I think the two men who tried to steal from us would admit that we were more than worthy opponents too, if only they were here to comment.
Checking the clock in the corner of my laptop screen, I decide that it’s time for a short break from my workstation. It’s important to keep my mind fresh when I’m holed up in here all day with nothing but my overactive imagination to keep me company, and there’s no better way to do that than to go outside and get some fresh air. It’s a bright and breezy day in this part of the world, and I can’t wait to get my boots on and go for a quick stroll around the grounds of this cottage. A short break will do me good before I return to finish my latest chapter and move one step nearer to having a finished manuscript to send the publisher.
But before I go, I make sure to pick up my laptop from the desk and carry it into the bedroom, where I place it carefully on the bed while I open the wardrobe opposite. Then I crouch down and place my finger on the glass panel that sits on the front of the safe, and as it registers my fingerprint, I hear a soft click before the door pops open.
It’s not just my lifestyle that has been upgraded recently.
It’s my home security too.
I place the laptop inside the safe, as I always do before leaving the cottage, because this is the best way to protect my precious manuscript while I am gone. Of course, I have backed it up on USB sticks and online drives, but they can be lost or hacked, whereas an iron safe that can only be unlocked by my fingerprint is not going to be as easy to access.
With the laptop safely stored away until my return, I’m just about to close the door when I catch sight of the gold band at the back of the safe. It’s been a while since I handled it, and I am still meaning to sell it, but for the time being, it remains in my possession, and I pick it up to take another look at it.
I had the engraving on the ring removed in Rome during a little holiday with Louise shortly after the events on the train, so any chance of me being linked back to Charles’s murder has gone. All that is left for me to do is pawn it and take the money, but I’ve found myself hanging onto it for the time being. I think it’s because it reminds me of what I did to get to this point, and it’s also a reminder of the kind of things I may be forced to do again if I don’t make this writing dream work. There’s not much better motivation to get words on the page every day than seeing an item that reminds me of so much death, deceit and desperation. I never want to be that woman again, the one who was seen as an easy target for sex and profit by nefarious men. This ring reminds me that I am a new person now, and as long as it stays in this safe, then I can never forget what I went through to keep it here.
I place the ring back inside and close the door before pressing my finger on the keypad again to engage the lock. With the safe secure, I leave the bedroom and put on my boots before opening the door and stepping outside into the bright, warm sunshine. Within minutes, I am away from the cottage and walking along a delightful little stream that cuts through this landscape, and I feel truly at one with nature as I take in all the sights and sounds of this beautiful part of the country. The birds in the trees. The wind in the leaves.
The train in the distance.
I pause and listen to the low rumbling somewhere over the other side of the hill from where I stand. It’s the first time I’ve noticed that sound before out here, but no matter.
It’s not enough to spoil my walk.
It’s only a train.
I can handle those.
About the Author
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Daniel Hurst writes psychological thrillers and loves to tell tales about unusual things happening to normal people. He has written all his life, making the progression from handing scribbled stories to his parents as a boy to writing full length novels in his thirties. He lives in the North West of England and when he isn’t writing, he is usually watching a game of football in a pub where his wife can’t find him.
Want to connect with Daniel? Visit him at www.danielhurstbooks.com or on any of these social media channels.
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Copyright © 2021 by Daniel Hurst
THE PASSENGER is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
