The Brotherhood of The Black Rats

1.10 Beyond The Last Stop

10| Beyond The Last Stop

Thompkins stood staring at his reflection in the dirtied windows of The 5 Train as he waited for the doors to open at the Brooklyn Bridge City Hall stop. The figure looking back at him was not the burly Troll’s own hardened skin and twisted face, but that of a plump, nervous looking fellow in a puffy winter coat and black-pinned stripped slacks, complete with a pair of wide-rimmed spectacles fitted nicely against the middle-aged features of his face and the male-patterned baldness that crept over the top of his head. The only noticeable adornment that tied the rather unremarkable man to the quite remarkable-learned Troll beneath his skin was the simple metal torque he wore around his neck, keeping the enchanted appearance glamour in place, and of course…his suspenders.    

The man who stepped out of the 5 Train to wait for the 6 did not need to threaten or intimidate his surroundings in the manner expected of a troll, and Thompkins much preferred it that way when traveling in the Mundane. He found the world he inhabited now, simply not ready for one such as himself. Even when among wizards, witches, and other magical folk, he preferred to keep his glamour in place, finding it much easier to have a civilized conversation when the other parties involved weren’t afraid of having their skulls crushed in. His time in the Secret College had taught him that much.

As the light of the approaching 6 Train slowly crept along the white-tiled tunnel wall, Thompkins made his way to where the last car on the train would come to a stop. The silver cars whizzed by him, blowing the thinning strands of his conjured hair about as though it were real. The glamour really was that good, and Thompkins found himself having to brush it back into place as the train slowed before finally coming to a stop. 

When the doors opened, a sea of seemingly normal looking commuters spilled out on to the platform. Their mass exodus underway, the train’s intercom announced: “This is the last stop on this train” to anyone who would listen. Despite this, Thompkins made his way forward into the empty compartment as soon as the crowd thinned out around him. Again the intercom chimed: “This is the last stop on this train. All passengers must exit the train at this time.” But the troll paid it no attention.   

“Oh, get on with it,” Thompkins growled to the electronic voice as it bellowed. 

“Transfer across the platform to the 4 or 5 Trains. This is the last stop on this train.” 

“Yes, I heard you the first time,” Said the Troll to the unseen announcer again.    

This time, the stainless steel doors of the train slide shut, sealing the impatient Troll inside as it pulled forward into the world beyond the last stop. It moved slowly along the tracks as it went. To regular passengers, the intercom’s faithful declaration at the Brooklyn Bride City Hall station was indeed correct. That was technically the last stop, and transfers to the 4 and 5 Trains were available, but neither one of those trains would take Thompkins to where he needed to go.   

The original City Hall station was built in 1925 as a grand terminal of underground transportation for an emerging downtown metropolis. Its decorative arches and exquisite lighting fixtures rivaled Grand Central and Penn Station in their prime, yet the station was abandoned not twenty years after it opened when larger trains began to enter circulation, thus presenting a discerning safety hazard given the station’s short, curved platform. Thus, it was shutdown and lost to the Mundane world forever yet too close to it for the Belvidere Court, making it the perfect safe house for The Brotherhood of the Black Rats.        

Thompkins felt the train slow even further as it began to curve along the long abandoned track. Making sure to get the timing just right, he made his way to the car’s backdoor, ignoring the stickered warnings of “This Is Not An Exit” plastered beneath its latch. Putting his wait against the metal entryway, he heard the locks click as he pressed his hand down against the latch. The very reason the station had been shutdown all those years ago provided the perfect stepping off point for anyone looking to enter the station from aboard a moving train. Thinking nothing of it, Thompkins stepped out as if taking a leap of faith onto the increasingly narrow space between the edge of the platform and end of the train. In the midst of  his own steady heartbeat, he was soon standing in the dusty dim-lit subway station as the 6 barreled down the tracks… minus one seemingly unremarkable man.