| Unforgiven Sins (Sins of thy father) copyright(c)2002M.A.Anderson I was still wearing the two piece, black linen suit I had worn to my parents funeral when I boarded the train late that afternoon. I had not waited for grief to set in or allowed myself time to wallow in self pity. I had simply returned to the rooming house immediately after the graveside service, packed my bags and bought a ticket for the next train home. As I wandered along the ailse peering up at the numbers above the seats and struggling with my bag, I realized, for the first time in my life, that apart from my aunt Marie, who I rarely had any contact with, I had no family. My parents had not been fortunate enough to have another baby after I was born, complications during the delivery had prevented that. The sudden epiphany caused me to stop dead in my tracks...I was truly alone. I stood in the aisle for some time before gathering my thoughts, moving on and finding my seat. I slid in between the seats and turned toward the window. The carriage felt a little |
| M.A.Anderson 2 claustrophobic. I dropped my heavy bag onto the seat, then reached up, unlatched the lock on the window and lowered it to the first notch. Warm air rushed inside and I coughed from the sudden inhalation of vapor. I turned back toward the seat, unzipped my bag and took out a Vanity Fair magazine, then I rezipped it and pushed it up into the compartment above my seat. As I turned around to take my seat, I was startled by a man standing in the aisle next to me. He was tall, at least 6 feet 3 inches, maybe more, with sandy colored, shoulder length hair and goatee. Underneath a charcoal colored overcoat he wore a dark green, double-breasted suit, with a soft green shirt and black silk tie. I suppose I would consider him handsome. He looked down at the ticket in his hand, then looked in my direction and smiled... �This is seat number 14A, isn�t it?� he asked. �Ah, yes...yes it is,� I replied, giving him a furtive look before sitting down and focusing my gaze on the magazine in my lap. He jostled with his over laden bag as he tossed it up into the compartment above his seat, then turned around and sat down opposite me. I feigned interest in my magazine, lifting it closer to my face and tried to ignore his presence, although I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was watching me. I flipped through several of the glossy pages, oblivious to what was on them, then finally glanced casually over the |
| Unforgiven Sins 3 top of the magazine in his direction. He was sitting back with his arms folded across his chest watching me. �My name�s Brady...Brady Sanderson.� He leaned across and extended his hand. I lowered my magazine. �Hello,� I said, reaching out to take his outstretched hand. �Mine�s Amanda DuPont.� �It�s a pleasure,� he replied, releasing my hand. �How far are you going? �All the way to the end,� I replied. �You?� �That is a coincidence, so am I.� I gave him a slight smile and gazed down at my magazine again. There was an uncomfortable silence for quite some time, then he finally spoke. �Didn�t I see you at the cemetery this afternoon?� he asked. I suddenly became defensive. �Why were you at the cemetery?� �I was visiting my parent�s graves before I leave on an extensive business trip,� he explained. �Oh.� I smiled and relaxed a little. �I�m sorry, I guess I�m still a little...� �Shaken up?� �Yes, considerably.� I looked into his eyes. �It was my parent's funeral.� |
| please scroll down for ensuing pages |
| M.A.Anderson 4 �I am sorry.� He moved forward, reached across and took my hand. �I know we don�t know each other very well, but, if you�d like to talk about it...I�m a good listener.� I slid my hand out of his gentle grasp. �Thanks for the offer, but I really can�t right now. �I understand. You know where to find me if you change your mind.� He gazed out of the window at the hubbub on the platform. People were rushing to board the train. Some with suitcases or bags, others with heavy laden rucksacks on their backs. The carriage was beginning to fill up with passengers. The sun had almost set and the fluorescent lights on the platform suddenly flashed on, the brightness crashing against the window like a flashbulb on a camera. We both jumped at the sudden shock of light, then looked at each other self consciously and smiled. As I gazed at his attractive face, I suddenly felt a twinge of guilt for being overly defensive and declining his offer of consolation. I came to the conclusion that, under the circumstances, he was just trying to be considerate and decided that talking to him couldn�t pose too much of a problem. I closed the magazine and laid it on the seat beside me. 'Mr. Sanderson?' He gazed across at me. 'I really don�t want to talk about today, but if you�d like to |
| Unforgiven Sins 5 talk about something else, I'd be happy to,� I offered. �I�d like that,� he said, smiling. He had a great smile. �So, where are you from?� �All over really. But now I�m based in Chicago.� �Wouldn�t it have been easier to fly?� �Yes, it would have, but I don�t like flying. I don�t know why...I just can�t bring myself to get on a plane,� I explained. �You don�t know what you�re missing,� he replied. �Maybe, but I prefer to keep my feet firmly on the ground.� I glanced out of the window, the train was almost ready to leave. I could see the guard moving along the platform readying himself to signal the driver. I turned back. �Where are you from?� I asked. �Me? New York.� �Why didn�t you fly? Wouldn�t it have been easier for you...quicker?� I asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. He laughed. �You don�t miss much, do you? Yes, it would have.� He leaned forward and looked into my eyes. �But to be honest, I wanted to get to know you better.� An icy chill curled through my body ending at the nape of my neck. * * * |
| M.A.Anderson 6 Two weeks prior to the funeral: My dream dissipated into a black vacuum as the incessant ringing of my telephone filtered into my dream space waking me with a start. I sprang up in bed and clutched at the telephone knocking it off the nightstand. It hit the floor with a loud clang and I almost fell out of bed as I reached down, snatched up the receiver and fumbled with the tangled cord before jerking it toward me and placing it against my ear. �H...Hello?� I answered, trying to gather my drowsy composure. �Miss Amanda DuPont?� the caller asked. �Yes.� I frowned, my hazy thoughts suddenly snapping into awareness. �Who�s this?� �This is Senior Detective Tim Donohue from the Chicago Police Department...I�m sorry to be calling you at such an ungodly hour Miss DuPont, but it�s rather urgent that I speak with you in person. Would it be possible for you to come down to the station as soon as it�s convenient to do so?� An unsettling sensation snaked its way through my body, something was wrong. I could hear it in the tightness of his voice. I flung the bed clothes back, swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. |
| ___________________________________________________________________________________ |
| ____________________________________________________________________________________ |