Day 7

Loneliness is only truly known when we realize what we have lost. It is intensified beyond physical pain when we admit we caused the loss. For me, that feeling came every Sunday, on "Day 7."

DAY 5

I jerked awake and reached for someone, but couldn't remember who. The fabric surrounding my body felt foreign. These weren't the 100% silk sheets I was used to sleeping deeply in. This material scratched my body. Then I realized a strange sensation: my body rocking to a rhythm I couldn't recognize.

Stand up, I thought as I tried to move my sore muscles. In my half asleep state I thought of the fog over my backyard lake, and how it slowly burned away as the sun grew brighter. My backyard. Yes, I was beginning to remember now. I should be safe in my suburban house, not here. Fear of the unknown released itself in the form of adrenaline, opening my eyes. I was in a dark foreign room, alone.

As my body pumped more adrenaline, any remaining tiredness completely dissipated and I stepped out of bed to assess this dark room — if it could be called a room. It was more like a closet with a bed shoved into it.

This room is moving, I realized as my feet tried to find their footing. The entire structure was moving. A sliver of light guided my eyes to a window curtain. I swiftly opened the dusty curtains, first inhaling a layer of dust, and then discovering the outside world was dark as well; a moonless night. My eyes adjusted and I saw dark fields moving by in a blur. Yes, I am moving.

A golden glow caught my attention and I stepped toward it. It was the light from the hallway, bleeding through a small keyhole. This caused a memory to flash across my vision of a 3-year-old requesting a nightlight every night before bed as I tucked her in. My daughter. My husband. My heart sank. If I'm here, where are they?

I searched my brain for the last thing I remembered. It felt excruciating, like an intense CrossFit workout. Images flashed through my mind: my daughter reaching for more Cheerios. My husband kissing me on the cheek as I scrolled through emails. The lush green summer trees during a thunderstorm. The muddy wet earth as dirt was poured over a casket. Reading a novel by the fireplace while my daughter slept by me. All these memories were there, like pictures on a board, but none of them made sense. There was no order. They flashed before my eyes but didn't carry the weight of the emotion they deserved. Why are these memories mine but I don't care?

I tried the door. It was locked. Of course. I sat back down on the bed. Wait, I have a CrossFit memory…maybe I'm strong?

Once again I stood up from the bed and stepped as far away from the door as possible (which was only a few feet). Then with all my might I ran toward the door and hit my body against it. Ungracefully, the door opened and I had to grab onto the doorframe to stop from falling. I wasn't expecting to be that strong.

I started to step through the door but a thought stopped me. Check the closet. I didn't even know if there was a closet in this small cabin. I turned back to assess the quarters, now more visible from the hallway light flooding through. To the right of the window and across the bed was a cabinet door. I opened it but there was nothing in it. Regardless, my eyes continued scanning every corner, as if they were trained for this. Then suddenly, tucked between the door's hinge and frame, I found a small folded piece of white paper. Shakily, I unfolded it. The paper read, 49678. How did I know this was here? I carefully refolded the paper and tucked it into my jean pockets.

The hallway was stunning, like a train from a 1930’s mystery movie. Had I not feared for my life, I would have studied every artistic detail of the gold trimming along the walls, the red velvet curtains that hung in front of windows, and the green woven rugs that covered the floor. A memory played in my mind of a time I roamed the aisles of a Restoration Hardware store, searching for the perfect rug for my house. Now, the simple things like finding a rug didn't matter. Nothing mattered except finding someone, anyone, to tell me what was happening.

Unless they're going to kill you.

That seemed ridiculous. I wasn't someone people wanted to kill. I lived a very boring, but happy, quiet life. I was no longer young enough to be wanted for sex trafficking, and I wasn't rich enough to be wanted for ransom. Do I know something? Is it the piece of paper in my pocket? Nothing that seemed of importance surfaced in my mind — only more memories that didn't make me feel the way I believed they should.

A large antique mirror hung to my left. I stared at myself in the reflection. I felt like I was looking at someone familiar and foreign at the same time. It was as if I were looking at myself from an outside perspective. My long black hair, though unkempt, was silky and stunning. My face's bone structure was beautiful, with high cheek bones that perfectly led a path to crystal blue eyes. This girl staring back at me seemed nice, but part of me hated her, too.

I continued walking down the hallway and tried every door. All were locked, but that didn't really matter. From the little I’d learned about trains (knowledge gained through mystery novels and movies), I knew that if I kept walking down the hallway, I'd eventually find the conductor.

I certainly didn't want to waste any more energy shoving my body against locked doors.

As I continued down the gaudy hallway, I came to a door. This door led to another car of the train. Stepping between the two cars, I caught a glimpse of the ground moving below me, dangerously fast.

Perhaps this was normal for trains, but it sent me into a panic. Was it my imagination or did it feel like we were gaining speed, like spinning wheels racing down a hill?

As I passed through the next two cars, I noticed they were identical to the first. Then I stepped into a dining hall. Empty. Where is everyone? Panic increased, pumping larger amounts of adrenaline into a body pummeling down the corridor.

At last a door led me to the conductor's car. Steam bellowing up from an old black stove hardly allayed my panic. There was NO ONE present.

Wasn’t anyone else on the train?! Why am I here alone?!

"Hello!!" I screamed.

I looked out the window toward the darkness, trying to make out shapes. Yes, my intuition was right. We were recklessly catapulting down a hill!

"HELP!!!" I yelled to the abyss.

I had to think fast. Trembling, I looked around me, trying to find anything in the room that would help. I looked again out the window and noticed that coming up on the right side of the train was a small open meadow.

You must jump from this train with the code. My thoughts spoke to me as if someone else were inside my brain, helping me. "I can't jump! I don't know how!" I agonized to myself. NOW OR DIE. The meadow was just at the nose of the train.

This was my chance.

My body took over and like muscle memory jumped out of the runaway train. The last thing I remembered as I was falling was how natural it felt to jump out of the train, as if I had done it thousands of times before.

Day 6

Opening my eyes was an effort. Through heavy eyelashes I saw only darkness. Thank God. My mouth felt as cracked as the Grand Canyon, and my pounding head like rain beating into it. I knew I had a bad hangover and the darkness was welcome. What did I do last night? I couldn't remember a thing. This was not unusual, so I did not panic.

Must have been a crazy night, I giggled to myself. I patted my hand on the rough sheets to make sure I was alone. I felt my body for clothes, which to my relief, were still on. Since this single bed could only hold one person, I had most likely been alone the entire night. That was a great relief. I couldn't deal with small talk from a stranger lying next to me, naked.

Again I patted the bed, this time looking for my phone. Usually I had texts from friends, or drunken blurry pictures on my camera roll that would help me piece together the night before. I tried harder to locate my phone. Missing it was like Iosing a limb on my body.

I quickly sat up, discovering one vital piece of evidence: the room was moving. This isn't normal even for me and my wild nights. Why was I moving?! I stood and stumbled slightly forward. The structure I was in had lurched.

"Hello?!" I said in the darkness.

I started touching the wall, hoping it would lead me to a door. My breath quickened, preparing for a panic attack.

"Andrea! Are you around?" I shouted my red-haired roommate’s name to no reply.

My hand found a doorknob and attempted to turn it. It was locked. No. No. No. Out of habit, I reached for my phone so I could google how to pick a locked door, but remembered that limb was missing. A thought flashed through my mind. Bobby pin. I searched my hair for one but found none.

I scanned the small room where I was trapped. Across from me hung heavy curtains. With only a single step, I ripped them open. It was night outside and the world whizzed by in a blur, like when I am wasted. But this time it wasn't my drunken mind. I was on a train and it was going frighteningly fast.

The open curtains gave me the tiniest bit of light to spot another, smaller door. I opened it, searching for anything that would help me pick this lock. Nothing. As I was closing it a random thought popped into my head. It felt as if someone else were speaking it to me. Keep looking. I obeyed and scanned the closet one more time. It was then that I noticed a small piece of paper tucked into the hinge of the door. My shaking fingers grabbed the piece of paper. It read, 49678. My breathing shallowed.

"What does all of this mean?” I cried as I crinkled the paper into my jean pocket.

Something cold was draping my neck, with what felt like a skinny long cross pendant. What good would the cross do for me now? I scoffed. A picture flashed in my mind, one of me putting the cross in the lock.

I jerked the pendant off the necklace and jiggled it inside the lock. Suddenly — as if I were an outsider observing myself — I gawked, AMAZED to effortlessly pick the lock!

I'm a badass.

Cautiously opening the door, I saw a dim-lit hallway. If I’d had my phone, and wasn't scared for my life, I would definitely have been taking pictures of this place. It was cool. It looked like the set of a 1930’s movie. I thought of a certain gold dress hanging in my closet back home that I wore only once to a New Year's Eve party. I don't remember the party because it was wild, but I remember getting ready for it. It would go perfectly with this theme. Back to the topic at hand: your life.

To my left was a dead-end wall that hung a large gold mirror. I looked at my reflection. My silky black hair fell straight across my shoulders. My face, though completely makeup-free (not something I usually allow), was flush with cheeks that botox fillers wish they could claim, and ice blue eyes. I'm hott, I thought as I checked myself out. Get back to focus. I turned to my right and scanned the hallway. About 50 feet away was a door. This must lead to something.

I jogged down the hallway, hoping to find someone who would tell me what was going on. Maybe Andrea was surprising me with a trip for my birthday and drugged me so I wouldn't know. That would be weird, even for her. I tried not to think about how I could have been drugged and sold for sex trafficking. That was pointless. Whenever I try not to think about something, I end up thinking about it more. This is why I shouldn't drink. My throat tightened and a panic attack was brewing just beneath my skin.

Just keep breathing and walking. At the end of the hallway was a door which led to another railroad car. This repeated twice until eventually a door led to a dining room. It was empty. Where is everyone?!

On the olive green bar counter sat a bowl of muffins. The sight of these sweets reminded me how hungry I was. I grabbed one and took a giant delicious bite. It was only after I swallowed the moist, sugary treat that I considered it could be poisonous. I hurried to the next door. This led to the end of the train and what Iooked like the conductor's car.

But once again, it was void of humans or answers. A new emotion crept into my body. It was worse than fear. It was hollow and felt endless. It was the feeling of being completely alone. I would have preferred anything to this feeling.

I looked out the front of the train and saw that not only were we moving without a conductor, but we were increasing speed down a hill. I considered jumping but I couldn't see myself surviving that. There has to be a way to stop this train. I reached again for my phone so I could google how to stop a moving train, but then again remembered it was missing. Not only was I alone and would probably die, but I couldn't call anyone or let anyone know. I could die here, and no one would ever know, I realized desperately.

Suddenly, a thought flashed across my mind. Trains usually have a red cord underneath the floorboard that when cut, would automatically activate the brakes. How did I know that?! I felt like I was watching an actress in a spy movie carry out her role.

My hands searched the dusty floor for some type of opening. After a few seconds I felt something rough against my hand. Part of the floor was sticking up. I tugged it open and found the red cord underneath. This might not stop the train but at least it will slow it down enough for me to jump.

I stood and looked around for anything sharp that could cut the cord. On a messy shelf laid a pair of pliers. Perfect.

With all my strength, I squeezed the pliers against the red cord until I heard a snap followed by a loud screeching sound. I smelled smoke. The brakes against the rails were causing friction. The train was slowing down — not as much as I'd like — but at least slower than before. It was now or never and I had to jump.

Surprisingly, I felt calm and ready …as if I had been prepared for this.

Three...two...one.

DAY 7

"Wake up. Aria. Wake up,” a distant voice called out to me, as if it were on the other end of a large tunnel.

"Aria. It's Sunday. Wake up,” the voice continued, sounding closer with every breath.

My eyes flickered open under a white light above my head. Thoughts began to flood my mind, like they had been trapped behind a dam and now broke through. At first I thought I had a daughter, then remembered I was hung over. No that's wrong, too.

I remembered other train rides, burning buildings, plane rides, and other crises from a million different lives. Finally, I remembered something I had tried to forget. This memory felt real. It was in technicolor while all the others were in black and white. This reminded me that a true memory is felt in every cell of the body, not just the mind. My stomach sank and I tossed my head to the left of the bed, expecting to throw up, but nothing came out.

"It's okay. It's okay. You're just coming round," the voice whispered.

"Put me back," I begged weakly.

"You know the rules. You have to have one day off," the voice replied.

I opened my eyes and saw a blurred image of an elderly gentleman with white messy hair and a childish grin. His image cleared and I noticed the scars scattered across his face like someone had taken a marker and randomly imprinted them.

"I think this was our best week yet. Seeing you as a timid housewife was my favorite!” he laughed.

I tried to laugh back but couldn't. I'd rather be a timid housewife than a murderer. Yes, now I was beginning to remember. This was how bad the real memories felt, like an infected open wound. This was my authentic self.

"Why can't you put me back?" I hissed.

The man sighed. "Aria, it's becoming tedious to argue with you every Sunday. Go on a walk. Get an ice cream cone. Hell, go on a date. I don't care. Just live a bit of a normal life so you can be recovered for training tomorrow."

"I don't want to live my life. That's why I'm here,” I sputtered as I sat up, feeling dizzy.

"Nobody can handle jumping out of a moving train or burning building —or fighting a terrorist 24/7 — even if it's just simulation. You have to rest." He stood and turned off the bright light.

"When you're officially assigned you'll live someone else's life and have their memories for longer periods of time. You're just not ready."

He grabbed his black pea coat and opened the door. "Wear your coat. It’s winter here in St. Louis." He left the room, leaving me alone with the person I feared most — myself.

I now knew where I was and why I was here. No longer was I the innocent suburban mom or the hungover partier watching my life like a movie. I was Aria, training in an undercover government facility deep beneath the St. Louis arch. I was learning how to live other people's lives and have their memories while my subconscious helped me with the mission. I was part of a new program that assured we would not break or tell secrets even when tortured. Our own memories would be replaced with new memories and thought patterns. One day, I'd be fully undercover, thinking another identity's thoughts, 24/7.

But today, I had to live my life and carry the weight of my own memories. There was one in particular I tried to avoid. That's the strange thing about memories we try to avoid. Those are the ones that taunt us and laugh at us the loudest — like me pulling a trigger one dark Tuesday night — and living with that regret for the rest of my life. Today, I had to feel the real sorrow of lonliness.

After being convicted to life in prison without parole, a quiet man with a briefcase came to my cell and offered me a position in a new training program. I accepted it right away, no questions asked. I didn't do it to escape prison. I didn't mind prison and its routines. I accepted the position so I could escape myself.

Reaching for the puffy black jacket hanging on the door, I braced myself to face my hardest assignment each week: my life.