Episode 17: Conclusion

As with so many other things regarding the train, what happened next I recall in a confused blur.

The men returned in force, about six of them this time, trotting down the corridor, the silence broken. A pair stood by each of our cells, and we were pulled out one at a time. I had a growing pit in my stomach that told me we had made a huge mistake, that we were now in serious trouble. I struggled a little bit, and was shoved gruffly from behind in response. As I turned to face my aggressors, I heard a commotion from behind as John punched one of his own between the legs. His elbow raced up to meet the nose of the other one, and his other hand reached for the rifle that the other one had dropped. It all happened in one motion--I wondered how he could do that at all. It was like an action movie unfolding right before my eyes.

The guards by my sides hesitated, turning towards him. I wasn't sure what effect the rifle would have in this sort of limbo--I mean, we were already dead--but I was also sure I didn't want to find out. Adrenaline took over. I felt it course through my veins like mercury. Everything seemed to slow down around me. I pushed the head of the man on my right into the wall, and he fell to the floor. Before the next one could react, I was already driving my knee into his leg, and as he went down I delivered a set of knuckles to his teeth. He grunted as he slumped against the cinder block wall. I turned, my breath heavy.

Sarah's own guards were cast aside as well. I saw John dusting off his hands on his pants, kneeling over one of them. The other had a set of red marks on his face, presumably from Sarah's nails. She had a wild look in her eyes, as if she couldn't believe what she had just done. I almost smiled for a second. Amateur.

The smile dissolved though as another door opened somewhere in the distance. Naturally we had caused a ruckus, and I had a feeling that time was of the essence. It always was in the movies, wasn't it? We turned wordlessly down the hall, and ran forward, each of us with a rifle in hand. I had no idea how to use the bloody thing, but it was comforting to have some kind of defense against those who would not take kindly to our early departure.

We burst through the door at the other end of the hall, the one on the far side that we hadn't been through yet. It was dark on the other side, but a flickering fluorescence in the distance to our left gave us hope. Our feet padded quietly but urgently against the concrete. John, who was ahead of me and Sarah, came to a stop at the corner. He peered around, checking to make sure the coast was clear, and then took off full-force down the hall. We followed along him for several hundred paces toward another staircase at the end of the hallway. We passed by several doors, most of which had darkened windows. The ones that were illuminated made me nervous, but there was no sign of anyone else as we reached the bottom step.We took them two at a time. My heart pounded in my ears.

We burst through a cold steel door at the top of the staircase and into daylight. Sunshine beat against my face. I was so surprised, I almost lost my footing. We had done it. We had escaped. Of course I couldn't say with finality, but I had an overwhelming sense of euphoria. Something within me just told me that everything was okay. I slowed to a walk, smiling to myself as Sarah and John kept sprinting. We were in a field now, with rolling hills and waving grass. The sky was dark, as if a thunderstorm was approaching, but I was so happy to be safe. I cast my face upward, my eyes closed, my arms outstretched.

I heard the door slam open from behind us. Shouting. I frowned, and turned toward the sound. There was no reason to be shouting in a place like this. I could see guards. Rifles. There was no reason for rifles in a place like this. I took a step forward, my hand outstretched, my own rifle forgotten in the grass behind me. A woman screamed behind me.There was no reason to be screaming in a place like this.

Before me there was a series of flashes, and I heard what sounded like the world's best fireworks, and looked up again to find them. They had knocked me off my feet, and I lay in the grass, wondering where they were, how they could sound so close and yet be invisible to me. The smile returned to my face, spreading slowly with the warmth across my chest.

Then came the pain. My face contorted as I lurched onto my side. It felt like there were a dozens sharp knives lodged in my torso. I felt a tear roll off my face, and looked to see the flower it had fallen onto start to shrivel and wither away. I drew my knees to my chest. What remained of the flower turned red, as did the grass around it. Then everything slowly dissipated. The earth beneath me had been replaced with a scorched, cracked substitute. I rolled onto my knees. The pain persisted. The boots thudded towards me as I looked one last time at John and Sarah. They weren't looking back, though. They were racing away, as fast as they could. I didn't blame them.

A hot wind whipped past my face, blowing dry dirt into my eyes. When they cleared, the last of the field dissolved, along with my fellow escapees. I didn't feel anything, anymore. The tears left ashen streams on my face. I only felt the wounds in my chest. The boots weren't thudding anymore. I looked around to see a burning world, hot and black and a mess. The sky was the same angry, agitated colour. The only light around me came from cracks in the ground which bore lava. Occasionally one would burst, shooting up into the air. The terrain was mountainous, boiling and hostile. The pain in my chest intensified.

I was alone.

Episode 16: The Train

We figured it out from within the confines of our cells like this:

In another life, we had been people who did less than savory things without breaking any of the ten commandments. I had been into drugs and other such substances, and my life had sort of fallen on the wayside. Sarah had been with more guys than she could count, even after her memory came back to her, and John had been... well, as he put it, "a giant asshole."

Our redeeming factors, though, what launched us into the limbo of the train and not some mild level of hell, were the ways in which we died. We realized that that was what we all had in common; we had all died selflessly and without hesitation for someone else.

My case was the subway car. Even with my limited thought process and memory, I still could not understand what had driven me to do it, especially given the person I had been. Sarah had tried to talk herself out of a hostage situation at a bank, and had ultimately given police enough time to get to the scene to deal with the issue themselves. The process had cost her her life. John had been stabbed on his way home from the department store with his son. A homeless man who was deranged on something I had probably tried more than once tried to take the boy's hot dog, and then tried to walk away with him. When John stopped him, he got a bellyful of metal.

We all had a story, and we had all landed ourselves here. And here, I pointed out to Sarah, was a hell of a lot better than burning alive for eternity.

We somehow managed to laugh at that for awhile, until there was a slam of a door at the end of the hall. Our conversation, our laughter cut off as if by a knife, and our heartbeats quickened as the pace of the boots did. The bulb seemed to shake as the steps echoed closer and closer. I don't know if it really did.

Episode 15: The Truth

Of course, my mind didn't initially jump to the right answer. A million things ran through my head first; were they going to put us to death? For breaking a window on a train? Or did we do something else? Was it just because we were rebellious in general? What sort of totalitarian place was this train? How could they get away with this?

But as I chewed on this in contemplative silence, John suddenly voiced something that hadn't occurred to me at all. "You mean, we've been dead all along?"

That stopped my mind in its tracks, but only for a moment. Then a flood of memories came rushing back to me, knocking me over and sending me sprawling across the concrete floor. A small table, housing two mugs of coffee with the steam still rising over them, forgotten. There is the click of a lighter as we heat up a spoon on the floor in the corner. Since she brought it, she takes the first hit. She shutters in ecstasy as I snatch the spoon away for myself.

The memory shifts and I'm kissing her on my way out the door. She doesn't say anything as I smile absently to myself, the taste of her lips and something else still on mine as I skip down the hallway and down the stairs of the shabby apartment building. The door slams loudly behind me.

Now I'm waiting outside of the subway station. I've hit rush hour, running late after the business in the apartment. I adjust the tie that the employment agency gave me, which was one of the conditions of my parole. It suddenly felt very tight on my neck, and I didn't want to be there anymore. I recognized myself starting to trip, and slowed my breathing as best as I could. I could do this.

Then a curious thing happened. A woman's scream. A stroller. A dog barking. The subway coming.

What surprises me more than the fact that I acted is that I can actually remember being hit. I jumped onto the tracks, tossed the baby up into its mother's arms, and turned just in time to see the glaring lights on the front of the subway. The screech of the breaks filled my ears. The driver was standing in her seat, shrieking, anticipating the collision.

And then it hit me. My neck jarred. My body was lifted off the tracks by the momentum of the vehicle. Finally, blissfully, it slowed down and I was released, only to be flung onto the tracks. I bounced twice, feeling the skin being torn off of any exposed skin there was. At this point, I think I knew I was dead.

Sarah's words interrupted the memory. "... here because we didn't belong in heaven or in hell. We weren't good people, but we weren't so bad, either..."

I suddenly felt exhausted as the tears started streaming down my face.

Episode 14: Trapped In A Cage

I was led further down into the earth by a stone-faced man in uniform. I didn't bother trying to talk to him; no one seemed to have much to say to me. He led me down a dank, musty hallway towards a single, naked bulb that hung from the ceiling. It tried in vain to fight off the darkness, or at least keep it at bay. The thud of the man's boots echoed violently off the cinder block walls. We stopped before an opening in the wall, the one nearest to where we'd just walked from. I entered the cell wordlessly, and the bar door hurtled closed behind me. My hair stood on end on my arms and neck. His boots thundered away, until they were nothing more than a rumble in the distance.

Without their intrusive sound, I could hear the drip of water on the floor somewhere nearby, slowly, as if it was dripping with intent. It was to this sound that I closed my eyes in the cell, which was miraculously smaller than my room on the train had been, and sat on the bed. At some point, I guess I fell asleep.

I was roused awake later by the thudding of those boots again, bouncing off the walls and into the confines of my cell, my temporary sanctuary. They approached, a pair of shadows dancing past me, and then another cell door slammed shut. Then they faded away again, as mechanically and indifferently as they'd come.

This time, though, between the drops of water, I could hear sniffling, and the occasional hopeless sob into the otherwise silence. I thought I recognized the sound of the person. I stood up.

"Sarah?" I called to the bulb, gripping the bars and squeezing my face against them. The sniffling stopped, and the sobbing turned into muffled hyperventilating as she tried to calm herself. Before she could answer, though:

"What the Hell?" John called from another cell down the row. "That was you they brought in here?"

"Yeah... wherever here is."

"Didn't you guys hear what he said?" Sarah cried, the tears fresh and the efforts to stem them shoved aside. "Didn't he tell you?"

I guess our silence answered for us, because she cried out again. Between heaves, I managed to put together something that scared me beyond comprehension.

"We're all dead."

Episode 13: The Conductor

I found out later that I had been conked by the butt of a rifle. Where the rifle came from, I had no idea--the men weren't carrying them when they yanked us off the train. Unless Sarah lied later... but that didn't make much sense.

I groggily came to in a room not unlike the one that the attendant had awoken me in with the snap of his fingers. This time, though, as the fluorescent lights blinded my bleary eyes, the rhythmic snapping before me burned like a nail being hammered into my skull. When I crashed back to reality and was able to focus, I was surprised that the snapping was not coming from the attendant, but a heavyset man wearing a conductor's hat and overalls.

There was no clipboard this time, though. No stopwatch, either.

"This is new to both of us so let's just cut the shit," he said gruffly. "I've never had to do this before. You and your little band of renegades have really screwed things up. You know that?

I was trying to understand what he meant, and I guess the blank stare on my face hinted at that. He cut himself off mid-ramble, muttered a curse under his breath, shook his head. He drew his hand down his face, rubbing his eyes, then took a deep breath.

"I'm here to make sure everything goes smoothly," he started again, slowing his speech. "The stunt you pulled in your train car--well, that's not as smooth. And so here we are. Dealing with it." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Do you have any idea why you're here?"

I started to say something, then stopped. I had thought I was onto it, but the truth was, I had no idea. I frowned. Tried again to say something.

Nothing.

"You're here because... well, you don't belong anywhere else. You're not supposed to be able to figure this out... and I'm going to have to talk to the big man to see how to handle this. I've never had to deal with this kind of thing before, and Christ be damned if I'm looking forward to it."

He cut himself off again with a start, blushing as he took in his own words. Ears hot, he stood up from the chair, which creaked as if saying a thankful goodbye. He paused before he went out the door.

"If you've never been a praying man, I'd suggest probably starting now."

Episode 12: Can You See The Grass?

After the door crashed open, things sort of passed in a blur. We were forced out of the room, down the hall and off the train. John struggled, and they had to use force to get him to cooperate. I remember the blood trickling down his split lip, a splash of colour in the gray of the raid. Craning over my shoulder, I saw it on the carpet. The dark splotches were all I could focus on until they were out of sight.

The dining cart was empty for the first time since I had been there. It passed quickly, hazily, as the stern-faced men marched us through the far door. We were alone on the platform, the last of the other passengers being ushered in through the sliding doors. A few faces turned back to see us, and they were shoved forward with a stern words.

We were led around the side of the building. I cast an urgent glance over the edge of the concrete slab that was the platform, suddenly wishing desperately that I could see the grass. It was lost in the fog, a curtain over the vibrancy of the grass. Then we were next to a steel door, cool grey. It creaked open from the inside, no handle visible without. A flight of stairs. A landing. Another flight of stair--I could only tell our navigation by the steps as the light dimmed, then abruptly disappeared altogether as the door slammed shut. There was a noticeable cool, clinging to my skin and pulling at the hairs of my arms.

We came to a stop. We were stopped for a long time.

We were led inside, the fluorescent light blinding me. I remembered the light, the hallway behind the door. I felt a grim nostalgia set over me, and I felt like I was going to be sick. This hallway was almost identical to the one on the train, behind the doors at the far end of the room of the dining cart. My body stiffened as the memories returned to me. I pulled suddenly from the firm grasp on my right arm, turning to flee. Sarah's eyes met mine as I tried to free myself from the other set of hands on my left bicep.

Then everything went dark.

Episode 11: First Stop

I expected the car to be buffeted by wind, the sheets and hair of the people within blowing about like they were possessed. There was no change in the air, though--at least, not to its movement.

A rank smell enveloped the small room, causing all of us to cover our mouths and noses. It was a sickly sweet smell, like rotting flowers. It was overwhelming. I could imagine it oozing through the room, orange tendrils wrapping around us, reaching inside of us and infecting us from within. Hardly what any of us had expected to happen.

This was the first external sensation that I had felt since I had been on the train, and I assumed by the looks on the faces of my comrades that this was the case for them, too. I coughed, and suddenly the train shook back and forth as if in response. There was a screeching as we slowed down, and I crossed the room to lean out the window. Just ahead of us was a train station. There was no one on the platform, no one waiting to board. The fog seemed to subside a little bit as we ground to a halt, revealing the grim light of the lamp posts on the station.

We exchanged a look within train car 139. We had caused this, somehow. There had never been a train station before. The train had never made any stops at all, in fact. Now, moments after the window was broken, we were at a stand still. There was a commotion down the hall, and we could hear shouting as people were drawn from their rooms. I returned to the door, placing my ear against it.

The thundering of many pairs of boots, the footfalls heavy enough to produce a clear sound on the thick carpets, echoed through the hall. They stopped on the other side of the door, one by one. The bald man came to stand next to me, a terrified look in his eyes. I held my breath.

We waited.

Episode 10: Experiment

But it wasn't the attendant.

Instead, a hunched over man with a balding head and a tattered football jersey stood, uncertain at the door. Behind him was a tall woman in a beach dress with sunglasses on, despite the incessant gloom of the train. Neither seemed to know what to do next.

"Can I help you?" I probed. They exchanged a look, adopted the furrow that was upon each brow within my car, and turned back to me. The bald man cleared his throat, but it was the woman who talked.

"Something isn't right." Apparently that had become the anthem of the locomotive. I looked over my shoulder for direction. None was forthcoming as I was met only with questioning looks, and so I opened the door a little wider, stood aside and said, "Come in."

They filed in obediently, and John shuffled aside so they had room to stand. No one really knew what we were doing here, myself included, and so an awkward, heavy silence fell upon the room. For the first time I noticed the passing of the train over tracks, could hear it despite the closed window. I frowned. The window.

Walking over to it, or rather stepping past John and the balding man, I grabbed the handle. My fingers wrapped around it, the metal cool against my skin. I took a breath, then lifted. It didn't move. I put more effort into it, heaving as hard as I could. Still nothing. I looked at the room around me, where the eyes were as puzzled as ever, the brows furrowed so deep they could spell words. I nodded my head and repeated the catch phrase: "Something isn't right."

The bald man cleared his throat again and scratched his eyebrow. He nodded and muttered something to himself as he edged his way through the crowd to look at the door himself. He ran his finger along the edge, still nodding, and then stood up briskly. He looked around the room for something and, apparently not finding it, took off his shoe. This was making less sense by the second, and I felt a faint disinterest creeping up on me. My brow slowly eased its form.

Suddenly he hurled the shoe at the window, and there was a clatter as the glass shook beneath the impact. Everyone's attention was drawn back like the tide as he reclaimed it from the ground and moved to inspect his handywork. He muttered an "excuse me" as he took instead to slamming the shoe against the window, thud, thud, thud.

After some time, the glass started to crack. I looked suddenly to the door, sure that the noise would be overheard. I went towards it, putting my hand against it and closing my eyes. Thud. Thud. THUD!

The window shattered.

Episode 9: Meeting Place

I hauled the door closed behind us and it locked in place with a click. I stopped for a second to listen for any sounds in the hallway, but it was silent. I turned.

Sarah was sitting on my bed, her hands folded in her lap but twitching restlessly. She eyed the man nervously, whose back was turned to us. As she looked to me for a next step, I walked up behind him, arm outstretched. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he jumped, whirling around to face me. The fire in his eyes returned, ready to face the wrath of the attendant, only to slowly dissipate and be replaced by the lifeless stare. His shoulders, tense and ready for confrontation, returned to their slumped demeanor.

"My name is Patrick," I said slowly. "At least, that's what the attendant told me. I didn't really remember until he took me to the room."

I couldn't tell if my words were reaching him or not. His eyes were set on me, but he could have been in another world altogether. I felt as though I should poke him or something to make sure he was still there. Perhaps he had fallen asleep on his feet, and had forgotten to tell his eyes.

"And I'm Sarah," she offered, following my lead as she stood up from the bed. She smoothed her gown, apparently recalling some hint of modesty, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I also found out the hard way. I... I thought something was wrong, too. I just... I couldn't..." She trailed off, her eyes drifting to the floor, her brow bent in concentration. She was trying to remember why she had been sent to the room in the first place--at least, that's what I was doing. I returned my gaze to the man before us. His head was cocked now, much as Sarah's had been the first and second times we had met.

"I'm John," he ventured after some deliberation. He spoke as though his mouth was frozen, or his tongue was too big for his mouth. I wondered if he was having some sort of allergic reaction. I wondered how I knew the symptoms of an allergic reaction. He seemed to follow Sarah's stare to the carpet, working his mouth as if he had to chew the words before he could spit them out. After some time he muttered the same idea from the other night: "Something isn't right."

There was a knock on the door, and my heart sank. The attendant. The three of us exchanged a scared look--that is, Sarah and I exchanged one, and then looked at John. With leaden feet I turned to the door. My hand trembled as I slipped my thumb inside to slide it open. There was another knock then, sharper than before.

I pulled it open, removing the wall between us and whatever lay outside.

Episode 8: Reaction

Things started falling apart for someone over the next while. The train was ever hushed in an urgent whisper as people were compelled to discuss recent events. This was probably the first time anything of interest had happened on the train, or so it seemed by the trending nature of the subject. The attendant could be seen from time to time casting irritated looks about the dining cart, occasionally stopping beside someone who hadn't seen him or who hadn't hushed in time. Then he would place his hand on their shoulder, foregoing the pleasant smile now, not bothering to hide his distress. Person after person was led out the door.

Sarah and I sat across from each other as the man was brought back to our table. Not only did he have the blank look in his eyes, but there appeared to be a bruise near the base of his neck, and his lip was split. He looked at the candle for a long time. He tried to say something after awhile, but it only came in the form of a wheeze. I looked at him intently, the feelings returning with an intensity I was unfamiliar with. I glanced at Sarah, who was examining him with the same look. I glanced at the door that the attendant was in the midst of leading another person through, another hopeless fish in a barrel. I stood with a start.

"Guys," I said, waiting until the man looked at me. "Come with me."

Sarah looked at me with understanding eyes, pushing herself up from her chair with enough force to draw the attention of those tables nearest to us. Her eyes darted around the room with excitement, checking for any sign of the return of the attendant. The man only turned in his seat, his eyes glossed over but his brow furrowed in thought. I grabbed him by the crook of the elbow, pulling him to his feet. He staggered up, grabbing the table and bumping into it with a loud thud that shook the cutlery. I led him hurriedly towards my train car, Sarah close on our heels. Eyes turned to follow us, burning into my chest like a hail of bullets. I ducked my head and we exited into the hallway.

There was a commotion as the door slid closed behind us, cut off suddenly as if it had been sucked under water. Sarah and I exchanged a look, a moment of hesitation. Then we continued with pace down the hall.

Episode 7: Renegade

Returning to reality was like coming through the atmosphere. I awoke covered in sweat, but once again I took in my surroundings with a dim, sort of numb acceptance. My room was my room, my clothes my clothes, and I packed away the recent memories of the room with a calm acceptance. Things returned to normal. I returned to the dining cart, and sat across from Sarah with a detached interest, not talking about anything but always talking.

The days passed.

Then on one return to the dining cart something finally changed. As Sarah and I sat chatting idly about something I couldn't remember, the attendant returned to our table. This time, he had another person held firmly in his grip. The man, about my age, was wearing a leather jacket and jeans. He appeared as though he had just been running errands or something, and had been abruptly interrupted. His hair was disheveled, the collar of his tee shirt stretched, dirt on his pants. He sat down, but instead of the dull familiarity and acceptance that the rest of us had felt, his eyes darted around the room and his hands tapped nervously at the tablecloth.

“Where am I?” he asked once the attendant had walked away, looking over his shoulder cautiously. He was leaning over the table now, his eyes burning into me. A faint, familiar feeling returned then, and I frowned as I realized, too, that something wasn’t right. I didn’t know what.

“There’s no point,” Sarah said as he reached for the menu. He looked inside it, and then threw the menu in the air. For the first time, the interest of all the attendants was piqued. I could see the waiter, on his way to collect the menus, talking to the chef behind the buffet and looking our way. They turned and left together.

“Something isn’t right!” The man was irritated now, his voice raised. He stood up then, gripping the table and looking around the room. “What is wrong with you people? Don’t you see that something’s not right? It’s not hard to figure out! It’s… it’s…”

The attendant was at his side, and so were the waiter and chef. The attendant held his elbow, the waiter his arm, and the chef pushed him along as he started to protest. The eyes of the patrons followed them as he was guided out the far door, shouting incoherently.

I looked at Sarah again. She was frowning at her candle, and very slowly her gaze shifted to me. She echoed the whispers of the other patrons as she cocked her head and muttered, “Something isn’t right.”

Episode 6: Recollection

There was a sort of clicking noise somewhere far off in the distance. I could hear it ringing around my head, but couldn't tell where it was coming from. It sounded as though it was getting closer and closer, though, and that made me nervous. My eyes creaked open, only to be slammed shut again, blinded by a bright light that shone into them. With effort I turned my head in an attempt to escape the blindness. My neck shouted in protest, sore and stiff after being stationary for so long. Now I was able to keep my eyes open, at least, but I couldn't see much. My eyes were blurred from being closed so long. How long had they been closed, anyway?

As my eyes drifted around the room, I realized there was still a heavy weight on my neck, and I remembered the collar and the hum. All at once the memory of the sound hit me, and I was sick over the side of the chair. That was one benefit, I guess: now I knew I was in a chair.

The clicking, I realized, was a pair of fingers snapping before my face. I was finally able to focus on them, and realized that they belonged to the attendant. He was sitting across from me in another chair, a wooden skeleton of a thing. All around us was whiteness. His legs were crossed, and he had a clipboard in his lap. Atop it sat the gold watch, which he was looking at as I looked up. He noticed me then, and the snapping subsided. He smoothed his pants, looking back to the clipboard.

"Right. Patrick Kershaw, thirty seven years of age. Two kids, a wife, a border collie named Milo..." He looked up, tapping his lip, and repeated the name. "Milo... nice ring to it. One hundred and seventy pounds even, of average height. Brown eyes, brown hair, fairly average in nearly every way of your life. You're Canadian, but you were last in New York City. In the subway, correct? I suppose you wouldn't know."

I stared at him, feeling overwhelmed. My memories came pouring back, hitting me like a hail storm, each piece of icy precipitation a fleck of a different memory. I'm standing in a brightly lit room looking out the window onto a quiet street. Now I'm on the street looking in. There's a dog standing with its paws against the window, tail wagging, panting. I remember the whines; I could hear it from the street. I remember waving to my neighbour's dog.

Now I'm underground. There's a loud rush of air, and some sort of commotion. The subway platform is chaotic, a crowd of people muttering and leaning forward. There is a woman screaming. An empty stroller. A seeing eye dog barking.

I'm on the tracks. There's a whistle, a deafening screech, a blinding light as I hoist the swaddling clothes disguising the baby onto the platform. There's another scream. Then there's mine.

Then there is nothing.

Episode 5: The Room

My memory thereafter was the most vivid I can recall. I remember being led across the room and through the door that he had led Sarah through. His grip seemed to immobilize me but for my feet, and I walked with my hands straight down at my side. I had a bad feeling about what was about to happen, a sickening premonition that would ordinarily have left me sweating. But I wasn't. Calm, cool, we went through the door with the frosted glass.

This hallway was much brighter than the rest of the train. It was entirely white, without windows, and was illuminated by a piercing fluorescent light. My eyes squinted instinctively. The attendant turned my attention to a door on our right which I hadn't even noticed. It seemed to emerge right out of the wall before us. He opened it and extended a hand inside with a nod and his smile. I walked into the room.

The difference was immediate and immense. A sudden chill took me, and I found myself on my knees sputtering, grasping at the cold metal floor. I coughed, gasping for air. I could feel everything now, as though I had walked through a curtain of emotion and sensation. It struck me that I hadn't felt much of anything in my entire time on the train, and panic struck me with a fury. My coughs turned to sobs, and tears rolled down my face, landing unnoticed on the cool surface below me. I was there for some time. I didn't even know why I was crying, but I couldn't stop, either.

When I finally started to regain my composure, I took in my surroundings. The door was still open, and I could see the shadow of the attendant stretched long past me. Outside of the sharp edges of the light from the hallway, I could see very little. Right at the end of the light, though, was a brown leather reclining chair. It was tattered at the seams, obviously having been through some use. There was an eerie sort of glow coming from behind it. I looked over my shoulder at the attendant, who was stepping into the room. Behind him, the door slammed shut. I could feel myself starting to panic, the sweat rolling down my body both comforting and too familiar. The light from behind the chair provided the only vision. I staggered upright.

There was an old tube-style television with the off-air screen behind the couch. Now and then the colours flickered, though the antennae didn't move. I sniffled as I walked cautiously around to the front of the chair. Something compelled me to sit down in the chair. The attendant came behind me and placed something around my neck, a sort of collar. It was heavy, cold, and sunk me into the chair. It started to hum as the TV flickered more fervently, and my eyes were drawn into it. The feelings went away. The only sensation I had was the cold of the steel around my neck. There was a whisper in my ear, and my head drooped. Once again I felt immobilized.

There was a sharp pain in my head, like a migraine with a vengeance, accompanied by a piercing siren. I knew then that I should stop asking questions. No, no I won't ask anymore, promise, just please make it stop, make the pain stop. I scrunched up my eyes, wanting more than anything to just hold my head. Please make it stop. That noise.

Please.

Episode 4: "Hi, I'm Sarah"

The next time I was in the dinner cart, I dined alone, if you could call it dining. Time passed in a hazy blur, like it was passing and wasn't at the same time. I didn't know how long I had been on the train, nor could I remember how I spent my time there. I just sort of floated along, without the guidance of the attendant now, with a very detached interest of my surroundings. I never ran into another passenger in the hallways; they always seemed to be in the "dining" area.

What could have been another few hours or days later, I returned to my table to find that the woman had returned. What was her name again? I couldn't quite remember. She was wearing the same evening gown as before, her hair just as bedraggled, but her eyes seemed a little more dull, a little more lifeless. She was again fixated on the candle, and as the waiter came around with the menu, she didn't say anything. Not a mention that the menu was useless, not an indicator of the bizarre conversation we had started to have the time before, nothing. I raised the menu between us experimentally, hoping to invoke a response. Nothing.

Then I remembered.

"Sarah?" There was no response. I leaned over the table as before, and said her name again, louder this time. At length she tore her gaze from the candle, looking around until her wandering eyes fell finally on me. They flashed as though she was surprised to see me, noticing me for the first time. Then they returned to their trance-like state of before.
"Hi," she replied. "Would you like something to eat?" She reached for the menu without taking her eyes off of me, then looked inside. She muttered to herself as she set it down next to her arm, and the waiter returned on light feet to remove it.
"Sarah, do you remember what we were talking about yesterday?" I asked, starting to feel uneasy. "We were sitting like this, as we are now... you said something about... about..." My memory started to fail me again. She cocked her head again, and extended her hand.
As the attendant's hand clamped firmly on my shoulder, she smiled subtly.
"Hi, I'm Sarah."

Episode 3: Tattletale

The blank look in her eyes bore into me as her stare transferred to me from the fire. She cocked her head, then glanced down at the menu. My gaze followed her own, and I picked up the booklet, holding it between us to avoid her big, piercing grey eyes. I looked inside.

It was blank. There was embroidery around the edges, and a series of prices along the right side, the numbers of which I couldn't quite make out, but there was no food being offered. I realized this with a calm acceptance, and put the menu back on the table. Within seconds a waiter returned to remove it from my side. I realized I wasn't hungry anyway. I folded my legs beneath the table and clasped my hands in my lap, no longer able to avoid her gaze.

“You're new here,” she said. It wasn't a question, but a state of fact. I nodded minutely. Her own head bobbed as well, and she leaned over the table. Those grey eyes seemed to suck me into them, holding my own, pulling me towards her. Now I was leaning on the table, too. She reached across it and wrapped her hands around mine. Her whisper seemed to come from every direction, filling all my senses like a burst levee: “It's not what you think... this place... it's—”

“Sarah, what did we talk about?” the attendant was at her side, in the midst of cramming the time piece into his pocket. The woman jumped, startled, then her eyes fell to her lap. He placed his hand on her shoulder when it was done fumbling with the watch, and she sighed as she pushed her chair back from the table. The attendant smiled at me with a mumbled “excuse us” and the two turned and walked off. I fingered the hem of the tablecloth as I watched them walk away. He was whispering loudly into her ear as she hung her head. His hand was still on his shoulder, gripping firmly. He turned and looked over his shoulder at me, his face changing quickly from a harsh, reproachful one to the smile he had given me before.

They disappeared through the door at the far end of the cart.

Episode 2: Dinner for Two

The next cars in the train were the same as my own: the carpet, the lighting, the frosted glass. This didn't surprise me; the fact that they were all so well kept, however, did. The carpet didn't appear trodden, the candles showed no evidence of having burned. This crossed my mind with faint interest, but not enough to investigate. I followed the attendant, his red cap bobbing along as he walked. He passed easily through the doors, not missing a step as he opened them before us. Obviously he was not new to this. He looked at his watch occasionally as we walked, scrunching up his face as he peered over the crook of his nose.

After some time we emerged into a larger car that must have been the dining cart. There were tables seating four with white table cloths and the same hallway candles, all uniform in length. They didn't seem to provide much light, either; indeed, they seemed to only add a glow to the fog of the room.

The patrons in the room sat across from one another chattering idly. No one had plates in front of them, though; perhaps dinner hadn't been served yet. The people were dressed in every way you could imagine from football uniforms to suits to nothing at all. This, too, registered some faint interest. As we walked, the buffet emerged from the darkness in the far corner of the room. A man stood behind it with an apron and chef's hat, but there was no food to choose from. He smiled from behind some gold-rimmed glasses, muttering and chuckling to himself quietly. We continued.

Finally my escort halted at a table. There was a woman there smiling absently, pleasantly, gazing at the candle. She had a long, grey evening gown on, and her hair suggested that she had just rolled out of bed. The attendant turned to me, extending a hand toward the chair across from her. I sat without question. He turned and walked off without a word.

The woman didn't say anything until a waiter approached the table and set a menu in front of me. I reached forward to open it, and she said, without taking her eyes off the dim glow of the flame, “Don't be silly.”

Episode 1: Awakening

I can still remember my first day on the train. Nothing before it, of course, but the day itself is clear as crystal.
I woke up in car #139 gazing at my feet. My socks were clean, my pants pressed, and my shirt starched. I awoke fully clothed without any recollection of how I got there. I would later find out the details of how I boarded, but at the time I had no idea. I should have felt confused--that much I knew--but I didn't.
I got up with ease, and felt the habit of stretching returning from somewhere far away, but I didn't do that either. I got up without a yawn or a stretch or a search for coffee. The train car was small, about eight feet by five, housing a small bed and a seat by the window. There was a thick, pressing fog outside, and I could see nothing except the tracks that disappeared one after another beneath us. I assumed there would be bathrooms and food somewhere else on the train. The door of the room was a sliding one, with a brass handle and a frosted window so that I couldn't see outside of it, either. Lacking the apprehension that I thought I should be feeling, I reached for the door and turned the handle. It slid open without a sound.
The hallway was dimly lit by candles along the wall, trying in vain to combat the gloom of the outdoor world. Along its center ran a plush burgundy rug, thick and soft beneath my shoeless feet. The air was clear, if a little stale. This was the train. This was car #139.
A man approached then, muttering to himself. He was tall, with high shoulders and a pronounced nose that canopied a thin mustache. His dark hair was covered by a small red cap, which matched the uniform he was sporting. He was checking a small golden time piece when he stopped suddenly, noticing me for the first time. He scrutinized the watch once more then glared at me, mumbling under his breath.
"You're early," he said simply, assuming that I would know what he was talking about. I gave him a blank look as he stuffed the watch into his pocket. "Well, welcome, I guess, even though you're really not, but welcome all the same."
I couldn't answer for a few seconds, unable to find my voice. I had to work my tongue, urge the sounds up from my throat, until I managed a meek, "Thanks."
He stared at me, reaching up and twisting his mustache, and said, "Right. You'd think I'd be used to this whole 'new guy' thing by now. All the same," and now he turned on his heel, talking to me over his shoulder, "come along now."