She silently stared out of the train window. Her reflection stared back at her, transposed on what reminded her of a scene from the Wild West.
"You're upset, Little Lady."
Donnice looked to the aisle. The cowboy she had seen in the other car sat on the bench on the other side of the aisle. She hadn't heard him enter the car. Too upset she guessed.
"Well, yeah. I just found out that I killed a bunch of people, I'm dead, and..." She watched as he lowered his brim over his face and crossed his ankles. "Never mind."
"I'm listenin'." His stubble covered jaw moved below the hat as he spoke.
"It's not important." It really wasn't something she needed to share with total strangers anyway.
"Not too much is. Now, is it?" He laced his long fingers over his flat stomach.
"What do you mean?"
"Well now, the way I see it. If yer dead, then nothing you do matters, does it?"
Surely not. Things had to matter. This isn't Heaven. Her heart stopped. "This isn't Heaven," she whispered.
The cowboy chuckled. "If it is, then I'm in the wrong place."
"You are?"
He pushed his hat back with long fingers. Damn, he was cute--stubble on his cheeks and chin, rugged features, but clear blue eyes.
"Murderers don't go to Heaven, do they?"
Murderer. She never thought that word would be associated with her. "No. I suppose not."
That meant ... She looked at him. Somehow that smile didn't look so friendly now. Did he smile while killing people?
"So, if we're not going to Heaven on this thing..." She looked to the window as the train jerked forward. The chugging of the wheels began gradually, and the whistle blew in a near deafening way.
"I'd quit feeling sorry fer myself if I was you."
"Huh?" She looked back at him.
"Ain't that whatcha doin'? Feelin' sorry fer yerself?"
She was whining. Holy crap! What kind of dead person ... wait ... "Hey, if ghosts don't feel sorry for themselves, then what's all that moaning for?"
He shrugged. "Suit yerself. You could reap the benefits while you got the time, or you could sit there and bellyache."
He made sense. She could whine and do exactly what she always had, or she could be ... spontaneous.
She looked to the cowboy. "Do you know what spontaneity is?"
He harrumphed. "I was perty spontaneous when I shot that last guy."
"Well, I want to be spontaneous before I reach ... wherever."
His brow creased as he cocked his head. "You need to be a little more clear, Little Lady."
She stood. "Do you think I'm attractive?"
His eyebrows rose. "I'd say so. A bit on the thin side, but yeah. Course, the only gals I've seen fer awhile has been the ones over at the Bird Cage."
She was going to have to act if he was going to do something. She pulled her brown jacket off, revealing her crisp white blouse tucked in her dark brown slacks.
"The conductor said I'm the type of girl who would never say yes."
"Ma'am, if yer suggestin' what I think you are." He stood and pushed his hat further back on his forehead. "I'm more than happy to oblige."
)
What happens if you are on a train destined for HELL? That is what happens to Donnice Jordan. Each stop of this train of horrors introduces her to new characters with just enough life in them to remember their most lustful and depraved needs. Murderers, rapists, and deranged psychopaths would like to do more to a warm and willing body than just hold it. The conductor, Colin, is used to being able to check his emotions with the baggage. Now he finds himself having to protect her from the passengers and his own hunger for souls. Can he protect her when his own desires could mean her final death? (Psst?there is a happy ending, even for the dead.)
