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."