Collision
760 Words
The smell of antiseptic clung to everything.
It seeped into the walls, settled in the plastic chairs, and lingered in the back of Aiden’s throat long after the nurse left the room.
“It’s only a superficial cut.”
She wrapped fresh gauze around his palm.
“You were lucky.”
Lucky.
He’d grown to hate that word.
People only ever called him lucky after someone else died.
The nurse offered a polite smile before closing the door behind her.
The room fell silent.
Aiden stared through the narrow window into the corridor.
Two uniformed officers stood outside.
Not guarding him.
Watching him.
There was a difference.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Before Aiden could answer, the door opened.
Julian stepped inside.
Still wearing the same dark coat.
Still carrying the leather satchel.
Still looking as though he’d spent the last twelve hours chasing answers no one wanted found.
“I thought the police would’ve stopped you.”
“They tried.”
Aiden let out a tired breath.
“What do you want?”
Julian didn’t sit.
Instead, he placed a transparent evidence bag on the bedside table.
Inside was the silver ticket.
The one recovered from the latest victim.
Aiden’s expression hardened.
“I’ve already told you—”
“I know.”
Julian interrupted gently.
“You’ve never seen one.”
Silence.
Then…
“I lied.”
Julian looked up.
Aiden’s shoulders sagged.
“I’ve seen one.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
Julian’s pulse quickened.
“The envelope.”
Aiden’s eyes narrowed.
“I never mentioned an envelope.”
“I know.”
The room became very still.
Neither man spoke.
Finally, Julian reached into his satchel.
He removed a photograph.
It showed the entrance to Aiden’s apartment building.
Taken from across the street.
Last night.
Aiden stared at it.
“Someone was watching you.”
Julian nodded.
“I wasn’t the only one.”
⸻
Across town…
Evelyn stood in the archives beneath Police Headquarters. Sneaking in has never been a problem, she knew the entire place like the back of her palm.
Rows of grey filing cabinets stretched into darkness.
Most hadn’t been opened in years.
The clerk barely looked up as she signed registers because she already knew who dared to sneak in.
“ Stop trying to get me into trouble, You’ve got thirty minutes.”
“I’ll only need ten.”
“You always say that.”
She smiled without humour.
“And I’m always wrong.”
The clerk slid a heavy file across the counter.
TRAIN 27
CASE CLOSED
Dust covered the edges.
Someone hadn’t wanted this file touched.
She carried it to the nearest table.
The first pages were exactly what she expected.
Passenger manifest.
Weather reports.
Mechanical inspections.
Witness statements.
Then…
She frowned.
Page 184.
Page 185.
Page 186.
Missing.
She checked again.
The numbering hadn’t skipped.
The pages had been removed.
Carefully.
Cleanly.
Not torn.
Cut.
Someone had known exactly what they were looking for.
She continued reading.
Near the back of the file, a folded receipt slipped free and landed on the floor.
Not police evidence.
A café receipt.
Dated…
The morning after the crash.
On the back, written in hurried handwriting—
He remembers more than he knows. Don’t let them question him alone.
No name.
No signature.
Only one initial.
M.
⸻
Back at the hospital…
Julian paced beside the window.
“There’s something else.”
Aiden looked at him.
“The police told me all the survivors’ personal belongings were destroyed in the crash.”
Julian nodded.
“They lied.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Julian reached into his satchel one final time.
This time…
He removed a small, charred object sealed in another evidence bag.
A wristwatch.
The glass was cracked.
The silver strap blackened by fire.
The hands had stopped forever at—
8:43.
Aiden’s breathing caught.
His vision blurred.
The hospital room dissolved.
For one impossible heartbeat…
He wasn’t in the hospital anymore.
He was somewhere else.
Metal screamed.
Someone pounded against a locked door.
A child cried.
And through the smoke…
A man’s voice shouted—
“You have exactly twenty-seven minutes!”
The memory shattered.
Aiden doubled over, gripping the edge of the bed.
The heart monitor erupted into frantic beeping.
Nurses rushed into the room.
Julian stepped back instinctively.
No one noticed the figure standing in the hallway outside.
Watching through the small glass window in the door.
The figure wore a hospital orderly’s uniform.
A face mask.
Latex gloves.
Completely ordinary.
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