Waiting For You

The Train

After several hours, the train finally slowed, grinding to a halt just as the sun rose over strange mountains, drenching the entire car in blinding light.

One stop down, I thought. Four to go.

The man on my right – the one in the kind of elaborate dress that recalled Victorian London – made a peculiar mewling sound.

Startled, I glanced at him. His skin was chalky. Tendrils of sweat-damp hair clung to his skin. He clambered to his feet and stumbled to the exit, peering up at the jagged mountains and fields of alien flowers. He whimpered again, then disembarked. The sunlight swallowed him like a scrap of wood in an inferno.

Light and dust swirled through the doors. No one spoke or moved or made any kind of sound.

Then my phone vibrated suddenly, shattering the tense silence. Blushing in spite of everything, I surreptitiously checked the notifications and was not entirely surprised to see a Skype alert.

Ray had written: He can't hurt you on the trains unless you miss your stop. No matter what he does, hold on til then. If you get off before, he'll follow. If it helps, remember that he isn't really after you.

I typed back: Who is he? And if he doesn't want me why would he follow me?

Five, ten, twenty seconds. Then:

Because you're my daughter.

On the heels of that came another message:

I FOUND HER I FOUND HER I FOUND HER WE'LL ALL REUNITE REAL SOON

The train released a whistling shriek. I waited with baited breath, silently counting my breaths to calm myself down.

A single figure finally stepped onboard. Harsh sunlight flooded from behind, turning him or her into a stark black silhouette. A few strands of hair glinted like gold.

The train whistled again. A few seconds later it lurched forward. The sun fell behind the mountains, taking that blinding light with it and revealing the newcomer.

It was the ticket-seller.

He set his hands on his waist and grinned widely. I looked away, but he strutted over and took the newly empty seat. On my other side, the iridescent creature I didn't quite dare to look at shied away.

"So," the ticket-man said. He twisted around to face me and leaned in. "You excited to meet your daddy?"

I looked at the ceiling. It had changed from the familiar grey-upholstered Amtrak design to wood and steel. As I watched, a beetle crawled from a small hole.

"He's excited to meet you, but that's because he don't know the truth." He paused. From the corner of my eye I saw him smile. "But I think you should know, because I'm a realist. And of course I don't like lying to my friends."

I closed my eyes. Instantly his hand closed over my face, covering my mouth and nose and pulling my head down. "No," he snarled. "You don't do that to me. That's the kind of insolence that got your daddy in all his trouble. Now, I'm going to talk to you and you are going to listen."

He released me. I gulped for air. Not that I'd been without for long, but terror has a way of making you feel like you're suffocating.

"As I was saying," said the ticket-man, "he's not really your daddy. Or maybe I should say you aren't really his daughter. We aren't sure what you are – and it doesn't matter to me, I like you just the same – but you aren't what he wants you to be. Now, if you behave, I won't ever have to tell him. If you don't –" That familiar, maddening cluck of his tongue seemed loud as a shotgun in the quiet car. "You may run into some trouble."