Terminus Unknown

Out of a murky abyss, I awakened to a horn blaring through my fog. The warning blast rose in pitch to a peak and ended with a staccato burst. In the resulting silence, a perpetual pulse emanated like the mantle clock on my grandmother's hearth. The horn trumpeted again like Archangel Michael in the heavens with the coda of a constant bell intoning a departure. Blind to sight, absolute darkness engulfed me. Confused, I commanded my hands to explore, but my trusted appendages had joined my eyes in rebellion. A horn, a bell? I must be on a train. Why a train? Where am I? Where are we going?

As a child, I was enamored by trains because they represented journeys to the unknown, like the Taj Mahal or the Great Wall of China. I would observe the London Terminus and ponder the multitude of passengers as they departed. I would wonder about their final destinations and imagine them as adventurers. Turban-shrouded men, immigrants in flowing robes of color, businessmen in dapper attire, and others dressed for an Easter parade entered the iron beast to be transported to the wonders of the world. Arrivals were deposited into the city that manifested in the growing diversity of London. The majestic machines represented the best of modern inventions as they plowed through barriers and pierced sovereign borders. My thrill of trains was destroyed at nineteen when one carried me to the battlefront. Cold and deliberately, the monster deposited me at the gates of a fiery hell in Italy. Like water on a flame, my passion for the machines dissipated as steam lost into the night.

Michelle, the love of my life, stood on the station platform near my childhood observation post when my regiment deployed. Her radiant mask hid the anguish in her heart, and my princess smiled, flourished the British flag with one gloved hand, and waved goodbye with the other. The spectacular image anchored my hope to return home, where she waited to welcome me. I dream of this moment often as a reprieve from the bloody realities of my mortality.

Where are you, Michelle? I need you.

George, my brother and friend, where are you?

My best friend and brother soldier and I are forever bonded together. We survived the trials of childhood, the mysteries of the teen years, and graduated from school together. We enlisted in the army, endured infantry training, charged enemy positions, and faced the violent devastation of war side by side. The two of us cried when comrades died, and our trust in each other became the glue of our shattered sanity. He can help me.

I attempted to speak his name to no avail. The human wireless transmitter, my lips, betrayed me and joined my body's rebellion. I am afraid because I’ve been abandoned to wallow in the gloom of my own mind.

***

A definitive rhythmic clacking accelerated outside his berth and rose in frequency and volume.

I recognize the sound. The train is moving, and I pray this connector of worlds is transporting me home to my Michelle.

"Tickets, please. Have your tickets out and ready, please," reverberated a rich baritone voice through the wall of the berth.

Finally, the conductor is doing his duty. He can answer my questions; how did I arrive here, and where are we going? I will request he light the lamps.

The baritone voice came closer but faded to an obscure distance.

Is this a runaway train, and I’ve been kidnapped without a ticket? He skipped my berth. Am I a leper? Mauled to disdain? As a citizen, a soldier of the Crown, do not I deserve to be attended to like every other passenger? Am I abhorrent to the eye, or is he a pacifist who despises a warrior?

The pervading ticks of the clock, the only response to his outburst, lulled him into a hypnotic rest. Hours passed without change as his mind strained to discover answers. Voices from the passageway alerted him, and he listened.

"Mr. Smiley, have you completed your duties?" the baritone voice said.

"Yes sir, Mr. Riley, all passengers and tickets are accounted for from the rear."

"And the Members of Parliament are present?"

"Yes sir."

"Any problems or suspicion I need to be made aware of?"

"No, sir. The normal requests for our estimated time of arrival.”

"And you answered them?"

"I don't know, sir.”

"You don't know the time, or you don't remember how you responded?

"I don't know the time of arrival, sir."

"Excellent, we are approaching Rochester. In fifteen minutes, we will cross the River Medway Viaduct. You need to head to the Guard's Van at the rear and leap into the river when the train slows. Otherwise, you will die in the blast. We are going blow this train off the tracks and send its passengers to hell on a forever journey. Understand?"

"Yes, sir, Heil...

"Stop, not here, you idiot!"

Oh, my god! Saboteurs are on board. I have to warn someone, but who and how?

The racket of the metal wheels on the rails and the clock's ticking became a cacophony of sound. The noise irritated his mind and hindered his concentration.

Why did they bypass me? I am immobilized and mute, and this incessant clock drives me mad. The Railroad companies do not want passengers to be reminded of time.

A memory of the Army explosive's instructor and gruff voice flashed into his mind.

"The simplest trigger for an improvised explosive is a Big Ben Alarm clock. When the minute hand strikes the desired time, a heavy mechanical spring is released to close a wired circuit. You can arm and disarm the trigger by sliding the brass stem on the back to either on or off. The portable clock has a unique sound. Listen," the Sergeant said. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock ...

The bastard’s placed a bomb with a Big Ben trigger in my compartment.

Alert to the coming devastation and death of many, he visualized the oversized clock in the imagination of his mind. The brass slide protruded from the back of the oval alarm.

Time is running out, and I need help. How can I disarm the bomb? Please, someone, help me.

With the traumas of war, he had not thought about his grandmother in years. In his strain to find a solution, a random memory flooded his thoughts. At ten years old, he had visited her home and thought her a bit crazy. He had forgotten most of the tall tales she had shared while they sat by the fireplace in the chill of winter. The visit had been momentous as it was his last. He envisioned her face and replayed her voice in his mind.

"The mind is a wondrous tool. Humans only utilize ten percent of their brain power and limit what they can accomplish. Those who dare expand their minds are pummeled and bullied by society. They are deemed different and called terrible names," she said, "You are like me, Jamie. If you concentrate with enough willpower, you can physically move objects. They call it telekinesis. The more powerful the reason, the simpler it is to accomplish. But be warned, you will be rejected by your peers when your talent is discovered."

She placed a penny on the table.

"I love you with all my heart, Jamie, and I want you to have this penny. It will bring you happiness at the candy store. I am fixated on the moment of joy your face will reveal when the sugar dissolves on your tongue. The smile I envision brings me delight through this piece of copper."

She stared at the penny, and seconds later, the metal disc slid unaided across the table. Later, he told his father about Nanna's trick, and his dad cuffed him on the back of his head.

"Nonsense, erase the thoughts of magic out of your head. This is the real world, and I won't tolerate you repeating her antics." he said, "This foolishness is the reason our neighbors think she’s crazy. You will not visit her again, understand?"

Nanna's words echoed in his mind. "You are like me, Jamie. If you concentrate with enough willpower, you can physically move objects."

A piercing woman's voice interrupted his thoughts and reverberated through the wall.

"Excuse me. Anyone? Has anyone seen the conductor? I need his assistance. Hello, anyone?"

The thump of a fist pounded a wooden door.

"Is anyone in there?" she demanded. A man's unfriendly voice responded.

"Ma'am, this a private berth and my wife is napping, go away before I call the conductor," he said.

"Please do, then I will find the shirker," she said.

The enemy has done their evil work, and time is short. I must focus, or we all die.

Jamie recalled the last date with Michelle. He loved her and desired to be with her for the rest of his life. The sun had reflected off the Thames and accentuated her yellow flowered sundress as they picnicked under fair blue skies. Faint wisps of Blue Grass perfume on her neck infiltrated the remembrance of their last kiss, and she said the immortal words, "I love you, Jamie, and I will be here waiting when you come home."

The deep bond of friendship with George, his brother at arms, joined with Michelle in the mental imagery of those he loved most. Their lifetime relationship began in the third grade when a sixth-grade bully cornered and pummeled him behind the school. George, always bulky for his age, rushed in and fought off his attackers at the price of a black eye and bloody nose. They spent many nights in a foxhole and guarded each other's backs. When the wedding day came for his marriage to Michelle, George would be his best man. The love for his dearest friends illuminated his mind with a crushing desire to see Michelle and George again.

The consistent background tones of the train's metal wheels on the rails slowed. Once sharp, the impacts became dull and without resonance.

We are crossing the river. Concentrate Dammit! One minute.

The alarm clock slowly spun in his mental vision. The brass pin zoomed into his focus and shone from the pinpoint of his energy. Push! He thought of Michelle, and a cerebral burst of light flashed like micro lightning. Jamie released all his pent-up emotions, and the metal stem slid from on to off. Wearied, curtains of black threatened to collapse his mental vision and return him to the abyss.

No! I will complete this mission.

The diminished thuds of braked wheels continued to pulse in sync with the clock for a perceived eternity.

What if this is all in my manic mind, and I have killed everyone? Was my Nanna's mind cracked, and I inherited her genes? I dashed into the face of the enemy at Monte Cassino and carried my wounded brothers to safety, but I could not save everyone. I will not fail again.

A Sharp explosion of metal on metal rumbled into a staccato of thumps as the train resumed the steady rattle from the far side of the river. The glorious percussion equal to the timpani in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony rang in his mind. Elation resounded with emotion like the Ode to Joy through his awareness. The bomb had failed to detonate.

Thank you, thank you, Nanna. We won.

***

The locomotive pulled into the London Terminus, and George stepped from the lead car to the platform before it had stopped entirely. With the stoic stance of a marble sculpture, Michelle greeted him with an abbreviated hug.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" George said, and she nodded in the affirmative as tears pooled in her eyes.

"Yes, I have to see him," she said. "I stood on this exact platform and promised him I would be here when he returned home."

He escorted her to Jamie's private berth and slid open the wood door. Blue fabric adorned with St. George and St. Andrew crosses draped an oak casket. As the profound silence stole their breath at the realization of the significant loss, George snapped to attention.

“My dearest brother, you saved my life and I am forever grateful, “he said. Michelle clung to George’s arm and wept.

"Oh, my Jamie, my precious love," she said, “I’m here, darling.”

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock...

Alarmed with battlefield awareness, George stepped closer, folded the flag to the lower half of the oaken box, and pulled open the casket's lid. Sleeves of dynamite surrounded the body of the hero of Monte Cassino, and a disarmed alarm clock rested against Jamie's cold hand.

I love you, Michelle and George. It is finished, yet I am content once more with the ones I love. The dark curtains slip closed with my encore complete. The horn blasts once more, and the bell rings, for I have boarded a different train to a terminus unknown.