Agreeing silence fills the room.

‘Good get going people!’

Fifty Four

Frank is leaning his weight against a brick wall, looking up at the sun; he covers his eyes from its rays. Sweat is pouring down his brow as he wipes it away, smearing blood on his temple. He looks down at his feet, his shoes once black are now covered in mud and muck. His clothes are torn and worn out. Blood stains his clothing and dirty blonde hair, his muscles ripping through his lacerated apparel, showing more than veins and scars. His marine core tattoo is visible; it’s plastered on his right shoulder. He looks down at the marine insignia and shakes his head. Fear and loathing are not feelings Frank feels often, but at this moment both of them are running through his body quite like the blood that once ran through the guard he beat to death a short while ago. The voices start talking.

‘Fear is for the weak frank, knuckle up you pussy’ Says the briskly voice. At that moment Frank darts his head from right to left, trying to pin point the voice’s location. He looks around, nothing but open woodland and concrete tanks surround him. He looks up at the sun again and goes down to his knees. He reaches into his ripped shirt pocket and pulls out his empty pill container. He starts sobbing and moaning, visibly in pain. He holds his hands out in front of him, as if he doesn’t recognise himself.

‘Man up!’ Shouts the voice in his head

‘Don’t be weak, you don’t need those pills my boy, you have me!’ Snarls the voice

Frank turns his hands over and looks at his palms. The lines on his hands contour much like his life. He never believed in psychics or palm readings, but he could tell how someone could read some one’s life through his. Busted fingers and broken knuckles are few of the things that serve as a footnote for his life. Frank stops looking at his hands, as he pulls himself back up using the railing attached to the wall. He brushes himself down and looks back up at the sun, and then to his front. He sees the gate that he entered a few hours earlier. The guard that let him in is in his booth watching the CCTV. Frank takes out his gun and slowly pulls the hammer back.

‘Forgive me’ Says Frank as he reaches the window of the booth and takes aim.

Fifty Five

Officer Mullins walks into the foyer of the incident room in midtown Boston. He is greeted with a buzzing of chatter as he stands still and witnesses the chaotic poetry of the building. Masses of officers are walking and running around urgently as they scramble for offices and phones. He turns around to his partner and throws him a cautious blink. Mullins carries on walking with his partner towards the incident rooms’ central operations area which is boarded up with plaster wood. He is met by a few smiles and nods from his co-workers. Mullins notices the people acknowledging him are doing so in politeness rather than need. He looks out of place in the building as he is a street officer who walks a beat; most of the people in the incident room are decorated members of the police force, not to mention the ever growing presence of the FBI and CIA. He suddenly jumps as some one’s hand pats him on the shoulder, jolting him out of his haze. It’s the DA, Eddie Smith.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you there’ laughs the DA

Mullins nods his head in relief, happy to see a familiar face

‘No problem sir. What’s going on here then?’

‘Chase has been in contact with us and it seems he has taken a liking to Frank McKenzie. He wants to talk with Frank on the phone, but obviously that’s slightly impossible since he is MIA. We need to locate Frank as soon as possible, or I fear Connor might start killing more hostages.’

Mullins glances at his partner and back at Eddie; worry washing all over his face

‘Don’t worry kid, everything will work out. Just worry about keeping the streets safe and doing your part in the case.’

‘The thing is sir; I’m finding it hard to sit around. I want to do more, and I feel that I could do more to help the investigation.’

Eddie nods at Mullins sympathetically

‘I understand kid; we all want to do more. How do you think I feel being cooped up in this office all day? We all want to be the guy to take this sucker down. Truth is we can, we all play an integral part in the success of this case. My job is to run the ship; your job is to be the much needed man on the streets. There’s a lot more going on in Boston then what’s happening down in the M.I.T Building, we need people like you to man the streets and make sure the city doesn’t turn into a playground for chase and his so called followers, is that clear?’

Mullins nods

‘Good, now I want you to go down to the garage and meet your team. We want you to lead them on point, and search down town for any signs of Frank. You will be leading them into possible hostile areas, if there is any form of resistance from Frank or any of Chase’s men on  the streets then plant a couple of bullets into their legs, I want them alive and able to talk. I’m trusting you kid, you have shown initiative, if you play your cards right you could be bumped up to Homicide after this is all over.’

Mullins lights up with smile and he nods emphatically.

‘No problem sir, I’ll make sure I’ll bring Frank home.’

Mullins and his partner walk away from Eddie and make their way out of the Incident room. Eddie smiles to himself, a self-smile of satisfaction. He takes out a cigarette and lights it up, inhaling the smoke as if he was victorious already. He strolls over to his office and walks in, shutting the door behind him. He gets out his phone and starts mashing the buttons. He takes another drag on his cigarette and smiles as he looks down at the message he just typed.

“It’s done” The message reads.

He clicks send and flips the phone back shut. He chucks it on to the sofa carelessly as he walks over to the mini bar. He once again pours another drink; the sound of the liquor hitting the tumbler is music to his ears, as he raises the glass in the air saluting himself, he downs the whisky.

Fifty Six

The year 2006: SIX YEARS BEFORE BOARDING THE TRAIN

Mrs Gardener is standing on her suburban porch watching the traffic go by. It’s a delightful evening of colours jumping out of the sky. The stars are shining brighter this night more so then she had ever seen. It seems as if the air its self is cleaner and the people passing by saying hello are more forgiving. She has always gotten along with her neighbours, but living in suburbia has taken its toll on the way she sees most people. It seems people change when receiving bonuses on their already meaty cheques. She isn’t one of them, or so she has always thought. Mrs Gardener has always enjoyed the good things in life, but what most people see as the luxuries in life, she sees as burdens. She enjoys good wine and people. Enjoys looking after kids and gets a tremendous satisfaction when cooking for her mum and dad on thanksgiving. People see her as a giving person, while she sees herself as a shadow of what she wants the world to be.

While she carries on watching the light traffic go by her family style home, she snaps back into reality as a car horn on the street jars her conscious. She shakes her head in disappointment as she notices two men shouting at each other a few hundred yards down her street. They are both out of their cars screaming obscene words at each other while holding up the traffic. She walks into her house, opening the classic style porch door within a door. She strides into her living room and admires the view, as it’s pristine and clean, as if she is expecting someone. She glances at the time on the clock on her wall. She starts to strip down to her French underwear. Her body looking immaculate and well-kept as if she goes to the gym regularly. Her front door bell rings and she turns around, walking over to the door she opens it wide and sees his face. She grabs him and pulls him into the house, closing the door behind, she pushes him up against it and starts kissing his neck.