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93 Minutes Ago

What will you do when the clock runs out... again?

By Camilla RichterPublished 2 years ago 25 min read
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You wake up abruptly, as if someone threw open the drapes of your mind and let the light purge any thoughts of sleep from your body.

“Oh my God!” A girl above you gasps, jerking her hands back. You belatedly realize those hands had just been shaking you. “You’re awake! Are you okay?”

The full reality of your surroundings swirl into focus and land heavily in your pounding head. Luminescent bulbs flicker. Sickly beige paint wraps around a compact toilet, dingy walls, and microscopic sink. An overflowing garbage spits out crumpled paper towels.

And standing over you is a young woman wearing ripped jeans, an oversized band hoodie, headphones draped around her neck, and the uneasy expression one has when they find themselves suddenly in close proximity to a stranger passed out in a public restroom.

You attempt to stand, but it’s harder than you remember. The shaking, why hasn’t the shaking stopped?

“Where am I?” you manage to croak, pulling yourself on top of the clammy, plastic toilet seat.

The girl’s eyes dart around the tiny lavatory as if to remind herself. “The train bathroom? Same place you’ve been for the last half hour. I had a bet with myself that you came in here for a smoke.”

You raise your hands, empty of smoking evidence. “Does that mean you won or lost?”

She shrugs and shifts her weight. “Depends on if I piss my pants or not.”

“Oh, sorry.” You test out your balance–still unsteady, but now you realize it must have more to do with the bathroom itself swaying than your incompetence at performing basic human functions. You do your best to shuffle past the girl and out the door while pretending your personal bubble is still intact, and find yourself in a brightly-lit, carpeted train car. A miniature bar scene is laid out in front of you; a narrow counter with two pairs of elbows planted firmly on top, glass bottles clinking behind cages along the wall, and soft jazz oozing out of speakers scattered along the ceiling.

You don’t recognize any of it.

A distinct whoosh marks the end of Headphone Girl’s bathroom break, and the impossibly narrow door opens once more.

Headphone Girl hesitates. “Hello again.”

You blink. “Hi.” You know you should move, but you have no idea where to go. You don’t even know where you are. You don’t even know– No. You stop yourself from completing the thought.

“I’m Chass. I’d shake your hand, but the soap dispenser isn’t working.”

Her wry, brown eyes watch yours expectantly.

“I’m–” You stop. How can you even explain this? “I’m sorry, I'm not sure what my name is.”

It’s her turn to blink. You can see her brain processing each word that you said, and at the end of it, she raises her eyebrows ever so slightly and those brown eyes dart around again. “Ohhhkay. Have you checked your driver's license? Those things usually include information like that.”

You quickly pat down your pockets a few times, but no luck means no wallet.

Chass gives a half shrug, half grimace to say well, it was worth a try and suddenly you realize you’re still trapping her in the dingy bathroom.

You manage to shuffle gingerly down the swaying walkway toward the bar, letting Chass escape. She edges past you and takes a seat in front of a half-finished drink.

You're still standing indecisively in the walkway when, surprisingly, she catches your eye and pats the empty seat next to her.

You take it.

“Drink?” the bartender asks.

“Gimlet,” you reply.

“ID please.”

You pat down your pockets out of habit before remembering. “I don’t have it on me,” you confess.

The bartender clicks her tongue. “Sorry, I’m not allowed to serve alcohol to anyone without proper ID.”

You order a water.

“I’ve never met someone who didn’t know their own name before,” Chass says, looking you over. “You sure you’re okay?”

You glance down to take stock of yourself and see a trim, white button down and black pants. Close-toed pumps hold your feet in a tight embrace. “I’m okay,” you reply, although that opinion was formed from the lack of injuries more than an apt observation of your mental state.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… blank.” You sip on the water, hoping it will alleviate the pounding in your head.

Chass fiddles with the cord of her headphones. “Do you have a ticket stub in your pockets? Those have your name on it.”

You shake your head but turn out your empty pockets just in case the ticket shrank to the size of a fingernail. “Nothing.”

“Well, I can’t keep calling you ‘Potty hotty.’ From now on, you’re Dory.”

The drink of water nearly escapes through your astonished mouth. You swallow carefully. “Potty hotty?”

Chass shrugs. “You were in the potty, and you’re a hotty. Being terrible at naming things runs in my family, trust me. My dad named me Chassis. Yes, like the frame of a car. No, there’s no deeper meaning.”

You laugh. “Okay, so why Dory?”

“You know, Dory? Memory loss? ‘All drains lead to the ocean’?”

You shake your head, a befuddled smile still sticking to your face.

“Finding Nemo!” Chass declares, waving her hands dramatically.

“I love that movie!” One of the other bar inhabitants pitches in.

“Great, nobody asked you,” Chass launches the snide comment at the stranger without making eye contact. “Anyway, Dory, we should get you to the med car, get you checked out.”

You nod and stand up.

“That’ll be five dollars,” the bartender says, clearing away your half-empty plastic bottle.

You pat your pockets–this time purely for show–and shrug apologetically. “I’ll have to get my purse from my seat…”

Chass rips out a ten dollar bill from her hoodie pocket and tosses it on the bartop. “Keep the change. Come on, Dory.”

The medical staff don't recognize you. They also don't have the equipment to do a full brain scan, either.

"You probably slipped and hit your head in the bathroom," the nurse says, despite denying any signs of physical trauma to the head during her inspection just a moment ago. "Your memory should return soon enough. In the meantime, enjoy the ride!"

In other words, Get lost.

"Maybe someone on the train will recognize you. Come on, Dory."

You follow Chass from car to car, trying not to feel like an idiot as she points you out to confused strangers who all shake their heads. With each stranger who doesn't claim you, there's a mounting sense of urgency, but you can't quite figure out why.

An anxious knot forms in your chest as Chass opens the door to a new train car. The train lurches as you step through, and you brace against the swaying wall to keep from falling.

You frown. Something doesn't feel right.

One passenger, an old woman with a wrinkly hat and equally wrinkly leather purse pauses long enough to give you a glimmer of hope.

A grandmother, maybe?

"You look like my doctor's ex-wife," the old woman says finally. "Or his ex-wife's wife. Or was it his wife's ex-wife? I can't keep track nowadays. Doctor Schultz is his name. Do you know a Schultz?"

You don't bother explaining that you don't know anybody, not even yourself. You thank the lady for her time and move on, only to spot Chass digging through an unattended purse.

"What are you doing?" You hiss, glancing around guiltily.

"Look at you," Chass says, not looking at you. "Buttoned up, pantsed and high-heeled. It occurred to me that you might not have a traveling companion: you're on a work trip. Time to quit wasting time with the other humans and start looking for stuff that's lost its human." She pulls out a wallet, snaps it open and holds it up to your face, comparing. "If you take those heels off, are you 5'1?"

You snatch the wallet and look at the driver's license inside. Destiny Matthews, 5'1, African American. You sigh in frustration and shove the wallet hurriedly back in the purse. "You're going to get us in trouble," you snap, pulling her down the aisle.

The tremor of the train careening down the track shivers up through the soles of your feet and settles in your chest, tightening the anxious knot. "Well, more trouble than we're already in."

Chass looks at you from underneath skeptical eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You can't remember if you're a lip-biter but you try it out just in case. "I'm not sure yet."

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any creepier…" she mutters.

You both pass through an observation car, filled with swivel chairs and fake plants and glass, like an inside out fish tank. The green landscape melts past in a blur while the vast blue sky remains stationary, and the horizon rises and falls between the two as the scenery breathes.

"It's beautiful," Chass murmurs.

"It's going too fast." As soon as you say it out loud, you know it's right. The rhythm of the sways, the tempo of the clickety-clacks and the landscape blending into obscurity all agree.

The train is going too fast.

"Oh, so you don't know your own name but you somehow know that this train isn't going the speed limit?"

You ignore her. "We need to find the conductor or assistant conductor. Someone needs to tell the engineer they need to slow down."

Chass shrugs. "Good luck. The service on this train stinks."

You march through several train cars with Chass in tow, the act of finding out your identity forgotten in the rising speed and anxiety. There's no staff in sight, not even hostesses pushing snack carts.

You pass through the main cars, business class, first class, sleeper cars, until finally, panting and somewhat bruised from the abrupt jolts and pitches, you arrive at the engine room.

By this point, it was evident even to Chass that the speed had increased beyond a safe number. "What if there's no one there?" she asks, wrapping the headphone cord around her fingers. "I read an article about how automation is the future of the travel industry. What if this is an experiment but they had to keep it a secret because they didn't get the safety clearance because the chances of derailing were too high with the AI but they'd already sunk so much money in the project that–"

You grab her face, stemming the babble. "I'll fix it," you say. "We won't crash."

Chass nods once.

You push open the door.

Chass squeezes in next to you. "Well," she says. "I found the staff."

The conductors, servers, and assistants all crowded in the main engine room, sitting, standing, or even lying down like forgotten action figures of a distracted 8-year-old. None of them seemed privy to the situation–or any situation, for that matter.

"Are they dead?" Chass whispers.

You creep forward and bend down to inspect a woman in uniform who was sitting on her knees. Her eyes are open, and you can see the gentle rise and fall of her chest. A quick glance to the others confirms it.

"Not dead," you say, which makes Chass sag in relief. "Not quite alive though, either."

Chass steps over a wide-eyed, motionless conductor. "Creepy."

The lack of death confirmed, you surge forward to the front, intent on preventing any future death.

There's nobody in the engineer's spot, so you commandeer it. Immediately, your hands flit over the controls, checking levels and exploring, trying to diagnose the issue.

"What are you doing?" Chass says as she catches up.

You frown at the controls. “We’re running at notch eight, which would be fine if the track in front of us was straight.”

“Let me guess; it’s not straight?”

You peer out the front and shake your head. “The degree of that curve up ahead is too high considering we’re going much faster than the official restricted speed for passenger trains.”

“Oh, so whoever you are is obsessed with trains. Great. Can you say that again in English for the rest of the class?”

“If we don’t slow down, we’ll derail.”

Chass grips the edge of the seat you’re in and fixes her eyes on the oncoming track. “This is the part where you tell me you’re gonna slow it down, right?”

You smile, relieved to finally feel confident about this one thing, at least. “All I have to do is dump the air by selecting this emergency position on the brake control, and we’ll–”

Everything turns black.

You wake up abruptly, as if someone threw open the drapes of your mind and let the light purge any thoughts of sleep from your body.

“Oh my God!” A girl above you gasps, jerking her hands back.

"Chass?" You mutter as your vision comes into focus.

The girl's surprise melts into distrust. "How do you know my name?"

"We were just…" You trail off as you pull yourself to your feet. You're back in the lavatory.

Chass narrows her eyes at you. "Are you okay? You've been in here for the last half an hour. I had a bet with myself that you came in here for a smoke."

You shake your head. "I don't smoke. Excuse me."

You brush past her and into the refreshment cabin. Ignoring the inviting bar, you make your way the length of the train alone, not bothering to stop in the med car or ask anybody if they recognize you.

You know who you are. And you know you're the only one that can save this train.

You reach the engine room, step over the motionless crew, and activate the emergency air brakes.

You wake up abruptly.

“Oh my God! You’re awake. Are you okay?”

You stand up, frustration boiling in your chest. "No, I'm not okay," you snap. "This train is going too fast, the crew are mysteriously out of commission, I'm stuck in a time loop, and I have a serious headache."

Chass blinks. "Sorry, what?"

"Like a pounding, piercing headache right here." You point to your temple.

"Not that, the shit about the time loop. Are you LARPing or something?"

You take a deep breath. “This train is about to derail but before I can save it, it resets and I get sent back here in this grimy little bathroom to do it all over again. Time loop.”

Chass raises her hands and backs out. "Okay, I'm just gonna go see if the other bathroom is available."

You have an urge to stop her, convince her that you're not crazy, but you let it slide. You have to figure out how to break the time loop. Maybe once that happens, you'll be able to remember who you are and how you got here.

The first order of business? Figure out how much time you have before the train derails. It takes you a few tries but eventually you time it out to 93 minutes. 93 minutes before you absolutely have to pull the emergency brake. 93 minutes until you have to do it all over again.

You sit at the bar with Chass, sipping overpriced water that you can’t pay for. It’s time to figure out your next move.

“Do you know anything about time loops?” you ask.

Chass looks at you sideways. “Not necessarily, why?”

You sigh. “I’m stuck in one.”

Chass stares at you with those pointed brown eyes to see if you’re joking.

You’re not.

“Well, this has been fun, but–” she starts to stand up.

“Your dad named you Chassis. Yes, like the frame, no there’s no deeper meaning.”

She freezes. “How did–”

“You secretly named me ‘Potty Hotty’ when you saw me passed out in the bathroom. You like Finding Nemo. You read an article once about how automation is the future of the travel industry, and you babble when you’re nervous.”

Chass slides cautiously back into her seat. “Okay,” she says slowly. You can see her processing the new information. “So, you’re in a time loop.”

You nod.

“You’re stuck living the same events over and over again?”

You nod again.

“Like 12 Dates of Christmas?”

You raise your eyebrows. “You don’t strike me as the Hallmark movie type.”

Chass shrugs unconvincingly. “I’m not. Anyway, the point is you need to figure out why you’re in the time loop and use that knowledge to break your way out.”

You sit a little easier in the bar stool. She believes me. “What do you mean?”

Chass leans forward and twists her headphone cord in between her fingers. “In any time loop movie I’ve heard of, there’s always a pivotal moment that can trigger the end of the time loop, whether it’s falling in love with the right person, preventing someone’s death, or solving a mystery.”

“Okay, and your point is…?”

“We need to find your trigger.”

You nod. “Once we break the time loop, I can finally figure out who I am.”

Chass thinks for a moment. “Maybe you’ve got it backwards. Maybe if we find out who you are, it will break the time loop.”

You smile and nod appreciatively. “Now you’re thinking.”

You had great intentions of counting how many loops you’ve gone through, but you lost precise count somewhere after fifty. You also didn’t even have a name to show for it.

“Maybe finding out my name isn’t the trigger,” you tell Chass as you sip on the bottle of water.

“Well you’re not married,” she says, gesturing to your unadorned left hand. “And you look like a workaholic, so maybe we need to approach this like a romantic comedy. Are there any hot, single guys on this train?”

You sigh. “I really don’t want to do this.”

“Come on,” Chass pleads, pulling you from the barstool. “It’ll be fun.”

It was not fun.

93 minutes is not a lot of time to determine if you’ve met the love of your life, and the train provided slim pickings to begin with.

It might have been easier if you were any good at small talk, but you're not.

“I like your jacket, it’s very… likable.”

“Do you have any qualms about a workaholic wife? I think I might be a workaholic. I’ve been told I look like a workaholic.”

“What would you say if I told you I’m stuck in a time loop and I possibly have to find the love of my life in 93 minutes or we all die?”

“You can’t just tell someone that, Dory,” Chass laughs once we make a hasty retreat.

“I told you that,” you argue.

With each loop, you find faster ways of convincing Chass about your predicament.

“Your name is Chassis Alexander Router. Yes, your initials spell CAR and yes, your dad did that on purpose. He was a mechanic.”

“Your biggest fear is spiders. Also being paralyzed and dying a slow, excruciating death like being trapped in quicksand.”

“You had a hamster named Ham which escaped his enclosure. You found bloody paw prints leading away from the teeth on the aluminum foil roll and followed them behind the couch where Ham was dead in a pool of his own blood. It was your thirteenth birthday, and ever since you have hated the number thirteen.”

Sometime after the three hundredth-ish loop, you flop into a plushy seat in the observation car and watch the landscape bleed past.

“It’s beautiful,” Chass breathes, eyes glassy in wonder.

You look up at her. It never got old, watching her experience the scenery for the first time–for the three hundredth-ish time. Suddenly you have an idea–a crazy idea–but an idea nonetheless, and at this point, you’ll try anything.

You stand to your feet, take a quick breath, and kiss her.

“What the hell?” she yells, pushing you away and wiping her face.

Embarrassment threatens to crush your chest and you can feel your face flushing. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you say, already making your way to the door to go pull the emergency brake.

“Wait, Dory!” she calls after you. “I didn’t mean–”

You shut the door behind you and hurry to the engine room. Crazy idea. More like stupid idea. Your hand is already on the emergency brake when Chass catches up.

“I didn’t mean to push you– whoa.” She freezes when she sees the motionless crew.

“They’re not dead,” you repeat. “Just in a trance.”

Chass swallows hard and steps around them. “I didn’t mean to react like that, you just caught me by surprise. I mean, I’ve only known you for an hour. I didn’t expect–”

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have done it. I’ve just tried seducing darn near everyone else on the train and at this point I’m desperate enough to try just about anything.”

Chass closes her mouth and tugs on the cord to her headphones, making you realize that that wasn’t the right thing to say.

You swear and pull the emergency brake.

Four hundred loops.

Five hundred loops.

Eight hundred loops.

It’s hopeless.

There’s no mystery to solve, no dead person to try to save, no romance waiting to bud. No reason for this insanity.

Just 93 minutes of inevitable, monotonous hell.

You begin talking with the other passengers, not as a means to break the time loop, but just as a way to pass the time.

Brandy just graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in child development and she’s traveling home to celebrate before accepting a position working in special education.

Chris is visiting his mom, who just received a bleak diagnosis that her cancer came back.

Laura finally left her abusive husband and is taking her three kids to go live with their grandparents so she can finish her degree in nursing.

Musicians, social workers, welders, daughters, husbands, bloggers, dreamers, pet-lovers… You begin to fall in love with each of them, in their own way. With the way they light up when they talk about the ones they love, the way their voice changes when they get lost in their passion for their work or their hobbies or their latest favorite show.

You cry with the grandmother who just left her grandson’s funeral.

You play dinosaurs with the toddler to give his mom a chance to read her book in peace.

You ooh and aww over pet photos.

You laugh, you sing, you listen, you talk.

And then you pull the brake and start all over again.

You sit at the bar, sipping that overpriced water and listlessly arguing with Chass.

“What if there’s someone on board who is about to commit suicide and you could help save them?”

You shake your head. “Nobody’s suicidal here.”

“Maybe you have some unresolved personal trauma that you need to work through before you can move on.”

“Can’t fix the problem if I don’t remember it,” you point out.

Chass swishes her drink. “Mmm, good point. And you’re sure you’re not supposed to fall in love with anyone?”

You bury your head in your hands. “Being single isn’t a problem to fix, Chass.”

“Just checking,” she mutters.

Her off-tune hum fills the silence between the two of you. It sounds like a tune that would be familiar to you if you could hear the real thing, but you can’t quite place it. You glance at her headphones. “Mind if I have a listen?” you ask.

Chass shrugs and hands them over.

The cushy pads settle over your ears, but instead of music, you hear a steady beeping. You frown, waiting for some music to start, but the beeps just continue. The sound tugs at something in your brain.

Just as the realization comes into full view, the beeping speeds up. “It’s an EKG monitor,” you say.

“What?” Chass gestures to have her headphones back. You realize this is the first time you’ve seen her actually wear them. She frowns as well.

You tug on the cord, which has always been tucked into her giant hoodie pocket, and the end falls out into your hands. It’s not plugged into anything. Your breath is coming quicker now, and you snatch the headphones back, pressing them against your ears without bothering to put it over your head. The distinct beeping has increased in speed, matching your frenzied heartbeat. You force yourself to breathe slowly and deeply. Eerily, the beeps slow as well, matching pace perfectly.

You exchange concerned looks with Chass as you hand her headphones back. “You need better taste in music,” you say, because talking about hearing your heartbeat in her headphones is too weird.

“Don’t be such a hater,” she says, because there’s nothing else she would say.

The train jostles, sending your water bottle tumbling to the floor. You don’t bother to pick it up. Instead, you glance at your watch. It’s time to go. You can feel the train shaking and rattling at a much faster pace. In seven minutes it will derail unless you pull the brake.

“Well, I’m going to go save the train,” you say, standing to your feet. “Again. Want to come with?”

She downs her drink and tosses some money on the counter. “It’s not like I have any other plans.”

You lead the way through car after car, smiling softly at each person as you pass. They all nod politely, but their eyes hold no recognition. That never stops hurting, you think. It’s lonely being unknown while you’re the only one left holding all the memories you once shared.

When you reach the engine room, you sit at the controls once more and put your hand on the emergency brake.

The curve in the tracks is close enough to see. You probably only have about two minutes left before derailment. And yet, you wait. It might be your imagination, but you think you can still hear the heart monitor beeping from Chass’s headphones hung at their place around her neck.

Chass shifts beside you. “Do you procrastinate until the last second on all your assignments?” she asks with a nervous chuckle.

“I’m tired,” you say. Why a heart monitor? you wonder.

“I don’t think now’s a good time for a nap, Dory.”

You feel the train rumble and sway, hurtling toward certain destruction. And yet you still can’t bring yourself to pull the brake. “I have a lifespan of 93 minutes. There’s nothing I haven’t done, nobody I haven’t talked to, and yet nobody remembers me. As soon as I pull this brake, you won’t remember me.”

Chass puts her hand on your shoulder and you turn to meet her gaze. “If you don’t pull the brake, I won’t remember you, either. But maybe in this next loop something will come to us. We’ll figure it out, I promise. We have to.”

Something in your brain clicks. You stare out the window at the quickly approaching track.

Less than a minute, now.

“There’s nothing I haven’t done,” you repeat softly to yourself. “Except to not pull the brake.”

“Wait, that’s your takeaway from what I just said?” Chass exclaims.

“That has to be it!” You stand up, adrenaline setting your body on fire. “I’ve tried all the other combinations, I’ve met all the people, I’ve tried to fix all the problems, but maybe it can’t be fixed. Maybe the only way out–” You look ahead once more. “Is through.”

Chass inhales sharply, and then her hand finds yours. You squeeze it and look back at her. Her bright brown eyes are swimming in fear.

Like someone pulling the plug from a drain, all the excitement of your epiphany siphons out of you and is replaced with an aching sorrow. "Maybe this crash is meant to happen. Or maybe it's already happened, somehow."

"What do you mean?" You can see Chass fighting to keep control, from the break in her voice to the shaking in her fingers.

"Your headphones…” No, there’s no time to explain what you’ve begun to suspect. “No matter what I do, I can’t save you.” You glance around the engine and gesture hopelessly toward the non-responsive crew members. “I can’t save any of you."

A tear streams down Chass’s face and drips onto her hoodie, quickly followed by three or four more. Her lips struggle upward in a tremulous smile and she squeezes your hand back. “It's okay," she whispers. "I'd take a train crash over spider-infested quicksand any day."

A jolt of fear runs through you as you feel the train hit the curve and begin to careen sharply to the right. After an indeterminate length of time living within 93 minutes of perfect predictability, you suddenly realize that you have no idea what happens next.

"Are we going to die?" Chass asks. She must have interpreted the look on your face.

"I don't know."

You do know, however, the instant the wheels leave the tracks. The center of gravity shifts, dumping all bodies and loose objects against the left wall. A massive shudder runs through the engine and you clench your teeth together to keep from accidentally biting your tongue, although you realize that’s the least of your problems now.

You cling to Chass tightly, locking eyes with her, trying to shut everything else out. “I’m sorry,” you shout above the groan of metal scraping against metal. “I wish–”

Everything turns black.

You wake up.

Short Story
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About the Creator

Camilla Richter

I've used fiction as an escape ever since I developed an imagination, and now I'm sharing pieces of my world with you. I'm a wife, mom, and an awkward introvert who professes her undying love to baristas in the drive through.

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