Time was running out. The train with its cargo of radioactive material was thundering along. Miranda had maybe twenty minutes before they’d reach London. And she could not allow nine million innocent people, including her husband Stephen, to die because of her mistakes.

Miranda had reached the door to the control room. There was no time to waste. She burst through the door and aimed her pistol at the villain at the controls. A terrorist no one had ever seen until now.

“Stop this train now!” Miranda demanded.

“I can’t do that Miranda. Not when I’m about to have revenge. OUR revenge for what they did to us!” Miranda was horrified as her enemy turned and faced her and she realized it was her beloved husband Stephen menacing before her plotting the deaths of millions.

“I can’t let you do this Stephen,” Miranda shouted in disbelief.

“You can’t stop us!”

“Oh no. He said us.” Miranda barely had time to formulate those words in her mind before the world turned on its side and went dark.

———————

“I’m sorry my sweet but Jenny and I have plans tonight and have to get off the train”. Miranda struggled to lift her head. She weakly blinked her eyes open. “But don’t worry sweetheart. We’ve given you the best seat for the show. For old times’ sake”. Miranda heard Stephen and Jennifer’s laughter echo down the corridor behind her.

But Miranda couldn’t worry about them right now. The train was definitively inside London city limits. Miranda had to stop it!

Miranda suddenly realized that she was bound hand and foot. Miranda was no longer in the control room. Her arms were tied tightly against her sides. Her wrists were tied with loops of rope. Another length of rope cinched the rope loops so that they molded to the contours of Miranda’s wrists. And her legs were also tied at the ankles and knees. Miranda tried to twist her wrists, but it was useless. There was no slack at all. She strained to pull her legs free, but the ropes were too strong.

The train whistle blew. Miranda saw larger and larger buildings whizzing past in the windows. She was down to seconds. She had to reach the control room. She tried to lurch forward and wound up tumbling onto the floor and landing in a heap against the wall. Miranda looked around desperately for anything she could do. For a tool. For a weak spot in her bonds. For anything. But it was hopeless. A voice was coming across the trains radio. It was nearly incomprehensible from the static and the panic.

“Express 290H7, break immediately. You have to break immediately!”

Miranda tried to scream to warn whomever was on the other end of the radio. “Take out the train. Do it now!” But her mouth was packed full with a rag and sealed shut with layer after layer of tape.

Miranda wiggled and squirmed in her seatbelt. Her powerless fingers flailed about grasping for nothing out of pure desperation. She screamed into her gag as loudly as she could knowing that any moment, the train with her in it, along with most of London would be consumed by a fireball hotter than the sun. This was it. Miranda wasn’t getting out this time.

————————-

“And I think we’ll end the reading right there, so you’ll all still have a reason to buy your very own copy of ‘Express Train Terror.’” My announcement was met with a mixture of applause and some groans from the audience at the book signing.

The was my first mainstream novel and incredibly, it was shaping up to be a hit. The London-based publisher made it possible with that generous advance that allowed me to focus full time on completing the story. And now, here I am, on the final stop of a whirlwind book tour. “Tina, you’re on your way,” I congratulated myself in my head.

It was all top notch, highly professional and exactly what I’d hoped for. A world away from my tiny farmhouse in Paris, Kentucky!  I had always wanted to write and tell stories. Especially stories of danger and suspense. Stories where the leading lady faced down extreme peril and proved her metal. But not before escaping a few seemingly hopeless traps set by the ruthless villains.

After years of toiling away writing erotic fiction and kinky bondage stories, just to get by, I caught my big break with a real publisher. I was deep in my state of euphoric disbelief and on autopilot as I signed copy after copy of my book for the long line of patrons.

“Excuse me, but I said, could you sign it as Glynco05 for me?” I felt myself go pale as the blood rushed from my face. “I mean, I’d recognize you anywhere. I really appreciated your work. AND your writing,”.

The tall gentleman in the smartly tailored suit was referring to my “work” in a hard-to-find set of promotional bondage photos I’d modeled for back when mainstream writing was only a wild fantasy. Back when I used to do my erotic art under the pseudonym Glynco05.

“Your work was utterly inspired, Glynco.”

I was thoroughly unnerved. I was only rarely recognized and never in real life. I stumbled up out of my chair and walked toward the back room. One of the store employees made an announcement that “Ms. Josephine was taking a break.”

TO BE CONTINUED….in the next 24 hours!!!!

And be sure to check out @jakal69 who provided the great image of Miranda from Tinas story within a story!