In The Dying Minutes by J.A. Baker

Author:J.A. Baker [Baker, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781913419790
Publisher: Bloodhound Books - crime, thriller and mystery
Published: 2020-09-13T16:00:00+00:00

There were no witnesses, that was the problem. Nobody who could say what actually took place that afternoon, so assumptions were made. More tongues clacked, putting two and two together and once again being completely incorrect when they came up with five. They all thought they knew. They had the backstory; a young lad accused of a terrible crime, coming to terms with his guilt. What else was there to say? There would be talk that he had been unable to live with what he had done, that the guilt became too much for him to bear. And that is exactly what did happen. They went ahead with their vicious stories without any credible evidence. Evidence is for forensic teams. All they craved was gossip and tittle-tattle. What they didn’t know, they managed to fill in with their own suppositions and lies, blanks in the story filled by the loose lips of locals.

It happened as he took a different route back. Drawn to the station by the hiss and screeching of the trains, the slightly rubbery smell that permeated the air, he decided to take a quick look. He had loved railway stations ever since he was a young kid. They reminded him of holidays with his family. He remembered the excitement, the butterflies in his stomach as they boarded, bustling their way down the narrow aisles to their seats, having a table between him and his sister, his father pulling out a pack of cards to keep them entertained on the journey, his mother opening the foil that contained their homemade sandwiches.

Even the CCTV footage couldn’t determine the truth of the events of that day. He was just a shadowy figure, a silhouette who fell. Another tragedy. Another body. Another light snuffed out.

Stepping onto the platform, he felt positive, buoyed up by the thoughts that had settled in his brain; good thoughts, happy thoughts. Not the blackness he had become mired in of late. He had seen a chink of light, been given a helping hand out of the shadows and back into the sunshine.

‘Not here to see The Flying Scotsman, are you lad?’

He felt his heart soar, nodded and widened his eyes. Talk about good luck. He had no idea it was passing through. The man standing next to him patted his arm, smiled and shook his head. ‘You’ve just missed it I’m afraid, laddie. Sorry about that.’ The man gave a weak, apologetic smile and started to walk away, then turned and spoke once more. ‘You might catch it next week on its journey back.’

A hammering filled the lad’s chest. Next week. He would do that. It would be worth the wait. He could walk into town and stand on this platform with his camera, watching, waiting. He would be prepared. It was something to look forward to. A reason to keep going. A reason to be here.

He watched as the older man exited the platform, trailing behind the crowd of camera carrying people, leaving him alone.

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