Death and all her friends

What do you do when your five year old daughter is kidnapped? How do you, as the parent, feel? Do you go to the authorities and wait for them to apprehend the perpetrator? Or do you wait by the phone for the said perpetrator to call for ransom? And what happens when you pay the bastard and still your child turns up dead? Because he actually killed your daughter an hour after he kidnapped her. Do you think about how terrified she must have been, away from you, away from the arms that would give anything to protect? Do you imagine her crying, waiting for mommy and daddy to come to her rescue her? How do you keep going on after such a tragedy? What happens when the police actually capture the kidnapper and the said kidnapper goes to trial but with the help of the mafia and twisted turn of events goes scot-free? What ensues is pretty easy to imagine, lives get ruined.

- Mrs. Armstrong, not being able to get over daughter’s death succumbs to her own death. - Colonel Armstrong, unable to take anymore grief follows beloved daughter and wife to the grave. - The French housemaid, who was suspected of aiding and abetting the bastard but was in fact innocent, commits suicide because she unknowingly helped Daisy’s kidnapper, how does one live with the guilt, I guess you don’t. - The District Attorney who aided and abetted by rigging the trial is now currently disgraced. Well a small price to pay don’t you think, the disgrace, but then again he was trying to save his son’s life. He really didn't have a choice. One child for another. One life for another. Seems only fair.

So, fast forward five years into the future, the bastard kidnapper wants to pay penance for his crime. I wonder if a man/woman who’s committed such heinous crime could be forgiven. Everyone deserves a chance, right? I don’t think so, not in this case. So while he’s travelling through the back alley of Europe, he’s stuck on a train with twelve people. Little does he know that these twelve ruined souls are there to finally bring justice to little Daisy. How do they connect to the little Daisy, you ask? Let’s see.

- The aging princess on the train, godmother to the Daisy’s mother. - Count and Countess, Daisy’s aunt and uncle. Although the aunt didn't do anything to the bastard but hey hubby darling was good enough to take a stab at it. - The translator to the bastard, who happens to be the DA’s son. - The concierge was actually the housemaid’s father. - The Italian guy suspected of being in the mafia, was in fact the chauffeur to the Armstrong. - The missionary, was actually the nursemaid to little Daisy. - The professional governess, was in fact little Daisy’s nanny. - The bastard’s assistant or something had actually served in the army with Colonel Armstrong. - The other Colonel was Armstrong’s best friend. - The actress, who happens to be the grandmother of little Daisy. - The obstetrician, the doctor to the Armstrong family. - The maid to the aging princess, who was the cook at the Armstrong house.

These twelve juror spend the last five years searching the whole world for the bastard who got away, waited for the chance to plunge the knife twelve times into his black heart. So I wonder how do you solve a crime that needed to be committed? Or so it seemed in the eyes of the twelve individual whose lives were forever changed on that fateful day five years ago. How do you as the man who brings justice do justice in this case? After all they waited for justice believing that some crimes God does not forgive. But when justice fails, when you feel like God has deserted you in a barren place. When you feel as if a part of you is lost, you feel incomplete. What do you do? Do you ask God what you should do and He says do what is right. What do you do? You stab the shit out of the bastard. But even after justice has been served and you've done the right thing, alas you still feel incomplete, you're still lost.

So, how do you solve a crime that needed to be committed? You walk away from it knowing that nothing is either black or white, right or wrong, there’s always several shades or variations in between. Life is never that simple.