Mind Tracks

"Ladies and gentlemen," a strong voice with a slight western accent interrupted the train full of passengers from their naps, reading and videos, "This is your First Engineer, James P. DeWolfe, along with second person, Marlene Johnson.

The passengers quieted as they strained to hear the conductor's words through the static of the intercom.

"We're experiencing a slight mechanical difficulty at the moment," he continued. "We are in no danger and expect to have the situation resolved quickly."

A low rumble began in the various passenger cars as people shifted nervously in their seats and speculated among themselves.

The engineer's voice was smooth and calm, almost silky. "While we're working on this issue, please remain seated and take advantage of our complimentary beverage service which has just begun. We thank you for your cooperation and again thank you for choosing Great White Rail."

"Drink, sir?" A stout, almost powerfully diminutive porter with quick dark eyes and a warm smile offered.

A tall, slender gentleman in a neat dark suit rubbed his eyes and pulled his slumped body upright. He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, more salt than pepper, and paused to gain his bearings.

"Sorry, young man," he began, "yes, please, scotch, neat," He stared blankly for a moment, his hazel eyes glossy, then added, "wait, make it ... you know, two of them. Same glass."

"A double, sir?"

"Yes, yes, a double, please."

The porter handed over the drink and the man reached in his breast pocket. Finding nothing, he nervously reached into his pants pockets.

"I'm sorry," he twisted nervously in his seat, "I seem to have misplaced my.... I... I just don't know... Give me a moment...I...I've just woken up. "

The young man smiled and waved him off, "No need, sir, drinks are complimentary."

The man stared in his direction, expressionless.

A young woman with a small child across the isle piped up helpfully, "It's free, sir."

The man stiffened sharply, shooting a hard gaze at both the woman and the server. "Yes, I understand what complimentary is, thank you. That will be all!"

Left to himself with his drink, he looked around the rail car at all the faces. He didn't recognize any of them.

He looked out the window. The prairie landscape seemed to be whizzing past his tiny window at warp speed. He didn't recognize exactly where he was.

He checked his pockets again, realizing he wasn't quite sure where he was heading. He wasn't quite sure he remembered boarding the train at all. His pockets were empty.

He leaned into the aisle, "Excuse me, Miss," he started. "I'm so sorry if I appeared rude earlier," his eyes twinkled with boyish charm, "but I'm not from here, what was the name of the town we boarded in again? I don't seem to have my ticket handy."

"The young mother grinned at the handsome older man as her toddler wriggled beside her. "Flin Flon, Manitoba."

He nodded. "Of course, of course, Flin Flon ... to..."

"Fredericton, New Brunswick," she answered. Then asked, "Are you okay, sir?"

The man stood up. He cut a striking figure, lean with broad shoulders and a tan, weathered face that seemed to reveal a life of fresh air and hard work.

"Yes, Flin Flon to Fredericton," he said confidently before sitting back down. "I don't know where my head is. I dozed off and lost my mind, it seems." He laughed heartily and offered, "thank you, let me buy you a drink for your help." He waved his hand in the air, signalling to the porter, continuing to snicker at his joke.

She smiled, pushing her dark blonde hair behind her ears. "Ginger ale, please."

He winked, making her blush, "You look like you could use something stronger if you don't mind my saying." He nodded toward the toddler with the shock of red curly hair now crawling around the floor at his mother's feet.

She ordered. "Rye and ginger, please."

The man nodded and waved his empty glass in the server's field of vision.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the conductor's voice filled the train again, "This is your engineer, James P. DeWolfe. We are still having mechanical issues. Please remain in your seats as we will soon be picking up speed. We regret that food and beverage service will be suspended until the situation is resolved. We thank you again for choosing Great White Rail."

"It's a runaway train!" a shrill voice from the centre of the car shrieked.

An air of panic fell over the group. Voices got louder and louder as most passengers pulled out their phones and frantically started dialing loved ones, screaming hurried, fear-filled messages of love and terror.

Others called out to whatever higher powers they believed in, begging, striking bargains, if only they can be spared.

A few passengers without phones began yelling, grabbing at the phones of others, demanding a turn to call their families.

The car became a sea of mass confusion as hysteria set in. The train picked up speed steadily as it left the flat Manitoba plains and entered Ontario's more diverse landscape.

The faster the train went, the more confused and terrified the passengers became. The porter tried to calm the situation, to no avail.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he shouted about the crowd, "We do have a slight problem with our breaking system, but it is being worked on. I assure you, there is no danger..."

"We're all going to die!" the same voice from the middle of the car cried, "Runaway trains, it never ends well!" He held up his phone with a story of a deadly runaway train and subsequent derailment.

The air had already been thick with dread. This was the final straw. The entire car broke out into a symphony of sobs and screams. More frantic phone calls. More fighting for phones.

For some unexplained reason, people started moving toward the front of the car, pushing and shoving, some almost coming to blows, as if the front held some magical safety.

The young mother clutched her toddler and babbled incoherently to someone through free-flowing tears.

The gentleman slowly stood up and made his way to the centre of the car. He stood firm, erect, his feet planted wide and firmly as the train moved faster and faster, now on a downward plane.

"Shut the hell up!" he bellowed with an authority that stopped everyone in their tracks.

He turned to the porter, "Take me to the engineer," he ordered. "We have to apply the emergency braking system."

The young server looked at him, confused, "Do you know about trains, sir?"

The man paused for a moment, running his hand through his hair again. He sighed loudly as his slender face reddened, "Listen you chicken-headed young fella, do I sound like I know about trains?" he demanded.

"Right this way sir."

In the engine, the man started shouting orders as he reached past the conductor's knees, grabbed hold of the manual brake and shoved it to maximum. "Get on the radio and tell the passengers the situation is averted, but they'll feel a slight jolt. Tell them to get back to their seats immediately!"

Conductor DeWolfe shook his head quizzically and asked, "Who are you?"

"Who the hell are you?" he spat back.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have identified the issue and have initiated emergency braking procedures. Please return to your seats immediately as you will feel a slight jolt as the train comes to a stop. And again, thank you for choosing Great White Rail."

The gentleman smoothed his suit jacket. "Now get on the radio and give them our location so we can get these people off safely. Tell them to send another train to carry everyone onward toward... sorry, what was it again?"

Marlene, the second in command stammered, "Fredericton, Fredericton, New Brunswick."

"Yes, right, Fredericton." He smiled widely. "Do that now, please. I don't think these people need to be kept waiting too long on top of everything else, do you?"

He wiped a torrent of sweat from his brow as he righted himself, turned and walked away. "I'm going back to sit down. I'll tell them in my car to stay seated until help arrives. Bring on some more drinks, we need 'em. Tell the staff to tell the other cars to sit tight."

Both James and Marlene sat in stunned silence as the stranger exited the engine without another word.

Reentering the cab, he placed both hands in the air. He commanded everyone to sit down. They obeyed readily. The train had come to a halt in the middle of nowhere. There didn't seem to be any more danger.

The pressure in the car deflated almost instantly. It was as if all the air had been sucked out. There was no more excitement, no more terror, no more panic - just a mix of disbelief, confusion, and exhausted gratitude. The only sound was quiet sobbing and the soft rattling of the approaching service cart.

"Drinks are on me," he quipped, his smile wide, "and help is on the way."

Libations and snacks flowed freely for almost 2 hours until help, and the media arrived. As passengers were ushered onto another train, the dapper gentleman was thrust in front of a television camera and a young reporter.

"You're a hero, sir," the newswoman, clad in a tailored cream-coloured suit said, "What's your name?"

He stood quietly, momentarily dazed by all the fuss. "I'm nobody," he recovered, "Just a fella who knew what to do when the time came."

"Yes, but if it weren't for you, well..." she challenged, shoving her microphone in his face, "...It's unthinkable!" She shook her head and stared into the camera for emphasis.

He shrugged. "Maybe," he said. Then he added, "I can tell you this, I don't think they was trained up proper. Emergency brake's right there," he motioned to his left side, "Problem is these days, they know the computers on the train, but they know nothing about the damn train. I didn't do anything special. "

"Well, how do you feel knowing you saved the lives of all these people?" the reporter pressed.

"I feel tired and I'd like to go home," he replied flatly, lowering his head and suddenly looking decades older than he was.

As the cameras took their focus off him and went off in search of passengers willing to give their first-person accounts, a uniformed police officer approached.

"Mr. Santiago?" he asked, placing a gentle hand on the man's shoulder, "Can you come with me, please?"

The man bristled, shaking the cop from him, "Excuse me?" his tone indignant.

"We're going to get you home, sir."

"Well, it's about goddamn time!" he glared harshly. "I'm not really sure what kind of operation you people are running, but this is unacceptable. I'll be writing a stern letter, I can tell you that, a stern letter, indeed!"

The officer nodded, now joined by a colleague. "If you'll come with us, we'll take you home, sir."

He followed them to the cruiser, then paused before getting in. "What about Fredericton?" he asked.

"Fredericton will have to wait for another day." the other officer smiled kindly, her voice filled with kindness.

He nodded and took a seat in the back of the car.

As they drove, he regaled the cops with stories about his life, his times with his wife, his days at school and all the mischief he'd gotten up to as a young boy.

They pulled up to a small, split-level house with blue vinyl siding and a long gravel driveway. Two women, one slightly taller and bigger than the other came barrelling out the door.

The smaller one grabbed the man from the back seat. "Dad!" she cried. She hugged him tightly as he stood stiffly, arms at his side. "We were worried sick!"

The larger woman chimed in, stepping forward to take his hand, "We saw you on the news. We called right in. You know you're not supposed to wander off..."

He broke free of his daughter's grasp, "I didn't wander off. I went to work. I work on the train. I've always worked on the train."

She nodded, glancing first at him, then his daughter, "That's right, Mr. Santiago, you worked on the trains. What do you say we go inside, have some tea and you show us all your pictures about those train days."

Mr. Santiago beamed proudly, his eyes a mix of recognition and confusion. "I always worked on the train. I did a good job," he said as he followed the women inside.