The Follower(John Jones) Was it paranoia? Perhaps it was, as the train pulled away from the station which was a three-minute walk from Frazier street maternity hospital, with the little bundle of joy she cradled, sat looking out of the window. Was she being observed? Somebody had been following her she was sure. A man who looked like he slept on the streets. A scruffy individual of no fixed abode.

She didn’t like to stare straight at him. In fact just wanting away, glad she was on the train. He had been many metres behind, so perhaps it really was paranoia after all, having left the hospital with her emotions in turmoil, caused by the baby boy wrapped in swathing in her arms.

Nothing unusual about a woman cradling a baby, so why should anyone look at, or follow her?

Maybe they were jealous, she thought. They want to steal it.

The train lost sight of the hospital, gaining speed, but still the feeling of paranoia wouldn’t go away, so she leaned out from her seat to look down the aisle, through the intersecting doors to the rear, last carriage.

There he was, walking slowly along, looking at the people in their seats. It was obvious he wasn’t asking for spare change. He was looking for somebody.

Me, she thought. Why does he want me? I’m not paranoid. He really is following me, and wants to kidnap my precious little miracle. So she stood up, and headed along the aisle in the opposite direction, fear and panic overcoming her, the baby gurgling, oblivious.

An over-weight woman in her early sixties was leaning down and talking to someone in a seat, blocking the way.

She stood up straight and saw her with the baby and smiled.
“Aww, little baby,” she said, “I remember when I had my first,” but the woman being followed was too flustered and panicky to stop.
“That’s nice,” she muttered, and barged past, the passenger falling into the lap of whom she had been talking to. She never heard her complaints, rushing into the next carriage.

How long to the next stop? she thought, but did not know. Most seats were occupied, so whoever wanted to steal her baby had plenty to see before he got to her as she rushed to the last exit door near to the drivers cab of the three-carriage commuter train.

How long to the next stop? she repeated, as if the answer would manifest from somewhere, hoping that it stopped before the man came into this carriage.
The train began to lose speed as it rolled into an underground station, and the man then entered the carriage. A man who looked even worse than she had thought, having only seen him at a distance. Clothes plucked from a garbage bin, and wiry, greasy hair, a lived-in face, bloodshot eyes, possible alcoholic, drug-taker, but who knew how and why some people fall down the cracks of life, and some let themselves drown in it, and some even take a swan dive right down, and wallow in it. She neither knew nor cared about this man’s past. He wasn’t taking the baby and that was that.

He saw her and pointed, walking slowly towards her, cautiously as if she was threatening to throw the baby out the window.

He was holding his hands out as the train came to a halt in the station.
“Give me the baby,” he said, rough throated, but the doors slid open and she shot out, dashing to the elevator stairs, passing by commuters and a train-guard in her haste to escape. She had never known panic like it. He wanted her little bundle of joy. What did a man like him, she thought, a scruffy tramp, want with a baby? Then with horror, she guessed, and ran much faster up the slow escalator. He’s hungry and wants to eat it. He wants to eat my baby.

Halfway up, panicking, she looked back and there he was, talking to the train-guard and pointing up at her. The guard then spoke into his radio.
She was exhausted, the effort of the escalator was too much, but her second wind kicked in and she surged upwards, glancing back to see the tramp and guard following her.

She reached the top and rushed towards the ticket barrier, but people were in the way, and she was stuck behind a teenage tourist with a ruck-sack taking their time getting out their rail-pass.
“Move!” she shouted, but didn’t notice, however, that beyond the barrier, a ticket- inspector and security-guard had moved towards her to block the way.
“Move! He wants to eat my baby”. Most passengers around her stopped and stared. Including the tourist. She realised she had said that out loud.

So it wasn’t just the tramp looking at her. Now curious folk. One or two didn’t care or hear her properly and passed through the barriers. She saw the inspector and guard and knew they were not going to let her pass.
The tramp and other guard appeared. The downward escalator was blocked by other passengers, gawkers watching the mad woman shouting about baby eating.

There was nowhere to go.

They all want it, she thought. They all want my baby.
“Well you can’t have him!” she screamed. However, she knew it was over, and would hand the baby over eventually.

The tramp tentatively edged forward, holding out an appeasing, calming hand.
“It’s okay,” he said, “I saw you. I saw you outside the hospital. You need to give the baby back to its mother”.

---