Chris Linton

I opened my eyes, blinked in rapid concessions for a bit just trying to get accustomed to the light, streaming in the large train window. I could feel a nice little wet spot on my shoulder jacket, a bit of drool leftover from my sleep. I became aware of a man with his stomach peeking out of his Hawaiian shirt sitting in front of me, little pockets of fat bulge here and there nicely complementing his man breasts. He wore a bright blue baseball cap that had faded letters displayed on it that I could not work out, little tufts of dark brown hair ran over his ears and down the nape of his neck. I couldn’t make out his eyes or his face.

“Uh-hello,” He said taking his cap off. I could see his light blue eyes now and his sagging tanned face.

“Hi,” I said, looking down at his camera that was out on the table. It was a bulky one, with a large screen display.

“…You from around here?”

“Well not too far,” I said not really interested in giving any details away to a stranger.

“I’m on my holidays now, thought it about time to get away from it all, that means my wife mainly.” He chuckled, a deep guttural laugh. I could tell by the laugh and the look in his eyes that his was a pleasure holiday, the wife out of the picture, on his own.

“Digital?” I asked pointing at the camera.

“Yeah,” He said looking out of the window, “Got some fine photographs of the countryside, you know with cameras like this these days anyone can be a photographer, quite simple really, just point and shoot.”

I looked outside the window, admiring the sea like sky undulating like foaming waves, rippling a rich deep blue. It had been a long since I had sat back and admired the beauty, everything was taken for granted these days, in fact I didn’t think much of most things that were around me anymore.

I glanced back to the manuscript that was sitting on the table. Forgetting about the passenger opposite me, I flicked through the thick volume, wondering if it was even worth reading such a thing.

“What’s that you’re reading there?”

“Umm,” I glanced over . “just some manuscript” I flippantly exclaimed.

He must have seen something or recognised who I was, “You like that Tom Bates guy, who know the son of that murdered guy who bought the book off Charles Neville who strangely enough was also murdered.”

I glanced out the window while the fat man plunged his finger into his nose, thinking no one was watching pulled out a little bit of sticky snot rolled it around in his fingers for a bit and then flicked it hurriedly away. I turned by attention towards the man.

“Yeah, I’m Tom Bates,” I replied, hoping I didn’t have to shake his hand, who invented handshakes anyway?

I thought about it for a second as the train slowly ground to a halt. As far as I knew there was no one person that invented the handshake it just seemed a normal practise for so long. Definition for handshake I thought: A handshake is a custom where two people grasp their right or left hands, this is normally followed by a short shake of the grasped hands.

When is the handshake initiated? Well normally at meetings, greetings, partings, offering congratulations, or completing an agreement. Its purpose is to convey trust, balance, and equality. Handshakes possibly originated as a gesture showing that the hand holds no weapon.

I glanced up at the stranger well his hands weren’t holding anything so he was no threat no weapon in his hands.

“I’m Chris Linton,” He replied a grin stretching across his face, “Just call me Chris.” No hand raised for a handshake and no gesture followed on my part, he must have realised that I had spied him at his dirty little habit.

“So what brings you out here? I mean other than for sight seeing not many people come out to the country anymore you know with all those outbreaks of foot-and-mouth and the crazy chicken virus it’s just safer to stay in the city.”

“A cousin,” I replied. “She has been bothering me for so long, ringing me up all the time to come over for a visit. I gave up on her persistent nagging so here I am.”

“You know I’ve thought about divorcing my wife and marrying one of those Asian brides you know the ones you can get of the internet. I always wanted a petite Thai girl, we would start a new life somewhere out in the country.”

I shook my head, what a strange thing to say.

“Huh?”

“Oh, never mind me, I’m just full of nonsense these days, I think it has something to do with old age setting in.”

The useless chit-chat continued, as I tried to look interested but I was somewhere else, thinking about the book, the disappearance of Samantha, my father’s death and my search for Mr. Retro.

A few stops later Chris Linton disembarked off the train, wishing me luck with my visit to see my cousin. A little smile crossed my face, a strange character and some strange topics of conversation too; I straightened myself out and got back to trying to make sense of the book.