VOICES

VOICES

James stared at the countryside as it undulated by at over 100 mph, just as he had done every day for the past 4 years, on his mundane journey into London. Black suit, light grey pin stripes, white shirt – collar undone and tie in the inside jacket pocket; computer laptop bag on the seat by his side and mobile phone on the table in front of him. His mind, as it was on the commute each day, was elsewhere and in much pain.

The voices had started three months previously, just short whisperings at first and slowly grew to the point they were now, constantly arguing allowing him no peace whatsoever.

“Jimmy, you have to do it; come on, it’s your calling”
“You can’t; that’s not who you are, you must resist”
“It’s easy, it’s what you want”
“No one wants that”
“It’s your destiny”
“Why James?”
“Why not?”

The lack of sleep was there for all to see; today he wore stubble and his blood shot eyes were underlined with dark shadows. This didn’t trouble him but the dark shadows in his mind had taken him to breaking point. Today was the day it would happen and what hurt the most was he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. Over and over again he had planned, re-planned, thought, re-thought, drank, drank some more – same conclusion every time. It had to be today for the simple reason that James needed the voices to stop.

“Jimmy, you have to do it; come on, it’s your calling”
“You can’t; that’s not who you are, you must resist”
“It’s easy, it’s what you want”
“No one wants that”
“It’s your destiny”
“Why James?”
“Why not?”

The train would arrive at King’s Cross at 09:10; that’s what the timetable said, although the timetable had told lies for a long time now, if it was 09:30 you were doing well. James checked the time on his mobile, it was more accurate than his watch, and saw he had just 18 minutes left if the timetable was telling the truth today. He rose from his seat looking at his fellow passengers sat at the table, the same two people sat in front of him that were there every morning; pretty young girl probably in her mid twenties, shoulder length straight blond hair, kind hazel eyes, smartly dressed and a subtle fragrance of perfume; she always gave a smile in the morning. He nearly spoke to her once but knew there was no point – the voices had seen to that. The other passenger was just a bloke in a suit just like every other bloke on the train, religiously doing the morning newspaper’s cryptic crossword, trying to complete it before the journey ended; for James it was pretty much like looking in a mirror of how he had been just over three months ago. James knew that his fellow passengers would thank him one day; he was going to save their lives, they just didn’t know it yet.

He walked down the carriage noticing the vacant light for the toilet above the passage door and walked through. He didn’t need the toilet, just the exit. He pushed the slider lock of the carriage door in and pulled the window down, the air rushed in. He just about heard another commuter telling him to shut the window; James was halfway out before the commuter had turned around. The commuter watched in horror as James’s body launched itself out of the window. James was free.

The voices stopped!

The young girl looked up just as the body was ripped apart by an oncoming train and parts of the body were thrown back against her window; the splatters of blood and chunks of flesh were gruesome enough, but seeing his head cracked open like a coconut with brain exposed and nothing else attached to it was what made her violently sick; her mouth had opened to scream but no sound came out just vomit. The ‘just a bloke’ sat next to her only heard the thud against the window, which was enough to make him spill his coffee over his newspaper crossword and onto his lap.

The oncoming train driver had acted very quickly but it is impossible to stop a high speed train in three seconds, he would eventually grind to a halt a further quarter of a mile up the track. He for one would certainly not be thanking James for his actions; he would never drive the trains again, he would live with the image of James’s face burned into his memory and his dreams, or really nightmares, for the rest of his life.

The commuter that was stood in the corridor had pulled the emergency stop cord as soon as his brain had told him, “Yes, that did just happen – he jumped out of the train – do something why don’t you”; not that it could help James, it would just make everyone late for whatever they were going to do, however, being late that day as they were to find out, kept them all alive.

If the train had have arrived on time at King’s Cross, the pretty young girl along with many of the other passengers would have continued their journeys on the underground along the Circle Line to Paddington, where three bombs would have been waiting for them. These three bombs ripped ruthlessly through the station killing scores of people and injuring hundreds more. Some passengers would have headed east to Liverpool Street Station where the same fate awaited them; others including the commuter that had pulled the emergency cord and ‘just a bloke’ would have took the Northern Line to Waterloo where five bombs tore through the underground, over ground and international stations.

The wounded, whether they were walking, had broken bones, cuts or even limbless were ferried in fleets of ambulances to the nearest hospitals and as they waited for treatment in the accident and emergency areas the final explosions took place in probably the most evil act of all; timed to perfection for maximum impact four of the hospital A&E units were destroyed, killing the injured that had thought themselves lucky to be alive, also many nurses, doctors and other emergency personnel were killed in the massacre.

Yes, the pretty young girl and her fellow commuters indeed owed their lives to, and would privately thank James for his actions that day. At the time there was no explanation for what he had done but this would become apparent in the newspapers later that week.

During the investigation and clean up the police were shown where James had been sitting on the train and found his coat, laptop bag and phone. In his coat they found a short note:

“I have tried fighting the voices but they will not give in, they want me to kill innocent people. They told me how to create a bomb in a laptop bag and how to detonate it with a mobile phone. I do not want to hurt anyone so I am taking the only way out I know. To my Mum and Dad, I am truly sorry, will love you always, James – P.S. I never armed the bomb”.

The voices had stopped for James, but they didn’t stop for everyone.

The devices that killed over a thousand people that day and brought London to a standstill had all been the same, a bomb in a laptop bag detonated remotely by mobile phone. These were not suicide bombers; these bombers would return to fight another day. The terrorists’ war had moved into a new era. The voices would speak again.