New Encounters

The busiest station at rush hour, what was I thinking? I hope Patrick appreciates what I have planned because it might be our last chance.

A year ago, I had a serendipitous encounter at my favourite café when Patrick knocked my cinnamon latte over, almost ruining my entire portfolio. I would have punched him if it wasn’t for his incessant apologising, and my desperation to save my sketches. And when I stopped fuming, and looked up at him for the first time, it felt like my breath was snatched away.

He bore a striking resemblance to someone I once knew, who had long passed, with the same caramel skin tone, hazel eyes, and even the way he wore his hair back then. When he offered to buy me another drink, I accepted without hesitancy, which is unlike me. We struck up a friendship and it bloomed; from then on, Patrick and I were inseparable. We fell in sync, enjoying the same nerdy past-times and developing our creative careers. I even stopped straightening my hair, preferring my natural black coils; I felt more like the person I wanted to be.

Before I knew it, he’d moved into my tiny apartment six months later and it was wonderfully intense. Then a sudden change of circumstance derailed our smooth-running train. He lost his job and had to rely on me to support us both; turns out he has a mountain of debt. And now, he is distant, as though he regrets introducing me to the best client I’ve ever had. It has been the boost I needed for Diana Jones Designs, and my once struggling interior design agency is now thriving; I cannot go backward now. When I left home at sixteen, I decided that I would prosper or die; there were no grey areas to languish in. But these days, it feels more like my success is a neon arrow above Patrick's head highlighting his failures. So, I must fix this, fix us.

Which brings me to why I’m standing in the bustle of suits and tired heals. My new client is a socialite of some sort, who recently had a secretive messy divorce and wants to erase any trace of her cheating husband. I’ve tried not to get involved, but she’s always using me as her sounding board, and between her demands and over-sharing, I’m turning grey at 27. But it’s been worth it; she gave me tickets to an exclusive mystery location, somewhere in France, via Paris; an anniversary gift from her husband no less. But it came at a perfect time; Patrick and I need this.

Though, as I stand here, I wish she’d told me how to use this damn ticket, I’ve been trying to figure out this strange reflective QR code on it. Scanning it with my phone has not worked, so I guess I should just ask someone before we miss the train.

‘Excuse me, what is this on the ticket?’

The station staff member doesn’t flinch, instead continues to read the paper with his scuffed torn shoes resting on the desk, and his stringy unkept hair hanging over his face.

‘Excuse me!’

He flicks his gaze upward. ‘Yes?’

I shove the ticket in his face, and he jerks his head back. ‘how d'you get this? That’s a very exclusive ticket?’

I glance at it again, then back at him. ‘How exclusive can a train ticket to Paris be?’

He huffs and straightens up, ‘that’s not for the train, that’s for a private lounge. And if that is yours, you’d know that. So how did you get it?’

I slip the ticket into my pocket, ‘It’s none of your business’.

I meander my way towards the first-class lounge entrance, but there’s another door a meter away. It looks like a staff entrance, but the small symbol on the glass matches the code. I scan the ticket and the door slides open to reveal a dimly lit passageway; the smell of cigars hits me as I emerge into a burgundy velvet lounge. But I’m met with unwelcome glares, seated inside booths lining each side. I check my phone again; Patrick still hasn’t messaged back.

‘I think you're lost!’

A man is scowling at me. His piercing blue eyes and silvery thick quiff, glisten from the small antique looking lamp perched on the table. I smile, tight-lipped, and look around for a space.

‘I said you’re lost, girl,’

My heart pounds under my shirt; I know where this is going. The moment I walked in here, I had the same sinking feeling I always get when I enter a room filled with people who I don’t look like. And I’m tired of having to prove I belong, when they don’t have to.

‘I’m not lost… see, my ticket.’ I wave it in the air like fan.

He chuckles, revealing his bright white venires. ‘And who did you steal it from?’

The heat rises to my face. ‘Who the hell are you?’

There’s a collective gasp, but I stand resolute as the gentleman leans back in his chair with a wide grin. ‘Well, let me show you. Security…remove her, now!’

A man appears from the shadows, dressed like police, only there’s no ID.

‘I suggest you leave on your own girl, before he removes you and sends you back to wherever you came from,’ the gentleman’s husky voice grates on my skin; I dig my nails into my palm and move to find a seat.

‘I have a ticket just like everyone else.’ It comes out quieter than I wanted, but he still hears me.

He stands now, towering above the booth, ‘And as you can see. You are not like everyone else in here, so leave and stop embarrassing yourself. Go on, get out!’ He flicks his wrist at security, and they grab my arm so tight, it stings.

‘You piece of sh…’ before I can finish my sentence, I’m out of the sliding door. ‘Bastard!’ I scream at the glass.

‘Um… excuse me lady,’

I swivel to see the shaggy-haired staff member and my chest tightens at the sight of his smug expression.

‘Before you say anything, the ticket was a gift, okay? I’m not putting up with…’

He raises a palm. ‘Just calm down, will you? Let’s go over there, we don’t want to upset any other passengers’

He brushes his greasy hair away from his eyes and folds his arms, resting them on his belly. ‘Look, we removed you at the request of Mr Kinsley, who has a level of authority here, okay?’

‘I don’t care. He can’t treat people like that. I’d like to speak to a manager’

The staff member huffs and points to his badge. Why didn’t I notice that before?

‘I am a manager…. and you’re not the first person he’s spoken to like that; don’t take it personal. People like him, like to associate with people like him, that doesn’t include me either. I told you it was very exclusive, but you run off before I could warn you,’

I stare at the ticket. ‘So, even with this, I’m not allowed back into the lounge, because of him?’ He shrugs in response,

‘And you're saying, he’s not a-’

The staff member raises his index finger. ‘I didn’t say that. But there’s nothing we can do in this situation, alright.’

‘Speak for yourself. Men like that just need to be erased; he’ll get what’s coming to him.’ I storm off towards the exit of the station. The winter air cools my sweating skin as I step outside. I call Patrick for the third time, and he answers this time.

‘Oh finally....hey babe, I’ve been trying to reach you. Where are you?’

‘Still at the office. I’m sorry, I won’t be able to make it,’ he answers flatly.

‘But… we agreed this date two weeks ago, and I specifically asked if you could get time off, and you confirmed it-,’

‘What’s the issue Diana? I have to work,’

I’m twitching now. ‘Ugh… the issue is that we need some time away, and I had a surprise planned. Don’t you care anymore?’

Patrick huffs, ‘Don’t I care? How dare you! Why do you think I’ve been working so hard - for you Diana - FOR YOU!’ My skin tingles with discomfort. He has never shouted at me.

‘I’m… sorry. But you know we need this. Things have been tough… these last three months.’

‘Yeah, and whose fault is that? You have a hard time trusting people Diana, always second guessing everything. You’re paranoid,’

I slow to stop. ‘Whoa, where is this coming from? I’m paranoid now?!’ I can hear him typing. ‘Why are you saying this? Has something happened at work or…’?

He chuckles, ‘You’re unbelievable. You think this is my mood swing. Agh… I’m tired of you always checking my phone, just because you saw me having dinner with a colleague, once! you’re just too jealous. I can’t do this,’

A heaviness expands to my core; there is a long silence, the words choked in my throat.

‘I think…we need space, Diana. This isn’t going to work for me anymore.’

With that, the phone disconnects. My chest deflates and I feel my cheeks getting wet. With everything we’ve been through, he’s just given up on us. I dart to the toilets, almost running into the men’s, and find it empty, my eyes smudged with liner.

‘Boarding now, 18:35 train to Paris, gate 17,’ a voice calls off the tannoy.

‘I’m going on this trip, I have to, I need to get away’

I wipe my face; compose myself and hurry towards the train; I find our seat; well, my seat, in first class, and sink into it. Pressing my eyes shut, the conversation with Patrick replays in a loop.

But I’m shaken out of my chair by a deafening scream ricocheting across the airy station. Staff run past the window towards the barriers. Another scream escapes, this one louder. Passengers pour out of the train, and I join them; theirs a crowd in the distance and a police presence forming.

‘What’s happened?’ I ask no one in particular.

‘Oh my god, she’s covered in blood, it’s the cleaner,’ someone shouts from the distance.

The crowd parts, revealing a woman being led by a police officer; her uniform drenched in blood, her hands hidden under a stained towel. The station doors close and a look of confusion spreads across the passengers like an infection, people reach for their phones, then an announcement booms from the speakers.

‘There has been an incident; you must all remain inside the station. We will give you further instructions, but please wait calmly while we try to resolve this.’

A staff member appears and checks people’s tickets, then ushers us back into the lounge; reluctantly I follow, but upon entering I notice the insufferable gentleman isn’t with us. One by one, they call us back out, but no one returns. Then it’s my turn and I’m taken to a room within the security centre, where a man and woman are waiting, dressed like the typical TV detectives; pant suits, long dark macs, and blank expressions; but they can’t be much older than me. The woman has short blond hair, styled in a pixie cut, accentuating her fine bone structure. The man stands tall with a fade, soft curls and round features. There’s something alluring about him. Maybe it’s the way he’s scanning me from head to toe. After a long awkward silence of us watching each other, he speaks.

‘Miss Jones, I’m Detective Smith, and this is Detective Preston. How are you this evening?’

‘I’m… ok, what’s going on?’

Detective Smith narrows his gaze. ‘How well do you know Mr Kinsley? the gentleman you had an altercation with earlier?’

My shoulders tense up. ‘Oh, I don’t know that idiot, he was rude to me,’

‘Why?’ Detective Preston asks now, it’s like their playing cat and mouse with me.

‘Well, he didn’t think I belonged in his precious lounge’ they glance at each other and it’s hard to tell if it’s because they don’t believe me, or something else is up.

Detective Preston enquires, ‘Right… is that why you had to be removed from the lounge, forcibly?’

I roll my eyes; not this again. ‘I had a ticket, and every right to be there, then this… fool drags me out. Speak to the manager about the incident. He said Mr… Kinsley is difficult. Ask him,’

Detective Preston flashes her eyebrows, ‘Oh, we did. He said he tried to calm you down, but you were aggressive and then made a threat towards Mr Kinsley.’

‘What? No… no that didn’t happen,’

The Detective shakes her head, ‘We have you on CCTV making the threat, and we also have you on CCTV leaving the toilets’

My brows knit together. ‘Yes, I… I used the loo. I’m sure many people did. What’s really going on here?’

Detective Preston perches herself on the table next to me. ‘You were the only one seen going and coming out of the toilets at a certain time,’ she says with a glint in her eye, then continues. ‘Around that time, Mr Kinsley was found, stabbed to death. After your threat.’

‘Stabbed!... what…No’ I adjust my collar and rub my burning neck.

Detective Preston leans close enough for me to smell her musky perfume, while her colleague, stares from the door. ‘We found a pair of bloody, rose gold scissors at the scene, with the initials DJD engraved onto it. You seem a little uncomfortable Miss Jones.’ she whispers.

My head swirls, what is happening here? those can’t be my engraved scissors. I stand up without thinking and Detective Preston shoves me back down onto the chair, slamming me onto my coccyx bone; the pain races up my spine, and she cackles.

‘Are you really trying to run, Diana?’

I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out, my eyes are wild with guilt, yet I know I did nothing wrong.

‘That’s what I thought, you’re under arrest’

My body is numb. I’m having my rights read to me while hand cuffs press around my wrists. Why can’t I speak?

I’m led out of the main doors, through the crowd. My head hangs low as I try to make sense of this. Outside, a dark van awaits. Buried memories come surging back and I freeze; I can’t go in there.

‘Miss Jones, get in the van now!’ a voice shouts, but I anchor my feet on the step and lurch backwards, head butting one officer. Before I can apologise, something hits me on my head, and I black out.

I jolt up at the painful prod of something sharp in my neck. I’m sitting on the floor of this van with two police offers on either side, head throbbing. The door opens and the glare of LED lights blinds me; someone drags me out, but I can’t see them clearly.

‘If you think of running, I will body slam you onto the floor. Don’t look at me and keep walking,’ A deep voice booms from behind a mask, and dark shades.

I’m dragged through a set of doors, down a damp, freezing hallway. I’m trying to think but a sudden urge to urinate comes over me, like my bodies just woken up after being unconscious.

‘Please, I need… ugh… I need the loo,’ I whisper.

We stop, and I close my eyes waiting for another hit to the head. Instead, he leads me inside the male toilets; the stench of feces and urine is overpowering my senses. He pushes me towards the cubicle; I try to close the door, but he puts his foot in the way.

‘You say you need to go, so go, this is the only chance you get.’ I’m trying to hold it but the need to relieve myself is overwhelming. He taps the gun on his hip, knowing I’m scared to look at his face. I start unbuttoning my jeans when he bursts out laughing and turns around.

‘You’re a dead woman walking, anyway. There’s no point in making it worse, just hurry.’

I hover and quickly go; there’s no toilet paper, so I pull up my underwear, panicking at the thought of him trying anything while I’m this vulnerable, but he doesn’t flinch. We continue along the corridor.

‘Please, you… you said I’m a dead woman walking, what… what do you mean?’

He pulls me into an empty room, places me on a metal chair, then leaves. I clasp my hands to stop them shaking. Detective Preston and Smith stride in, looking more militant than before. Suits replaced with black body armour, combat trousers and boots.

‘I have done nothing. I would like to make a phone… a phone call,’ I plead.

‘Why don’t you wait to hear what we have to say first, Miss Jones,’ Detective Smith responds, I squeeze me hands tighter together as he continues, ‘We have found your fingerprints on the murder weapon, considering you're already in the system,’

'You're lying!'

Detective Preston pulls a plastic bag from her large trouser pockets and slams it on the table. It's my scissors, covered in blood.

'Is there something you like to say Diana...no?' she folds her arms.

‘I… I need to call my… boyfriend, please’,

‘Don’t you mean Ex? he said you would react this way. Miss Jones, Patrick dumped you three months ago, but you're obsessed with him, aren’t you?’ Detective Smith furrows his brow. They're playing with me now, forcing me to look between them like a scared animal, trapped in a cage. I can't take this.

'Aren't you?'

‘No… what do you mean three months?’

Detective Smith moves around the table. ‘He also said you have violent tendencies,’

I rub my temples, ‘What? to whom?... -’

‘To him, especially when you thought he was cheating, you terrified him, even threatened him with those same scissors. It’s like you became someone else he said, sound familiar?’

I let out a forced breath, I’m going to be sick ‘Can I call… um… my assistant?’

‘No!’ Detective Smith snaps back, and continues, ‘We’d like you to see something.’

I bite my lip to stop the tears escaping. A holographic TV screen appears out of the table and CCTV footage plays. Someone who looks just like me follows Mr Kinsley into the toilets, wearing the same outfit. I look closer and clasp my hands over my mouth; it is her; my assistant. The resemblance didn’t bother me before, but anyone could mistake us for sisters, same build, height and skin tone.

Both detectives stare at me, chins high. ‘She’s ready for transfer, take her!’

I jump as the door slides open. ‘Wait… wait please, I didn’t do it! please… that’s not me!... it's-’

The guard drags me out of the room, and I know better than to resist this time; we walk in silence. I’m replaying the day in my head, and my entire relationship with Patrick.

‘Diana, you’re not supposed to be here, they set you up.' I look up at the guard; eyes glazed over, as though the words didn’t come from him.

‘What…what did you say?’

‘Shhh,’

We approach two guards who nod at him, they watch us until we turn the next corner.

‘Your client, your so-called boyfriend, your assistant; they all set you up,’ he whispers

My feet feel like lead weights now; he tightens his grip to keep me moving. ‘I need to get you out of here… Mr Kinsley has more significance to this particular day, than you will understand. They chose you as a random scape goat Diana,’

We reach a door with a keypad; he enters a code; it open onto a forest and he releases the restraints on my wrists. The chilly air scratches my face as he pulls me outside, but I grip the door frame. How do I trust him? How do I trust anyone?

‘What are you doing? They are going to erase you Diana, no trial, nothing. You are dispensable, do you understand?’

I nod absently, this is a nightmare I desperately want to wake up from. I shuffle outside and the door slides shut.

‘What... what am I supposed to do? I don’t even know who you are,’

He turns towards the forest. ‘Head that way,’ he points to a path barely visible. ‘At the end is a tinted black range rover. Someone is waiting to give you a fresh start. And who I am is not as important as you leaving before those guards catch you,’

‘Wait... this doesn’t make sense, and it doesn’t …feel random… tell me truth, it’s not, is it? and they aren’t police, are they?’

He sighs. ‘No… but I can’t say anymore. You shouldn’t have been here, and now I’ve corrected this mistake, we need to get out of here.’ He dashes through the forest.

I chase after him, but he veers left and disappears off the path, leaving me in the darkness.

‘Stay on the path Diana,’ his voice echoes in the distance.

What am I going to do?