The Odd One Out

The bus engine hummed beneath him like a living thing.

Jamie blinked. His head throbbed with pain. Cold sweat clung to his neck and chest.

The bus interior flickered with the passing streetlights — long blinks of light and dark.

He didn’t know where he was.

Or how he’d gotten here.

The seats were full. Every person sat eerily still, facing forward. Silent.

Outside, nothing but pitch-black forest slid by in a blur.

Jamie leaned into the aisle, looking around. “Hey… what stop is this?”

No one responded.

Then someone behind him spoke. Cheerfully.

“Still a few hours to the border, Jamie. Get some rest.”

He turned slowly.

It was a middle-aged man in a knit vest and wire glasses. His smile was… too wide. His eyes, unreadable.

Jamie forced a smile. “Do I… know you?”

The man’s smile widened. “Don’t be silly. Of course you do.”

Jamie sat back down. He looked out the window, hoping the world outside would make sense.

It didn’t.

The trees weren’t right. They were all the same height. Same shape. Like models in a bad simulation.

Then she whispered.

From across the aisle.

“You don’t belong here, do you?”

Jamie turned suddenly.

A girl sat alone, hoodie up, one headphone in. She had dark hair and a sharp look in her eyes. Real eyes. Awake eyes.

He hesitated. “Do I know you?”

She leaned in, her voice low. “No. But you should.”

The hair on his neck stood straight.

Jamie whispered, “What’s going on?”

She shook her head. “Keep your voice down. They’re listening.”

“Who?”

“Everyone else on this bus,” she said, “is fake.”

He laughed, dry and hollow. “What?”

“They’re not people,” she said flatly. “They’re placeholders. Repeats. They say the same things, act the same way. You’re the only real one I’ve seen in five loops.”

Jamie stared at her. “Five what?”

“Loops. Reruns. I’ve been on this bus before. Over and over. It resets. We forget. Most of us.”

Jamie shook his head. “That’s insane.”

She pulled out a notebook and flipped to a page. Names. Dozens of them. All scratched out. Except one:

Jamie.

Circled. Underlined.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.

The bus lurched suddenly.

Every passenger turned toward the front. In sync.

No one said a word.

Then, slowly, they turned back.

Jamie gripped the armrest. “What is this place?”

The girl whispered, “This bus isn’t going anywhere. It’s a cage. A test. Maybe a punishment. I don’t know.”

Jamie’s mouth was dry. “Then how do we get out?”

Her eyes met his.

“You don’t. Not unless you remember why you’re here.”

He tried to think. Hard.

But his memory was a brick wall.

He remembered… water. Panic. Splash. Then bubbles

And red.

Then nothing.

At the next “stop” — a road sign that read SOMERVILLE — a woman stood up.

Walked to the front.

Stepped off.

Jamie turned to the girl. “She’s leaving.”

The girl didn’t look. “Watch.”

The bus door closed.

The engine didn’t move.

But when Jamie looked back — the woman was gone.

Not outside.

Not anywhere.

Gone.

“I tried once,” the girl said. “You step off, you don’t go free. You disappear.”

Jamie whispered, “What happens when the bus empties?”

She paused. “It starts over.”

An hour later, the man in the knit vest stood up. “Bathroom time,” he chuckled.

The driver didn’t stop.

There was no bathroom on the bus.

The man still walked toward the back.

Jamie turned in his seat, watching.

The man never came out the other side.

Just… gone. Dissapeared

Like he was never there.

Jamie leaned across the aisle. “Why am I here?”

She shook her head. “That’s the part only you can figure out.”

“Do you know my name?”

“You told me. In the second loop. You cried when you remembered.”

Jamie rubbed his eyes. “I don’t remember.”

“You will,” she said softly. “But you won’t like it.”

He started testing them.

Asking questions.

Changing his seat.

Watching.

The other passengers always reacted the same way. The same smile. Same nod. Same lines.

Like robots following a script.

And then — Jamie noticed it.

The lady in the green scarf had a tear in her coat sleeve.

Except… it healed itself by the next stop.

He looked again. Rip. Then gone.

Like the bus was editing itself.

Like time was folding.

The girl handed him a note.

He unfolded it.

“You died.”

“This bus is your brain trying to process it.”

“Only one of us gets to leave.”

Jamie dropped the paper.

“I died?”

She nodded. “Car crash. You swerved to avoid something. Hit the lake.”

The water.

The red.

Jamie’s voice trembled. “So you’re… what? A ghost?”

“I’m someone you didn’t save,” she said. “I died in your crash.”

Silence.

He stared at her. “That’s not possible.”

“Your brain’s trying to rewrite what happened. Make it better. Make you the hero. But deep down, you know the truth.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“You had a choice. Swerve and save yourself. Or hit the brakes.”

Jamie felt sick. “I—I don’t remember that.”

“But I do.”

The lights on the bus dimmed.

A chime echoed through the speakers.

“Last stop approaching.”

Jamie looked around.

Half the passengers were gone.

The girl leaned in.

“Time to choose.”

The bus slowed.

Through the window, Jamie saw nothing. Just white light. A glowing fog.

The door opened.

He stood.

Looked at her with his green eyes.

“If I leave… what happens to you?”

She shrugged. “I loop again. Or maybe I vanish.”

“You’re blaming me.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

Jamie looked at the light.

At her.

At the empty seats.

Then back at her

Then he took her hand.

“No,” he said. “We leave together.”

She stared at him.

Then nodded once.

They stepped off the bus.

And everything turned white.

Jamie gasped awake.

Hospital room. Beeping machines.

A nurse shouted for the doctor.

His mother burst in, crying.

“You’re awake,” she sobbed. “You were in a coma. For a week.”

He looked around.

Then—

He grabbed the nurse’s arm. “Was anyone else in the crash?”

The nurse hesitated. “A girl. She didn’t make it.”

Jamie felt the tears come, all of them at once.

Later that night in the hospital, alone, he pulled the blanket over himself.

And felt a note tucked by the pillow.

His hands trembled.

It read:

“You remembered.

I forgive you.

— Nora"