The ground was damp and the air humid after the horrible thunderstorm that had passed through Oslo a few days earlier. A rare, but tumultuous occasion. The palace and the government had both gone on television calling it a genuine hurricane. Warning people to be careful and stay at home. Luckily, the fine men and women of the Oslo police department had been in the streets watching out for anyone who happened to wander about. And, as fate would have it, structural damage had been at a minimum. Most people had indeed stayed indoors, and so, the storm of the century had passed through without too many incidents.

Now, all the cops had gone back home to their wives and kids, and the city was left empty and dark in the wake. It was late in the night, too late for a beautiful young girl to be out by her lonesome self. Evelyn was out despite such conditions; a fair skinned, young, stunning girl with long dark brown wavy hair. She was the kind of girl you would notice on the subway after a long days work, or the girl you wouldn’t dare to go up to at the exlusive nightclub you can’t get in to. Her eyes flashed a lovely light hazel hue in the night as she passed by the sporadically placed street lamps. Dark shadows, harsh lights. 2 days earlier she had bought a red trench coat from the Jaque Corsage store on Frogner to prepare for the storm. He had told her that the coat was an overpriced blanket, and that it wouldn’t keep her warm from the cold moist air. She hated the fact that he was right, and regreteted her purchase, wrapping the coat tighter to her chest, gritting her teeth together in the process.

She briskly walked in her unpractical five inch heels to the train station where she would be purchasing a ticket, any ticket out of this town. The dark would play tricks on her eyes, and she would frequently gaze over her shoulder into the night, hoping to god that hewas not following. She clutched the envelope in her hands explaining everything. Everything to everyone. It was her insurance that she would get out of this alive. She regretted pretty much everything: The parties, his shady friends, that cold night in May, but most of all, she regretted him. The envelope went back into her big trench coat pocket for safe keeping, as she turned the corner of Oslo S - the main train station -. This was the place to go when traveling late in the night, or when you just needed to bolt the city. She scouted across the tracks where the brightly lit ticket vendor shone. There she would buy her freedom on the last trains rolling out this night.

Suddenly, she heard rapid foot steps behind her. Evelyn quickly stopped, overcome with fear and swiftly turned around. There, nothing but a long empty hallway behind her. The same one she had been walking through. Thoughts were swimming around in her head, heartbeats trying to burst out of her chest. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. Evelyn regretted the way he would kiss her, when he grabbed the back of her head like a real man should. The way he would bite her lower lip when he was done.
She turned back. A tall figure, silhouetted by the bright light from the street corner right in front of her. He had not been there 2 seconds ago. Evelyn’s blood froze, was it him? Had he finally found her? She had been so dumb, of course he would be watching the train stations, and the bus stations, and the airports. This was what he did.

In the split of a second she decided to make a run for it, her unpractical high heels wobbled in response, and the shadowy figure swiftly grabbed her. Evelyn, a beautiful girl of 24, - a girl most men would drop their jaws at when she walked by - was now in full panic. Her legs and arms sprawling out trying to hit this man covered in the shadows. A pitiful laugh filled the air in response. Her first reaction was that of horror, but her second was more complex. It’s not him! She regretted the way he laughed with her in a way that would make her feel special and funny. This laugh was more like a low bass rumble. A monstrous laugh. The man rushed his arm around her throat, squeezing down on her vocal cords. The blood to her head cut off. What a mess this was, the great escape to the country side, the police report she would file, maybe a reward? The romance, the “James Bond” life. Not asking questions; all the champagne in the world and the lies that goes with them.

Her knees landed on the concrete and she coughed, trying desperately to get as much oxygen back into her lungs as possible. A high pitched sound cut through the night. The noise of a mechanical whistle. “Jeeez, my head hurts.” Evelyn’s thoughts scattered, she felt like a broken mirror.
It was then that the mysterious man lit a cigarette, as if that the most normal reaction to what was happening. She looked up at the glow of the lighter, and.
Wait.. Oh! She recognizes him! The puzzles fell into place. The mirror pulling the shards back into a perfect reflection.. The Wolves, the Police officers, the seal. The covering up of the whole russian affair. He nodded and smiled, knowing she recognized him. This, more than anything scared her to the core of her soul. The whistle was heard again, the distant train lighting up the whole platform. Two people standing in the distance and she could see the wind catching their hair and making it dance for her. 

“You know what the secret to making good whiskey is?” His low bass voice rumbling as his rotten tobacco breath filled the air. An intense pain snapped through her left leg. Evelyn groaned out as loud as she could, her strained vocal chords not being able to transmit much more than a pathetic whimper. His foot had smashed down hard on her exposed leg. Her only thought transmitting through her brain with big red letters was: “It’s broken. It’s definitely broken."  The train whistle sounded again, now almost deafening. He grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her back up, the pain shot through her entire body and she gasped in agony. His lips touched her ear, he smirked and whispered. “Patience.” Evelyn closed her eyes and prayed to God. A god who was never there for her. Not when dad left, or mom had to work double shifts to make ends meet. Not when the bullies in school threw her in the fountain. A god who did not answer when she pleaded for him to give her a sign. A god who left her to grow up quickly, and dress accordingly. The man laughed again. His laugh surrounded by the oncoming of a thunderous train. The ground shook, the wind picked up, and the newspapers flew by. He pushed her hard in the back and poor Evelyn tumbled over the gap, landing hard on the railroad tracks 4 feet beneath her. Her shoulder popping out of her socket. The last thought that went through her mind before the freight train from west Sweden met her with enough impact to send her beautiful face into oblivion, and her impulsive and resourceful frontal lobe through the crack forming in her skull was:

Fuck.