The Bombardier

CHAPTER ONE

Randall Sullivan slumped in the passenger seat aboard a speeding train on its continuing trip between the realms of truth and fantasy. He will awaken, like many others, without a ticket, without any knowledge as to how he arrived in the seat across the aisle from an elderly couple dressed in gray attire. But during his time on this train, he’ll come to understand a mystery few have ever known.

These are the travelers sequestered away from what was their world, who now find themselves languishing between this world and the next. The fast-moving passenger train with connections both physically and spiritually to all things hasn’t stopped since it left the station hundreds of years ago. Some call it the Lightening Train, some call it the Silver Bullet because it travels so fast that no one has ever been able to read the writing on the sides of the numerous passenger compartments.

Within each small cubicle, conversations of times past, memories of almost forgotten experiences, of roles played filled the lackluster dimly lit dining facility where glasses are raised and toasts are made.

Randall Sullivan, a thirty-five-year-old industrial worker who lived in one of the cities frequented by the Runaway Train, has now joined the travelers aboard a train that never stops. The train passed through his town many times before, unable to stop, ever increasing in speed, having no conscience, without reasoning except to get to the next city or town or village on its never-ending trek to be filled with those characters who must make the transition from that world to this train. Those who have spun their tale, and played their roles now share a common bond. Randall was one of those the train needed to retrieve.

Aboard the train, Randall sits asleep, but within moments, he too will sluggishly wake up to join those sitting aboard a rather unpredictable train traveling westward into the setting sun’s dimming rays.

CHAPTER TWO

“Look! He’s comin’ ‘round.” stated the elderly woman.

Randall’s hands were sweating, his shirt was wet with perspiration. He was in the same condition that others on the train had found themselves in as the “awakening” began.

“You reckon he’ll be any more aware of us as we were of the others after he finishes his transition from that world into the “awakening” reality?” asked the man sitting beside the woman who had to have been his wife.

“Hard to say, but there’s one thing for sure Rachel, he’s in for a big surprise!” admitted the woman’s husband.

“You suppose he’ll figure it out? It took us some time to get it all together. It seems the "newcomers” as of late, take a bit longer. And most of them don’t have tickets and are confused by those who do?”

For the old couple, the journey was just that, a journey. For them, their time on the train was one of observation at this point, nothing more. Yet, this man across the aisle may perhaps find a way to help them. But the couple knew their spirits didn't wrestle with "newcomers”. Was there a reason this "newcomer" was waking up in front of them?

Behind them, as the train sped forward into the darkness, life’s lights collapsed never to glow again for some sleepers. Ahead of them, the train’s destiny was laid out in an unbreakable fashion, predestined to replay over and over, predestined to board all who transitioned from that world of illusion outside the train only to find themselves sleeping in a compartment seat soon to awaken from a dream called life.

In the adjourning cars, fore and aft, those who’d begun as strangers in the speeding train soon after the awakening, now raised their glasses effortlessly acknowledging their common imprisonment. They too were without tickets, but unlike Randall, the Conductor had already enlightened them about the train’s secret soon after their awakening. For them, drinks were a final salute to the state in which they’d found themselves.

CHAPTER THREE

Cloaked in uncertainty, the "newcomer" slid back into his seat, lifted his head, and looked around. Unable to determine where he was or how he got there, he remained seated. All he remembered was that he was at home preparing to retire for the evening. The kids were safely tucked in bed and asleep. The furry family member having finished up outside, loomed in front of the glass door waiting to be let back in. His wife, Cheryl, waved her familiar “go let the dog in” wave and returned to her favorite television program without missing a second of the show, which she watched every evening at about the same time.

Within his mind, Randall played the evening’s scenes over and over but failed to find any divergence, any fracture in the family routine that would account for his appearance in the train seat across the aisle from a couple twice his age.

He chastised his soul as he ripped open each memory, each archived thought that might have some meaning, some explanation as to where he was, how he arrived there, and what it was all about. This retrospective approach, this self-examination wasn’t new to him. He often replayed his life’s events, retold its tales, and recited his memories not only for himself but those around him. This moment, this obscure moment in time, he needed to exorcise the appropriate experience or memory to dissect it and establish some perspective on this turn of events he now found himself in.

He closed his eyes, leaned back into his mind, and extracted one of his most recent memorials. He needed to find the tether that anchored him to the life that he knew, his life before awakening on the train. His mind gave him a memory of who he was, what was important to him that might reattach him to his life outside the speeding train. He didn’t have anything of his life but his memories. He retrieved his latest one, his most recent memory, in hopes of regaining some clarity…

… I stand on the placid sea of time where tears have fallen, hearts have been broken, and silence awaits me. It's a familiar place that I've visited before, a place of reflection, a place without solace. In the past, as I remember it, the sea was filled with laughter, love, and life so much so that there wasn't much room for sorrow. At this time, in the aftermath of my family members’ passing, the absence of laughter, love, and life, the silence is deafening. Within me I hold a remnant of their smile, I hold a portion of their love, and within me, there is the spark of life they all gave me. These three things keep all of them alive within me. These three things beckon unto me each day to commune with them, to sit down by the river of mercy upon the banks of peace. Within me, there's a melody like none other. It sings to me of what is to come. Within me, there are words I can't speak nor dare to think. Within me, there are images of all of them that will remain a part of me until we see each other beyond this sea of time, this curtain of uncertainty. The world taught me to say goodbye, but His Word convinces me to say, "Yet in a little while I too will accompany you all into our promise. But until then, I ask you to watch and wait for me. Wait for me by the entrance, I will come to be with you…

As quickly as it came, the memory dissolved into the air and swirled above him. Like a dust devil, it spun faster and faster until it ascended out of his reach. It wasn’t the solace he sought, but unbeknownst to him, he’d shared the memory of his thoughts of a family with the two across the aisle. They listened intently, absorbed by the words of promise, the words of peace, but knowing full well that the train they traveled upon wasn’t going to the "newcomer’s” preconceived destination.

“Sir, Sir, might I trouble you for a moment, for a brief word?” asked the older man as he leaned toward the newly awakened traveler shaken by his discovery of being aboard a speeding train, a runaway train bound for no distinct destination.

“My wife and I couldn’t help but hear you recite some memory, a collection of lines, some soliloquy or tale heretofore known only to you. We too, like you, have had many of those reenactments, those rehearsals, those lucid moments of yesterday’s lines now forever lost in time beyond the windows of this train. We too have awakened here among the many that you see around you. If there be an explanation, some reasoning that can justify us being here, then tell us so that we too might be lifted to your level of faith that what we see is only temporary.

“Why, might I ask that you desire my explanation of my life, my dreams, my lines, my time with its challenges?” asked Randall as he turned to face off with the two who sought to understand who this "newcomer" might be. They wanted to know what this man who’d awakened beside them brought with him, a ticket perhaps, even though he knew nothing of the gift he no longer held in his possession.

Without hesitation, the older gentleman blurted out the obvious. “Young man, we see you have no ticket for the conductor to validate. My wife and I watched you for some time as you delayed your coming, you're awakening here on this train reserved for those who dream while they go about their jobs in the world beyond the train." said the old man as he watched from across the aisle.

The three were strangers. Neither of them knew each other, and neither of them had anything in common with the other except for the train in which they rode. Yet, in this train car, a center passenger car, these three would venture to assume many things about their trip, their understanding of where they were, their prediction as to where they were going, and their revelations that would surely define all three of them once the Conductor made his debut.

“It’s not uncommon for me to speak with strangers, but in this situation, seeing that I have no idea as to how I arrived here, perhaps it’s to my advantage to remain less sociable, at least for now,” responded Randall as he allowed his eyes to disconnect from the two across the aisle.

“But I do know this.” he added, “I know that I was about to retire for the evening when my eyelids fluttered most unexpectedly as if being touched by some unseen hand, as though some person was purposefully pressing them shut,” Randall confessed.

The older couple turned to face each other, smiled, but failed to respond to the comment. They too experienced the same events, but at a much earlier time in their past. It was apparent to them what happened but weren't ready to share the truth with the young man.

Reluctant to appear to be pushy, the older couple waited innocently until the "newcomer" decided to return to the conversation with some choice piece of information, some clarity to his last comment.

“There were a few moments earlier this evening that I experienced some peculiar occurrence at my home. It was after I’d checked my house, all the doors and windows, the children’s rooms, and the back door that I kissed my wife goodnight and fell asleep. During my sleeping hours, as I remember, there was a rap at the door…

“There came a ratatat upon my door during the night. That’s how it began. Who could be standing at my door at 3:00 in the morning? An unwanted visitor one might assume, an unrecognizable figure standing alone on my front porch bearing some message yet untold. As I watched them through my bedroom window, there was no sign of unfamiliarity on their part or mine. It was as if they'd stood there in the same spot on many occasions awaiting an entrance into my anointed fortress, my castle. It's not the first time some wayward vagabond has mistakenly assumed I'd allow entrance and I am sure it won't be the last. Peering through the barrier separating me from them, I felt nothing sinister, nothing diabolical, nothing that would cause me apprehension, but yet within me I recoiled at the thought of answering the door, facing the faceless specter, embracing the unknown. Extremely reticent about my feelings, I gripped the curtain's fitfully realizing that if the stranger wanted to gain entrance, they could easily break the glass at which I stood. Warily, I slowly opened the thin, imaginary barrier a little wider to get a better view of the uninvited guest standing at my door in the wee hours of the morning. Unexpectedly, I watched as the vapor lifted one of its hands and with a shadowy finger pressed my doorbell. I writhed in pain as my heart leaped within me having been startled by the sound of the bell reverberating in the hallway outside my bedroom. Then, as before, I remembered this visitor standing on my doorstep, one of many visitors who've made their way into my world only to be captured and archived away by some unseen hand of light passing by at the most opportune moment to save me. And as before, I realized where I was, what was happening, and awakened myself from this reoccurring dream, this nightmare that left me sweating, and heart palpitating. For me, dreams have a fascinating way of allowing my mind to be free. Thankfully, this particular dream, or what I thought was a dream, only visited my sleeping moments.” confessed Randall as he lifted his head to see the expressions on the faces of the two across the aisle.

After listening to the young man’s words, his confession regarding his nocturnal experiences, the old couple simply smiled at one another reluctant to offer their interpretation of his nightly venture, his escapade back and forth into the world in which he now resides.

His arrival this time, like all of the others before him and like those yet to come, was one with no return. Once the “awakening” occurs, there is no going back without a ticket, no matter how hard one may try to regain that which was lost, those who’ve awakened without a ticket never return to the dream world from which they were snatched.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Sir, it appears to me that you and your wife have been traveling on this train for quite some time. I mean your clothes are, well, not of this era, not of this time, my time. Your clothes have no color remaining.” Randall remarked in a respectful tone.

Neither of the two across the aisle from Randall wanted to divulge the secret of the train. Neither wanted to toss the young man into a chaotic state that would precipitate an avalanche of questions. It wasn’t their job to sound the alarms. If that were to occur too soon, if the truth be made known to one who had just awakened out of a dream, there would be uncontrollable chaos. Once imprisoned on the train with no ticket for release, the truth was that the color begins to fade away as the years passed.

Randall’s dream, the one he shared with the older married couple, was not a dream at all. It was a reality that was shared by each of the sleepers who became the “awakened” who now ride the train.

Randall wasn’t ready for that revelation. He wasn’t ready to accept the fact that all of the train’s occupants were sharing the same experience, an illusion that, unbeknownst to them, their lives weren’t real, but mere lines upon a page. He was under the impression that his life, the dream from which he’d awakened, was real. He assumed the house he’d called home was real. He took for granted the fact that his children playing around his feet, running in the backyard, laughing together as all children do were his, but it was all just a dream, a dream called life shared by all of the people aboard the train. Many of the passengers were still living in the dream, yet to awaken into reality.

For the older couple, the time on the train span many decades. Their arrival, like that of the young man across the aisle, was unexpected and disturbing. Yet, since their awakening, the two became aware that only a few on this train had a ticket for the Conductor should he venture from the office in the next car to collect them. His arrival and his questioning of the whereabouts of everyone’s ticket would create yet another ambiguity for all of the riders who were newly awake. Randall had no ticket, no memory of his arrival, no retention of what might have happened.

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but how long have you two been traveling?” asked Randall as he shifted slightly in the seat to get a better view of the couple who’d shown so much interest in his story, his dream, as he called it.

For a moment, the couple looked around him at the other travelers beyond the windows that separated each compartment. And for the moment, they were reticent to answer for fear of giving the train’s secret away. There were others who’d asked the same question over the time they had been traveling, but those individuals, those travelers suddenly disappeared, vanished into thin air with tickets in hand. Some awakened and disappeared in a matter of weeks or even days, but not them. They were “antique” travelers, as they liked to say. Having awakened many decades before Randall’s arrival, they had seen many come, they had heard many ask the same questions as those now being asked by the "newcomer". Over their time in the awakened state, the couple would venture to tally their visitations with those who had awakened then disappeared in the hundreds, perhaps maybe more. But who’s to say, who’s accountable for the “awakenings” and “disappearances” aboard the runaway train that never stops?

“Perhaps it’s better that you ask the Conductor these questions young man. He should be along shortly. If there’s anyone aboard this train that can allay your concerns as to why you’re here, how you got here, and why you have no ticket, well, he’d be the one to ask.” stated the older gentleman as he caressed his wife’s hand.

“He’ll not understand,” she whispered. “He’ll not understand until, well, until it’s too late,” she added.

CHAPTER FIVE

“The train with all of its uncertainty, all of its peculiarity, all of its mystical twists and turns along the rails on which it has become destined to ride for eons, will never release those who wake up in its clutches without some spiritual, some mystical intervention, some act of contrition and a ticket that gains them access back into the dream world from which they came.” offered the old woman as she leaned around her husband who was reluctant to reveal even the smallest of details. “It’s the way things are done here aboard this train.”

Once she’d made the statement and offered some insight into what was happening aboard the “runaway train”, the old woman leaned back out of sight as if she were trying to hide behind her husband, a more formidable opponent aboard the train than he was in their dream world from which they had awakened out of decades ago.

“And what exactly does that mean?” asked the “newcomer" as he blinked his eyes to clear the mist of reality that was settling all around him.

In the other compartments, both fore and aft, one could see glasses being filled, raised high, and salutations lauded for all to hear. There must’ve been some reason that only a few of the compartments were embroiled in merriment while others were filled with passengers weeping, lamenting, eyes swelling, faces flushed with fear. No, it wasn’t the same for some of the others. In some of the compartments, the harsh reality was more than some could bear. Their “dream” worlds, now forever lost in time, were mere illusions. The sojourners now had to contend with the reality that they would never leave the train as some have before them. For them, the train had become just another nightmare filled with nightmarish people locked away from salvation, locked away by their minds, their deeds heretofore committed in the dream world they had called “life”.

“So, what I’m hearing from you two is that you have been here for a long time. You boarded the train at some distant time in the past and have been riding this train ever since. Does that about cover it?” Randall asked urgently seeking an acceptable answer, one that would make sense.

As he waited for the couple to respond, there was some kind of commotion that caught his attention in the adjoining forward car. Someone was yelling something that didn’t make any more sense than the conversation that he was having with the old married couple.

……..

“I don’t have a ticket!” someone shouted.

“Why wasn’t I given a ticket?”

“That’s not my concern. That’s not my responsibility, that was your writer’s responsibility. Now, since you don’t have a ticket, you’ll have to be moved to a different compartment, one that’s further back toward the end of the train.” stated the Conductor as he ordered the traveler to get up and go to the next compartment, the compartment occupied by Randall and the older couple, and take a seat.

It was peculiar that the Conductor only stopped at the seats of the people who were awake. From where Randall was sitting, he could see many, many other people asleep in their seats. The Conductor completely ignored them, nor did he awaken them to collect their ticket if they possessed one. It was Randall’s opinion that he wasn’t the only one without a ticket aboard this train. Perhaps none of the riders who were awake had tickets.

“Excuse me, Sir, but may I ask you a question?” quizzed Randall as he turned to satisfy his curiosity.

“But of course, young man.” replied the older man.

“Do either of you have a ticket? Did you wake up on this train as I have done? And those, those who are still asleep in all of the other compartments, the ones the Conductor ignores, will they have tickets when they wake up?” he asked. “And, if I may ask, what happens to those without a ticket? I mean, are we required to move further back into the last passenger compartments and wait? What do we have to do to pay for our fare to secure our ticket? What is the price we have to pay to ride this train to our eventual destination?” quizzed the "newcomer" filled with anxiety, filled with desperation.

Turning to face the elderly woman who’d made an extra attempt to inform him of his situation without telling him the story, Randall reached deep within himself, a soul-searching moment, seeking some plausible answer, some acceptable reason that could be used for his negotiation, his bartering for the ticket he lacked. Even though he didn’t know what it might look like or its value, he assumed it was a fair exchange between him and the Conductor to allow him to exit the train at the next feasible time.

“When you've done all that you can do when you've spoken all the words that were expected to calm the discord when you've grieved the last ounce of who you are over people that you love when the answers seem as though they'll never come, then you will know how a father feels behind closed doors alone with his prayers, acting out the lines of script, playing the part he was assigned, accompanied by an all too familiar state of solitude. This was my life. Is that not enough for me to pay for this ticket that I need to present to the Conductor who has yet to confront me?” asked the "newcomer" lacking understanding as to where he’d come from and where it was that he had arrived, and his eventual destination.

The elderly couple listened to the regale of the burdened soul sitting near them. It wasn’t their place to tell him that it wasn’t the deeds done in the imaginary place called life that he thought he was living that would release him from the train. It wasn’t the anticipation of becoming more than any other individual or possessing great wealth. No, the train was filled with the participants, individuals who were parts of other people’s dreams in the place outside the cars riding upon the rails of eternity.

Randall sits quietly trying to understand, trying to fit the pieces of a puzzle together that no one had been able to complete for him. It was his goal to find out for himself what had happened to him. He was determined to confront the Conductor as soon as he made himself available.

“Young man, as you might’ve already discerned, there are different groups of passengers here aboard the train. As you’ve already pointed out, some remain asleep. There are those, like you who have awakened. Some are jubilant, and there are those full of sorrow. You’ve seen them yourself. But what you don’t know is what all of this means. As I mentioned earlier, it’s not up to me to unravel this mystery. It’s not up to me to tell you how you arrived here and why. But, as you’ve already decided, it’s the Conductor who holds the key to your release, if there be one for you. For me and my husband, this is our end. There is nowhere else for us to go. The pages of our lives have been filled; words splashed upon the pages of someone’s life beyond the walls of this train that gave us life. So, there you have it, the truth about us. We don’t grieve. We’ve come to grips with the truth about who we are and we are at peace.” surrendered the old woman as she grasped her husband's arm for reassurance.

Randall looked at the old woman and felt as if she’d told him the truth. Her explanation was unusual, but the truth was the truth nevertheless. He felt it was her last and best attempt to resolve her anxiety about being imprisoned in a train that now has become her home.

“Tickets, tickets!” shouted the Conductor as he stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him.

“Tickets, I say tickets!” he announced for the third time.

“Sir, you, young man, do you have your ticket? You must have a ticket. Anyone your age, with your talent, your promise of great things ahead must have a ticket.” he stated as he pulled out the hole punch he used to validate the dimensional ticket that allowed those on the train to leave, to ascend back into the dream world.

“Sir, I don’t have a ticket. I’ve tried to understand what the ticket might be, what its value is, and how to claim one or purchase one, but no one seems to know. Everyone has told me to ask you. So, sir, Mr. Conductor, what is the ticket you keep asking for and how do I claim it?” Inquired Randall as he sit up straight in his seat, fully awake, ready to hear what the Conductor had to say.

Looking from one end of the train to the other, through the windows that divided the compartments, the Conductor was ready to tell the “newcomer” where he was and who he was. He was ready to tell him something he might not want to hear. But the truth is the truth no matter who is telling it.

“Randall, yes, I know your name, sir. This is the first time you’ve awakened here aboard my train called reality. What you see before you are all characters used by writers in what you call “life”. You and all of the others here represent characters in the author’s books. Once the story has been told, the pages finished upon which you’ve played your part, you arrive here to awaken to reality. Those who you see who are still asleep, their stories aren’t finished, their author hasn’t finished writing their story. But, in time, they will awaken as well. Your ticket would’ve allowed you to become another character in another book or story, but alas, your tale has been told. There aren’t any more stories for you to play a part in. That’s what this fine couple wanted to tell you, but, as they mentioned, it wasn’t their story to tell. The passengers who disappear, those with tickets, still have a part to play in a novel being penned by some author. If one has no ticket, the characters no longer have a part in an author’s story. It’s quite simple if you think about it. Don’t you think?” asked the Conductor as he turned away from a character who had no ticket and made his way through the crowd looking for those who did.