Protected By Death Part I
They say death has no power. My dead father remembered, and alive me didn’t!”
“Finally,” Catherine Dawson said to herself as the Long Island Rail Road (LIRR) train to Farmingdale she was on announced her stop. Minutes later, the train stopped at the right stop this time, and the door opened. Pulling a small Ziplite Lime-green Samsonite suitcase behind her, relief etched on her face. She eases towards the exit.
As she was about to step out, suddenly, without announcement, the door slammed shut. Then sped away like a thief fleeing a beat cop after snatching an old lady’s purse on the streets of New York City.
“What the . . . ? Catherine hollered as the speed of the train threw her body backward. Her right-hand breaks her fall as she plops down on the nearest seat. Her screams echoed, bouncing off the interior glass windows and panels. As the speed increased, she realized her compartment was almost empty, except for three other passengers. Staring at them sitting in the front row, paralyzed by shock, her heart raced in competition with the train’s speed.
The three passengers were replicas of her. Attired in the exact outfits, she was wearing from her dyed burgundy boy-cut hair. Her grandmother’s white gold diamond teardrop earring hung loosely from their ears. A handmade…
