"Now, tell me exactly how you knew."
Beck played with his fingers, already anxious. Even the next morning, he didn't know how to explain it; he just saw it, like he was actually there. He moved his lips but no voice came out. He stared at the man in front of him grimly. The man tapped his pen as if he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear the excuse of someone being accused of it; then he thought: "How was it that a boring old fire fighter like me be found as a suspect in the crash?" He moved his lips again, making a slush of words.
"I saw it," was all he said before his voice was lost to the darkness inside him. The man placed his pen down and started tapping his foot. "Listen to me, alright? I don't know how the hell I knew it was going to crash, but I saw it… I felt the fire of the explosion against me, burning my skin right off."
The man sighed and shook his head. "Same story as before. What I don't get is that you actually saw it happen, and you're suddenly back before the train car even takes off? Coincidence or not; you saved a couple of lives, didn't you?" Beck nodded and the man smiled. "Call it an act of good will, but they should thank you for saving them; though, I doubt they'll be thanking you any time soon…"
Beck stared at the man and watched as the former stood up from the table. He walked to the one-way mirror and shook his head. "I'm afraid to tell you, but you messed with Death's plans. He's going to come to get the survivors, one by one. Then, according to what you described, he's going to come for you at the end. The worst part about it, you can't die until the person before you dies or someone intervenes with their death."
Beck raised an eyebrow and laughed; he never believed in the supernatural or shit like that. "That's a good one; can I add something to that thought? Let's say I'm about to die and I see what happens, can I change what I do and survive?"
"No, Death will kill you eventually, even if you try to run from your fate. Jump out of the way of a speeding car or not get that ceiling fan installed," the man paused for a moment then continued, "you're going to die in the end. That's where I come in, though. It's my responsibility to keep you safe."
"How do you know all of this?" Beck asked worriedly. "Are you a demon or ghost?"
"No, boy, but I've been in the same shoes as you are now. I was lucky enough to survive by locking up the other unlucky soul that scheduled to die before me. Now that she's safe and not going to die any time soon, my life will never die." He answered with a smirk. "Say what you want, but I'm the only source of help you've got now. You just have to do something for me: tell me who dies and in what order."
"The very first person…" Beck shuddered as he spoke. "The first person sat in the very back of the car and… when it caved in, there were multiple people… There was so much blood flooding the floor, but there was one person I remember clearly. He wore a red suit jacket, and his blood matched the jacket too easily."
"So it's a man in a red suit jacket? I don't think we will be able to match him with anyone just based off of that. The best bet is the name; what was his name?" the man said meekly.
"It's… J-James, James something. I don't know his last name," Beck said slowly as he stared at the man before him. The latter sighed.
"That's not good enough. You must think harder! What else was he wearing? Did he have any notable features: like a limp or a twitch; this could help lead us to the first victim," the man stopped suddenly and stared out the window. He thought about how much help he was to the effort some time ago; images of all the bodies flooded into his mind and he clenched his fists.
The first image into his mind was his best friend's mangled body; the second was the older woman he would have loved to have as his grandma. The last image, however, made him shudder; it was his girlfriend right before the crane hit. If only he had pulled out with her, then she'd be alive now.
"Sir!" Beck called out over top of the man's body. The man sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck; it happened again. "Do you need anything? Like water or an ambulance?" The man shook his head and got up to his knees.
"No, but I don't know if you're going to last if we don't find the first victim. If he dies, there's no stopping the other deaths from happening." The man responded as he put his hand against the glass wall next to him. "It will be you and me verses Death, you know. Now, is there anything notable about him?" The man led Beck back to the table and sat him down.
"Oh, uhm, yeah! His hands were all black and there were spots of oil-looking stains on his jeans. The only thing that was decent looking was his jacket," Beck paused as he remembered back to the accident, and then continued, "and his beard was scraggy like mine."
"Did he have any recognition with someone, or even anyone, on the train? Did anyone know him at all?" The man asked and Beck nodded.
"I think, at least. Kelly, the CEO, knew his name for some reason. He doesn't seem the kind of guy she would really get to know," Beck laughed a little at how she acted, "she's all for the rich or good-looking guys. I know her… Well, I saved her once before by accident."
"Tell me, was it at that burning park seven years ago? I remember taking her statements; poor girl, thinking it was because of some boy named Neil, or something. I believe she even hired him a second time for the technical work of the train," the man said. He shook his head when he saw the shocked look on Beck's face. "What's wrong?"
"The technician… Was it, perhaps, Nellis?" Beck asked; he remembered back to the man entering at the same time as him. He looked down at the name tag and the name Nellis Grenburg stuck to his mind.
The man simply shook his head: "Yeah, that's the name. Apparently, he's a clumsy fool, he and his whole family. Hell, his father was the one to cause the disaster last year; the disaster I was in," he said and started to tear, "if only I didn't have that job interview, then I'd never be on this damn list; but you, you are given a chance to survive. Don't worry, Mr. Beck, I'll make sure you beat this; or my name isn't Jay Ross."
Why couldn't they get the lights to work again? It's pretty ironic; a miner who is afraid of the dark and who is claustrophobic. James usually has a company issued flashlight, whose bulbs burn out instantly, or a light dangling overhead; they had to cut off the electricity to the tunnel in order for him to "investigate," as his boss calls it.
James had to go back to the tunnel to investigate if there was any foul play or of the sort. He wouldn't know, of course, what he should really look for, but his boss gave him the job to finish; he is a man of his word, after all.
His job was to go down straight from the station and see how the monorail crashed and why. He jumped off the platform and shined his flashlight down the tunnel. He still hates the dark after the last time he had to investigate alone. It was too dark last time and too dark this time, yet something deep down in his gut pushed him forward to the tunnel.
He took two steps into the trench and could hear electricity crackling from the wires that ran along the walls. He knew most of the wires were already cut and would kill him if they made contact, but he placed his sweaty palm against the side of the tunnel and ventured forth. His hand neared an unexposed wire when his belt vibrated and yanked him from the wall. James stood, more so bent over, as he tried to catch his breath. He reached and pulled off the small communicator from his waist and held it to his ear.
"'Ello, this is James... Oh! Hello, boss! What's that?" James asked into the communicator as he shone the flashlight around the tunnel. "No further than fifty feet from the platform? I can't ... no, you're- whatever." He closed it when he realized that the connection was lost. No more than fifty feet, but that's not far enough to investigate. He would need to, at least, go the full one hundred feet from the platform before he could actually begin to see what the issues were.
"Hey Frank, what are you doing in here? Aren't you supposed to be at home and resting?" A man asked his fellow colleague; the former had his lab coat (with the small ketchup stain on the left pocket) overtop of the black dress shirt, which was tucked in, and his tan company pants that read "QuickTech" across the waist line. The other, however, had his brown casual shirt hiding the company logo and often tugged on the bottom of his lab coat to eliminate the wrinkles lined in the breasts.
"Ah, n-no. I came in a-anyway." Frank stuttered; he smiled when he finished. "I wanted t-to make su-sure the investigation goes well." He moved over to the small window overlooking the loading platform. He stopped tugging on his coat long enough for his coworker to see his hands shaking.
"Frank, are you positive you're good? You seem to be a little..." his voice trailed off, and he shook his head. "Nevermind, it's all up in my head. So, how's the wife?"
"She's fine!" Frank snapped, but quickly shook his head. "I mean, yeah, she's cool," he paused for a second, "why do you ask? Got some beef with her or something, Mr. Kevin Napili?"
"No, no. It's nothing like that, Frank. I was just being nice." Kevin said as he shook his head. "Why did you come in any way?" He turned completely around from the control panel and stared at his colleague. "Boss told you to stay home yesterday and he said he wasn't going to let you come back until you cured of whatever it was you had."
"Yeah, well, he called me and told me to get my ass in so you could get some rest of your own. Working all that time is not good for your health, you know. You could develop insomnia or sleep apnea, or something like that." Frank turned to face his friend with that old smile of his, nearly grinning from ear to ear and showing the yellow teeth he loved.
Neither man said a word until Kevin stood up and walked over to the door. "Alright," he said, "don't anything stupid now, alright?" Frank nodded as he walked out and across the platform. He stopped at the set of the double doors. "Something wasn't right with Frank today," he said to himself, "Maybe I should-." He silenced himself when he realized he forgot his briefcase on the floor underneath his station.
He turned around and walked back across the platform to the control booth. Without opening the door, he could hear the grunts of the other technician from inside. He shot the door open and saw the latter sticking the needle into the inner side of his elbow. Frank had no idea of his surroundings as the liquid inside the tube emptied into his blood stream. His friend rushed over and grabbed the needle without thinking; the needle cut the vein inside his arm and the skin around the injection point.
Frank grabbed his arm as he pushed the other man away. The latter stumbled over his own two feet and fell into the piping along the wall. His head hit the metal lining holding the pipe from bursting as his arm turned the valve; his unconscious body slumped along the lower pipes but landed on the communicator his boss gave him to communicate with "the man in the tunnel," as his boss called it.
James's communicator buzzed again, but the audio turned on without him pressing the button. It was static at first, just static; then the voices came on from the other side.
"Wake up, Kevin, wake up." Someone said.
James never heard the voice before, but he was doing his job and could afford no distractions. He turned around from what he thought was the wall and started into the open abyss of darkness. As he reached down in his pocket, he heard the voice talk even more.
"I'm so sorry Kevin. Wait, C-bo- Di-xi-?" The man said with the static overpowering the later part of his sentence.
James ignored it again. The damn thing was always malfunctioning. For all he knew, it could a soap opera interfering with his wavelengths. He pulled out the lighter and gulped. He hated the darkness and the lighter never helped much, but it was too late to go back and get something else to use. He flipped the cap and pressed the lighter's ignition; nothing was happening at all. He even shook the lighter to make sure there was fluid in there; full tank as always.
"Oh shit, oh shit." The man on the other end said.
James could tell his voice had panic in it, but he paid no mind to it. He tried the ignition once more as he heard the grim words from the man: "carbon dioxide."
Frank stared at his friend as he heard an explosion coming from the communicator attached to his waistline. He turned and started at the tunnel; he saw little embers littering the ground further down and the wide eyes on the man's face as it flew towards the window of the control booth. Scared shitless from multiple things and still grasping his arm, Frank shot out of the room towards the double doors at the other end of the platform.
As he exited the station, he heard sirens in the distance as they sped closer to him. He ran faster than he ever had and got to his car. He sprung into it and pressed down hard on the gas pedal; he left via the ramp and never looked into the rear view mirror.