Encounter On A Train

Charles sat by himself in the train compartment, seething with rage for the man who had run off with his wife. It was only five o’clock in the morning and the trip from Omaha, Illinois to the bustling city of Chicago would take about nine and a half hours–more time to marinate in the hatred that had consumed him these past two weeks.

Charles’ former wife, Lisa, had run off with her old college boyfriend to Chicago, obliterating the life she and Charles had tried so hard to forge during these past five years of marriage. Now that she had left him, Charles felt he no longer possessed a reason to get up in the morning. He hadn’t seen this betrayal coming, not in a long shot; not even in his wildest nightmares.  

Only when he found the note pasted to the fridge, did reality strike him like a hard slap to the face. She wrote:

Charles, I’m leaving you. Things between us haven’t been good for years, and I can’t stand it any longer. I hope that you will understand.

“Understand?” Charles repeated aloud. He had been talking to himself a lot lately since this tragedy occurred. 

He thought further, “Am I supposed to understand that the life we built counts for nothing? Am I supposed to understand that that bastard can take you away from me, and that you are willing to let me rot?”

Charles lightly tapped the briefcase that was beside him. Knowing that his Glock 19 was stored inside offered comfort. He would teach Lisa and her beau a fatal lesson in justice. He would teach them not to ruin other people’s lives. 

Just then, the compartment door opened and in stepped a man who was obviously going to be his companion for this lengthy sojourn. The stranger met Charles’ glance and nodded politely. 

After taking his coat off and putting it and a small bag into a storage compartment overhead, the stranger introduced himself. 

“Hi, my name is Patrick Sumner. I guess we’re going to be in here for a while.”

“Charles Filler,” Charles responded as he shook Patrick’s extended hand. Charles managed a weak smile.

The two exchanged pleasantries for a couple of minutes in that agonizing art we call ‘small talk’, discussing such mundane things as the weather and why the Black Hawks were doing so terribly this season. Then blessed silence took over the compartment as the train departed the station to set off on the long journey.

Charles was too wired to sleep, considering the monumental task that was before him once he arrived in Chicago. But to avoid further chit-chat with this bozo, he closed his eyes and pretended to nod off.

A brief rustle soon came from Patrick and when Charles opened his eyes to discover what his travelling companion was doing, he was annoyed to see that the man was reading a Bible. Charles groaned inwardly.

Charles was, in point of fact, a self-described agnostic when it came to matters of religion. Although his parents had raised him in the Baptist faith, Charles had rejected those beliefs during his college days after he took a few philosophy courses. 

One of his favorite professors had taught a third year course called ‘Atheism and the Enlightenment’, and this proved to be a turning point for Charles. Ever since then, Charles loved to debate Christians and do his best to sully their cherished beliefs.

“Let the fun begin,” thought Charles.

“The Bible? Really?” Charles commented, drawing first blood.

Patrick was unperturbed by the scorn. It was clear that he had dealt with this kind before.

“Yes, don’t you believe in God?” Patrick inquired.

“Well, no. Not since I took a good look at the world and decided that no deity is in charge of this shit hole, or at least if there is someone, then he isn’t worth praying to,” Charles shot back.

“Have you read the Bible, Charles?” Patrick asked calmly.

“I read parts of it when I was a teenager. I found it to be either too boring, unbelievable, or else nonsensical from what I remember of it,” Charles admitted.

“You know, my friend,” Patrick pronounced, “a relationship with God is very much like a marriage. Are you married, Charles?”

The question stopped Charles in his tracks. “What the fuck?” he wondered to himself. “Why would this guy suddenly bring up marriage in the discussion?” Charles wanted to beat on this guy’s belief in God, not subject his own profusely bleeding wounds to analysis.

“Er, no. I’m, er, not married,” Charles stammered. He could feel his blood begin to boil because of this man’s line of questioning. 

“Ah, but you were married, weren’t you? And not so very long ago. Right, Charles?” Patrick asserted confidently.

Charles couldn’t believe he was doing this, but responded truthfully to the stranger’s question. It felt like he wasn’t able to lie; it seemed that his whole life and sins were common knowledge to this stranger. But that’s impossible, he realized. “Who are you?” he wondered silently.

Patrick continued, “As in a marriage, if one person does something offensive or hurtful to their spouse, thus creating a chasm in the relationship, so, too, do people sabotage their relationship with God by sinning.”

“But I didn’t deserve it when Lisa left me that way!” Charles blurted out. Did he really say that? Again, why was he confessing to this stranger?

“Charles,” Patrick consoled him, “you had to know that all the drinking you did, and consequent violence you unloaded upon your wife would damage the marriage irreparably?”

“How did you know that?!?” Charles shrieked.

“I am a messenger, Charles, sent by God to tell you to change your ways, and not do what you are intending with that gun in your briefcase,” Patrick summarized. 

Immediately, the train sped through a tunnel, darkening the compartment for a short period. When the train was out in the light again, Charles awoke to find himself alone in the room. 

Charles had to ask himself if the entire conversation had been a dream. Was it just his conscience manufacturing a scenario to stop him from killing Lisa and Aaron? 

He had been taught from a young age that killing people was wrong. In fact, it was one of the ten commandments that was drilled into his head when he attended Sunday school as a boy. But now, as an adult, he knew that all those lessons were fairy tales. 

In reality, there was no God and humans were left to their own devices. If there was any justice to be delivered–and in his own mind Lisa and Aaron were in dire need of punishment–then he would have to take matters into his own hands. 

So what if he liked drinking liquor on the occasional night or three? So what if he sometimes took out his frustrations on his wife in the form of bruises and welts? She had asked for it by lipping off to him.

No, as real as the dream with this Patrick character had seemed, that was all it was–a dream. He would shake off this crisis of conscience that was a result of his childhood indoctrination, and stay the course. He smiled as he pictured the look on their faces when he confronted them with a gun in his hand. How they would beg! But it would do them no good, he admitted in triumph.

Six hours later, Charles left the train depot and crossed the street for a taxi. It would be necessary to book a hotel room before visiting the special couple. He needed to get organized to, first, execute a plan that would result in their deaths with a maximum amount of surprise and panache, and second, ensure that he wouldn’t be caught by the police.

Charles was struck and killed by a large truck in the middle of the street.

He need not have worried about evading the police. Rather, Charles should have been concerned about the Divine Judge, for what he thought was a dream turned out to be more real than anything he had known in his measly life.