Bloood on the Tracks

The train screeched into the station at 12:47 a.m., half-empty, half-asleep. Rain tapped against the windows, rhythmic as a ticking clock. No one noticed the man in the black coat as he stepped onto the platform at Hawthorne Station, except the night porter—who would later swear the man didn’t blink once.

Detective Ava Calder had just finished her third cup of stale coffee when the call came through: a body found by the tracks near Hawthorne, ten miles outside the city. No ID. Blood everywhere. No sign of the killer.

She arrived just after 2 a.m., flashlight beam cutting through the fog. The victim lay on the gravel beside the tracks, back arched unnaturally, face frozen in a scream. A thin trail of blood ran down the rail, like a red thread leading nowhere.

"Name?" Ava asked.

“None yet,” replied Officer Jensen. “No wallet, no phone. But look at this.” He held up a torn piece of train ticket soaked in blood. The time stamp read 12:47 AM. Just as the train had arrived.

"Someone wanted this body found. This wasn’t a robbery," Ava muttered.

Jensen pointed to the victim’s hands. One gripped a silver necklace with a train charm on it. The other, a crumpled photograph: two boys on a rusty track, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, laughing. On the back, in faded ink: “Summer, ‘98. Before everything changed.”

The forensics team confirmed what Ava already suspected—this wasn’t a random act. The wounds were deliberate. Precise. Rage didn’t do work this clean.

Ava took the photo and drove into the city as the sky paled with dawn. She didn’t need much to go on—she had seen that photo before, in an old cold case from her rookie year. Simon Keller. Missing since 1998. Eleven years old. Vanished on the way to the station with his friend Liam Drew. Only Liam ever came back.

The report back then was thin. No witnesses. No suspects. The surviving boy—Liam—never spoke about it. Eventually, the case went cold, like so many others.

She found Liam Drew in a second-floor walk-up in a rundown neighborhood in Ashburn. The door opened slowly. Liam looked older than thirty-eight—gray around the temples, hollow-eyed, like a man haunted by footsteps behind him.

“Detective Calder,” she said, flashing her badge. “You have a moment?”

Liam’s eyes dropped to the photo in her hand. His shoulders stiffened.

“Where did you get that?”

"By the tracks. Someone left it next to a dead man. Do you know him?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Jacob Marlowe. He used to work for the railway. Security detail."

“And?”

“He was there that night,” Liam said. “Back in ‘98. He saw what happened. I think… I think he knew who took Simon. Maybe he was involved. Maybe he covered it up.”

Ava leaned in. “And who do you think killed him now?”

Liam looked past her, out the rain-streaked window.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I think someone’s been watching. I get notes sometimes. Slipped under my door. Just train times. Just… reminders.”

Later that night, Ava went back to the tracks. The rain had stopped. She stood at mile marker 42—the spot where the blood trail had begun. Something glinted in her flashlight beam, nestled between the rails.

Another photo.

This one was newer.

It showed Jacob Marlowe—alive. Smiling. A caption scrawled at the bottom: “He never paid. But he will.”

It wasn’t just a murder. It was a message.

---

Three days later, another man was found—former rail supervisor, heart stopped with fear, mouth stuffed with old ticket stubs. Same red thread of blood leading away from the scene. Another photo nearby. This time, a picture of a train station locker.

Ava found the locker untouched. Inside: a tape recorder. Old-school. She pressed play.

“They forgot me. All of them. Simon Keller didn’t just disappear. He screamed. He begged. And they turned away. I remember every second. And so now—so will they.”

She recognized the voice. Chilling. Quiet.

Liam Drew.

She stormed back to Ashburn. His apartment was empty. A half-packed bag on the bed. Blood on the bathroom tile. One last note on the table:

“Final stop. Midnight train.”

---

The train pulled into Hawthorne at 12:00 a.m., wheels hissing like serpents. Ava waited on the platform, heart pounding. The train doors opened.

Liam stepped off.

He didn’t run.

He looked tired.

Broken.

“I thought if I made them feel it, maybe I’d stop hearing him scream.”

Ava didn’t answer. Just read him his rights as she slipped the cuffs on.

As the train rolled away, its wheels clattered over the rails.

Blood on the tracks.

But at last, maybe, an end to the silence.