All aboard!

For what felt like the hundredth time, she battered her hands on the door to the platform. Repeatedly, she heard the sound of an oncoming train but never saw one arrive. Nor had she seen a single passenger, conductor, or anyone at the ticket counter. 

Had it been hours? A day? The light never seemed to change outside of the train station. She didn’t even remember how she got there. 

All she could remember was riding her bike back from Mike’s after another mediocre date of pizza, wine, and a rerun of The Office, followed by underwhelming sex. A typical Wednesday in her mundane life that she had carved out in the city. Always hoping for more, knowing there was excitement to be had in life other than the copy editor job she worked so hard to get. Climbing the ladder and playing the corporate game only to be wildly underpaid. But this? This was not what she was hoping for.

She remembered she turned down the normal path across the park from his Upper East Side to her Upper West Side apartment. She went under the tunnel on 79th St transverse, and then everything just went dark. She heard the whooshing of something go by her, assuming it was a car. Before she came out on the other side she swore she heard the piercing drawn-out whistle of a train.

Next thing she knows, she’s waking up on a bench inside of this train station. It wasn't like Penn station, with its polished chrome newness. This felt, old. Worn. Sitting up she had looked around at the honey-toned wooden benches and walls, and matted green tiled floors. Smaller than her one-bedroom apartment, but there were doors all around. 

And not one of them opened.

With her hands pulsing in pain from knocking on each door, she paced back to the bench she’d woken up on and checked her surroundings again. There were three benches, lined up behind each other facing the platform. She was seated on the first one closest to the door that would not open. She sneered at it, feeling her hands throb in pain. Looking behind the bench, her gaze landed on the middle bench. It had a worn leather bag on it that definitely wasn’t hers.

 A New Yorker through and through, she knew not to open it.

The rectangular room was lit by golden globe sconces along the walls. She counted 8. And the rectangular ceiling’s center was a frosted glass skylight. The overall effect made the small space bright and cheerful. A happy place to start a new adventure or greet a loved one. Neither box did she fit into, she thought.

Looking at the doors, there was a large wooden door at the windowless end of the room, making her think that was the entrance to the station if she were on the outside. At the other end was that damned door between two long windows that lead to the train platform. 

There were two doors on either side of the benches. To her left one marked with signs for a men’s restroom and the other for women’s. Again, neither budged when she tried. 

Inconveniently at that moment she remembered all the cheap cabernet she’d had at Mike’s and rolled her eyes. She could hold it a bit longer. 

To her right was a door that lead to the ticket booth. And next to it, a black metal door. It seemed a bit out of place to her in this small town rustic station, but so was she. She got up, stomped towards it, and put her ear up to the metal door. Maybe it leads to a break room of some sort, she mused.

“Nothing.” She cursed.

She sulked back and sat down on the front bench. Looking up she spotted a short wire newspaper stand with a single newspaper in it. 

She jumped up to retrieve it only to be further mystified. 

Frowning, she examined what looked like a normal newspaper with pictures of normal people and places, but the words were not made of letters. They were made up of rows and rows of characters that she had never seen before. Not Cyrillic or Japanese, Farsi, or even hieroglyphics. Something, other. 

“What the hell is this?” She said scowling at the foreign paper. 

Again, she heard the long whistle of an oncoming train. Whipping her head up, she again saw nothing. And no one. 

She’d already checked for her purse and cell phone the minute she woke up when she realized she was not passed out at Mike’s or on her own well-worn grey couch. Frantically patting and swiveling her head around, searching. 

Gone.

 Her pockets were empty except for a receipt from her daily Joe’s coffee and her chapstick.

Tossing the newspaper back she looked towards the ticket counter. It was more of a closet with a fluorescent white light flickering over the light blue-painted room. She walked up to it and tapped her finger on the plexiglass that had the standard cutouts for speaking and for dealing out money and tickets. 

She noticed beyond the thick plastic was a trash can. Pushing her forehead to it and leaning in as close as the counter would allow her, she could see crumpled papers and ticket stubs in it. 

If I could just break the glass I might be able to get some idea as to where the hell I am, she thought. 

And if nothing else, it will raise an alarm or make enough noise to bring someone coming to check out my handiwork, she scoffed.

“But with what…” she asked out loud while looking around again.

The benches are screwed down to the floor. The newspaper rack is flimsier than Mike’s dick earlier. She chuckled at that. 

She snorted to herself, she must still be tipsy if her sarcasm is still intact. Turning around the room she stopped and her gaze again lingered over the bag on the middle bench.

Running over she stopped and hesitated. Didn’t they always tell you to never touch an unattended bag on the subway? She remembered. 

“Fuck it.” She muttered under her breath and went to unzip it.

Just then the metal door swung open and a bald stub of a man came out. 

Stuck holding the zipper to the bag, she saw he was wearing a short-sleeved light blue button-down shirt. The buttons barely held on as the fabric stretched over his large belly and tucked into dark blue slacks. The belt, holding on for dear life on that last hole with a bright golden buckle just below his jolly tum. 

Carrying a dark blue blazer that matched the slacks and a conductor's cap, he looked at her and frowned. From under the bushiest mustache she had ever seen, the only hair on his head apart from his also ferociously full eyebrows, a small mouth tensed and he snuffed out an annoyed breath.

“That’s not for you.” He checked his watch before putting on his hat.

“You’re early in fact.” Looking at her up and down while pulling on his blazer. 

With her hands still poised on the bag, she blinked and shook her head before remembering what was going on.

“Sorry, what?” Standing up straight.

“Where am I? Did you bring me here? Where is my stuff?” She said while stepping around the bench and moving towards him.

“Did you take my purse and phone?” Her voice got louder the closer she came up to the stout man. "What the hell is this place?"

Her five foot ten frame, closer to six feet in her heeled boots, towered over him as she was nearly toe to toe with him. Her loose dark hair, which was usually in a top bun, but down and curled for date night, hit her waist. Her dark brown eyes flashed hazel with anger as she stepped even closer to demand answers. The full mouth was usually set in a relaxed pout, but now thinned and went stiff as she took in a breath preparing for another volley of questions. 

But before she could, the blank-faced conductor held up a hand and she was silenced. Not because she was waiting for him to say something, but because she simply couldn’t talk. 

No words were coming out.

In shock, she opened her mouth to try and say something, anything. But nothing would come.

Her hands jumped to her mouth and throat as she kept trying to speak or make a sound. But the most she could get out was the rush of air she was swallowing down and forcing out frantically. 

All the while the conductor walked to the newspaper stand and picked up the paper she had haphazardly tossed down, opened it, and had a quick glance at the front page.

“It looks like it’s going to be a hot week ahead.” He said to no one and folded the paper, carefully placing it back in the stand.

“Why don’t you sit down, you’ll be on your way soon!” He said cheerfully not making eye contact as she gasped for speech, walked to the platform door, and stepped out.

Ignoring her vanished voice, she ran to the door to try and catch it before it firmly slammed shut. But she just missed it. 

Stomping out her rage she walked back to the first bench and sat. With her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, she took a deep breath.

Ok, don’t freak out.  She thought to herself trying to speak again. Maybe your stress or your adrenaline shot up and made you lose your voice. You're not alone here now. He knows who you are or at least that you're going somewhere. He says I’m early… She remembered and frowned. For what? Where am I going? 

Looking up at the ticket counter. I’d need a ticket, wouldn’t I?

Getting back up she walks over, no destinations or times or anything on the walls or on the counter to show her mysterious destination. Hearing the platform door open again she spun around and faced the conductor.

“Now,” he said shutting the door and turning to look at her.

“Did you bring any luggage with you?” He looked around and then back at her. Not really expecting an answer.

“I guess he thinks you’re going on a short trip.” He shrugged and walked around her to the ticket booth door, unlocked it, stepped in, and shut it.

He? She thought. Who the hell is he talking about? 

“Your ticket is all set.” He said pulling open a drawer under the counter and handing her an envelope with her name typed on it through the partition cut out.

Laura Brewster, she read.

She looked up at him and tried to open her mouth to speak but couldn’t. The conductor looked at her and slightly jumped.

“Oh, yes, apologies.” Flicking his fingers at her she felt a small click in her throat.

“I could tell you were becoming hysterical.” He smiled at her innocently. 

“But if you wait just a bit longer, all of your questions will be answered.” He said stepping out of the ticket booth and turning to shut and lock it. Before he could turn back to her,

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what the fuck is going on?” She exclaimed.

His head shot up with a fierce frown, keys still jingling as he turned to lock the door.

“There is no need for that language Miss.” Then he started to walk back towards the platform door.

“I’m sorry.” Taking a calming breath, she went on, “All I know is, I was riding my bike home from Mike’s. And now I’m here. Without my phone or my purse.” Following him to the door.

“In a random train station in the middle of the day” Waiving her hand at the windows.

“I have no idea where this place is,” Gesturing and looking around to the empty room.

“You took my voice?” She looked back at him in surprise and started to get louder.

“That paper? What is that even written in? Emoji?!” Stalking to the paper stand and looking down at it again.

“And that bag? If not for me, who is it for?” Pointing to the lone bag.

“And who the hell is ‘He’?” She pointed her angry gaze back to the conductor with dramatic air quotes. 

Throughout her entire outburst, the conductor stared at her calmly and took a deep breath. Before he could respond, he looked at the platform window and smiled. Another long sharp whistle pierced the air.

“Your train is here.” Looking back at her.

“Don’t forget your ticket.” Pointing at the forgotten envelope in her hand.

"He'll be here in just a moment." He smiled.

He stepped out of the platform door and shut it before she could grab the knob.

“What the fuck is going on?” She said out loud again.

I must be asleep. I got hit by a car, and I'm asleep in a hospital, she thought to herself as she watched a steam engine train roll in. She’d never seen a steam engine train. She looked at it in wonder, so much more busy looking than the streamlined Amtrak or subway trains she was used to taking. Yep, definitely a dream, she said validating her theory.

There were so many knobs and handles, dials and gaskets all over. All the windows were closed and covered in red curtains from inside the train. A dramatic pop next to the black of the train’s exterior. Watching the wheels slowing to a stop and gawking as the steam hissed out from what seemed like every pipe and chimney on the train. 

While still staring out the platform door window she heard the door on the other side of the room open and turned towards the hard meaningful footsteps that came out of it. And gasped. Her throat fell into her stomach.

“What the fuck?” She whispered and her voice shook.

The man coming out of the door was tall, with messy brown hair that touched his broad shoulders. Wearing a dark grey wool sweater, and tan corduroy pants underneath a long black rain jacket. 

The man looked directly at her with those playful brown eyes that were just like hers. And grinned with a mouth just like her own.

It was her brother. Her dead brother. Of nearly 10 years.

Seeing her face in shock, his smile quickly vanished, and he nodded. Still walking towards her with those long strides, he glanced at the bench with the bag and picked it up, tossing it over his shoulder. Looking back up at her he stopped a few steps in front of her.

“David..” She managed to gasp out.

He put up his hand before she could get another word out.

“I know, it’s,” taking a deep breath “a lot. And there is so much to say..." 

Taking another small step toward her, he went to grab her shoulder, but she flinched.

In his charming awkward way she remembered, he tightened his lips and put his arm down to his side. 

She couldn’t say anything. Not because her speech had been involuntarily taken again, but because she was about to throw up. It was her brother, but not the boy they buried. David, as a man.

He would be thirty-two years old by now, she counted. Eighteen months younger than her thirty-three years. But how? Her eyes searched this familiar but different face.

“I know you have a lot of questions.” He stood calmly staring at her, his six foot two frame making her have to look up at him even in her boots.

“And I will answer them all.” He stepped around her and opened the platform door.

“But we have to get on this train.” Holding it open and gesturing her to walk through.

“Where are we going?” Barely restraining the storm of questions brewing inside her and walked through the door. Passing him, hardly believing he was real.

Closing the door, David strode towards the closest opening to the train, stepped up onto the first step, turned, holding the outer handle, he looked back at Laura. Pausing he took a deep breath and with lifted brows,

“Hell.” He said and stepped onto the train.