Sera, Ablaze

I.

On the third bench near a large, illuminated clock in the Santa Ana train station, Elora’s elbow slipped off her knee and dropped her tired head. She sat up fast, her hand moving from her chin to the back of her neck as she tried to gather her bearings. It wasn’t like her to fall asleep in public—it wasn’t like her to sleep at all. This was probably the most she’d dozed off in over two days, and judging by her still-illuminated phone, which was struggling to load answers to her search “memory loss from melatonin” on one bar of signal, it couldn’t have been for more than a few minutes.

Her phone read 2:13 a.m., about five minutes slower than the clock in the station. The overhead fluorescents were off, making the clock the station’s main source of light, and while a few people slept where the shadows were soft and dark, Elora had seated herself right beneath it.

It was happening more often lately—losing time—so finding herself with a backpack in a near-empty train station felt more inconvenient than surprising. Dr. Blake told her to get curious rather than frustrated, but Elora knew this was reserved for more mundane instances like when she walked to the park, filled her pockets with pebbles, or bought ingredients for pumpkin soup in the middle of June.

She glanced around the lobby with its glossy terracotta tiles and leaned forward to peer out the arched doorway. Even at this hour, she could see her car wasn’t in the parking lot. Gasps of wind whistled through the platform’s long hallways; background noise to the station’s soft hum of sleep. The bench creaked as Elora reclined against its back and tapped her fingers against her backpack. 

In front of a nearby booth, a woman stirred within her nest of newsprint. Elora glanced over torn and rumpled headlines like “Earthquake Causes LA Residents to Evacuate” and “Three-Legged Dog Saves Owner.” The name “Jerry” was stitched on her stained mechanic’s shirt. Jerry’s eyes, thickly circled with a milky blue, skimmed the outline of Elora’s presence before tucking her face to cough.

Elora turned her focus to her cell phone. A quick scroll offered nothing useful—no ticket, no message to her mom or roommate about leaving. Each line on the timetable blinked with an error code, and the darkened ticket booth offered nothing but the empty promise of a handwritten note: “Back soon.”

Jerry coughed again, sending a raspy echo barreling through the lobby. Elora unzipped her backpack and located a water bottle under a manila envelope labeled “Sera.” Her eyes burned. The envelope had four years’ worth of dust trapped in its creases. 

“Your head’s too loud,” Jerry mumbled.

Elora stood, then left the water bottle by the woman’s outstretched hand, a humble offering. Maybe an apology. Jerry rolled to her other side and wrapped her arm around her head.

Elora left her for the platform. The night air was a welcome change from the tepid lobby, and her lungs soaked it in as she eased herself onto a metal bench. A figure on the other side of the tracks had their legs propped up on their luggage. Elora wondered if she should cross the bridge and join them, but her feet stayed planted, firm and unmoving. In the distance, a thin pinpoint of light snaked toward her on the track line. 

Last week, Dr. Blake told her to work with these incidents rather than against them—to try to find a pattern. The park, the pebbles, the soup, the train station: Sera was the common denominator, but Elora preferred to keep memories of her missing friend to herself.

Elora reached into her backpack and ran her hand over the manila envelope’s belongings through its worn exterior. She felt for printed-out articles about fire and disappearance, a wallet-sized portrait, and a knotted bracelet made from red string.

A sigh left her lips and fogged the air before her, catching the station’s amber light. When it cleared, the bench across from her was empty, and the figure stood with their toes tipping over the edge of the tracks. Elora sat up, studying their outline. Sera used to style her hair like that. 

She stood and approached the track’s safety line, piecing together the shape of a familiar denim jacket. 

Elora tried to stamp out her wishful thinking, but her mouth betrayed her.

“Sera?” she called out.

The figure waved. Elora stepped forward, pulse racing.

“Is that you?”

A white glow caught the outline of the figure’s curly hair and a glimmer of a hoop earring.

“Sera!” Elora reached her hand out.

The light traveled over Sera’s face—relieved, smiling. A screeching roar tumbled between them. A train barrelled past, smothering Elora’s shriek as she flung her arm back and lost her footing. A sharp pain overwhelmed and clouded her right eye. Her imagination’s cruelty drew tears easily, but she couldn’t blink the pain away. 

Elora’s feet carried her into the lobby restroom, where she flung herself over the sink. The automatic lights revealed a heavily scratched mirror and an empty soap dispenser. Elora leaned toward a usable section of the mirror and winced as she separated her upper and lower lids, removing a small piece of gravel from her waterline. 

She blinked rapidly, but the pain had traveled from the middle of her eye to the inner corner. A flash of red peeked out from her tear duct. Wincing, she tugged at the corner with her nail and dragged a thin line of crimson to the bridge of her nose. She dabbed it with her fingertip, expecting to blot the blood away. Instead, it was solid. Almost wiry. 

Her stomach churned as she lifted the edge of the red thread and continued to pull—first with her right hand, then with her left—until it fell into the sink.

She let out a disgusted whimper and hung her head as she rode out the last waves of nausea. The light flickered above her. As her vision cleared, she studied the line of string that had looped itself into words across the bowl: “Find me.” 

The light clicked off as chill wracked her body. Her head fell back, taking her balance with it. Darkness swallowed her as a burst of air rushed against her skin. Her stomach lurched—the unmistakable feeling of a fall.

II.

The floor beneath her shook as Elora clutched onto the edge of a small metal sink. She struggled to place herself as her shoulder bumped against the wall of a dark, cramped lavatory. 

“What did I do?” she muttered, trying to still her breath as she patted the walls for her backpack, then her empty pockets for her phone. A cacophony of wind and iron rattled at her feet.

Hands shaking, Elora pushed through the door into a narrow hallway, dimly lit with an achy blue. The darkened landscape blurred past, and Elora struggled to catch sight of anything familiar. 

Lightly holding the corners of the seats’ headrests, she made her way up the car, checking seats for her things. The smattering of passengers she walked past were still, lost in sleep. When she reached the opposite end, she took a look back. One passenger’s mouth hung wide and open to the ceiling. 

She continued through the gangway and entered the next one, which was equally dark and equally still. Through a faint scent of cigarettes, she made her way to the opposite end and caught a glimpse of someone in an attendant’s uniform a few cars ahead.

Elora rushed into the next car, relieved to see a shoulder strap hanging off an armrest. She sat next to her bag, interrupting the car’s silence as she made sure everything was accounted for. Grabbing her phone, she opened her map to find her location, but the app closed with an error: “No Signal.” 

Clenching her fists, she locked her phone and tried to douse her frustration. Dr. Blake says it’s a mask for fear. Elora breathed deeply and focused on things around the car.

 In front of her, a woman’s head bounced against the window. Outside, a line of street lights flickered through the windows. Across the aisle, a crumpled denim jacket rested on the seat. Elora’s breath caught. Between blinks of light, she grasped familiar details: an enamel heart pin on the collar, a rip in the sleeve stitched with green embroidery floss.

Elora reached over and brought the collar of Sera’s jacket up to her cheek. Her friend’s warmth no longer lived in the fabric, but her cherry blossom lotion lingered. She laid it over her lap, tracing the seams into the pockets, and pulled out a drugstore matchbook. Elora rolled the jacket and tucked it into her bag.

She clung to the last remnants of scrutiny as she sank deeper into her seat. Her body begged for rest—Sera would return for her and her jacket—but sleeplessness taunted her mind and urged her onward. She’d never been so close.

Elora rubbed her eyes before standing and slinging the bag over her shoulder. If Sera was anywhere on this train, it would be the cafe car, stirring three packs of sweetener into her coffee. 

An expanse of flat, moon-soaked farmland filled the window. Quiet, golden—this was the kind of area she hoped Sera ended up in. When talking to new people, Elora would make up lies to see how they’d sound: lies like how she visited Sera in Visalia or Gilroy, or how they spent their Thursday evening commutes talking on the phone. 

Pretending that Sera ran away made her easier not to think about. 

After walking through two more cars, she found the snack bar, dim and deserted, dashing her hopes of finding Sera or an attendant who could tell her where they were going. She ducked to the other side of the snack counter and flipped the switch on the hot water dispenser. While an electric whir filled the space, her fingers grazed over a box of tea. Sweetener granules dusted the counter.

A thud and a blustering howl stole her attention to the next car. Elora’s shoulders tensed as stooped to the other side of the counter and walked toward the noise. 

On the other side of the gangway, an attendant stood in front of the open side door, loosely holding the metal frame. Even when the ragged edges of a mountainside threatened to scrape his knuckles, his weathered face remained forward, jacket whipping in the wind. 

Elora grasped onto the headrests, traveling past passengers with their chins tucked and their eyes closed. 

“Excuse me!” Elora shouted, feeling her voice fly past her. “I need help!”

The attendant looked past her.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

His attention returned to the mountains. The shadows made his face as jagged as the rocks outside. He lowered his hand and swayed with the car. His nametag, labelled “Jerry,” glinted in the moonlight.

“Please,” Elora cried. Her confusion ruptured into desperation. “I need to know where I am!”

His eyes—milky blue—offered one more tired glance, leaving nothing but the turbulent sting of air between them. A rock bounced over his shoe and slid across the floor. A burning smell seeped into the car.

“This is my stop,” he responded before extending a leg out of the train and leaning forward. Elora screamed, but her terror was swallowed by a lightless tunnel. 

Her shaking hands searched for something to hold onto as tears flooded her eys. The acrid smell grew stronger. One hand gripping the railing, Elora reached out, slicing through the air current, hoping to find the attendant’s shoulder.

“Are you there?” she called into the tunnel’s deafening resonance. As she strained her vision to find him, her eyes began to water and sting. The burning filled her chest.

“What’s wrong with you?” she screeched at the passengers before doubling over to cough.

A crimson glow caught her eye and outlined the gangway behind her. Heat radiated off the metal door. Still trying to clear her throat, Elora scrambled to her feet and broke into a run, cutting her way through the aisle. At the door to the next car, Elora pulled out her flashlight and shined it on the unconscious passengers. Flames loomed behind them.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and pushed forward, choking on smoke and Sera’s name as she ran. The fire kept pace, eating the oxygen her lungs couldn’t catch. 

“Sera!”

Elora, hobbling, shone her flashlight up the aisle and onto a thick blue curtain—one she thought could lead to the conductor. 

“Sera!” Her voice rasped. Tears fell down her cheeks. “Where are you?”

Midway through the car, her toe caught a wrinkle in the carpet. Knees-first, her body flattened against the floor, sending the breath out of her diaphragm. Heat licked at the soles of her shoes. Wheezing, she pulled and dragged herself to the curtain, lunging hands-first into the fabric.

III.

Elora gasped as she forced a dense material away from her face and out of her mouth. She fought against the duvet and sat up against a headboard, a soft light washing over her. Heart pounding, her eyes darted around the small bedroom. In one corner was a table with an uncapped bottle of lavender oil. To her right, was a one-armed teddy bear on a rattan nightstand, and to her left was Sera, eyes heavy with sleep, hair clinging to her face.

“You okay?” Sera asked with a crackling voice.

Elora always imagined that she’d know what to do when they reunited—that she’d fling her arms around her and it would feel like they were only apart for days, not years—but seeing her friend next to her was like spotting a deer or remembering a dream. Too much of anything and she’d be gone. 

Elora looped her pinkie finger around Sera’s and tried to slow her breathing.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just—I’m really happy,” Elora whispered, giving Sera’s hand a squeeze.

Sera smiled. “Me too.”

A brief silence washed over them. Elora’s attention wandered to the white door with a brass doorknob not far past the foot of the bed. 

“Is this your room?” Elora asked.

Sera propped herself up on her elbows, revealing a new heart tattoo near her collarbone. “Yeah, you saw it last night,” she laughed. “You ok?”

Elora scratched absentmindedly at some scraped skin on her knees. “I don’t really know how we got here.”

Sera’s expression shifted from confusion to concern. “You can’t remember?”

Elora saw her backpack resting on a stool near a bookshelf. “We took the train.”

“You drove here,” Sera explained as she moved closer and lifted her hand to Elora’s forehead. Elora felt bad for flinching. “We talked about it last Thursday. You said you were coming to visit me at my new place.”

Elora frowned. “This doesn’t seem like a new place.”

“It’s new to you,” she retorted, peering over Elora’s shoulder to the nightstand. “How many of those did you take?”

“I haven’t been sleeping,” Elora answered and reached for the bottle of melatonin, surprised to find it empty.

“I know,” Sera said, “That’s why you wanted to come.”

Elora threw the bottle into the trash bin beside the bed and watched it rest on a wad of newspaper.

“All we’re gonna do this weekend is lay in bed, watch ‘Gilmore Girls,’ and eat junk food until you feel better.”

“I don’t like that show,” Elora said, softening.

“But I do. And it makes you fall asleep.” Sera lowered her voice to a whisper, “That’s the point.”

Elora exhaled. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” she answered before bouncing off the bed and kicking up the smell of burnt hair. “Did you bring my jacket?”

Elora’s stomach turned.

“Is it in your backpack?”

Elora nodded. Sera pulled out her jacket and gave it a hug.

“Have you worn this at all?” Sera asked.

“No.” Her knees stung.

“Oh,” Sera said, fishing her hand into a pocket. “It smells like you.”

Peeling back the comforter, Elora saw that her knees had bled through the sheet, embedding fibers into fresh scabs.

Sera bore a triumphant grin as she revealed the matchbook and returned to the bed. Elora fought a lump in her throat.

“Sera,” her voice wavered. “How long has the train been stopped?”

Sera tilted her head and perched herself next to Elora. 

“I was on a train tonight—I felt it moving.”

Sera shook her head and tore a flimsy match from its book. “There was a pretty strong earthquake—”

“LA needed to evacuate,” Elora finished the sentence.

A knowing smile stretched across Sera’s face. With a swift motion, she struck the match.

“We’re still on the train.” Elora ripped her knees from the sheet and swung her legs off the bed. “We can’t stay here.”

The flame ate past the matchstick and onto Sera’s fingertips. “Why not?”

“We have to get off.” Fire enveloped Sera’s hand. 

“A minute ago you wanted to stay.” The blaze traveled down her arm and spread over her shoulders, igniting each coil of hair with a snap. Stray sparks landed on the wallpaper, causing it to crackle and curl into a halo of umber.

Elora backed away from the bed and reached for the doorknob, searing her fingers. She wondered how long the car had actually been burning.

“Come back to bed,” Sera said, crawling over the smoldering footboard. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

“I need to get off—” 

“Stay.” Sera, ablaze, pulled Elora into a hug, devouring her in flame. “You just found me.”

Elora’s shoulders sank as she eased her head into the crook of Sera’s neck, feeling the white heat engulf them. As her throat filled with smoke, Elora reached for the brass knob and gave it a twist. Sera tightened her hold.