The Passenger Daniel Hurst (books for men to read .TXT) 📖

Why should I have to move? I’ll simply ignore him and go back to my writing.

I look down at my laptop and try to pick up the thread of my story where I last left it, but then the man speaks again.

‘Don’t be rude. We’re talking.’

I look up from the screen against my better judgement and make eye contact with him again, but those eyes don’t look so dreamy anymore. Now they appear to be staring straight into my soul.

‘Sorry. I really need to concentrate on this,’ I try, but I have a feeling that won’t be enough.

‘And I need you to concentrate on me because what I am about to show you is very important,’ he says, and I watch as he takes his mobile phone out of his pocket.

‘What is it?’ I ask as he scrolls through his phone, even though I’m wary of what the answer could be. But I don’t have to wait long to find out. He turns his device around and holds it out towards me, and suddenly it’s as if all the noise and colour on this train is sucked out of the carriage.

It’s a photo of two people in bed. It looks like a selfie of a happy couple, and I can see smiling faces and bare shoulders, all of which contributes to my confusion and surprise when I recognise the young woman.

It’s Louise.

‘Where did you get that?’ I ask, reaching out for the phone to take a closer look, but the man swipes it away just before I can get it.

‘A friend sent it to me an hour ago,’ he says, seeming to take some delight in my failed attempt at grabbing his device. ‘It seems your daughter has been keeping secrets from you.’

‘What are you talking about?’

My voice is raised now, and we attract the glances of a couple of commuters across the aisle. The man opposite me stays quiet until he is sure the passengers have gone back to their own business.

‘Stay calm, and Louise will be okay,’ he tells me, his voice much lower than mine was. But I’m not feeling calm, especially after he has just used my daughter’s name.

‘How do you know my daughter?’ I ask again, and I notice that my hands are gripping the edge of the table now as I speak.

‘Like I said. My friend is with her, and let me tell you, he knows her a lot better than I do, if you know what I mean.’

He gives me another wink, but unlike the ones that preceded it, there’s nothing friendly or flirty about this one.

‘I don’t understand. Who are you?’

‘I’m like everybody else here—just a guy on a train putting in an honest day’s work.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Again, I just want what everybody else here wants.’

‘Which is?’

‘More money, of course.’

I’m doing my best to stay calm, but it’s hard. ‘Money? What money? What are you talking about?’

The stranger shakes his head with a smile. ‘Stop messing about. You know what I mean. Your money.’

I knew it. A handsome man striking up a conversation with me on a train. Showing an interest. Complimenting me. Flirting with me. It was too good to be true. There had to be more to it.

And now I know what it is.

Ever since this train left London, I thought I was only giving this man the pieces of information that I was comfortable sharing. But it turns out he already knows plenty about me, and instead of him extracting facts from me, now it’s my turn to try to get them from him.

‘What are you talking about?’ I ask in response to the money statement.

‘Don’t play games. I know you have money at your flat. I know it’s in the safe in your bedroom. The only thing I don’t know is how to access it.’

I’m trying to remain calm, but inside I’m freaking out.

This cannot be happening.

That safe is not supposed to be public knowledge.

How is this possible? There are only two people in the world who know about it. Me and Louise.

Louise.

Oh, God, what has she done?

I’m trying to give nothing away, but he must spot a flicker of emotion on my face as I think about my daughter.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ he says with a smug grin. ‘Louise has been a silly girl.’

I look around the carriage to see if anybody else is looking at us. Is this some kind of prank? Where’s the hidden camera? Am I going to be on TV? The thought of that is mortifying, but it’s a hell of a lot better than the other possibility.

The possibility that this is real and the man opposite me is trying to take everything in my safe.

‘What have you done to her?’ I ask, feeling the fear gripping me inside as I wait for the answer.

‘Nothing yet. And we won’t do anything as long as you give us what we want.’

‘We?’

‘The man in the photo with Louise that I just showed you. We’re working together as a team, and we’re a very formidable one at that. He’s at your flat right now with your daughter.’

I think about the photo he just showed me of Louise and a dark-haired man who looked to be a few years older than her. They seemed to be lying in bed together and were clearly very comfortable around each other considering their apparent state of undress. While it was a shock to see my daughter’s image on this man’s phone, it was also striking to me to see her with a guy I never even knew existed. Louise has obviously been keeping secrets from me.

And there was me thinking we already had enough problems in our relationship.

‘I don’t know what kind of prank you’re playing, but this isn’t funny,’ I say, closing my laptop and sliding it into its bag. My writing is obviously done for the day, but real-life events are proving to be far more unpredictable than anything I could have written in my fiction