Crossing the Tracks

Usually bustling with travelers and commuters going about their daily business the station was eerily empty and silent. The ticket master’s box was empty and shuttered, no trains were expected for hours yet. Only one man sat on a bench, checking his watch now and again, his foot tapping the wooden platform. He didn’t have any luggage with him, only a coat draped over his arm even though the night was chilly. Sweat was forming beads on his forehead and he swiped at it in an absent way, his eyes on his watch. Rumor said, that there was a thirteenth hour between the minute of 12:59 and 1 a.m. and as the clock struck 12:59, a train would arrive here. That the train never stopped except at 12:59 and again at 1 a.m. which doesn’t seem a lot of time, but that one hour can change a lot. The man stood as his watch ticked from 12:58 to 12:59 and quite abruptly a train pulled into the station. He hadn’t heard it coming or even seen it, yet there it was steam hissing from its engine as it came to stop. The door in front of him opened quite on its own, and the man swallowed, sweat dripping into his eyes. His nerves seemed to be getting the better of him, but he didn’t have much time to decide. The thirteenth hour didn't happen off the train, and the seconds were flying by. 

“On or off?” a gruff voice said, and it made the man jump into action. He placed his foot on the train and stepped inside, the door slamming closed behind him as the train sped off. 

The train itself seemed like any other train; with rows of seats and large windows giving the view of the countryside or cities as they sped by. The lights in the train, however, were bright, casting everything in sharp relief. Unlike trains he had been on in the past, this one seemed to make no sound. He couldn’t hear the pistons working, or even feel them, and the horn never blew. The people were also quiet. The carriage he was in wasn’t full, but many seats were taken. The strangers muttered to themselves, at times, but never to those around them. But he realized it wasn’t in an unfriendly way, but more that no one really realized that there was anyone else with them. As if they had been there so long that they themselves had faded into the train, that they were part of it. Just ghosts of themselves. He saw clothes from every era leading to his own, from men and women in Victorian dress to flappers, to the well-dressed businessmen like himself. A few wore clothes of poverty, dirty and patched together clothes to keep off the worst of the weather, and others wore the clothes of wealth. It didn’t seem to matter the walk of life - the call of the train came to everyone. The man began to walk the carriages, looking for a comfortable place to sit. 

“A place by the door,” he muttered to himself. “Just in case.” But in his frustration, he couldn’t find a door to sit by. Or really, a door at all. 

“Can I help you?” 

The man jumped. He was already used to the peaceful silence of the train, with only the occasional mutter of another passenger. The man that spoke stood in front of him in the aisle, a smile on his face. He was wearing a black conductor outfit, but it looked faded in comparison with his skin. He was so dark he looked as if the color black had taken a human form and come to life, but his eyes, his eyes were ice blue. 

“I, I don’t have a ticket,” the man replied lamely, hands twisting in his coat. 

“Of course you don’t, no one ever does, not for this train.” The conductor replied easily. “Are you having trouble finding a seat?” 

“Well yes,” the man told him. “I wanted to sit by the door, in case I wanted to get off.” 

The Conductor raised his eyebrows. “Having second thoughts?” 

“Doesn’t everyone?” 

The Conductor thought about it. “No, usually people are quite decisive in this matter. They got on the train to run away from something, to leave something behind. They never get off.” 

“Never?” the man asked nervously. 

“Never. Some do try, but you only get one chance. When 1 a.m. comes around, you either get off, or you don’t.” The Conductor smiled. 

“Well, how do you get off? I haven’t found a door.” 

“Now that, is an excellent question,” the Conductor said. “You have to really, truly, want to get off the train. No doubts, no second guessings. You have to want it.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

The Conductor sighed and motioned for the man to sit. He did, and the Conductor sat next to him. 

“Why did you get on this train?” The Conductor asked. He already knew, of course. The Conductor always knew it was the passengers themselves that didn’t.

“Well you see,” the man started nervously. “There was a scandal, and I just, well, leaving seemed the only choice.” 

“Seems a very permanent solution to a very temporary problem.” 

“What would you do?” the man demanded. 

“Perhaps I would leave,” the Conductor replied with a shrug. “But to enter a train that goes everywhere and nowhere - a train you can’t leave seems a little...excessive.” The Conductor stood, looking the man over. “Why don’t you talk to some of your fellow passengers. They might have the answer you’re looking for.” 

He pulled a watch from his pocket and looked at the time. “You have a half-hour before we pull into the station, good luck.” And with that, the Conductor disappeared, as if he hadn’t been there at all. The man stood also, looking around him. The car he was in was mostly empty, but a woman sat near the front, staring out the window as the countryside rushed by. He went to her and cleared his throat. She didn’t turn to acknowledge him, and he cleared his throat again, louder. Again, she didn’t seem to hear, in fact, she seemed to have faded, her seat almost visible through her body. 

“Excuse me, ma’am?” the man asked as politely as his frayed nerves allowed. She looked to him now, blinking as though waking from a dream. 

“Yes?” she asked, a slight accent to her voice that the man couldn’t quite place. 

“Might I sit and talk with you a moment?” 

She smiled. “Of course, it might be nice to have some company.” 

He sat across from her, setting his coat on the seat beside him. “May I ask your name? Mine is Ethan Cathmore.” 

She smiled but her eyes had a sad, far away look. “My name...it’s been so long.” she chuckled a little. “I believe it was Edlynne, Edlynne Voss.” She seemed to come to herself more, becoming almost solid again. 

“Can I ask you a personal question, Ms. Voss?” 

“If it’s to be personal, then you’d best call me Edlynne,” she replied with the grace of a well-trained socialite. 

“Then you must call me Ethan,” he replied, just as easily. “Edlynne, why did you get on the train?” 

“Train?” She looked confused for a moment, looking around her. “Ah yes, the train. You must know, I was a very sad child, growing up. More prone to loneliness and tears than company and laughter. As I grew my parents demanded more and more of my time be with peers...eligible peers.” She smiled in a bitter way. “Of course I hated it. The noise, the parties, the tricky words with all their traps and double meanings. Before I knew it, my father had my marriage arranged. He was a nice boy maybe, but I loved another. They promised to take me away, to Spain, to France, all the way to India if that was what I desired. But our love was forbidden, secret, held in whispers in rare unoccupied corners, in nail-biting letters fearing too much was said and not enough at all.  Then, well, her marriage was arranged too,” Edlynne looked at Ethan with both fear and defiance, speaking a secret closely guarded that had to be said now when there was no one else to hear it. “We were whisked away from each other, her husband would take her to the other side of England. Mine was to take me to America. My heart, it shattered. I could not bear to be away from her, not forever. I got on the train, and that was quite the end of that. I would not be with a man I did not love, and I would not be forced to live without her.” A tear trickled down her ghostly cheek. 

“Do you regret it? Do you wish you had gotten off the train?” 

“I, I am not often as aware now, as I used to be,” she replied. “I don’t know how long I have been on the train, years perhaps. But asking it now, yes. I wish I had made a different choice. Had I not been so rash, so broken-hearted, perhaps we could have still found a way. I wonder, sometimes, if she made the same choice. Or if she decided to try and be happy. I looked for her, on the train, but I couldn’t find her.” 

“What was her name?” Ethan asked. 

“Judith,” she replied, without the hesitation she had when giving her own name. “Are you getting off the train, Ethan?” 

“I, I don’t know,” Ethan told her. 

“If you do, will you try and find her? My Judith? Let her know, this wasn’t the choice I wanted to make?” She tried to grab Ethan's hands, but they passed right through. She didn’t seem to realize that they lived in different eras, that Judith, whether she had made the same choice or not, was just as dead, and that they lived in different countries. 

“I will,” Ethan promised, all the same. 

“Thank you,” Edlynne said, and she leaned back into her seat fading once again until she seemed like part of the train, her sad eyes looking back out the window as if she had forgotten that Ethan was even there at all. He stood, grabbing his coat, and walked quickly down the aisle. Entering another carriage he saw that the seats were filled with ghosts like Edlynne, sad and bitter eyes looking far into the past. He could feel a regret so strong it made his stomach roll. 

“I have to get off this train,” he said aloud. No-one turned to look at him or gave any indication that they heard. “I need a door.” He looked at his watch, saw the time ticking ever faster to 1 o’clock. He started to run down the aisles, going through carriage after carriage, his eyes flicking back and forth as he searched. A few passengers looked at him now, more solid than the rest, and they stood as he passed. 

“Run,” they said, voices firm. “Run!” 

And he did, sweat dripping into his eyes he ran, not caring when he tripped up on his coat and fell to the floor. He stood once more and ran, looking for a door. 

“Please, please,” he pleaded. “I want to get off!” 

“This way!” the Conductor said, appearing before him. “You don’t have much time!” Ethan followed the Conductor through the train, eyes on his watch. 

“Pulling into the station!” the Conductor yelled, stumbling to a stop and pulling a door open. Outside the station came into view, and Ethan stepped up to the door, panting. 

“This is your last chance,” the Conductor warned. The train came to a stop and Ethan lifted his foot to get off the train. 

“Are you sure?” a voice nagged at the back of his skull. “There’s a lot to face, out there. It would be easier to forget.” Ethan shook his head to clear it and stepped off the train. The train whisked out of the station and Ethan found himself facing the tracks as if he were just about to step on. A train’s horn blared and Ethan stumbled away from the platform edge as a train roared through the station, his heart hammering in his chest. He began to laugh, quiet at first, and then louder in a relieved sort of way. He shrugged on his jacket and left the station, disappearing into the early morning.