The train raced along the countryside as I stared out the window. I heard the door slide open behind me, and when I turned around, there was a woman in the doorway, out of breath. She reached for the bench, but fell to the floor before she could grasp it. By the silence of the train cabin, I concluded that I was the only one that saw the woman fall. Kneeling down to help her up, I found she was unconscious.
I ran into the hall of the train cabin and shouted for a doctor. A man at the front of the train car ran into what must have been the first class cabin and brought back with him a doctor in a lab coat. He introduced himself as Richard Brennen, and inquired upon me the complication in a calm, benign voice. After explaining the situation, Brennen assessed her condition and determined she should wake within an hour or so. We placed the woman on the 5B bench and Richard took a seat beside me. He explained to me - in great detail - how he had been studying medicine for the past 5 years at the University of London, earned his degree, and had gone to visit his family in Arcona to show them all he had accomplished. He seemed very proud of himself, but perhaps too proud for my tastes. Brennen dismissed himself back to his seat.
The woman on the bench was average height and not very dainty, although she seemed to be drowning in the enormous skirt that all ladies wore nowadays. Her hair was in tight curls piled atop her head, tied together with a red ribbon. She wore a collared white blouse and a red and black flowered corset atop it. Her skirt was black with red ribbon trim. The woman had sharp features, and would be hard to mistake for anyone else. As the door closed behind Richard Brennen, she stirred, startling me. She sat straight up as if she was in grave danger. The woman started rambling on (most likely to herself), and I was barely able to understand a single word. I reached over and rested my hands on her shoulders trying to calm her. She stopped and stared straight at me with piercing eyes. She took a deep breath and turned to whisper in my ear. Barely hearing what she said, she whispered, “You can’t let them find me.” From the inflection in her voice, it seemed like a warning, maybe even a threat. I backed away and looked at her with intense fear in my eyes.
Recollection. That was all I needed at that moment. I must have looked like I was about to yell because he shortly thereafter she firmly covered my mouth with her hand in a precaution to quiet me. Once we had both agreed to not yell or do anything rash through glances, she slowly uncovered my mouth. Still appearing as though she was running out of time, she quickly introduced herself as Victoria Ancroft and explained that she was running from two men who were trying to catch her, but as to reasons why were unimportant. She stood and made her way into the hall and I followed. She walked towards the luggage car nonchalantly, when two men started shouting “There she is!” Victoria grabbed my hand and shouted, “Run!”.
YOU ARE READING
A Traveler's Journal
Ciencia FicciónA young man records his life in a journal when he moves from Arcona, a small town in Ireland, to Paris in 1809 to live with his mad, inventor grandparents.
