to look at him. He was completely covered in black, tan
and green camouflage paint. He had a snug black muscle shirt on and camo pants that fit him much tighter than I'd
ever seen any fit a man before. And that was probably the only reason I saw the outline…
there…
in his pants…
it was unmistakably…
a
knife. One of those big things all the commandos carry.
He saw
me staring at it and he pulled it out. I gasped. There was red on the knife blade.
I
looked up into his eyes and he looked stunned. "You don't think I…"
"I
don't know what to think. But it does seem a tad suspicious. I mean you have blood on your knife, the woman was stabbed and you obviously knew her," I said, the accusation in my voice very plain.
He smacked himself in the head, exclaiming, "I'm the good guy. I only kill bad people."
As his hand came down, I noticed he'd cut himself above his left eyebrow with the knife when he'd smacked his
hand there. Clumsy, I thought, knowing there was no way someone that clumsy could have killed that woman and
then gotten smoothly away.
"Of course, she was pretty bad," the commando said suddenly. I looked at him and realized he was talking about
the victim. I raised an eyebrow in question. "I mean, honestly, she was. She was a… now, don't think badly of me
that I would say something this awful about the dead, but she was… an over- actor. There. I've said it. She killed
every scene she's ever been in. Her and those big teeth. She just couldn't stop laughing and she had this big old vein
thing in her forehead that she'd pop out whenever she forgot her lines and wanted to seem dramatic. The world of
fine cinema would never be safe with her around."
"Then
it was you?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"No. I was in the bar with a friend. And Bud was there with me. I have an alibi." He looked very indignant. "We're
the heroes. We never
hurt women. We protect them. If you're looking for likely suspects, at least keep with the character."
"Character!"
I exclaimed. "Of course. That's it. That's how we'll solve the crime."
It was
so simple. Why hadn't I seen it before? Because… well, let's face it, quite a bit of very weird things had
happened to me since I'd stepped aboard.
Suddenly, the train gave a mighty lurch. I found
myself pitched out into the passageway and straight into the arms of….
Part 15: Jo
...a man who was bunny-hopping down the passage. He was wearing glasses and seemed quite distracted as he
mumbled over and over, "Why doesn't she CALL?" As we collided, his glasses, whose left lens bore a red smear,
were pushed sharply upwards, causing a small cut above his right eyebrow. He blinked at me, a puzzled expression
on his face, and repeated once more, "Why doesn't she call? Should I call her? Should I?" Figuring I would get
little information from him, I regained my balance and continued. Just then, another compartment door slid open...
The lights were on, thank goodness, and standing in their glow was a slim young man in a pale blue cardigan. Brown hair draped across half his forehead, but I could see a look of fear in his eyes. "Who are you and what's the matter?"
I asked with some concern.
"A...A...Arthur," he stammered, "and HE'S what's the matter!" Looking past Arthur I saw the shaved-headed man
with tattoos. He had the back of Arthur's shirt collar in a tight grip. Ah, I thought. So THAT'S why Arthur's top shirt button
was pressed against his Adam's apple. I was relieved it was not some fashion statement.
"And who are YOU?" I asked the man behind him. The man's eyes glowed at me intensely. I had not seen such a
look of
intensity since the last time I had faced a bull in the arena sands of
"What's it to you?" he
snarled menacingly.
"It is nothing to me!" I snapped back, annoyed. Letting go of Arthur's collar, he pushed him away carelessly, like a
child getting rid of a toy that now bored him. Arthur stumbled, hitting his forehead on the armrest of one of the seats and opening up a small cut above his right eyebrow. He sat down on the seat, holding his head in both hands.
"YOU!" the shaved man fairly spat in my face. Gingerly touching the cut above his right eyebrow, he growled, "It
was YOUR shoe did this to me!" I smiled, thinking how that shoe had come sailing through the air earlier tonight.
My smile was too much for him! He grabbed me roughly and started to shake me. Just then Gladiator pulled me free
and knocked the shaved man down with a fierce blow from the hilt of his red-smeared short sword. Swooping me into
his marvelously strong arms, he walked rapidly down the corridor, kicking open the door of an empty compartment
and sitting on the seat there with me still cradled in his arms. My cheek was resting against his wide furry drape as I
felt his warm breath on my face. His mouth was just inches from mine as he whispered, "Thank the gods I was in time....THIS time!" I had no idea what he meant, but he seemed very, very serious about what he was saying. At that moment I didn't even care if he were the one who had done in the large-toothed redhead with the lower half of a
golden statue in her backpack. All I could think of was touching his moustache with my fingertips. That very slight
smile of his played around the corners of his mouth as he permitted my fingertips to trace the outlines of his moustache, then stop for one brief second on the softness of his lower lip. As I let my hand fall back into my lap, the inches between our lips disappeared......
Later, while he held both my hands tenderly between his large ones, I asked him a serious question. "Gladiator, a
woman was murdered on this train earlier tonight and I saw you pass by in the corridor just after she was shoved, sprawling and with her large teeth still frozen into a grin, to the floor of my compartment. Can you explain to me
what you were doing there at such an inauspicious moment in time?"
Looking at me with eyes that were filled with long years of soul-mangling torture, he told me his story. I knew beyond
all doubt that it was the truth. Those eyes held no capacity for cowardly prevarications. "My dear, at the time of the murder I was quite dead myself, having been thrust through my kidney with a wavy stiletto. It was only later that I regained my senses, discovering I was now in a small compartment with several dozen women of all ages. Each of
them had a laptop and had all brought me back to life again through some mysterious thing they called 'fanfic'. My
trusty rusty cape and short sword were missing, however. One of the women, I think she was Italian, said that a
man's arm had reached into the compartment and snatched them while I was still dead. Later, I found the sword wrapped inside my cape. They had been stuffed behind a water cooler. My sword was now smeared with red, but I
have no idea how it got there or who could have been using my sword while I was busily engaged in being dead. If
you need proof, I can take you to the compartment where those women are bringing other men bearing a strange resemblance to me back to life." I told him that if I needed Proof, I would have spoken with Andy. His word was
more than enough for me.
Just then the commando and his equipment rolled out from under the opposite seat. He held up a newspaper with a
photo of Gladiator surrounded by women and their laptops, busily typing and typing and typing as breath once again entered his lungs.
Grinning, he said, "Andy may be the one to go to for Proof, but I, yes, I am the one to go to for Proof of LIFE!!!"
So, now it was established once and for all that my Gladiator had not been the perpetrator of this crime. The
commando, who introduced himself as Terry, said, "Oh, and by the way, one of the women accidentally cracked you
on the forehead with her laptop in her enthusiasm to bring you back to life." I was glad to know at last where the
cut above Gladiator's right eyebrow had come from. Being dead at the time it had happened, he, of course, had no
idea of its origins himself... which had made him somewhat sensitive about the whole thing. Terry started out the compartment door, but a powerful punch to his midriff sent him reeling back inside.
And…
the man with no hair surged into the compartment. His eyes lit on me where I remained perched solidly in Gladiator's lap.
the murder of the rabbit tooth woman. Yet… before me stood an element of such raw danger that I was beginning
to wonder if there would ever be safety as long as this man was around.
"Your
shoe," he grunted at me, his hand out, offering the offending article to me.
I recoiled. Nicely done, that, as it drove me more firmly into Gladiator's strong embrace. Sometimes I surprise
myself with how smart I can be.
"Don't make me use this on you, mate," I heard Terry growl out to the hairless man. Looking up, I gasped as
Terry whipped out his… equipment.
What
was it with this man and his equipment? I mean, it was certainly impressive, but must he shove it at us at every chance?
"What we do in life echoes in eternity," Gladiator said. Then glanced down into my eyes, a puzzled look on his face.
"Is that how it goes?"
I
shrugged. "Is your name really Gladiator? That is the question."
"No,
the question is what did I ever see in scrawny, saggy, messy blondes who don't even have the sense to run when a bomb goes off?" Terry sighed.
"Actually,
I think the question is if mankind has grown strong in eternal struggles, will it only perish through eternal peace?" the bald-domed man said, his voice almost laughing at us.
"Oh,
no, you don't, you hairless wonder," I said, nasty tone to my voice. "Don't you dare go paraphrasing Hitler."
He snarled at me but in a second, Gladiator had gently placed me upon the seat and then risen, putting his arm solidly
in the hairless one's throat and slamming him against the door. "The German horde. They are my sworn enemies,"
he said.
"The question then, men, is where was this man? We know the two of you, Bud, Cort and Andy are innocent. We
need to find out about the others," I said, drawing three sets of male eyes my way. Oh, goodness. What that did to
me. Three sets of blue-green eyes, each hooded in mystery, set in faces so alike and yet so different. I thought I might melt.
"Bud
is a police detective," Terry said. "I propose we find him and assist him in investigating the death of the over-actor."
"Over-actor?"
Gladiator and dome head said together.
"Yes. In fact, Gladiator, she spoiled your triumphant re- ascension to the throne. Do you not know her?" Terry
asked. Then he looked at all of us. "What about Nash? He had the most to lose?"
"What
about Rusty?" dome head asked.
I
sighed. "This is ridiculous. There are too many suspects. By the way, you, guy-with-no-hair? What's your name?"
"Hando," he growled. "And I was with Zack the whole time until someone came in and told us there'd been a murder.
So I have an alibi."
We all nodded together. So, we were all innocent. Well, I grant you, innocent may be a stretch for the four of us. But
at least we weren't killers of rabbit toothed women. That was something, wasn't it?
The four of us set off down the passageway, searching for Bud and determined to stay together until we found him. I,
of course, knew I'd be with Gladiator for one of his arms was snuggly around my waist. I also knew I'd be with commando Terry for one of my hands was snuggly around his… equipment.
We let
Hando take the rear of our little party, knowing his abilities to fend off strange attacks would protect us.
Suddenly, a compartment door opened and the purple-suited man came flying out. He smashed with a sickening
clang against the wall. Before Gladiator could cover my eyes with his free hand, I watched, dazed and confused, as
blue goo seeped from his head and his eyes seemed to glitter.
"Bud,
we need to talk," I heard the commando say.
Part 19: annsmac
And
then, there he was. The man who would save us. Unless a woman came to our rescue first.
Nevertheless.
He did look good. Standing there, his eyes hurting from internal angst, white short-sleeved shirt and black tie that
had been out of fashion even in the 50s. What was it about his majesty, his cruelty that mixed itself together into the person who would be our savior?
"Knock it off," he said, and as I looked up, I realized he was looking at me. I peeked around the circle of men with
me. They were all looking at me, most with true desperation in their eyes.
"Ya
said that out loud, luv," Terry said, his cheeks turning a bit red at my embarrassment. "But I'm sure Bud appreciates the vote of confidence."
Glancing
at Bud. Hmm. He didn't look like he was appreciative.
"I like the part about being a savior, but did you have to give me the old smack down on the clothes? Couldn't you
have kept that hush- hush, on the q.t. and very, very confidential?" Bud asked me.
I heard someone sniggering behind me and turned to face Hando. His eyes were shut but he was crying. Then he
grabbed his gut and bent double, smacking one hand out to beat on the wall as he was overcome with laughter.
Okay,
I could put up with a lot but a bald, tattooed punk laughing at me like that? I laid him low with a well placed… snide comment.
"Hey,
you, hairless boy. Hitler lost," I sneered at him.
In a snap, he straightened and an intense dark fire burned from his eyes as he stared at me. "Girlie…" he began, his
lips almost curled.
Gladiator
stepped between us. He looked at Hando. "Son, I believe the lady has a point."
With
that touch of diplomacy, my Gladiator had us all back focused on the task at hand. Terry filled Bud in on our conclusion and told him of every alibi we knew. So far, those safely protected by alibis included myself, Bud, Terry, Gladiator, Hando, Zack, Andy and Rusty.
"Rusty?"
we all asked Bud.
"Yeah, Rusty," he replied, getting this strange look on his face. "One of the cows gave him an alibi. Strangest thing
you ever saw. Never saw a talking cow before. But, there ya go. He's clean."
Suddenly, behind us, the purple-suited man started sputtering. I glanced his way and took in his smooth, chiseled and
slightly cold good looks. He smoothed out his suit, gave this strange little giggle. "Where's Andy?" he chortled to us.
"You all think you're
so smart. I have seven million murderers inside me. What do you think of that?"
"That
it must be crowded in there," I replied with a gasp.
"That you're the prime suspect in the murder of rabbit tooth over- actor woman," Bud said, giving me a strange look
as he pushed past me to grab the purple lapels. "Out with it, Sid. Where were you when she was killed?"
"You
don't scare me, flat foot," he said. With that, Bud smashed Sid's face into the side of the passageway.
We all went, "Oh, how disgusting," as we heard the sound that made. A vicious cut appeared above Sid's right
eyebrow but seconds later, it disappeared.
"Oh, for God's sake," Terry said in disgust. He stepped toward Sid, whipped out his… equipment… and also
whipped out a tube of camouflage paint, wiping a dark green smear above Sid's right eyebrow. "There. Now you've
got a mark."
Sid went berserk. There's no other way to describe it. One minute he was standing almost placidly as Bud man-
handled him and Terry painted him, and the next minute he bounced his way down the passageway, bellowing out
about the clash between the green paint and his purple suit.
"Go
find a green suit, ya weirdo," Hando yelled to his bouncing back.
Bud turned to us. "Okay. Here's the way this is gonna go down. One of you go and find the Mysterious sheriff.
Someone else go and find the FBI guy. Any other cops on board?" We all shook our heads and shrugged. "Okay.
Bring `em here and we'll get this show on the road."
"Show? Did someone say show?" We turned and there was Rusty, rushing toward us with his guitar and such a
sweet smile. "Time for some music?"
Suddenly,
a scream ripped neatly through the air and…
Part 20: Jo
.... all eyes turned toward the doorway. Two Jeff's and 2 John's had come face to face in the corridor. (The 3rd
John doesn't seem to have made the train, alas...must be because he has a thing about railway crossings.) "Who screamed?" Bud snarled.
"I did," a voice replied from thin air. We all looked in the direction of the bodiless voice. "Did you hear that?"
Terry asked. No one was to be seen in the area of the voice.
Nash smiled. "Roomie," he enthused, "they heard you!!" Again the disembodied voice spoke. "Yes, John. My voice
is the first thing to become real. Very soon I will be a solid sea-faring doctor/cellist and everyone will be able to see me...not just you."
"Sure," Bud
grumped, "when cows talk!"
Rusty cupped his hand quickly over the mouth of the bovine standing beside him. "Shhhh, darlin'," he whispered
into her ear.
"Later."
"Enough!" shouted Gladiator. "I will find the mysterious dusty sheriff with raindrops on his sleeve, a partially
hidden gun, and a red-smeared whip. You!" he jabbed a finger into Terry's chest," go find that FBI guy with the
sweaty white shirt and the convertible that had a red-smeared fender and who disappeared between this car and
the caboose."
"My," said Jeffrey softly to Jeff, "that guy is used to issuing orders, isn't he!" I smiled to myself, thinking, yes
indeedy, my Gladiator was about to unleash hell...not to mention recapping the various characters on the train.
He was so...so...well rounded. That thought brought Terry's equipment to mind, too, and I placed one hand on the
wall to steady myself. However, instead of a wall, my palm came to rest on Hando's smooth skull. He wiggled his
tongue at me and I thought, "Where is a safety pin when you need one?"
Should I follow Gladiator to look for Cort or follow Terry to look for Zack? Gladiator made the decision for me as
he took my hand firmly in his and said, "Come with me." Just 3 simple words. "Come with me." I would have
followed him across the hyena and lion-infested sands of northern
mountains between
hrough the bone-encrusted forests of
firmly now.
And so we went.... together we went...side by side, hand in hand we went.....sigh.
Terry rounded up
figured any guy who could land a plane on the roof of a moving train might be able to help him figure out where a convertible could have gone to in the space of a coupling. As
noticed a red smear on its spine. It made him wonder. If you couldn't trust this bloke with a farmer's wife, could y
ou trust him with an over-actor? Probably not. Maybe he had bludgeoned her with his book of poems in the coal
car, taken off in his plane, only to land at the end of the train in an effort to make us all believe he was just arriving?
It WAS possible!
They proceeded, wary of each other, down the corridor toward the caboose. Large scrapes marred either side of
the door frame. Opening the door and stepping out onto the coupling, Terry noted the rear view mirror of the
convertible had become lodged in the coupling itself. "Go down and check that out," he ordered
"You check it out!" the airman retorted. "You're the one who has the equipment!" Though privately he didn't see
what all the fuss was about. Lachlan knew he had exactly the sameequipment , but he wasn't about to say so at
this juncture.
Terry swiftly swung himself down under the coupling with the sure, smooth motion of a man who has had long years
of coupling experience. Wow! thought
in that area.
The train lurched violently and without warning as most train lurches tend to be on cold nights in the mountains of northern
the caboose with the rear view mirror clutched in his left hand. Managing to catch the bottom step of the caboose in
his teeth, he flipped himself nimbly over the railing and entered the cow-infested confines of the caboose. Unseen,
lurking in the darkest corner beyond the blackest cow, waited....
…a
white cow.
Terry
had never seen a white cow before. He made his way slowly, patting the cows gently, until he stood before the white cow.
"Holy
cow!" he muttered.
"No. Not holy. But might purty, eh?" It was Zack. He had been standing in another corner of the caboose near a
brown cow. "Did you know Rusty's named all these cows? That white one he calls Harry Carey. Any idea why?"
Terry sighed in relief. "Been looking all over for ya, mate. You and that car gave us quite a start. Look here, Bud
needs you back in the train. He wants all you law enforcement types to help him solve the murder."
"Murder?" Zack's eyes narrowed. "There's no way back from the edge on murder, is there? But, the question is, is
it really murder?"
Terry
rolled his eyes. "Enough with the questions. There's too many questions. We need answers, lawman."
They
made it back to the compartment to meet with Bud and Sheriff John Biebe. The only law enforcement man left missing was… the dusty rain-speckled Cort.
Gladiator was hot on his trail. And I was hot on Gladiator's tail. Er. Um. I mean, I was hot on Gladiator's trail.
Yeah. That's right. Freudian slip there.
Or
maybe not.
Who
knows?
He opened a compartment after we entered the car just past the dining car. I waited outside as he checked it out. I
heard chains jingling inside and assumed he'd found Cort. So I followed him inside the compartment.
dim, yet I was still able to make out his form,
standing against the wall, stripped down to only the lightest of coverings.
"Did
I hear Cort jangling his chains in here?" I asked Gladiator.
"No,
my love. You heard a slave straining against his bounds of metal links," he said, his voice deep and masculine.
I blinked. He stood there, chained at the wrists, bound to metal brackets placed in the wall. "Gladiator! Who did this
to you? How shall I get you free?"
"T'was I, fair lady," Gladiator said, his voice much lower and much more suggestive. I blushed. "Indulge me in a fantasy? The creator never allows us to have these little amorous scenes in the movies. He frustrates us in a method
most cruel. Will you make my celluloid dreams become solid and real?"
Oh, my. Oh, my, yes. Oh, my, yes, indeedy. Oh, my, yes, indeedy, heaven's above, can I please? Oh, my, ….
"Sometime
this century?" he groaned.
I
fairly leapt across the distance separating us. My lips were on his, I felt the heat of his body so close… so close…
And,
of course, that's when Cort decided to drag his ever-loving body inside the compartment.
never be joined?
But
where, oh where, was the body of the rabbit tooth over- actor woman?
In the most unlikeliest turn of events, what happened next was so shocking, so disgusting, so horrific, it could only
be described as "something straight out of the tabloids."
Well,
when we got to the compartment where Bud had gathered the cops, we found out that…
Part
22: annsmac
…we
were due in to Paris any day.
"Ah,
gay Paree," laughed Jeff, getting this twinkle in his eye.
"What we do in this train echoes across Crowedom," he said in that deep, utterly commanding voice of his. "Don't
make me get the women on you, Hando. Their PCs do not stick in the frost."
Terry and I looked at each other, both mouthing, "What?" and then shrugging. With Gladiator making little sense
at that moment, I began to edge closer to Terry's equipment.
Bud
cleared his throat and we all looked at him.
To
actually look at Bud, we had to coordinate ourselves in the way we would all turn to look at him. Pressed up tight
in this mass of men's bodies, I felt something poke me. I turned my head over my shoulders to see who was being so