“Fuck off, you disgusting pervert, just FUCK OFF!”
So saying, the young woman screamed and stamped her high heel onto her attacker’s foot. His grip on her breast eased immediately as he backed away.
I had been lucky to get a seat in the morning rush-hour on this train from Brighton to London, and the morning misery of those standing crushed together had been transformed into a nightmare by this bizarre lunatic who had apparently suddenly grabbed the breast of the woman standing beside him.
This weirdo was indeed a the most unlikely groper you could possibly imagine. He was a thirtyish man with golden hair and film-star good looks and, believe it or not, he was actually smiling. He was dressed immaculately in a pure white suit, with an open-necked bright blue shirt. I could just make out the name GABRIEL embroidered over his top pocket. To my amazement I then saw Gabriel push through the throng of standing passengers, go straight up to another woman, smile his angelic smile once more, then deliberately thrust his hand under her skirt. Her scream was high pitched and desperate enough to jar the strongest of nerves, and she backed into the passengers all around, causing those on the periphery of the crowd to stumble and fall because of the press of bodies.
I was glad to see one man punch Gabriel in the face, but he barely seemed to feel it, simply drove through the throng of bodies in search of another lady victim. This was a stout sixtyish woman with no-nonsense short grey hair, who successfully managed to stab her finger into his eye and kick him in the balls.
Other passengers, not having seen what had happened, felt the Mexican-wave of bodies as people were pushed out of the way due to the fracas, which was now getting out of hand. People were shouting and yelling while handsome Gabriel was reaching for more female victims, his beatific smile forever etched onto his lovely face. Everyone was shouting and screaming as I stood up and reached for the emergency stop communication cord and yanked the chain hard.
The seconds seemed like minutes before the train screeched to a halt, causing an avalanche of bodies to stumble and fall. The chaos went on for a few more moments until someone managed to open the door and jumped down to the muddy wasteland, helping others down to follow him, so that at last there was a bit of room to attend to the casualties. By some miracle, I was relieved to see that it looked as if no one had been seriously hurt, most or them being helped to their feet, a few being made comfortable where they lay, with folded coats for pillows, and reassuring hand-holding and warm comforting words.
After a while, a couple of men in British Rail staff uniforms arrived to join those of us outside the train, announcing that ambulances were on the way.
Then, as we were milling about on the muddy waste ground, there was the sound of an explosion in the distance. All eyes turned to the flash of fire beyond the bend on the horizon.
We all watched as, a few minutes later, the wail of sirens filled the air, and we could see a road – which was some distance away beyond some fields and houses – which was suddenly filled with blue-light flashing emergency vehicles.
“What the hell?” said one of the British Rail men.
It was ten minutes later, while we were all surmising what had happened, and making way for the approaching paramedics, when a man looked up from his phone.
“Listen, I’ve just found BBC breaking news. Seems that there’s been a terrorist attack. The railway track has been blown up at Woodenhatch Down,” he called out. “Which is just around this next bend.”
“My God,” a lady answered, aghast. “We’ve only just stopped I time! At the speed we were going the train would have sailed of the rails and hurtled into the bank, probably rolled over and killed us all! Honestly, it would have been bloody carnage!”
After a while Gabriel’s first victim spoke into the stunned silence. “It was so strange, you know? I saw that bastard’s hand on my breast, and I remember thinking how on earth could such a normal-looking, handsome guy like that behave like a crazy pervert? Do you know what else was so odd? I could see he was groping me, but I never actually felt any pressure, as if his fingers weren’t even touching me – I can’t understand it.”
“Neither can I,” said the man who’d given the handsome smiler a smack in the mouth. “I hit him in the face, yet I but never felt any impact – it was just like punching air!”
“And where on earth did he go?” I asked. “I’ve been looking out for that eye-catching white suit, yet I haven’t seen him anywhere.”
“I saw him by the door, just before the train stopped,” said a tall man wearing a clerical collar and an ominous dark frown. “One moment he was there, then the next he just seemed to disappear. . .”
He moves in mysterious ways all right!
thanks Peter