One Last Ride

Alice Wilbourn stared out the window, watching the world speed past at a pace far too fast for her to follow. Various shades of green, blue, and brown twisted and blurred until the sky, trees, and earth were nothing but messy splotches of color against a constantly moving canvas.

She had no idea how she got here or why, but entombed inside the compartment of the train, Alice could smell the cloying scent of coal, could feel the vibration of the tracks as they jostled her old, weary bones back and forth, back and forth. But the sounds disturbed her most. The clickety-clack of those ancient wheels coupled with the high-pitched shrill of that god-awful whistle hijacked her pulse and set her teeth on edge.

Alice despised trains, so of course, she was back in one.

Her nightmares always started this way. She was seven years old, stuck on a runaway train, seconds away from watching her parents get dragged away by faceless men in uniforms, her name falling from terror-filled lips as they reached for her. . .

She wasn't going to relive that memory, thank you very much.

So, Alice sat on her bench, staring out that pretty window as she attempted to ignore how her little gray cabin was colorless and cold; outside, the colors continued their entrancing dance, a lovely contrast to the emptiness that awaited her in that softly pulsing door just out of sight.

“You can’t sit there forever, you know.”

Alice’s gaze never faltered. “I know.”

The conductor that sat across from her had been there since she first opened her eyes. He was gray too, and though he knew she didn’t have a ticket, he didn’t seem interested in kicking her out. Instead, he continued to linger in that same spot, watching her like she was a picture on a wall that bore scrutiny.

Alice had hoped he’d disappear if she ignored him long enough, but like a stubborn candle flame, all he did was flicker and sway, burning her with his unhelpful observations as he refused to go out.

“You’ll have to open that cabin door eventually,” he reminded her.

“I know that,” she replied, less kind, still determined to take her time.

That seemed to appease him for now . . . or maybe he was only satisfied because something disturbing and unnatural was happening to her cabin.

The train wanted her to move. To act. How else could she explain that little by little, the wall and window had moved closer, the room itself growing smaller, tighter, as if trying to close in around her, trapping her like an insect in amber. Even the ceiling was lower now.

But Alice wouldn’t be bullied; she wouldn’t be forced. The compartment could close around her for all she cared!

She. Wasn’t Ready. Yet.

Her old heart raced as the claustrophobic feeling grew stronger, and Alice put a hand to her chest, clutching the fabric of her dress tighter, as if that could somehow help her heart stop throbbing.

“If you stop fighting, it won’t hurt as much.”

The words were calmly spoken and probably well-intentioned. Still, they grated on her nerves all the same, so much so that Alice finally tore her gaze away from the lovely little window to stare back at the conductor. Her expression pinched.

He was young and soft-skinned, nothing but a babe compared to her. Yet, while her face was aged and wrinkled, it proudly bore the signs of too much sun, of cigarettes, smoke, and liquor—a life well-lived. He looked as if he’d barely lived at all.

Maybe that’s why he was all gray.

“I’ve been fighting all my life,” she told him, the reminder sparking a fire in her eyes that blazed the color of burnt sienna. “I’m not about to stop now, boy.”

The conductor said nothing, his own eyes now shadowed by the lip of his hat. Still, he didn’t leave. He kept sitting there, waiting, watching, as if he’d heard the same speech a thousand times before, had put out fires even grander.

Even if she wanted to, Alice could no longer allow herself to stare out that precious window and let her mind wander, not when the train compartment continued to shrink more and more as if eager to swallow her whole.

She refused to let it win this way.

Stubborn and bull-headed to the end, Alice gritted her teeth and set her feet. After extending both arms, she braced them against opposite sides of those hideous, colorless walls as if she could somehow stop their advancement by determination and willpower alone. Not once, though, did she stop glaring at that awful conductor, not when every over-worked muscle groaned and creaked and bent under the pressure of those ever-shrinking walls.

She must have looked a sight! An old woman in her nicest dress, glowering and bitter, railing against a force even youth couldn’t defeat. If nothing else, she was determined to take this silent observer down with her. After all, here she was, trembling and exhausted, her fool heart pounding away like a tambourine while her companion didn’t look bothered in the slightest.

That, more than anything, spurred her on.

Indignation and fury had her pressing her palms flat against both walls as they pushed right back, refusing to give an inch; she was David fighting Goliath, armed with pettiness instead of a rock.

But like a rock, the conductor wouldn't be moved.

“The way out hasn’t changed,” he told her as he nodded towards the door, and indeed, it seemed to beckon, as if tempting her home. Another trap. Another lie. “It’s always been right there, Alice.”

Of course, that only made the old woman grit her teeth harder, even though her old arms were no match for gravity or magic—like an accordion, she knew they’d soon buckle and bend, striking one last discordant note as they succumbed to the pressure and fell.

But she hadn’t fallen yet. Maybe she never would. She’d lasted this long, hadn’t she?

Yet, as one foot slipped, as her palms lost their grips, such blind confidence was difficult to hold onto. As the whistle of the train keened louder, showing no signs of stopping, Alice's certainty blew away right along with it.

What if she waited too long and the door grew too small to exit? What if she found herself trapped in this tiny, colorless room forever? Doomed to fight a battle she knew she could never win?

Was it really wise to trade one nightmare for another?

"Just so you know, I'm not giving up," she told him as she relaxed her body, letting her arms fall back to her sides. She was already exhausted and hardly any time had passed at all. "I just felt like a walk, is all."

The conductor didn't say a word. He simply climbed to his feet, his too-tall frame hunched against the ceiling that was suddenly too low to accommodate him.

He waited for her next move.

Even now, Alice refused to let him see her weak. With a strength pooled from deep within, she turned to face the door, even though her legs and hands were shaking, she was almost happy to leave these cramped quarters behind.

But this last step was a difficult one. She hesitated.

“I can’t do this part for you, Alice,” the conductor said, a hint of color flashing in his dark gray eyes.

“I don’t need your help,” she told him as she lifted her chin and, with all the dignity she could muster, climbed to her feet, ready to face whatever lay beyond that pulsing door.

It had to be better than what she was leaving behind.

With a simple touch, the door swung open, and refusing to let him see her hesitate, Alice took that final step across the threshold, quickly leaving the cabin behind her.

Nothing was as she expected.

White light, blinding but pure, embraced her entire body as she stepped into a corridor that appeared to stretch on forever. Alice couldn’t help the thin smile that graced her face as she bathed it in, and this time, when she heard the familiar sound of the train’s whistle, it sounded sweet, like music.

“Oh,” she breathed to herself. “I didn’t expect it to be warm.”

As she stood there, marveling, she noticed a smile on her conductor's face as well, one which mirrored her own.

And she noticed something else as well.

There was something different about him. Free from that hateful cabin, he was no longer gray. Color and life had returned to his cheeks, softening his features and dulling the sharp edges so that a young and handsome man stared back.

She would have recognized that face anywhere.

Alice's throat grew tight. But the smile he gave her warmed her heart even more.

“Your mother's waiting for us,” her father told her, and her heart swelled like a thousand symphonies at the familiar sound of his voice.

Just looking at him, Alice felt like a little girl again.

As he took her hand in his, an electric charge went through her body, and when Alice glanced down at their entwined hands, she saw that hers were now small, smooth, and free of wrinkles. A girlish giggle escaped her lips as she followed him down that bright and beautiful corridor, no longer afraid.