Page 28
Story: With a Vengeance
“I don’t think it’s his heart,” she says. “Maybe a stroke?”
Anna stands and steadies Lapsford’s head between her hands. His eyes are open, and she stares into them, searching for signs of stroke, of seizure, of brain hemorrhage. Not that she knows what those signs are. Anna assumes something will reveal itself. But as she gazes into Lapsford’s eyes, there’s nothing obviously wrong with them.
“We need a doctor!” someone shouts.
“What we need is to stop this damn train!” someone else yells even louder.
“No!” Anna whirls around to face them, the tone of her voice and the ferocity of her words silencing the rest of the car. “This train stops for no one.”
“But this is an emergency,” Herb says.
Anna is no longer so sure of that. There are no signs that anything is wrong with Lapsford other than his dramatic appearance. Which, now that Anna thinks about it, seems too dramatic, especially for someone with a normal pulse and no obvious affliction.
She turns back to Lapsford, whose breathing instantly calms. His expression, too, changes from panic to one of defiance, with a touch of amusement thrown in for good measure. In that moment, Anna knows her suspicion is correct.
Nothing is wrong with Jack Lapsford. He had simply faked a heart attack to get her to stop the train.
“I had to give it a shot,” he says when it’s clear he’s been caught once again trying to stop the train.
Anna can only shake her head in disgust. What a weak, cowardly man.
“You’re probably the worst person on this train,” she tells him. “Considering your fellow passengers, that’s—”
She’s cut off by the sound of a martini glass being slammed against a cocktail table. Pivoting toward the sound, she sees Judd Dodge, now empty-handed, staring into the middle distance. Mouth open and eyes wide, he looks like a man currently glimpsing some indescribable horror at the end of the car.
But there’s nothing there. Just the bar with Dante still behind it and the mirrored shelves in back of him reflecting the scene unfolding in the center of the car.
Anna, having just been duped by Lapsford, makes no move to help. No one does.
Judd lists to the right, grasping the tablecloth of the cocktail table as if that alone can keep him upright. The cloth instead slithers across the table, toppling the martini glass and causing Judd to lose his balance entirely. He hits the floor with a sickening thud, the sound muting the single, agonized moan escaping his lips.
In a flash, Anna is at his side, kneeling over him, trying to steady him the same way she’d done with Lapsford moments earlier. As Judd writhes on his back, a slick of foam bubbles out of his mouth. Like someone afflicted. Someone rabid. Flecks of red stain the foam. A bloody, viscous mess gurgles past his lips and oozes down his chin.
Anna gapes at it, helpless and horrified. “Judd, can you talk? Tell me what’s wrong.”
Speechless, Judd only shudders.
Then, with a groan and a rattle, he goes still.
Anna slaps his face, lightly at first, then with increased force. She continues slapping, panic underscoring every strike, until Seamus gently pulls her away.
“No,” Anna whimpers. “He can’t be.”
With a trembling hand, Seamus places two fingers against Judd’s neck. He looks at Anna and shakes his head. After quickly crossing himself in silent prayer, Seamus removes Judd’s glasses,places the same fingers he’d just used to seek out a pulse atop his eyelids, and gently slides them closed.
To the others in the lounge, that’s the moment it becomes real. When all of them understand that this isn’t a blatant attempt to stop the train or another part of Anna’s plan.
Judd Dodge isdead.
10 p.m.
Ten Hours toChicago
Thirteen
For a fullminute after Judd Dodge is declared dead, no one speaks. At least not loud enough for anyone else to hear. Plopped into a chair, Edith Gerhardt whispers a near-silent prayer. Next to her, Herb Pulaski moves his lips but no words come out.
As for Anna, she can’t even breathe. If she does, she’s not cognizant of it. It feels to her as if she’s the dead one. Considering where she is and who she’s with, that would have been less surprising thanthis.
Anna stands and steadies Lapsford’s head between her hands. His eyes are open, and she stares into them, searching for signs of stroke, of seizure, of brain hemorrhage. Not that she knows what those signs are. Anna assumes something will reveal itself. But as she gazes into Lapsford’s eyes, there’s nothing obviously wrong with them.
“We need a doctor!” someone shouts.
“What we need is to stop this damn train!” someone else yells even louder.
“No!” Anna whirls around to face them, the tone of her voice and the ferocity of her words silencing the rest of the car. “This train stops for no one.”
“But this is an emergency,” Herb says.
Anna is no longer so sure of that. There are no signs that anything is wrong with Lapsford other than his dramatic appearance. Which, now that Anna thinks about it, seems too dramatic, especially for someone with a normal pulse and no obvious affliction.
She turns back to Lapsford, whose breathing instantly calms. His expression, too, changes from panic to one of defiance, with a touch of amusement thrown in for good measure. In that moment, Anna knows her suspicion is correct.
Nothing is wrong with Jack Lapsford. He had simply faked a heart attack to get her to stop the train.
“I had to give it a shot,” he says when it’s clear he’s been caught once again trying to stop the train.
Anna can only shake her head in disgust. What a weak, cowardly man.
“You’re probably the worst person on this train,” she tells him. “Considering your fellow passengers, that’s—”
She’s cut off by the sound of a martini glass being slammed against a cocktail table. Pivoting toward the sound, she sees Judd Dodge, now empty-handed, staring into the middle distance. Mouth open and eyes wide, he looks like a man currently glimpsing some indescribable horror at the end of the car.
But there’s nothing there. Just the bar with Dante still behind it and the mirrored shelves in back of him reflecting the scene unfolding in the center of the car.
Anna, having just been duped by Lapsford, makes no move to help. No one does.
Judd lists to the right, grasping the tablecloth of the cocktail table as if that alone can keep him upright. The cloth instead slithers across the table, toppling the martini glass and causing Judd to lose his balance entirely. He hits the floor with a sickening thud, the sound muting the single, agonized moan escaping his lips.
In a flash, Anna is at his side, kneeling over him, trying to steady him the same way she’d done with Lapsford moments earlier. As Judd writhes on his back, a slick of foam bubbles out of his mouth. Like someone afflicted. Someone rabid. Flecks of red stain the foam. A bloody, viscous mess gurgles past his lips and oozes down his chin.
Anna gapes at it, helpless and horrified. “Judd, can you talk? Tell me what’s wrong.”
Speechless, Judd only shudders.
Then, with a groan and a rattle, he goes still.
Anna slaps his face, lightly at first, then with increased force. She continues slapping, panic underscoring every strike, until Seamus gently pulls her away.
“No,” Anna whimpers. “He can’t be.”
With a trembling hand, Seamus places two fingers against Judd’s neck. He looks at Anna and shakes his head. After quickly crossing himself in silent prayer, Seamus removes Judd’s glasses,places the same fingers he’d just used to seek out a pulse atop his eyelids, and gently slides them closed.
To the others in the lounge, that’s the moment it becomes real. When all of them understand that this isn’t a blatant attempt to stop the train or another part of Anna’s plan.
Judd Dodge isdead.
10 p.m.
Ten Hours toChicago
Thirteen
For a fullminute after Judd Dodge is declared dead, no one speaks. At least not loud enough for anyone else to hear. Plopped into a chair, Edith Gerhardt whispers a near-silent prayer. Next to her, Herb Pulaski moves his lips but no words come out.
As for Anna, she can’t even breathe. If she does, she’s not cognizant of it. It feels to her as if she’s the dead one. Considering where she is and who she’s with, that would have been less surprising thanthis.
Table of Contents
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