And just like that, the man I’d been kissing moments ago became the most dangerous man on the planet.
His face flashed across the platform’s screen. Somewhere behind me, the train screeched to a halt. Shoulders moved past me but all I could look at was at those gray eyes.
The picture was terrible. His face was blurred, distorted. Anybody who didn’t know him wouldn’t recognize him. I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought.
It been only moments ago, when we said goodbye, that I was looking at those same gray eyes.
“Suspect is charged with arson, theft, murder, kidnapping . . .”
The list just went on and on. Apparently, he was behind the recent Ouji attack where a government building had exploded. The news didn’t say it but it the building had been a research facility. I should know. I used to work there until recently. That was where I first met him.
Terrorist was what the media called him. Yeah, with a rep list like that I would do and yet, was it really him? Was this the same guy who brought me dinner when I worked late? Or gave me a ride because my car wouldn’t start?
He had even helped me buy groceries. It couldn’t be him and yet, how could I not know those gray eyes. They looked like a thunder storm. The way the sky once moved, the way it is portrayed in videos.
“Train to Zanx will depart in five minutes. Train to Zanx . . .”
Had it all been a lie? Was that just one of his many personas? It would make sense. If it was true, everything he ever said and did would be a lie.
My gut twisted. It was a lie. Pressure build behind my eyes. I blinked rapidly. Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted. It didn’t mean anything, not really. I knew it wouldn’t last. That was obvious.
Somewhere close by, heavy footsteps approached. They came to a stop around me.
“Miss Alex Wight. Please come with us.”
I turned to the voice that had spoken. Surrounding me, there were seven individuals in tactical armor. They all point their weapons at me. The woman who had spoken stepped forward. She had cuffs in her hands.
“What is all this for?” I asked.
Most of the platform was empty but there were a few who loitered around waiting for the next train. They kept a wide berth from us.
“You’re charged with aiding a terrorist,” the woman answered, “please come with us.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. And just like that, I was a suspect.
Dabbling in the Art of Writing 