Cyclops

Two FBI agents stared down at the mutilated corpse. It was the middle of the Great Depression, so finding a body in a rail yard was not an uncommon occurrence. Finding three engineers’ bodies, each in a different rail yard, in three different states, and all displaying the same wounds was. The cause of death for each man was a stab wound directly into the heart. The left eye had been removed postmortem, and a cat’s eye marble inserted into the empty socket. The coup de grâce was the word Cyclops written across each victim’s forehead in their own blood.

The agents canvased the rail yard, questioning employees, homeless families living around the yard’s perimeter and hobos waiting to catch the next freight train to a better life. No one saw a thing. Max Marshall, the lead agent, headed for his car but hesitated when he heard a child’s voice call out. “Hey mister, I’ll tell you what happened if you have some candy.”

Max turned toward the direction of the voice and a nine-year-old child emerged from the shadows. The agent smiled as he looked the ragtag boy over.

“I don’t have any candy, but I have some gum. Will that work, Son?” offered Max.

“If it’s Juicy Fruit, it will,” the boy said with a wide gap-tooth grin.

Max walked to the boy and handed him a stick of gum.

“Okay, tell me what you saw.”

“Well, this skinny engineer with a patch over one eye walked up to the dead guy, but he wasn’t dead yet, and started pointing at something on the engine. When the bigger engineer turned to look at where the other was pointing, the skinny one pulled a knife from his sleeve and stabbed him. That’s when I ran away.”

“Was the skinny man tall or short?” Max asked.

“He was taller than me, but shorter than my dad. That’s why I was so surprised when he attacked the bigger man. Probably wouldn’t have if he didn’t have a knife.”

Max thanked the boy and handed him the remaining sticks of gum. He finally had a sketchy description of the killer which he shared with his partner, Bill.

The next day, it surprised both agents to learn no rail line would employ a one-eyed engineer. Having only one eye was a safety concern the companies did not want to deal with.

“The boy told his story with such confidence, I can’t believe he would have the eye patch wrong,” Max said to Bill. “We need to re-canvass the area, focusing on small men with an eye patch. How many men fit that description?”

“There can’t be too many,” Bill replied.

Max continued, “So far, we have bodies in Connecticut, New York, and New Jersey. The next major rail yard is in Philadelphia. I think that’s where he’ll strike next.”

“Well, it seems to fit the pattern, Max. The difference is this time we’ll be there waiting for him.”

Philadelphia

The night was cloudy with visibility decreased by a pea soup fog. Max and Bill swept the busy rail yard, looking for the suspect. A man’s cry for help pierced the fog. The voice suddenly grew silent as the agents raced toward it. They arrived in time to see one man lying face up on the ground while a second man kneeled beside him. The kneeling man, startled by their sudden appearance, briefly hesitated, then stood and ran.

It was difficult for the agents to get a clear view of the attacker, but when he turned to see how close his pursuers were, an eye patch was discernible. The fugitive was fast, but Max and Bill were gaining ground. Changing direction to gain an advantage, the suspect tripped on a rail tie and almost fell. Arms flailing, desperately attempting to regain balance, the suspect’s hat fell off. Long, dark hair cascaded down the fugitive’s back.

The agents stopped in mid-stride. Their suspect was a woman. She looked back and realized her pursuers had stopped running for the moment. The killer reached a well-lit switching station and turned fully towards the FBI agents.

She lifted the patch, revealing an empty eye socket, and shouted. “I was only twelve years old when the railroad did this to me. The companies give their engineers bonuses if their loads are delivered early. A loose boiler bolt that would have been noticed by the engineer if he hadn’t been more worried about making his bonus blew off. It struck a child in the eye. The engineer didn’t think the accident was worth stopping for. No one ever said they were sorry. The railroad never even offered to pay for a glass eye.

“It’s time I make them all pay!”

Before the agents could call out a warning, the young woman turned and stepped in front of an electric yard engine that had approached from her blind side. The agents rushed to her aid, but she was already dead.

Epilogue

“It’s ironic,” thought Bill as he stood beside her grave. The girl’s last resting place was in a pauper’s cemetery next to the train tracks.