Free Metro by Steen Langstrup Page B

tomorrow.”
    I turn off the phone and let it slide down my pocket as I glance at the board.
    VANLOSE 3 min.
    Well, at least it seems to be counting down again. I flex my shoulders. They are stiff after hours of working, sitting bent over my laptop on the plane.
    Of course Maja was right. It is urgent that I contact the police ASAP. I consider calling them right now, but refrain from doing this as I would prefer to see that picture myself before doing anything. If she is right, and it really is my face in the papers, I need to get this mistake corrected immediately. That kind of dirt might stick to you and require some damage control. I might consider calling my attorney first, just in case we would need to put some pressure on the cops, making sure they make a public statement of my innocence as they retract the surveillance shot. The key is that there can be no doubt left that I am innocent as this was a police investigation error. Maybe I should sue them?
    If—that is—it really is me on that picture. I find this terribly difficult to believe. After all, I was in Miami that night.
    The Clip Card! I forgot to stamp my Clip Card in the machine. Shaking my head, I pull out my wallet and extract the Clip Card.
    VANLOSE 5 min.
    Now, it is counting backwards again. I go to the machine and stamp my Clip Card twice. Looking up, I catch the young woman looking at me. I flash a tired smile as she quickly turns her head away.
    She doesn’t look much more than fourteen or fifteen years old. It seems a little late for a girl so young to be out on her own. She has long, blond hair and blue eyes. Cute girl. Skinny, but still with that touch of baby fat to her appearance. Far too much make up around the eyes, though.
    I return to my suitcase. I’m hungry. I have nothing to eat. I ate on the plane, but that was hours ago. I wonder if I have anything in the fridge back home. Some bread maybe?
    VANLOSE 1 min.
    The train will be here soon. I turn to see if I can spot it. Usually, you can see the train coming from quite a distance. There is nothing but darkness. I look at my watch. It is past two a.m. I must have been standing here waiting for half an hour…or even longer. Why don’t they say anything over the intercom? They normally do when a train is delayed.
    VANLOSE 5 min.
    As I catch the young woman staring at me again I point to the board and shrug. She shrugs back.
    I turn away. If there had been decent benches at the Metro stations, I might have been able to get some work done. Now, I don’t know how to pass the time.
    I glance at the girl. She has pulled the earplugs from her ears. I glimpse a pair of large earrings as she folds the cord, and pulls a cell phone from her pocket. Of course, she uses her cell phone for her music, not an iPod.
    VANLOSE 2 min.
    I look down at my shoes. They need a shine. The filth from the streets of Madrid is covering them like a membrane. The girl is wearing tartan All Stars. I had the same shoes, only black, when I was her age.
    She kinda resembles my first girlfriend , I think as I secretly glance at her reflection in the glass wall. She has the same build, same hair, same earrings. Especially, the earrings. I had a thing with her ears, I recall, suddenly remembering the taste of those earrings.
    My first love. She was only mine for a few weeks. We were so young and the world was so alive. The memories make me smile. You should never get any older than that.
    I try to remember her name. I can picture her face in front of me, taste the metal of her earrings inside my mouth, feel the warmth of her body, the magic of the first kiss, the strange but wonderful sensation of her tongue inside my mouth, her soft skin, the fine hairs under her panties. I recall every small detail, but not her name.
    “Train arriving in track two for Vanlose.”
    My memories are shattered by the strangely exhilarated female voice over the station’s intercom. I blink, feeling lost for a moment. I had been so far away