Блейк Пирс - Once Bound

Chief Powell led Jenn out of the interview room and down the hall. As they walked along, Jenn wondered whether Riley might be right.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.

After all, she knew that empathy was hardly her strong suit as an agent. She tended to be blunt and outspoken, even when a softer touch was needed. She certainly didn’t have Riley’s ability to turn on the compassion at appropriate moments. And if Riley herself didn’t feel up to this task, why did Jenn feel like she ought to take it on?

But she couldn’t help thinking …

Somebody’s got to talk to him.

Powell led her into the row of cells, all with solid doors and tiny windows.

He asked, “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“No,” Jenn said. “I’d better do this one-on-one.”

Powell opened a door to one of the cells, and Jenn stepped inside. Powell left the door open but stepped away.

A man in his early thirties sat on the end of the cot, staring directly at the wall. He was wearing an ordinary T-shirt and backward baseball cap.

Standing just inside the doorway, Jenn said in a soft voice …

“Mr. Putnam? Brock? My name is Jenn Roston, and with the FBI. I’m so terribly sorry about what happened. I just wondered if you wanted to … talk.”

Putnam showed no indication of even hearing her.

He seemed especially determined not to make eye contact with her – or with anybody else, Jenn felt sure.

And from her research flying out here, Jenn knew exactly why he felt that way.

She swallowed hard as a knot of anxiety filled her throat.

This was going to be a lot harder than she’d even imagined.

Riley uneasily kept her eye on the door after Jenn left the room. As Bill kept asking the conductor and his assistant questions, she worried about how Jenn was going to deal with the engineer.

She was sure that the engineer was probably having a terrible time of it. She didn’t like the idea of waiting a lot longer for a railroad psychologist – possibly some official flunky who might be more concerned about the company’s well-being than the engineer’s. But what else were they supposed to do?

And might the young agent only make things worse for the man? Riley had never seen any sign that Jenn was especially skillful at dealing with people.

If Jenn did just upset the man further, how might that affect her own morale? She had already been contemplating leaving the FBI because of pressures from a criminal former foster mother.

Despite her concerns, Riley managed to listen to what was being said in the room.

Bill said to Stine, “You said you’ve seen this kind of thing before. Do you mean murders on railroad tracks?”

“Oh, no,” Stine said. “Actual murders like that are really rare. But people getting killed on the tracks – that’s a lot more common than you might think. There are several hundred victims a year, some of them just stupid thrill-seekers, but a lot of them suicides. In the business, we call them ‘trespassers.’”

The younger man twisted in his chair uncomfortably and said, “I sure don’t want to see anything like that again. But from what Arlo tells me … well, I guess it’s part of the job.”

Bill said to the conductor, “Are you sure there wasn’t anything the engineer could have done?”

Arlo Stine shook his head.

“Damned sure. He’d already slowed the train down to thirty-five miles per hour for the curve we were on. Even so, there was no way to stop a diesel locomotive with ten freight cars behind it anywhere near fast enough to save that woman. You can’t break the laws of physics and stop several thousand tons of moving steel on a dime. Let me explain it to you …”

The conductor started talking about the mechanics of braking. It was highly technical talk, and of no real interest or use to Riley or Bill. But Riley knew that it was best to let Stine just keep talking – for his own sake, if for no one else’s.

Meanwhile, Riley still found herself looking toward the door, wondering how Jenn was doing with the engineer.

Jenn stood next to the bed looking anxiously at Brock Putnam’s back as he stared silently at the wall.

Now that she was actually with the man, she found that she had no idea what to do or say next.

But from her research on the plane, she understood why he was incapable of looking at her or anyone else right now. He was traumatized by a single detail that often haunted “hoggers” who’d been through what he had just been through.

A few moments ago, the conductor had said that he and his assistant had only gotten a glimpse of the victim before she died.

But this man had gotten much more than a glimpse.

He’d seen something uniquely horrifying from his window in that cab – something that no innocent human being deserved to see.

Would it help for him to say it aloud?

I’m not a shrink, she reminded herself.

Even so, she felt more and more anxious to reach out to him.

Slowly and cautiously, Jenn said …

“I think I know what you saw,” she said. “You can talk to me about it if you like.”

After a pause, she added …

“But not if you don’t want to.”

A silence fell.

I guess he doesn’t want to, Jenn thought.

She almost got up to leave, but then the man said in a nearly inaudible whisper …

“I died back there.”

The words chilled Jenn to the bone.

Again, she wondered whether she had any business trying to do this.

She said nothing. She figured it was best to wait and see if he wanted to say more. She waited for many seconds, more than half-hoping the man would stay silent and she could leave quietly.

Then he said …

“I saw it happen. I was looking … in a mirror.”

He paused for a moment, then added …

“I saw myself die. So why … why am I here?”

Jenn gulped hard.

Yes, what had happened to him was exactly the sort of thing she’d read about on the plane. Hundreds of people died on railroad tracks every year. And all too often, the engineers endured an unimaginably horrifying moment.

They made eye contact with the person who was about to die.

The exact same thing had happened to Brock Putman. The reason he couldn’t make eye contact with anyone else was that it made him relive that moment all over again. And his identification with the poor woman was eating him up inside. He was trying to cope by denying that anyone else had been killed. Guiltily, he was trying to convince himself that he – and only he – was dead.

Jenn spoke even more cautiously than before.

“You didn’t die. You weren’t looking in a mirror. Someone else died. And it wasn’t your fault. There was no way on earth you could stop it from happening. You know that – even if you have trouble accepting it. It wasn’t your fault.”

The man still faced away from her. But a sob escaped from his throat.

Jenn was momentarily alarmed. Had she just pushed him over some kind of edge?

No, she thought.

She had a gut feeling that this was good, that it was necessary.

The man’s shoulders shook slightly as his quiet sobbing continued.

Jenn touched him on the shoulder.

She said, “Brock, could you do something for me? I just want you to look at me.”

His shoulders stopped shaking, and his sobbing ebbed away.

Then, very slowly, he turned around on his bed and looked at Jenn.

His bright blue eyes were wide and pleading and brimming with tears – and they were gazing straight into Jenn’s own eyes.

Jenn had to fight back her own tears.

As blunt, brusque, and sometimes even tactless as she normally was, it dawned on her that she’d never had this kind of interaction with anybody before, at least not professionally.