☆°The Holiday Express Tragedy/A CRK Fanfic◌°☆

✦1: Shellshock✦

Linzer Cookie's POV:

I watched Creme Brûlée Cookie get boxed into that damned piano room and didn't say a thing. I just watched, not with a disappointed look I wanted to give, but with a blank stare. I had forgotten about him since before this trip, yet seeing him in this light made me want to bawl my eyes out. Yet, I didn't. I watched as the other detectives shoved him in that room, and lock the door. They looked at eachother with a proud look, being able to overcome a murder case on a moving train, right out of a novel. I would have wanted this too, to be able to crack such a case, yet I couldn't bring myself to celebrate with them after they laid down safety protocols for the others. All I could muster was an excuse 

"I'm very tired after such a large case, and I still have manuscripts to read over. I'll see you guys in the morning! Goodnight!"

I watched as everyone turned to look at me with varying expressions of concern and just plain bewilderment.

"Linzer Cookie... it's only 6 pm " Macaroni Cookie tilted his head in a nonchalant kind of way.

"Why, yes I suppose it is- but writers must get proper rest. I still have lots of work- ah! Goodnight! Enjoy your celebration!"

I ran off. I ran off like a coward. What choice did I have? I feel sick. I need to calm down. 

"It's just a solved murder. You write about them all the time! Maybe a bath will help you calm down- yea a bath! Perfect idea, Linzer Cookie."

Taking to myself out loud was a weird kind of habit I developed, using it to come up with ideas for my novels, then I started to do it more with time, having daily talks by myself. Alone. It was strange and I was aware it was strange, but it was comfort. 

I slipped into the bathtub, letting the warm water rest on my chin, exhaling and looking out the window at the snowy scene that was being whisked away by the moving of the train. I could feel the wisps slowly guide me into a rest... no. I can't sleep now. Bathing as a cookie is already a risky move, I can't risk getting soggy enough to crumble.  Others considered it a form of self harm. I think it's a form of therapy. Even with the warm water and the in-sync sound of the train faintly chugging to soothe me, I still couldn't get my mind right. Short warm baths always seemed to work. Being mentally hyperactive  wasn't new to me, but this was truly a case I couldn't crack. I would try getting some sleep instead. Some good rest. I watch the water go down the drain, dress myself in one of those fluffy cotton hotel robes I could simply not love and a nightgown that seemed to always get me in the spirit for a good rest, and lay in bed silent.

 I try to ignore the shuffling and sounds of laughter from the dining cart. The one final celebration before the passengers are quarantined for the remainder of the trip. And I way laying there, overthinking and maybe even  fantasizing over a man who commuted murder. There was something deeply wrong with me. I tried to block the noise of my thoughts and hopefully here decent sleep, my thoughts tugging me every which way. I would close my eyes and I would focus on the warm bed and get rest. I would nod off eventually.

...I can't sleep. The bed is warm, the lighting is perfect, and everything lay still, but I can't bring myself to relax. I can't help but toss and turn. The thought of Creme Brûlée Cookie as a murder made me too frazzled to sleep. So  I just lay there in silence, sinking slowly into the satin sheets, focusing on the clock instead, listening to it tick.

tick

...

tick

...

tick

.... My eyes are heavy.

tick

yawn

Darkness. Maybe it Could be described as sleep, but it wasn't restful at any point in time.

"Linzer Cookie- you know I am no killer- LINZER COOKIE PLEASE!"

"... I'm sorry Creme Brûlée Cookie."

Then it truly was darkness.