10:50 a.m. Fighting some grogginess, I jump on Amtrak train 334 headed to Chicago, Ill. I'm pushing through a group of hungover college kids, couples on weekend getaways and families returning from day trips. It's all routine. I'll be home by 3 p.m.

11:03 a.m. The train pulls away from its newest stop at Mitchell Airport. I thought the train was crowded before this stop. Now it is packed. Oh well. It won't bother me. I settle in for a quick nap.

11:07 a.m. Arielle Daniel, 17, and Heather Bates, 14, get confused. Or worse yet, maybe they didn't. To date, it's still not clear. Horns blow, the train brakes, I jolt awake from the midst of a nap. On the matter of two young lives, the point is moot. Two girls are dead, unbeknownst to us. I stare out the window at swaying stalks of wheat. "I hope this won't be long."

11:18 a.m. "What's going on?" asks a young woman.

"Why are we stopped," asks a child, no older than Bates.

The man sitting behind me makes an educated guess that later proves to be true. "My dad was an engineer," the man says in a matter-of-fact voice. "They only stop like that for one reason. We hit someone."

Well, he was pretty close. We hit two "someones."

11:27 a.m. "May I have your attention," the conductor shouts to the car. "We are currently involved in a police investigation. I cannot say how long we will be delayed. It could be one hour; it could be three hours. I just don't know."

"Did we hit somebody?" a woman asks.

Silence. A somber nod follows. There is no verbal confirmation. Everyone knows.

11:29 a.m. You'd think the first reaction would be "Oh my God!" Not exactly. "Those poor people!" Guess again. "How could this happen?" Not even close. The first reaction I hear comes from the woman who asks if we hit anyone. She grabs the conductor by the arm. Her tone is plain, unapologetic.

"Sir, I have $99 orchestra tickets at 3 p.m. Is there any way I will still be able to make the show?"

12:15 p.m. Police walk up and down the train. Photographs are taken. Men in white coats approach the train through someone's backyard. People flock to the east and west sides of the train to see the sights.

"Cooooooooool," says a boy on the train.

"Well it's an excuse to go back to Milwaukee for the night," mutters an otherwise annoyed mother of three.

1:25 p.m. People tire of the spectacle. They want to get somewhere. Oak Creek police walk up and down the train, collecting contact information.

"This is so annoying," one woman mutters to her husband. "What's the big deal?"

3 p.m. Anyone wishing to continue on for Chicago may transfer to another train. We get on. A few jokes are cracked. One guy in a sweatshirt and jeans needs a beer because "it's been a boring four hours." Dozens of oblivious people go back to relaxing on their weekend.

5:02 p.m. "So how was the trip," my mom asks, a little sarcastically.

"Well, I got to see the absolute best in people today."