The Midnight Train

20:

The landscape outside the truck’s window slowly began to morph as they left the off-the-grid wilderness behind. The rugged beauty of nature—tall trees with branches that kissed the sky, sun-dappled dirt roads, and the sound of nothing but the wind and their breathing—had been their backdrop for what felt like an eternity. The air had been clean, crisp, filled with the earthy smell of pine and wet soil. It was peaceful. Isolated.

But as they inched closer to the city, the trees thinned, giving way to vast stretches of barren land. The once quiet road began to pick up a few other cars, the silence in the air now interrupted by the distant hum of engines and the occasional rumble of a passing truck. Then came the first signs of civilization—a faded billboard advertising some forgotten roadside diner, a gas station with flickering lights, and a few scattered houses, tucked far away from the road, their windows glowing faintly like stars lost in the growing light of day.

Lydia stared out at the shifting horizon, her mind wandering. The transition from the wild to the city was slow but unmistakable. It wasn’t just the landscape that was changing, it was Nolan too. As the truck rolled on, the tension in the air thickened, and she could feel it radiating from him. His grip on the wheel was tighter, his eyes more focused, yet there was a distant look in them. His jaw was set, lips pressed into a firm line. He’d said less and less as they got closer to LA, as if with each passing mile, he was retreating further into himself.

Lydia shifted in her seat, trying to break the growing unease. “Nolan, is something wrong?” Her voice was soft, cautious, not wanting to push but needing to know.

He didn’t look at her. He just shook his head. “No,” he muttered, the word flat, dismissive. “I’m fine.”

But Lydia knew better. His tone wasn’t convincing, and the way his shoulders tensed with each mile marker they passed made her heart sink. Something was off, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. She bit her lip, deciding not to press him. Not now.

As they finally entered the outskirts of LA, the contrast hit Lydia like a splash of cold water. The raw, untouched wilderness they had left behind was now replaced with the sprawling, chaotic web of the city. Skyscrapers loomed in the distance, their glass facades catching the afternoon light, glinting like sharp knives against the sky. The once-empty roads were now crowded with cars, taxis, and buses. Horns blared, pedestrians moved in hurried streams across the sidewalks, and the air itself felt different—heavier, filled with the scent of exhaust, fast food, and the distant promise of rain.

The rhythm of LA was a stark contrast to the slow, deliberate pace of the wilderness. Here, everything moved faster, more aggressively. Lydia could feel the city buzzing beneath her skin, and as they navigated through the streets, she couldn’t help but notice how much Nolan seemed to shrink. His posture, once relaxed and open, was now closed off, shoulders hunched slightly as if the weight of the city was pressing down on him.

By the time they reached his apartment, dusk had started to settle, casting long shadows across the streets. Nolan pulled the truck into the narrow driveway of a modest, nondescript building. It was tucked between two larger complexes, almost hidden from view, like it didn’t want to be found. The building itself was old, with chipped paint and ivy creeping up one side, but it had a quiet charm.

Nolan killed the engine but didn’t move right away. He sat still, staring at the steering wheel for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Lydia watched him, unsure of what to say. She felt the gap between them widening, and the silence was beginning to suffocate her.

Eventually, he exhaled sharply, like he was forcing himself to snap out of whatever dark place his mind had wandered to. “Go ahead inside,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. He fumbled for his keys and handed her a bunch, worn and jingling as they clinked in her hand. “I’ll get the bags.”