The rattle of the train covered up the man’s choked gasps, for which Ara was grateful. She held the wire tight against his throat, and tried to hold on as his body flailed, searching for oxygen. It didn’t usually take this long; this particular mark sure had a strong will to live. Eventually, though, he started to falter, to sag against her, and finally, like they all did, collapse to the ground, pulling her down with him.
Ara held on for a few minutes more, making sure he was good and dead. It wouldn’t do her any good to have him wake up and storm the train looking for her. She was more of a professional than that. She released her hold on the garrote, and dragged herself out from under his body. She leaned over, checking for a pulse. Nothing. Good.
She took a deep breath, trying to slow down her heart-rate. Killing always got her blood pumping, but it wouldn’t do her any good to leave the compartment panting and sweaty. She pulled a baggie out of her work bag, and removed a Clorox wipe. She cleaned the garrote, removing any blood or skin cells that might be clinging to it. She’d toss the wipe in a trash can once she left the train.
She turned the garrote over in her hands, and felt a little thrill of pride run up her spine. Even after years of use, she was smug about this invention. She unwrapped the wire from the wooden handles at either end, and dropped it into her work bag. It would just look like a piece of scrap yarn, since this particular wire was actually made with yarn spun with Teflon thread. This meant it looked like regular yarn, but had the strength to strangle a man. Or woman. She wasn’t particular. The wooden handles returned to their spot in the bag, looking no more ominous than the other knitting needles tucked away.
Ara did a quick check of the room, to make sure no other evidence of her presence remained. She peeled off her gloves, tucked them in the bag with the Clorox wipe, and zipped it into the hidden pocket of her bag. There. That should be everything. She dug out her phone, and snapped a picture of the corpse. Proof of death. She sent it through her encrypted server, and logged into her Swiss bank account. Minutes later, the long line of numbers popped up in her account. She smiled.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” she murmured to the room, before slipping out of the cabin and back to her seat in the passenger car.
She didn’t pay too much attention to the passengers around her, other than to make sure none of them were paying attention to her. She stared out the dark window, which gave her both a challenge as she tried to watch the world outside zip by, and allowed her to watch the rest of the car in the reflection.
“Damn it.”
Ara looked around, bemused. The voice belonged to a young woman, sitting across from her with a mess of yarn in her lap, a crumpled stack of papers, and a look of confusion and despair on her face.
“Trouble with your project?” Ara asked, her voice light and smooth.
The woman looked up, startled. “Crap. Did I say that out loud?”
“You did,” Ara replied, smiling. “Want some help?” She gestured to the knitting needles sticking out of her bag.
“Yes,” the young woman said, holding out the needles. “It’s a new pattern, and I keep ending up with the wrong number of stitches. I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong…”
Ara kept her smile vague as she reached first for the pattern, giving it a quick read to make sure she knew what was supposed to be happening. Then she took the knitting, counting the stitches and checking the pattern.
“Ouf,” Ara finally said, glancing over at the young woman. “Well, I know what your problem is, but it’s going to suck to fix it.”
“I don’t even care at this point,” the other woman said, slumping back in her seat with a sigh. “I just want to know I’m not crazy.
“It looks like you should have been decreasing stitches along the way, on every fourth row,” Ara said, pointing to a passage on the pattern, a note just above the row instructions. “See here?”
The woman blinked at the line, then chuckled weakly. “How did I miss that?”
“It happens to the best of us,” Ara said, her smile more genuine now. “I’d probably rip it back to this point, here,” she said, pointing out a spot a few inches from the needles. “It’s a lot of work to undo, but I think it’s the only way to fix it.”
The young woman nodded, staring at the project. “Yeah, I can see that.” She started shoving the knitting back in her bag. “I can’t deal with that right now. I’ll fix it later, when I’m not so mad at it.”
Ara laughed. “I’ve been there, too. Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you so much for your help,” the young woman said, holding out her hand. “I’m Nica.”
“Nice to meet you, Nica,” Ara said, grasping her hand loosely.
Nica opened her mouth again, but the train suddenly slowed.
“This is my stop,” Ara said, standing and bracing herself with the grab bar.
“Well, thanks again,” Nica smiled. “I’m pretty sure that would have confused me for hours if you hadn’t helped.”
“No worries,” Ara said, pausing as other passengers rose to leave the train. “Just remember, you need to read all the instructions before you start!”
She left the train, gently tossing the evidence bag in a full trashcan. Good life advice, she mused, hailing a town-car and sliding into the back seat. Always make sure you know what you’re getting into before you start. It could save your life someday.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020