Timothy’s reading plan worked out far better than he could have hoped. As he began the opening chapter, he felt somewhat nervous. He couldn’t be certain how a group of adults would react to something that could be considered quite juvenile. However, once he began reading, he stopped worrying.
4:50 from Paddington opened up with excitement, catching Timothy’s interest as well as the rest of the group, if one could judge by their absolute stillness and silence. They sat as though captivated. Maybe Fabian had been correct; they really needed a distraction.
When he passed the book to his left, Timothy had to strain to hear Renee at first. He wondered if anyone across the table caught more than a word or two and began to expect complaints. Renee’s enthusiasm for the story, however, soon won over and her voice rose as she read with confidence.
On her turn, even Ginger read with interest, but as the story continued and the group’s attention deepened, Timothy’s thoughts began to drift.
The horror Mrs. McGillicuddy felt after witnessing a murder on a train struck him more than he could have expected. Even Ginger’s voice wavered when she read out the woman’s short description of the dead girl. Timothy’s breathing began to shorten, just enough that he could notice it.
His own horror at the discovery of Gary Bradshaw’s body hadn’t lasted long. With too many things to pay attention to and process, he’d moved on to other things. Or so he thought. Now, his horror began a return with the reading.
Somehow, imagining the fictional killing brought the real one into fresh relief. The renewed and ever clear realization that a real, living, breathing man, who had made the decision that morning to come down to the café, now lay as a cold and motionless corpse in the corner, slammed into him like a sharp and heavy instrument.
He fidgeted, trying to focus on the story, but failed. He fidgeted again.
“Are you all right?” Anna’s whisper barely reached his hearing.
He nodded, shifting in his seat. Flashbacks, ones he had been avoiding with success, crashed before his mental vision. His hands shook and he pushed them under the edge of the table.
He could feel Anna watching him, but he hoped no one else had noticed. They didn’t show any signs. All other eyes at the table focused on Ginger as she continued her reading; at least, as far as he could tell. He shook his head, but the images kept coming, faster and more vivid, and he found it difficult to focus on the people around him.
“Come on, man. Keep breathing. Don’t give up on me now…”
The man in front of him didn’t respond. He didn’t move.
“Come on, man. Don’t. Not now…”
The chair on the other side of Renee scraped across the floor, pulling Timothy back into the present. He jumped and found Eddie’s hunted expression. As their eyes met, the look turned to concern, and Eddie stepped behind Renee.
“Are you all right, dude?” He hardly made a sound at all as he bent over him. Ginger continued to read.
“I’m… I’m okay.”
“Sure. You look like it. Pale as you are.”
Timothy wanted to counter that Eddie looked pretty pale himself, but he didn’t have the mental focus to argue. He tried to smile to reassure him, but grit his teeth when Eddie took his seat.
This is stupid. I’ve managed to be fine. Why now?
Ginger passed the book off to Fabian, who read in a surprising, soothing voice. Timothy tried to listen, managing for about three paragraphs, before the images came flooding back into his head again.
Lord, I was fine when I saw the unfortunate dead man. Why now? Because for thirty minutes, it’s been calm and quiet?
In his mind, he could hear machine gun fire and shouting. Smell dust and blood. Feel the growing pit in his stomach and swiftly pounding heart.
No. No, no. Come on. I don’t want to deal with this. Not now.
Mary began reading, jolting Timothy to the present once again.
Timothy had never heard another reader like Mary Dill. The voices she acted out for the Agatha Christie characters defied all logic and meaning. When Jane Marple came out in a squeaking, Arkansas drawl, Timothy couldn’t help but stare. For a moment, he forgot everything but the incongruity of that voice belonging to a native of a small English village and a character he had read about since he was sixteen.
Judging by the expressions of his companions, others had similar thoughts. Renee covered half her face with her hand, doing her best not to laugh with each new and surprising piece of dialogue. Fabian kept his eyes on the tabletop with a glance thrown at Mary every now and then, while his tensed jaw showed his absolute refusal to show outward amusement.
Mary paused when Adrian asked Ginger to join them for an interview, but after a long and wary stare, Fabian cleared his throat and she jumped. Mary hurried back to the book, and Timothy stuffed down his growing mirth. It would be nice to laugh, but not at the expense of Mary Dill, no matter her annoying habits. Despite the comedy for her hearers, she read with a serious manner, that gave the whole a rather more amusing appearance.
That sounds like the voice Aunt Jennie gave to the fish in The Cat in the Hat when I was a kid. Miss Marple is… a puzzle with that accent.
When her turn came, Kimberly contrasted Mary with a monotonous reading that produced little inflection and no character voices. An old-fashioned robot might have read with more enthusiasm.
His surprise and puzzle over, Timothy’s thoughts began drifting again. He struggled to bring them back to focus. Away from dirt and machine guns. Away from screams and death.
Mary stood abruptly, Kimberly paused, and everyone looked up. Mary pursed her lips, gesturing toward the restroom. One or two people nodded, and Kimberly continued reading.
The flashbacks started up again. Timothy’s heart, like a rhythmic hammer, felt like it might break his ribs.
His hands began to shake. He tried to still them, closing his eyes. The images gained clarity.
“I can’t do this! I can’t do this!”
The man in front of him remained still. No heartbeat met Timothy’s frenzied search.
“God, please, not another one! Please!”
Timothy thought he heard a strange sound and opened his eyes. Renee jumped, hitting against his shoulder, while Eddie on her other side, screamed in agony, falling from his chair to the floor.
Timothy leapt to his feet, steadying Renee, who nearly tripped them both. One of the women screamed, but Eddie lay still and silent.
Moving in a daze, Timothy stepped away from Renee, staring at the young man on the floor. Eddie’s shirt rapidly turned a deep crimson, while the color drained from his face, leaving him lifeless and pale. Timothy felt ill.
God Almighty, what just happened? What just happened?
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Rebekah Ryberg nee Jones, is first and foremost a follower of the Living God. She started writing as a little girl, seeking to glorify the Lord with her books and stories…