He’s just looking for someone to blame. Something happened at work. Maybe he has a female supervisor. She quickened her stride as she crossed the street. The elevated, grey concrete track of the Skytrain station appeared, spanning the distance between two massive condominium complexes at the end of the block and her hand went instinctively to the book in her pocket.
       That early in the morning, Martha rarely had trouble finding a seat in the third car. At Granville Station, her car stopped right in front of the exit tunnel and, from there, it was a short walk down the hallway to the escalators. The train was only half-filled with commuters, none of whom were the teenagers in private school uniforms who always made such a racket during her regular time. She read the first chapter of her book, a measly three pages, but on the first page of the second chapter the son-in-law was introduced and she remembered that he'd done it; he was the one who had killed his wife and child.

        She stuffed the book into her bag and stared out the window, telling herself that if she’d just get an e-reader like Stephanie kept pestering her about - But no, she couldn’t, there had to be a line, she was certain of it even if she didn’t know why.
 

In the distance, Martha could see the mass of office buildings cramping the downtown's core. The sky overhead was a solid mass of clouds, the colour of ashes. Between Metrotown, the station closest to her apartment, and Main street, two stops from Granville, there were mostly houses and low-lying buildings. The only things that rose to the level of the Skytrain’s track were the billboard-sized screens spaced as evenly apart as street lights.

         The one they were passing by now, its message triggered by the train’s approach, seemed to reflect the car she was sitting in except that the mirror image was overflowing with commuters. Inside, the faces of men and women were tightly pressed to the windows' glass while others, not so lucky, rode on its top, clutching their briefcases and holding on for dear life. The second and third billboards in the sequence were the same but, on the fourth, an old man lost his grip and flew backwards, knocking off a nun and two small children.
        An electronic chime sounded and, over the loudspeaker, a woman’s voice announced, “Broadway.” As the train entered the station, its breaks softly hissing, the half-dozen screens on the station’s wall picked up on a sporty Sedan racing along a winding mountain road. The doors whooshed open and, as the few people waiting on the platform hurried inside, Martha looped one hand around the shoulder strap of her bag resting on the seat beside her. On the video billboard, the car effortlessly swept around a curve and drove straight through a pristine waterfall, glistening with a rainbow. The electronic chime sounded again and, timed to the doors shutting, a caption appeared on the screen - 'Give Yourself A Break. Lease A New Nexus Starting At $125 Per Week'. The train eased forward and picked up speed like the car, effortlessly. The idyllic scene on the screen dissolved into a map of the three branches of the Skytrain, red-flashing lights showing train locations, and beyond it her bank’s logo on top of their building crept out from behind the horizon of another, taller building.
 

“I have a bomb.”
       It came out as no more than a whisper. A breath really. A single exhalation. Martha glanced about the train, worried that someone might have heard. The man across the aisle read from a newspaper. The woman beside him wore earphones. That left only the man sitting directly in front of her who could have possibly been within range. The back of his head, curly brown hair spiralling around a small bald spot the size of a quarter, gave her no indication whether he’d heard or not. The train slowed as it approached the next station.
      “Main Street,” chimed the announcer. Martha rose and hurried through the doors and onto the platform.