Jordan Williams awoke. He looked to his left and saw his dark coat and hoodie draped over a chair. Of course, his name wasn't really Jordan Williams. Who would be stupid enough to give their name to a stranger?
His real name was Andrew Lox. A name he hadn't responded to in many many years. Of late, he went by the name Jordan Williams. So it might as well be that his name really was Jordan Williams. But at least his fingerprints left on the bomb would doubtfully ever be found, and if they were, the prints would give the wrong name.
Jordan looked around the room he was in, as he did almost every morning. The room was larger than you would expect from the outside of the house, it consisted of a queen-size bed, a 50 inch, flat-screen TV, and speakers all around the room that were undoubtedly made to deafen people. There were two books in the room. Both contained information on bombs and mines. Jordan sat up onto the side of his bed. He rubbed his eyes. He turned to his headboard and grabbed a remote. He pressed the play button, and loud sounds of dubstep suddenly filled the room. Jordan had nothing on his schedule for the day, so he considered plopping back down onto his bed and drifting back off to sleep. He tilted his head and looked at his clock. 10:48am.
He had already slept in for hours upon hours. He slipped out of his bed, walked out of his room, setting the sound system to a setting of running throughout the entire house. He took a long shower, then changed into black jeans and black t-shirt. He made himself chocolate milk. Not even a train-bomber can resist the powers of chocolate milk. After finishing his drink, he pulled on shoes, grabbed his keys, and left the house.
He walked. He didn't often use his car. The cost of gas cut deep on his work-wage, not to mention walking is safer. So He walked with no direction. He rarely had any direction when he walked. He passed street upon street until he came to McLoughlin Boulevard. No matter where he walked, he always seemed to end up there. He headed to the direction of the Gladstone/Oregon city bridge. He decided to visit the 'crash-site' again. He was there when the train blew. He watched his masterpiece of art unfold in person rather than see the aftermath of the event on the news.
He stayed with the burning wreckage for about ten minutes. Cynthia was the first to arrive at the scene, but she didn't notice him. After he heard the wail of sirens, he quickly made his leave of the mess. He was walking for the rest of the day. He walked all the way to Sellwood and back to the wreckage, and back, and made his way back again, but was interrupted midway by seeing a car refuse to start at a near empty parking lot. He continued walking, not caring, until he saw the driver exit the car. He at first didn't recognize her, and so continued walking, but out of the corner of his eye, he recognized her as the woman at the crash-site. He walked to her, fixed her car, introduced himself with a false name, and left.
Jordan found himself back in front of the wreckage once again. And lo and behold, Cynthia sat on a curb merely a block away. He walked up to her, and made his introduction. He smiled within himself, feeling that sense of anonymity. That feeling that nobody would ever know who he was or that he blew the train.
"Hey!" he said. Cynthia had a puzzled look for a few seconds, then her face brightened.
"Oh hi!" she said. "At first I didn't realize who you were!" She laughed. Jordan smiled. Not because of what she said, but because of her laugh. She had no idea who he was, otherwise she would never laugh in his presence.
"It's not the first time somebody didn't recognize me," he said, "although last time I didn't have this." he motioned to his massive scar on his face.
"I can't imagine how painful it must have been to get something like that."
"It wasn't too comfortable." Uncomfortable was definitely the word. Jordan got the scar on his face from an explosion of a bomb he himself created and detonated, and Jordan was getting uncomfortable on the subject of the scar. Cynthia sighed.
"Well, I won't ask you to relive something like that. So, no worries," said Cynthia. Jordan smiled, once again feeling invulnerability. "So! What brings you here?" she asked. Jordan thought furiously.
"Uuhh... I saw on the news something about a train crashing here, and I wanted to see it in person."
"Ah. I see. Forensic scientists actually discovered remains of a bomb!" Jordan pulled a look of surprise.
"Really?? Wow.... that's.... wasn't mentioned on the news..."
"I can think why," Cynthia said. I don't think they would want everybody knowing about a bomber lumbering around Oregon."
"I suppose that makes sense, otherwise everyone would be in a panic," Jordan said.
"Yeah... I've been trying to find out more about the crash, but I haven't heard anything! It's a little frustrating," said Cynthia, clearly upset. Jordan was taken aback, and clearly felt a need to withdraw. He pulled out a pocketwatch and checked the time for no reason.
"Yes, I can see how that would be frustrating, especially if you live around here and feel connected to the crash in some way."
"Yeah..." sighed Cynthia.
"Well, I gotta go! Good luck on finding out more about the crash!" Jordan said his words sincerely, but meant them in a demeaning manner. He prided himself in trickery.
Cynthia had a small look of disappointment on her face as she replied, "Goodbye!"
Jordan had a small look of worry on his face as he turned from Cynthia, intending to never see her again.
So ends part 1 of Chapter 2! Comments are always welcome, and votes on the story poll are always appreciated. Take your vote, and tune in next week for section 2!