#echo express open

All he had to do was burn them.

Easy, in theory. Just a motion of his hands, gripping the contents of his letter, moving them the scant few feet to the open flames of the stove. Then, letting go, and letting the fire take them, burn the paper and its contents to ash, and as they flickered up in smoke, he could forget all about what was in them. Put it, put temptation, out of his mind. Simple. It would take only a moment, and all he had to do was fucking drop them in--

Harley stood in the kitchen, alone, by the open flame. It had been burning for several minutes, now, and the room was beginning to become uncomfortably warm, the chemical-sweet smell of gas and heat invading the space, but the sweat that dropped down his brow had nothing to do with the temperature. 

He just--

His eyes kept being drawn back. Back to the pictures, the words, back to the handwritten addenda on the back of one of the postcards. Flame to paper, paper to flame, and it shouldn’t have been as difficult as it was to make up his mind, but it was. 

“Jesus.” he breathed, to himself, and his fingers twitched towards the fire, his brow creasing, and if he just threw them in now, right now, just do it, do it, do it--

The cabin door slid open behind him, whisper-quiet, and Harley swore under his breath, snapped off the gas and hastily gathered the papers. He folded them in half, inelegantly, and crammed them into the pocket of his jeans, whirling around to face the intruder, and all of his lackadaisy and languid was gone, replaced by startled eyes, rigid shoulders, animal tension.

For a heartbeat, and then it was gone, exorcised from him in one long breath, his eyes closing. He unclenched his fist in his pocket and drew his hands out, now empty, and offered the newcomer a hollow smile.

There was only so much that kind words and a toast could do.

They could make the living feel better, and the fire burn of whiskey in his throat could sink all the way down to his heart and ease it, for a time. They could instil a sense of camaraderie in a group of people who wanted to forget, for a couple of precious moments, that there was a killer in their midst. A killer that the thirteen of them had failed to find.

A killer Harley had probably helped to exonerate, what with his theory. And that sat in his stomach the worst.

He drifted through the rest of the day following the Macabre Theatre in a daze; he noted Dot’s absence, of course, but it hardly affected him much. He ate a little, and then only snacks, and drank a lot, and slept his way through the evening, troubled by fitful dreams of long, cluttered, blood-spattered hallways, black hair framing sleepy eyes and a catlike smile, everything somehow coloured over by streaks of red.

Waking up, it didn’t immediately register that the cabin ceiling wasn’t his ceiling at home, that he was in motion, and his first thought should have been relief.

Yet, for those few seconds of being elsewhere, a cold trickle of dread slipped through him instead, and when he shot awake it was relief that washed over him when he felt the rumble of the train rolling over the tracks.

More disquieting, if anything; luckily enough, the Echo Express was lush with distractions from such things as tricky moral dilemmas. A whole new look for Dot, and three new cabins to explore, which Harley did with great interest, making a mental note to return to all of them later for a bit of a closer look. For the moment, though--

For the moment, a spot of quiet would probably do the trick. To help clear his head. Or reset it, anyway.

Half an hour later, Harley’d gotten quite a cozy little setup going; he’d wedged the door of his cabin open with his bag, to let in a little more light. The overalls had been abandoned in favour of jeans and a sweatshirt, his mug of coffee steaming on the desk, just arm’s length away in case he needed it. He’d rigged the pillows and blankets so as to be able to comfortably sit against the wall, his good leg curled beneath him and his bad one stretched out over the side. A battered old paperback sat in his hands, well-worn through and dog-eared, and seemingly of great interest -- enough that it took him a few moments, at any rate, to notice the curious eyes on him through his door.

Harley cracked a smile, snapping the book shut and leaning forward a touch to get a better look at his visitor. “Mornin’.” he said, all smiles again -- a little tired, around the edges of his eyes, but less raw and worried than he’d been. “You should take a picture, if all you want to do is look. Should last longer, I’m thinking. If you wanna join me, though--”

In retrospect, he maybe could’ve stood to dress a little classier for the occasion.

After all, wasn’t it meant to be a ‘luxurious party’? The likes of which he had never seen before? Funny -- he had seen all that, and the image had gone straight to his head, and yet he hadn’t even thought to change his clothes before getting a ride to Echo Station. So now here he was, and here they were, sworn into silence by their respective mysterious missives, in his jumpsuit, work gloves and boots. As for the people around him...

An intimidating looking blonde man in a suit that probably cost more than his old bike, with a delicate, smiling butler by his side. A drop-dead gorgeous redhead, dressed to kiill. A couple people dressed more outlandishly, as well, in violent reds and moody blacks, clearly intending to give off some kind of... well, image. Something they’d obviously picked, he noted, looking them up and down while they waited, not something they just rolled up in.

He opened up the top half of the jumpsuit, tied the sleeves around his waist. That’d do, for the moment; the train rolling up to the station and the arrival of their bouncy blonde guide signalled showtime. 

And what a show of a train it was. Deep, wine-velvet red and glimmering golds, as far as the eye could see; when it pulled away, Harley (he would have to get used to that, but it felt right, in his bones) could feel the engines purring underneath his feet, enough to be pleasant, not enough to be intrusive. 

Everything about this was just right. Exactly as he’d hoped it would be. 

A quick trip to the cabin area, then, to pick a room for his own (and they were all different colours, even, ha!), stake his claim in chalk, and -- leisurely, at his own pace -- explore the rest of their moving home, for the next... who knew how long?

The thought made him smile.

Back to the lounge, a quick inspection of the bar proved that not only did the Echo Express have damn good whiskey, but a lot of damn good whiskey. A little Glenmorangie, neat, and a seat at the end of the bar to people watch for a while would do him just fine.

Until he spotted one coming his way, and let a lazy smile slide onto his face.

...you can’t see the stars.

Harley had heard that somewhere, or something like it. He thought it was especially appropriate, now.

With all the lights off in the observatory, the great glass window at the back of the train was a portal to the galaxy above. Floating over the trees whisking by them, a million billlion lights twinkled overhead, hidden only by the shadow of the moon. His hunch, earlier, had been right; you really did get a fantastic view here, at this time.

If that had been the only thing he had to think about, he might have thought it was heaven on Earth. A return, in an unconventional way, to his favourite sight on the planet.

The watch felt like a leaden weight in his hand, face illuminated under the starlight filtering in through the wide, wide window, his thumb itching with what would happen if I just--

Harley put it back in his pocket, before he could dwell on it any longer.

The Killing Hour. It sounded like a bad horror movie plot -- click a button, one hour to murder, get your dreams granted. And Hallelujah, everything’s fine. He hadn’t completely dismissed the idea that it was a reality show, yet... but in reality shows, there was all sorts of stuff involved behind the scenes, camera trickery to make it look like everyone had been surprised with this when it had all been laid out for them beforehand. Surprises didn’t exist, on television; not for the actors.

And, well, colour him surprised.

Now, when he looked out of the window, at those stars, his eyes felt drawn to the tracks below. He wondered how easily the glass would break. He wondered if the train was going fast enough that a body, pushed out of the back of the room, would be rent to pieces on the rails below. Failing that, if the fall itself would kill them, blunt force trauma doing what friction couldn’t.

The cabin door slid open behind him, and Harley turned, banishing the thought from his mind, from his eyes, from his smile.

One would think that such an exclusive party would be more accessible. As she stepped out of the car, the redhead grimaced at her wooded surroundings. She hated the out doors-- even more so when she was wearing painfully tall heels not meant for walking through the wilderness. “Ugh, no one to even take the bags?” She mumbled to herself as she strained to haul her luggage down the only road available to her. Some exclusive luxurious trip this was so far.

Candy couldn’t have walked that far, despite feeling like she had ran a marathon, before finally finding the station. It was an interesting place to put such a fancy train station. Why go through all the trouble to make such a grandiose display just to hide it behind a bunch of dumb trees? In any case, she was just relieved to be at the station. She briefly noted who she assumed to be the other passengers waiting at the platform alongside her. Thank God no one was allowed to talk to each other, because the last thing she needed was people making inquiries about her currently disheveled appearance. Hiking in four inch heels with a ton of bags and makeup was practically a recipe for disaster after all.

Finally, the train came into station and a small blonde that she assumed had to be help got off the train to introduce themselves and let them aboard. Dorothy, or “Dot” as she had insisted to be called, was apparently their conductor. Candy couldn’t help raise an eyebrow at her. Was she even old enough to be driving a train? Oh well, she’d save her complaints for later. For now though, her only thoughts were to get on the train so she could properly relax.

What business did Dot have in dragging her out of the room at midnight? Since conversing with a few of the guests, Candy decided making herself at home was the next largest priority. The room wasn’t super fancy, but then again, a train car could only be so extravagant. Candy was just about to get ready for bed when the lights went dim. Now the electricity was faulty? She had already inhaled her exasperated sigh, but stopped short when she heard Dot over the intercom. Well, it was a good thing she hadn’t changed out of her regular attire yet.

“I swear, this had better be something good...” She muttered, making her way to the lounge as fast as her short legs could carry her. When she arrived, she walked in to see yet another grandiose display of slot machines and confused guests. Candy stayed towards the back, merely raising an eyebrow at the display. She called them all the way here for talk of games and watches? There had to be more to this than some stupid game show premise. Once she had grabbed her own watch, she receded back to the outskirts of the room to examine it. She was only half listening to what Dot was saying, assuming it was some dumb raffle or played up talk.

Her eyes instantly darted up at the word kill. The Dot before her was not the same cheerful conductor she had previously seen. Her eyes were cold, yet amused. The mark of a true sadist. Her attention had definitely been caught now. Candy listened to every word Dot said after that, clenching the watch in her hand as if it was her most prized possession. That was because, right now, it was. The wide grin on her face and sparkle in her eyes were masked by the dim lighting and everyone’s attention on Dot. It took everything in her body to contain how absolutely excited she was.

When the lights turned on, she quickly composed herself and silently left the lounge. Her pace was hasty as she tried to beeline back to her room. The entire time, her eyes were fixed on that little red button. All the possibilities, all of the things she could have, how much fun she could have. She took it all back, all of her complaints had gone out the window. This was it. This was finally the big gamble she had been waiting for. A cold smirk crossed her lips, only to be gone a few seconds later as she collided with someone else. 

A ball eh? Candy raised her eyebrows incredulously at the box that she presumed contained her dress when she entered her room again. What the hell was wrong with what she was already wearing? She was already dressed in formal for God’s sake. Besides, she hated long dresses. It felt way too constricting, and how could she show off her body?

Questions aside, she supposed she had better do what Dot number three told her to. Switching personalities seemed to be Dot’s M.O. now, and Candy didn’t see any signs of that going away. She admired the new Dot’s aggression, but couldn’t stand how bossy and commanding she was. Only she was allowed to be bossy and commanding. 

The box, still laying on the bed, was taken from it’s place and promptly put into her lap. Might as well see what they were forcing her into. The dress was better than she expected. It’s color was a gorgeous crimson, and the fabric had to be incredibly high quality. The price on this thing must have been ridiculous. As for the cut itself, Candy was pleased with it. A long form fitting strapless sweetheart dress with a deep slit running down the front that exposed her entire left leg. Her excitement for this event skyrocketed considerably after trying it on and admiring herself in the mirror for another fifteen minutes or so.

✛  ✛  ✛ 

Among the other passengers, Candy was one of the latter to finally open the doors and arrive at the ball. Makeup had taken her longer than expected, and she hated being on other people’s schedules anyways. She didn’t have a date, but who needed one? The last person she considered promising ended up dying due to a sloppy and stupid error. It felt so long ago, yet it was what, two days or so? In any case, it was a shame he couldn’t be here. 

She wasn’t going to question how exactly they got mail. She assumed it had to be from Dot or other people on the train. If people knew their location, then wouldn’t the whole point of this fun murder train ride be negated? So far today, Candy had been keeping to herself. She had taken to redecorating her room; tidying it up, rearranging some things to her liking, and adding as much personal touch as she could given her lack of belongings. Hell, she had even decorated the cute door sign by her room to spice things up.

Now, the brief excitement from receiving mysterious letters had worn off, Candy was back to her nosy self. With nothing else to do, she was left to draw her dose of drama and entertainment from her fellow passengers. It was a fun game to play. She would simply wander around the train until she found someone to talk to. If they bored her, she would find someone else.

As she entered the hospital, she had a better idea. Perhaps she would do some snooping around to see what she was working with exactly. After all, the hospital was essentially her home. It was all familiar surroundings for her. The sterile emptiness, the assorted medical equipment, and of course the various chemicals and poisons. Wait-- never mind that was something new. Before she knew it, Candy found herself digging through all of the medical supplies.