THE JOURNEY

I open my eyes and the dim light stirs the nausea which moves through me in slow waves. I steady my breathing, drop back into the darkness and the swirling waves of nausea slow enough that I will not be sick. At least, not in the immediate future.

There are sounds, clacking sounds which as I enter the world of consciousness pound at my head while the gnarled fingers of a hangover knead my brain’s soft tissue.

Slowly, I pull myself up to a seated position. My body aches.

Easy does it, I think, nice and slow.

I am in an empty railway car. There are a couple bunks at one end, a few benches in the middle and a round, dining table and counter with what looks like a coffee maker and small refrigerator at the other end.

I look out the window at a blur of speeding colors and turn quickly away, the speed of the flashing colors agitates my nausea to the point of vomiting. I close my eyes, the spinning slows, and the nausea settles in my stomach like sediment drifting to the bottom of a shallow river.

I remember a steady flow of alcohol, a room spinning, big, laughing faces, and excited voices. I don’t remember going home. No, I did leave. It is dark out. I remember the car spinning into space.

There is a puff as the pressurized door by the bunks open and a dark uniformed man wearing a conductor hat, which is two sizes too small for his round head, enters.

The man looks pleasant, medium built, with grey, closely trimmed hair. Middle age, I guess. The man walks calmly down the aisle straight towards me and stands by my bench, smiles.

”Where am I,” I ask. It hurts to say the words, stirs the acid in my stomach. I let my eyes close to slits. My head drops back.

The conductor sits on the bench across the aisle, answers in a soft voice, “how are you feeling today sir?”

“Terrible,” I mumble noting his British accent.

“I expect so sir, after all that self-medicating last night. Here drink this please,” he smiles, holds out a saucer and a cup.

I am not thinking clearly so I take it. The drink has a gentle smell to it. I take a sip of the lukewarm brew. It tastes faintly of cinnamon. I take a deeper swallow. In moments the aches and nausea fade noticeably away.

“Better?” the conductor asks.

“Much,” I say, "why are we going so fast?”

“The speed is tied to your anxiety, your emotional state. To slow the train sir you just need to calm yourself. Take a gentle breath. Imagine yourself in a beautiful place. Take your time.”

His voice is clear, and soft. Soothing. I don’t know why but I trust him.

I close my eyes and pull an easy breath. Then another. I see snow falling quietly through the dark arms of trees. A slate colored creek winds out of the distance, past the snowy banks. I hear the gurgle of the creek, feel the cold wind, and see the branches waving in a gentle dance. The clacking sounds become less frantic, melt into the quiet. The car seems more stable, less likely to fly off of the tracks.

My eyes open. The stream of colors in the window has slowed and I see snow falling gently through bare trees. It is the same snow I saw moments ago in my vision of a beautiful place. The earth tips upward from the train and ragged rocks show themselves through the snow. We are in the mountains.

“We thought you’d like that sir,” says the conductor happily, “snowy mountains and all.” He wiggles his fingers on one hand, simulating the falling snow, and moves his hand down from a shoulder to his waist.

I say with more strength than I feel, “and, just how do you know that?” I feel much better now, take another generous swallow of the feel good liquid. “This stuff is great, Jeeves,” I say, “a miracle drink.”

“Yes sir. We use it often.” He pauses a moment, and the pale grey eyes remind me of calm waters. “My name is William sir. Not Jeeves. You may call me William.”

“Ok William,” I say. “You might understand that I am feeling a bit curious here. So, what may I ask is going on?”

“Very well,” says William in his friendliest tone. “I believe you are ready. The answer to your second question is that ultimately, you will have your choice of several very pleasant places.”

“Greaaaaat,” I say. Jeeves ignores the sarcasm in my voice.

“You see Kyle, you are a special case. There are many trains, but this particular train is like a way station. When you left the ‘lounge’ last night you decided to drive.” He was waving his finger at me. “There was an accident. Luckily you didn’t hurt anyone, except yourself and the cliff guardrail. You actually wound up in the ocean, so the overall destruction was, considering the speed you were travelling, quite minimal. That is why you are here.”

“Am I the only passenger on this train?” I say.

“Initially Kyle, you are isolated from the others. The adjustment is often, understandably difficult. I think that you are doing very well, and will probably get to meet the other passengers, if you wish.”

“What’s this about me being a special case?” I ask, finally thinking I’ve asked a question which will give me some clarity.

“Well sir, you are young. What…twenty-two? Your life, due to the recklessness of youth, has been cut tragically short. We feel it is unfair that you have not even begun to experience life and so, are being given another chance. Do you understand sir?”

“Makes perfect sense Jeeves. You are telling me I am dead due to a drunken car accident and, I am riding on this train in outer space somewhere, and may be given another chance at life by, let’s call him, Mr x. Is that correct?”

“Exactly Kyle.” William leans back and slaps his knee. “You’ve got it.”

“William,” I say sitting back to look at him, “this is insane.”

“Of course, it would seem so. I understand,” William says nodding sincerely.

He continues and his voice becomes more excited, “the beauty of this situation is that you truly have a second chance. How many people can say that? Our experience is that most people would have made different choices somewhere along in their life. You get that chance.”

Clearly, Jeeves is quite enthusiastic about this.

William continues. “There are lots of people whose lives are unfairly cut short. Look at children who have cancer and suffer not, really having a chance at a 'normal' life. How about the people who suffer a life with deformities or illness? People are killed in random shootings. I love this job because we give these people a chance to have a great life.”

I say, “me, I cut my life short by driving drunk, while these other people truly suffer, and I am rewarded with another chance?”

“Well,” says William, “to be honest Kyle, you barely made the cut, but we achieved a brief glimpse of your future, which was very encouraging. Ultimately, you outgrow your juvenile pursuits, find your calling, settle into your life and really make a difference in the lives of children.”

I pause. “Am I taking somebody else’s seat on this second chance train, somebody more deserving?”

“No, and another reason we chose you is because you would ask that question. We know you would want someone more deserving to have your place.” William pauses. “Those selfless individuals are the kind of people we want.”

“How long is this train anyway?” I ask, thinking this is one of the more meaningless questions I could ask.

“As long as it needs to be. Kyle, this train is not constrained by physical limitations. It is actually a visual construct which humans can understand. It helps with your adjustment. Don’t worry about the physical concerns involved. They don’t really apply in our situation.”

William asks, “So, what do you think?”

I think a few moments, say, “well, I would definitely like another chance. I have learned a lot and I will not disappoint you.”

“Wonderful Kyle.” William stands and holds out his hand. I shake it with all the good intention and commitment I can feel.

William continues. “We are considering where to reinsert you in time, will have your choices soon.”

“You mean I won’t restart my life as me?” I ask feeling a tremor of doubt.

“Sorry, no. What I can say is you will have great options,” William says with conviction. “You see we reinsert you into the future.”

“The future?” I am surprised by that one.

William continues. “Consider the classic analogy of flipping a pebble into the still pond. That tiny pebble creates ripples which radiate outward, a ‘ripple effect’, and effectively change the texture of the entire pond. So, if we insert you in the past there is a disruption, ‘ripples’, the magnitude of these are hard to predict, and at this time, we are not prepared to deal with them.”

“Kyle, we place you in the future, a vast and unpainted canvas. This future type of reinsertion does not cause a ‘ripple effect’ because the future has not yet been written. There is nothing to disrupt.”

I think this over, try to absorb it. Makes sense. Sort of.

“There are other considerations Kyle. For example, there are parallel universes to consider and time itself, the great canvas, is minimally understood, even to us. This becomes very complicated as you can see. We have good success dealing with the parts we know and so we insert people like you into the future which has not yet been determined, and so, your appearance in time is not disruptive. Understand?”

“Kind of,” I say. “So where I go in the future is unknown.”

“At this time, yes. You will have some very interesting choices,” says William. “Let’s see what we come up with and you can decide then. We expect to have your options in the morning.”

William pushes up from the bench and smiles at me. “This is an exciting time for you Kyle. I can’t wait to learn of your opportunities. I bid you good night, sir."

I stand and shake hands. William turns and heads for the door.

I sit back down, trying to process what I have just heard.

Can it really be true or have I been knocked gaga by the accident and am enjoying some type of medically induced hallucination?

****

I hear the puff of the decompression door at the other end of the car, the refreshment end, which I am facing.

Holy crap, I think and sit up, my back straight. I experience a burst of alertness and am glad the rest of the car is empty.

The woman entering the car is, at first glance, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She is my idea of physical perfection. She has shoulder length blonde hair, an athletic figure, tight jean shorts, a white halter showing a generous portion of her back, and sandals.

I stand and she, not aware of my presence, leans over the snack table giving me a wonderful view of her backside.

I experience a burst of testosterone and I release a goofy smile. Typical male, I think almost laughing. Even though I am literally dead, I still get a nice jolt from a beautiful woman. Hilarious.

“Hello,” I say.

She turns, startled. She smiles a wide smile at me. “Oh sorry,” she says, “I didn’t know there was an intake.”

From the front, she is even more beautiful.

Classic Scandinavian looks, I think. The eyes are large and warm, lips are full and curl seductively around that brilliant white smile.

I am not thinking too clearly, normally would have been more withdrawn, but not now. I walk straight to her, summoning my inner Bruce Willis.

“So,” I say trying to make conversation, “come here often?”

She laughs. “No,” she says, “first time.”

“My name’s Kyle,” I say.

Her eyes are a soft blue, reminding me of tropical waters. They are flashing with happiness. I feel them looking straight into mine.

“I’m Darla,” she says. Her voice is playful.

“Did you have a car accident also?” I ask. May as well get right to it.

“No,” she says pulling her hair back over her ear. “I took my own life. In the suicide car, they like us to mingle. They think it helps us adjust.”

She is surprisingly open, I think, but we are all on the same train. No shame here.

“How…?” I ask the sentence trails off.

“Oh, don’t worry. Nothing as exciting as a gun, or cutting, or whatever else. All I could think of was pills. A cry for help they are saying in my group. I was just too good at it.”

“Depression?” I ask. “It is just so hard to believe. I mean you are so gorgeous.” I say it with such enthusiasm she becomes uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, “I am used to that spontaneous ‘beauty’ comment. I suppose I am beautiful. I just don’t feel that way at all. Surprisingly, I feel very unattractive, to be honest, ugly.”

She smiles weakly, not nearly with the radiance she displayed moments ago.

“It's fine,” she says tossing her hair.

She shocks me with, “Maybe we can meet later and have a coffee.”

“Great,” I say. Striving to say something interesting I say, “I drove my car over a cliff.” She looks at me quizzically. “I was drunk,” I explain with a smile.

“That’s nice,” she says her eyes opening in questioning disbelief. “I would still like to meet for coffee,” she says with a laugh, “but I suggest you stop talking before you blow this.”

“Great,” I say with some cheer. “How about first thing in the morning?”

“I have group in the morning," she say, "maybe after that.”

I watch her float to the door. She turns and catches me watching, laughs and waves me a bye’- bye with a beautiful smile.

“One more thing,” she says turning back to me, “does this car always move so fast?”

“Oh,” I say realizing the streaming colors in the window are a blur again and the car is shaking as it rockets along the track. “I will talk to them about that. I mean, I have talked to them. They are going to fix it. Soon.”

She laughs again and disappears through the door.

****

Having been killed and all, I am exhausted. Surprisingly the pains are minimal, having been saved by the miracle drink given me by Jeeves. I walk to the back of the car where a couple of bunks are set up. I pull back the curtain and roll into a lower bunk. I close my eyes and, picturing Darla, I fall immediately into the darkness.

Almost instantly I hear the decompression puff at the door just beside my bunk.

Someone is shaking me. It is William.

“So much for your inner Bruce Willis,” he says. “Now, to answer your question, no, there are no cameras in the cars. We felt the burst of testosterone two cars over.”

I have no response.

He continues. “We have no time, Kyle. Meet you at the cafeteria at the end of the car. Hurry please.” His voice is filled with urgency.

I roll to the side of the bed, rub my hair and eyes, stumble to my feet and shuffle towards the other end of the car. The rhythmic, clackety-clack of the train, is just background noise now. Outside, it is snowing steadily in the dusky light of the approaching night.

I walk barefoot over the cool floor towards the far end of the car. William is seated, looking into his coffee. I sit across from him, still filled with the haze of sleep. I don’t speak.

His eyes come up to mine.

“We don’t have a lot of time, so I am cutting the BS,” William says.

“That’s a first,” I say.

“A situation has come up. We have had a glimpse into the future. It is a shooter situation. Elementary school. You can save a lot of lives.”

“Why me?” I mutter trying to process the info.

“You have been processed and are ready to be reinserted. We have a shortage of candidates. You’re it. You can save children. Sorry, this is your opportunity.”

“What happened to my choices,” I say stalling the inevitable.

“Sorry Kyle, there are no other choices. This is your option. You can do a lot of good here. It is very dangerous. We hope you are ready.”

“This is pretty fast William.”

“We do not normally access timely glimpses into the future. We are usually too late to make a difference. There is barely time. If you go now, you will be in inserted at the school just prior to the killer arriving. Your task is to stop him with any means available.”

Damn. There really is only one answer. There goes my date with Darla.

“Well,” I say, “I’m already dead. Let’s go.”

“Good,” says William nodding. There is a determination in his eyes I have not seen before.

He is up and moving, stops after a few steps and turns to me, “well?”

I spring up and follow him out of the car. We are heading for a different part of the train. I see no one.

We enter a scientific type of lab. Looks like I am going to be operated on. There is a white gowned female with a handful of nurses pattering around.

“Lay down please,” says one of the nurses smiling. Her hand is extended towards a tube like ‘bed’.

“Shall we dress him?” Murmurs a female voice in the background.

“No time.”

“Kyle,” says William, “good luck. We are sending a few other ‘clients’ to the scene. As many as we can. You may see them.” His eyes look into mine. He puts two fingers at the bill of his cap, snaps off a small salute, nods.

“Thank you,” he says. He turns away leaving me with a handful of nurse type figures moving quietly around the room.

“So,” I say to know one in particular, “what are you going to do? Beam me out of here?”

The person in charge, an attractive Asian lady dressed in white, comes over to me, says, “sort of. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just relax and lay back. We have been preparing for forty-five minutes. We need you to get ready, and that means relax. Close your eyes and focus on a beautiful place.” She nods to someone who, to my surprise, slides a pair of large, tinted glasses onto my face.

I close my eyes and see the snow falling gently through the dark arms of the trees. It is very quiet. I feel myself sinking.

“Confirm the coordinates,” I hear. Her voice is far away. There is movement in the room.

I feel my breathing deepen. I see the snow falling and then, I hear a gentle hum which doesn’t fit with the scenery. My last thought before I fall into the spinning vortex of colors is that I have virtually no instructions.

****

I open my eyes, am laying on a cement sidewalk outside of a low, brick building with lots of windows. The sign next to me reads Obama Elementary.

I stand up, getting my bearings. Then, I remember and move quickly for the double doors of the building, looking around me for the prospective shooter. Children are lined up at a distant door, reentering the building. The heat is baking hot.

I hate the heat and am sweating already. My skin is itching.

Across the top of the chain link fence, I see a solitary individual with a dark hat. He is about fifty yards away and moving briskly along the fence in my general direction. His sidewalk runs the length of the school, intersects several other walks which turn straight for the school entrances.

I am at the doors and push through. I see a security uniform coming towards me. He is watching me closely.

“What is your business sir?” he asks removing his thumbs from the front of his belt and placing them lightly on his hips in a more ready position. He is smiling but watching my facial expressions carefully.

“I am sorry, I have an important message for the principle. Urgent.” I am smiling, looking as nonthreatening as I can. I notice he is carrying a revolver at his side. His hand moves from his hip to the butt of the revolver.

Should I share the information about the shooter with him?

He takes a second to study me.

“Look,” I say spreading my hands before me, “I am sorry but” I punch him as hard as I can in the stomach. I make good penetration before his hands instinctively snap to block but they are too late. He grunts, bends over clearly in pain. I recoil and right fist the side of his jaw. Surprisingly, he staggers but doesn’t go down. I step up to him, slip a leg behind him and push him over it. He goes down.

“Sorry,” I say, “no time.” I fumble for his pistol and have it before he can block me. “There is a shooter.”

I run down the hall in the direction of the door I think the shooter will come through.

Luckily, the halls are empty. The floors shiny. A teacher sees me. I start waving frantically, waving her out of the hall. She ducks into a room and closes the door.

Another teacher appears, pops out of a door right nearby. My finger is in front of my lips.

“There is a shooter in the school,” I whisper, “lock the door.” She disappears back into the classroom.

I hear the tap of hard soled boots. The sound stops. I think it comes from the nearby, intersecting hall.

The tapping is quieter, slower, deliberate, and it is growing closer.

I duck into a recessed classroom doorway, pressing my back up to a wall.

The tapping starts again. It is slow as if he suspects something.

I slide my head to the edge of the wall so I can see down the hallway. I move very slowly because I know, if he is looking, he will pick up movement.

I see him at the juncture of the hallways. He is looking the other way which is a very short length of hall. I hear the children yelling from the gym. He considers it, steps in that direction.

“Hey fucker,” I yell down the hall. I see him turning as I duck back behind the corner of the wall. I sense him looking in my direction.

I can barely hear the tap of his boots. He is moving with caution. As careful as he is moving, he can’t silence the boots completely.

He is maybe a couple classrooms away. I don’t think he knows where I am, exactly.

He keeps moving. I can’t tell which side of the hall he is on. I picture him moving with his back to the wall, a slow shuffling step at a time, his ar15 ready.

I move to the other wall of my recessed area, so I am now facing the direction of his approach and I lower myself to the floor thinking he won’t be expecting me at that level. I raise the revolver and rest it on my knees which form a kind of tripod. I don’t know how I know to do this, but I flip off the safety.

My plan is to shoot the moment I see him move into my line of vision. At worst, I might have 1 or 2 seconds to get off a shot or two. I will fire as long as I can.

I hear the muffle of the steps. He is close. I squeeze on the trigger, feeling the tension in it. Ready to fire, I focus, seeking movement at the edge of my vision.

Fuck.

Across the hall a door swings open, a small girl opens the door and steps forward. After a couple steps, she sees me. Her eyes grow wide, and she freezes, not understanding. There are more behind her, and they push forward nudging her further into the hall.

I point up the hall in the direction of the killer. She looks, but she is looking near me, just to the side.

I am terrified, cannot think, or wait.

I move.

I use my foot to push off of the door, and it slides me into the hall. I assume he is on my side of the hall, and I fire a blind shot. He is not against the wall but more towards the center of the hall.

I miss the shot.

With the sweat burning in my eyes, I aim the revolver in his direction and fire another shot, and another. Luckily his ar15, resting on his hip, is pointed in the direction of the children across the hall. He sees me, the barrel swings in my direction. A violent barrage of bullets tear into the floor, chips of tile fly against me. The bullets feel like punches. In seconds, bones are broken, and organs sliced. Flames of pain burst from my body, merge and become one gigantic bonfire. I lay for a moment, my body on fire, watching my blood trickle across the tile. The darkness comes fast.

The screams of the children fade away.

****

My eyes fall open, revealing a slit of bursting light. My body is still smoldering with pain.

“Hello my friend.” The voice is soothing. Somehow, through the pain, I recognize it. Jeeves.

“Drink this,” he says holding the cup out to me. “We’ve given you a version of it intravenously.”

My thoughts are not connected but I know I should drink it. I purse my lips searching for the liquid. The cup tips towards me, spilling a familiar tasting liquid into my mouth, and down my chin.

It takes but moments for its gentle power to take hold. The pain fades even farther away.

“Better?” William says.

The colors become shapes. Jeeves appears out of the colors. I start to remember. I hear the blasting gunfire, the floors shattering, screaming. I remember the fire consuming my body.

“Did I kill him?” I ask dully.

“You killed each other,” he says.

I wait.

He continues “all of the children lived. You saved them. No one in the school was injured.”

He holds out a newspaper folded so I could read the headline. “HERO’S IDENTITY UNKNOWN”.

“Well, my friend, our situation is much the same as our previous one, only now you are not a reckless drunk who lost his life too soon, you are a hero.” He looks at me. “Using future time insertion, this is our first successful prevention of a tragedy.”

My mind is clearing. I am understanding but my thoughts are still vague, disconnected. At least the pain is gone.

“You may not remember anything, or maybe small pieces of it,” he says. He flips his eyebrows at me. "Do you remember Darla?"

Hell yes, I think. My voice is weak, “Oh, you mean the gorgeous Swede I met earlier with the blonde hair? No. Can’t remember a thing.”

“You know,” William says, “genuine love will be very healing for her. We normally do not recommend romantic entanglements between the recently deceased. In your case, the connection between the two of you is so strong, so genuine, we think there will be a lot of 'healing' going on,” William pauses and with a smile and a glint in his eyes he says “for both of you. It has been determined that you will both be reinserted in the future. You will find each other and have your opportunity.”

“Is she really as gorgeous as I remember?” I ask.

"Even more sir." William nods at me, says “one nice thing about our situation Kyle, is that physical beauty is manifested by what is in one’s heart. To you, she will always be gorgeous.”

“How will I look?”

“Oh, very handsome sir. Very.”

The pressurized door opens. I hear her voice.

“Oh,” she says, “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

William steps back quietly.

As I raise my eyes and arms, palms upturned to heaven I say with great enthusiasm, “thank you God.”

It is Darla, aglow with beauty, shooting her most inviting smile, straight into my heart.

She laughs, steps closer to me.

“I missed you, Kyle.” Her voice is soft, intimate. “Where have you been, Mr adventure man?”

I stand and take her in my arms. She hugs me back, presses against me.

The emotions of the last few days, maybe the last few years, come at me in a rush. I feel my heart, closed for so long, opening, and the awakening emotions flooding out of me are strong, overpowering.

She feels the intensity, hugs me with all her strength.

“Thank god I've found you,” I whisper.

I hug her desperately, as if my life depends on it.

The healing begins.