Wakey Wakey

There was a sudden jolt. A metallic screech.

Then—noise.

The kind that ripples through a crowd like electricity: sharp, wild, rising fast.

Shouts erupted from the rear of the train. Startled passengers exchanged confused glances, some standing, others pressing against the windows in search of answers.

Meanwhile, the front remained curiously calm—blissfully unaware, or perhaps just frozen in confusion.

Among the unaware was Mandy.

Still curled into her seat, her cheek pressed against the windowpane, she slept peacefully—lulled by the rhythmic hum of the rails.

That hum, however, had ceased. And the silence that replaced it stirred something unsettling in the air.

“Miss…”

A gentle but urgent voice pulled her from the fog of her dreams.

Mandy stirred.

Standing over her, the gentleman from her cabin. Calm, but with an unmistakable sharpness behind his spectacles.

She blinked. “Are we… at the final stop?”

She sat up slowly, taking in the eerie quiet, now punctuated by muffled footsteps and raised voices from behind. Her brows furrowed.

The man shook his head. “Not quite. But judging from the noise at the rear, something is amiss.”

Mandy straightened. Something in his tone told her it was more than a mechanical issue.

Her mind began to race.

A pit, maybe?

A rockslide on the tracks?

If the worst had happened, it could take days to clear. She couldn’t afford a delay—not when home was just within reach.

Without a second thought, she stood. Determined, she stepped into the aisle and started toward the control car. If there was an issue, the driver would surely know more.

But her steps halted abruptly.

A click.

A cold, heavy pressure settled against the side of her temple.

Mandy froze.

A masked figure stood before her, rifle pressed to her head. Two more emerged behind him, lugging canvas sacks heavy with stolen goods.

Their eyes were obscured by shadowed masks, but their intentions were clear.

“On your knees,” the first man growled.

Mandy obeyed, trembling. Her palms pressed against the cool floor. Heart pounding. Breath shallow.

Not again…

She had lived this once before—as a child (five-year-old), clutched against her aunt's side on a long ride back from her place in a town close by.

She remembered the fear. The helplessness.

And now, eighteen years later, it had found her again.

The robbers moved swiftly, barking orders, shoving bystanders. Mandy shut her eyes tightly, bracing herself.

Then, a familiar voice caught her attention, cutting through the tension, calm as silk and firm as a stone—

“Young men, I believe those bags don't belong to you.”

Mandy’s eyes flew open.

There, just right beside her, stood the gentleman.

He walked forward with measured ease, his left hand tucked into his coat pocket, his right hand gripping a polished, silver-tipped cane.

There was no fear in his step. Only authority.

The masked leader spun his rifle toward him. “Back off, old man! Else, you’ll get hurt.”

Unbothered, he paused, then reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a card with the grace of a magician revealing his final trick.

“Detective Jones,” he announced, flashing the card. “You may have heard of me. I’d suggest you surrender now before this turns, unpleasant.”

The air shifted.

Mandy watched, wide-eyed, as realization hit the robbers like a slap. One of them visibly flinched.

The Jones Hamburg?!

Jones wasn’t just a name—he was a legend in the city. A legend whose name spread even to the suburbs.

A man whose mere presence could dismantle a criminal's nerve.

Like cowards that they were, they bolted down the aisle at that information.

Jones moved quickly. In one smooth motion, he reached for his back pocket, drew a sleek firearm, and fired into the ceiling.

The shot cracked through the air like thunder.

The robbers halted, frightened.

Within seconds, two plainclothed officers burst in, pinning them down and snapping cuffs onto their wrists.

“Took them long enough,” Jones muttered, tucking away his gun. Then, with a slight smile, he extended his hand to Mandy.

She took it, still too stunned for words.

“Thank you…” she whispered, bowing her head, her voice barely audible over the remaining chaos.

He chuckled. “Don’t mention it. Comes with the title.”

As the officers dragged the culprits away, it was discovered that the rifle aimed at Mandy had been unloaded. No bullets. Just threat and showmanship.

That explained their panic.

Soon, about two hours later, the train was back in motion, resuming its journey as if nothing had happened. The familiar hum returned—its comforting rhythm a balm to Mandy’s frayed nerves.

She sat opposite Jones once more, still shaken but now filled with a sense of awe.

“I can’t believe it…” she said quietly. “You're the Mr. Jones…”

He smiled, sipping from a fresh cup of tea. “Believe it, Miss Mandy. I had hoped this countryside trip would be relaxing… but it seems trouble likes to follow me, no matter how far I travel."

She laughed, tension melting from her shoulders. “Well then, how about a guided tour from me when we arrive? Maybe I can help you enjoy the peaceful side of my little town."

“Gladly,” he said with a nod. “Though from the way you acted before this whole fiasco, you might need a tour guide yourself.”

“True,” she smiled, and thought 'was I that obvious'…

They continued to talk, their conversation drifting from books to places, childhood memories to future plans.

Outside, the sun began to dip low on the horizon. The train rolled steadily down the track, its gentle hum once again a lullaby of familiarity.

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