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The Night Bus

by Tekima

By KimaPublished 3 years ago 27 min read
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“God damnit!” Casey hissed as she jerked back from the burner. She groaned and held her hand. It was a decent burn. She turned from her prep station and headed for the cold tap.

“Again…?” came a voice from behind her. The girl lowered her head at the accusing tone. Dish stared at her from washing a large stockpot. He was a quiet man with a dark sense of humour and a grin that seemed to take over most of his face; Casey often thought he looked like a piranha. They called him ‘Dish’, a nickname from his job title of ‘dishpig’. His real name was something Casey couldn’t pronounce, nor could many others, so Dish it was.

“You gotta stop burnin’ yourself, girl. That is the third time this week! Maybe you should go on the plate if you’re cooked, eh?” He grinned widely. He had an accent that was difficult to understand, but he always tried to make a joke, so long as the boss wasn’t around.

“Ah, I’m sorry! Just um, tired.” She forced a laugh, but it was hollow. She hated this place; she was always tired, run off her feet and never had a moment’s rest. So many times she had fought back tears of exhaustion at the end of her shift. Casey returned to her hand, making sure her burn was cooled sufficiently before wrapping it up and returning to work. She could not deny what Dish had noticed.

“Ferguson!” A loud voice wheezed. Casey froze.

Shit,’ she thought; it was her boss, Mr Irving. “Ah, yes, sir?” she called rather hesitantly, approaching the irritable little man.

“This is the third time you’ve had an ‘accident’ just this week! Are you really so stupid that you cannot even manage to go one night without hurting yourself?!” he snapped. Casey found her eyes drifting to the floor.

“I’m sorry sir, I’m just a little tired--”

“You can’t afford to be tired!” Irving growled. “If you hurt another member of staff, or mess up the orders… If you can’t do your job, you should go home…!”

“No!” The response came out at once, her hazel eyes snapped back up to look at him. “Please! I won’t let it happen again sir! I will make sure I pay attention.” She nodded, she would have loved to tell him to go to hell, but he would have fired her on the spot, and she couldn’t afford to lose this job. She hated having to kiss ass to make sure he didn’t dock her pay. Again.

“See that you do, or it’s my ass!” With that he stormed into his office again, leaving the kitchen quiet, only the sound of clattering pans and trays for a few moments before the calls began to sound out again. Casey returned to her station to finish prepping vegetables and such for the cooks and chefs. It wasn’t a fancy job, but it was a paycheck, so long as Mr Irving didn’t find a reason to dock her wage. It was his favourite punishment. She decided to keep her head down for the rest of the night, lest he find another reason to pick on her.

It wasn’t the first time she had burned or cut herself. Everyone had a minor accident in the kitchen at some point, but hers were becoming more frequent. She knew exactly why: she was distracted, exhausted. She was glad when 1 am came around and she could finally clock off for the night. It left her alone with her thoughts as she grabbed her stuff from the back room. At least tonight she had some over time. It wasn’t much, but she needed the money. With this and her job cleaning houses with her mother during the day, they had just enough to keep their heads above water.

Casey had a lot of responsibility; most of the time she felt like she had been thrown out of the kiddie pool and into the ocean without a life raft. She had her mother, and four brothers and sisters. Her mum already worked two cleaning jobs, one of which Casey was dragged along to, but her health was beginning to fail, and her younger brothers and sisters weren’t quite old enough to leave school to work like Casey had, after her father had died. Life had been tough. At seventeen, she had grown up far too quickly. Too soon she learned that the world, and the people in it, should not all be trusted. She grabbed her bag and hooded jacket from her locker and hurried out of there. She had to get home.

Her mother had a boyfriend after her father passed away. In the beginning, Bill had seemed like a nice guy; he had been supportive when Malcolm died, saying it wasn’t fair that such a sweet lady had lost her husband. Casey realised now of course that it was far too soon for her mother to be over her father, but she had needed someone to be there for her… and unfortunately for everyone involved, Helen had chosen Bill. It wasn’t long before his true colours were revealed. He had a temper, and liked spending the money he made from his job on drugs and booze, instead of the family he lived with. He was rude, crass, and had made inappropriate comments about Casey. She was incredibly glad when he lost interest and didn’t stick around.

The area they lived was much the same, hopeful to begin with, but it quickly went sour. It was to be a development project, a housing boom that was mean to ‘revitalise’ the community, but after only a few places were built, it ran out of steam. Some big shot had gotten in trouble with the law…or something like that, Casey had never really paid attention to details. The whole area had just been left. Abandoned like a stolen car. There were some old houses standing empty, supposed to be demolished, now filled with drunken idiots or drugged up maniacs. Too many times had Casey walked by to see yellow tape cordoning off an area or woken to flashing red and blue lights in her window.

A car rushing by her awoke her from her thoughts for a moment, its tyres sloshing into a large puddle left by the rain and soaking her from the knees down. She jumped as she felt the cold before realising what had happened.

“Motherfucker! Yeah, thanks for that, asshole!” she shouted back at the car, which of course, never even slowed down. She looked ahead; the bus stop she was trying to get to was just round the corner. She walked quickly, hoping she had not missed the last bus home. Not a long trip via bus, but it would take her a long time to walk it if she had missed it, and aside that, she was a seventeen year old girl alone after midnight in a shady town.

She wasn’t much of a target for potential robbers. Her jacket was threadbare, worn, torn at the sleeves and pockets, a few patch marks here and there. Her trousers were faded, the hems splattered with mud and loose threads. Her shoes were old, held together with rubber bands and duct tape, which did nothing to keep the water out. As she walked, she could feel the rain spitting down, a drop here, a drop there, threatening to spill out on top of her as she walked. The sound of her steps was heavy to her ears, a dull thudding, bringing her thoughts swirling around in her head. Being a kitchen hand was never something she had aspired to. She’d had big dreams and aspirations, like most people in this town, before it went to hell.

She wasn’t exactly the top student in her class, but she was above average. She always worked hard, and did well, but her true passion was music. She had always loved the way it made her feel, the way her heart thudded in her chest when a good tune came on, the goosebumps she felt when the note hit the right peak. Her father had taken her to see an orchestra when she was very small, and from that day she had longed to be a part of it. Well, she still did, but she knew those dreams had to be put on hold for now. She’d had all kinds of lessons when she was smaller: singing - which she wasn’t completely satisfied with - dancing, and piano - which she enjoyed very much - and her father had taught her to play guitar. Her skills and enthusiasm, however were with the violin. She loved to play, and used to practise every day, for hours on end. It had been her favourite gift. She found herself practising during her lunch breaks at school, sneaking into the music room to use their instruments. There was no way she would risk her most precious possession being damaged. But since taking on two jobs during the week and a Saturday morning route for deliveries, she had barely enough time to think, let alone play. She hadn’t so much as picked up her violin in months. She wondered if she would ever be able to play it again.

She pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders as she neared the bus stop. A solitary street light shone down from above like some kind of safeguard against the night around her, illuminating the empty street - or nearly empty. There was a guy sitting on the bench by the side of the road. He looked like life had gotten to him, too. His coat looked ragged, and threadbare, like it had been patched up many times. He was a bit round in the middle, and his hands were covered by fingerless gloves. As she reached the bench she saw his fingers were stained yellow, probably from a bad smoking habit. His trousers were scrappy as well, and a little too short, as his sock-covered ankles poked out from underneath. All he had for shoes was a pair of slippers that were probably once rather nice. The man looked up at Casey as she approached and bore her a large smile from beneath his greyed and dirty beard. His face was worn, his skin had a leathery look to it, weathered and battered, but his eyes, a pale blue, glinted in the dim light. They still offered life, and hope.

At least someone in this cesspool still has some semblance of it,’ she thought, as she offered him a quick, polite smile in return.

“Good evening,” he said brightly, his voice raspy and hoarse like he’d lost it at some point.

“Hi,” was all she said. It was awkward; she didn’t know what to say to a stranger in the middle of the night.

“Working late?” He had a friendly voice, and she couldn’t find anything sinister in the question, so she nodded. “Ah, rough one then?” Again she nodded. “I’m Happy,” he told her. This time she stared at this Hobo Santa with an expression that was clearly amusing, as it made him laugh. He bounced as he did so, looking ever so jolly for a man that looked like he might pass out at any moment. “Ahhh yes… I get that a lot. But I am as my name says.”

“That’s not your real name though… right?” she asked.

“Not the one I was born with, no, but I like this one better.” He chuckled, his fat slippered feet tapping away to some unknown tune. “Which bus are you waiting for…?” Casey began to get a little nervous - why was he asking so many questions? Was he going to follow her home or something…? Stupidly, because she couldn’t think of a lie, she simply told him the bus route she was after. He nodded, but his expression grew a little downturned at her answer. “Sorry to say, but that bus left about five minutes before you arrived.” Casey gasped.

“What?! That’s the last bus for hours!” The teenager hung her head, she was in trouble, her mother hated it when she was late home, not to mention her feet were already killing her, and it would take something like an hour before she would make it back. “...Shit…” she groaned. “Well… thanks for telling me instead of letting me stand here like an idiot for ages.”

“Gee, I wish I could do more…” Happy told her apologetically.

“It’s alright, I guess I’d better head home then. Thanks… Happy…” She offered him a quick smile before hiking her bag up on her shoulder again.

“Oh wait!” He pushed himself to his feet with a groan, reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a little trinket. Casey blinked and looked at her hand as his pudgy one pulled away. There in her palm lay a small bell, with a little pink ribbon tied to it. She frowned, looking at it curiously.

“If you ever feel like your mind’s in a fog…just give it a little ring.” Happy smiled at her in a way that made his eyes crinkle up. Either he was a bit soft in the head, but friendly, or he was dangerous and crazy. Casey just nodded dumbly before hurrying off, every so often checking over her shoulder.

She walked and walked, one step after another, the dull thudding in her ears. She wasn’t able to even listen to her music. Her mp3 player had been a birthday gift from her mother, but she’d had to sell it a few months ago. It had broken both their hearts, but they had to have groceries, the twins had needed new shoes, and there was not much else that could earn them any money at the time. Her feet made soft splat noises on the concrete as she walked. She was lost in the drumming thuds in her own head and the spit of drops from the sky beginning to fall, slowly. She let out a long groan and pulled her hood up; she knew what was coming. The drops began to fall a little more frequently, a little harder, a little more vigorously. A few drops became a sprinkle, a sprinkle became a shower and a shower became a downpour. In less than five minutes, a torrent of water had been unleashed upon her head. She could barely see the next street light for the rain, there was nowhere for her to take cover and her clothes weren’t exactly waterproof either. She looked at her watch: 1:22, still so long to go. Her mother would be furious, and she knew she had to get up early the next morning. She would have to make sure she asked her boss to leave five minutes earlier the next time… Oh who was she kidding. She wouldn’t. She never spoke up to her manager, she didn’t practice her violin anymore, what was the point? Nothing would ever change, nothing would be different, nothing would go back to the way it was and now she was stuck in the rain. Casey grit her teeth, tears squeezed out down her face, mingled with the fat raindrops beating down on her.

At times like this, she missed her father more than ever. He had always been there for her, whenever she felt down, always had a smile and a warm hug whenever she had any troubles. He knew just what to say and how to make her smile. Dad would have known how to make it better. If he hadn’t gone she wouldn’t even be here. If he was still with her she would be at home, sleeping, she’d still be able to go to school, play her violin, she’d still live in their old house, she’d still be able to see her grandmother in the country.

Dad,’ Casey thought to herself, ‘why did you leave me…?’ She choked back a sob, her hand covering her mouth.

Suddenly a light shone from behind her. Casey turned to try and see what was coming, but all she could see were headlights coming toward her through the rain. It was a large shape, a truck…? She frowned as it got closer and she realised: it was a bus! An older one, by the look of it, and an unusual colour, a sort of wine red tone, and smaller than usual busses. She was just beginning to wonder where it was going when it slowed, and stopped right in front of her. She blinked in confusion as the doors opened. At the height of the steps, within the doorway of the large vehicle, stood a man.

“You look like you could use a ride,” he called, in a voice deep yet smooth. For some reason, Casey imagined it like midnight blue silk, but she didn’t know why she had thought of it. She swallowed her sorrow; she didn’t want to let some random stranger see her crying everywhere.

“Where does this bus go?” she cried through the din of the rain.

“Where are you headed?” the man answered. His voice was soft but somehow she could hear him perfectly, as though he were speaking in her ear.

“Uh, Stockport.” She held up a hand to keep the water from her face.

“We can drop you there, come in, quickly…!” He gestured for her to step over the threshold. Casey felt strange, like there was some kind of buzzing feeling in the air, some kind of electricity. It was warm, and tingled as she reached out. But the night was cold and she needed to get dry her hands were already shaking.

To hell with it,’ she thought, and her hand grasped the metal handrail to haul herself up onto the platform. “How much?” she asked the man, and glanced to the driver’s seat. The barrier in the way obscured her view of him; she could only make out a darkened figure. Then the man in white took her attention again, making her focus upon him.

“It would be criminal to ask you to pay, my dear - in this state you simply needed a rescue.”

Now she was out of the rain, she was able to look at him properly. He was… different. For one, he had white hair, not just a light blonde, but white as snow; she couldn’t tell if it was dyed, his roots were hidden beneath the white top hat he wore. He was a good head taller than she was, clean shaven, with a wide, thin mouth, slanted in a smirk, and a strong jaw. His eyes looked like he was wearing contacts, or maybe it was just the light in the bus, because they looked pinkish. She couldn't be sure, though. She assumed he was coming back from some kind of rich party. His clothes were finely tailored, made of fine material, and nary a spot on him - mostly surprising because he was all in white. The suit was a fresh, almost blinding white, the vest beneath it white and gold brocade; there were gold buttons and accents all over his suit: the cufflinks, the buttons, the pin that held the white silken cravat in place. He looked almost other-worldly, and he reeked of money, but still; offering to pay even a simple bus fare...she didn’t like people doing things for her.

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not your responsibility, I can’t ask you to pay for me.”

“But you are not asking me, I am insisting upon it. Come.” He tapped the driver’s cubicle twice, making Casey jump as she felt the bus rumble to life beneath her. The man looped a gloved hand around her shoulders - she couldn’t help but think that she had no say in the matter - and she was gently ushered along. She was surprised to find the seats not facing forward, like a usual bus, but set up like booths in a diner, or a train - there were even small tables between each. It was surprisingly warm in there; she might have forgotten about the rain completely, were she not still dripping upon the carpet.

He led her down the centre aisle to a booth second from the back on the right. He said little to her as he shuffled her along, taking a short bow as he reached to take her jacket and bag. The girl looked back at him with a hesitant gaze, the man merely chuckled and grinned.

“My dear, please, you’ll catch your death in that.Allow me to be a gentleman and grant you respite. I shall simply hang them to dry.” Somehow his posh British accent made it seem as though he could say anything and it would be charming. She wasn’t sure, however, and he seemed to catch on. “Ahh, of course, a strange man asking a young girl to undress...” He chuckled and held up his hands. “I assure you, I wish nothing untoward, I am merely helping a hardworking girl get out of the rain.I would not want you to be sick, it would be a shame. Though there is a reason for you being out late, work, I assume...?”

“What are you, Sherlock Holmes?” Casey asked, her hazel eyes narrowing. He merely laughed again.

“My girl, it does not take Sherlock Holmes to see your shoes are held together with duct tape, you look so tired you may as well be a zombie and you have a rather dirty-looking apron sticking out of your bag…” He held out his hands again and took a step back. It was then she noticed a door to another small sort of room, which was strange in a bus. Where did that room go? Why was there a room in a bus? Before she could think of it, the man took her attention again, his large gloved hand thrust out before her. “My name is Alistair Velit’Dantis,” he told her. Casey simply blinked once more. There was little she could say; she simply didn’t know what to make of all of this. Slowly but surely, her hand extended to grasp his.

“Casey Ferguson,” she replied, numbly. Alistair merely gave her a wide smile.

“A pleasure to meet you Casey.” He shook her hand firmly but gently. “Now, have a seat, there is a blanket for you, and please, take off the wet clothes. I will be back in a moment.”

With that, the man in white disappeared behind the door and left Casey alone. She was starting to get a little worried. What had she done? She’d gotten on a strange bus with some random guy--but at the same time, Alistair hadn’t done anything… untoward, as he put it. Maybe he was just being helpful. Maybe it was the fact that she’d had next to no sleep, but she found herself wanting to believe it. She began to strip off her jacket and shirt, leaving on the singlet she had beneath it all. She left everything on the opposite table, including her bag, laid out to dry,then took up the blanket and wrapped it around herself.

As she took a seat, she found herself admiring the interior. Most of it was red or maroon against wood panelling and gold trim. Deep red curtains blocked the outside street, the seats were a soft leather, a rich reddish brown colour, the roof panelled in wood, the tables too were solid - everything screamed quality. She only wished her mother could see this. Her Mother... Casey let out a soft sigh.She wished she could give her mum and brothers and sister such nice things. She wished she had nice things. She wished she had a big bed - room enough to put one - she wished for her mp3 player back and her own phone, she wished for time to play her violin, maybe some nice clothes. That would be amazing…

Casey was staring off into air, but as she was, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye, something bright, flickering. She looked to her right and saw that there was a light peeking out from the shifting curtains, it was a pale light, something about it gave her a sense of nostalgia and comfort. The girl felt compelled to see more. She reached out to grasp at the curtain and reveal what lay beyond.

“Here we are!” A voice interrupted her thought, and the light was gone. She looked back and started when she noticed Alistair was sitting there, a smile upon his face. A hot mug of tea sat in front of her, another in his hand. Had she been so spaced out she hadn’t noticed him sitting there? Her face flushed with embarrassment.

“Uh… thanks,” she said awkwardly, grasping her cup with both hands and staring into it with the occasional sip. The silence stretched on but either he didn’t notice, or didn’t care. She could feel him staring at her, gauging her, trying to figure her out, maybe? She looked around, avoiding him, his eyes were too intense, they made her squirm. “Uhm… so… what is this thing? Your party bus?” He responded with laughter to her query and she glanced up with surprise. What was so funny? Eventually he calmed enough to answer her.

“You could call it that I suppose,” he said,unhelpfully. “I more prefer to think of it as a rescue chariot.”

“So you just go around and pick up people out of the rain? Isn’t that dangerous?” She frowned.

“I can look after myself, but I am touched by your concern.” The comment made Casey blush - she hadn’t meant it like that. He chuckled again, seeing her discomfort. “I find wayward souls, those who deserve more than life has dealt them, and…well, I try to rectify it.” The way he said it was both comforting and worrying, but Casey began to feel warmer, a little hazy. It pushed the worry from her mind.

“What do you mean?” she asked curiously, a frown crossing her delicate features.

“I like to grant wishes,” he told her.

“What kind of wishes?” His grin only widened.

“Let me show you.” He sat up in his seat and gestured to the window she had been looking at previously. “Think about what you wish, something you desire more than anything…?”

“More than anything…?” She looked back into her half-empty cup. Something about the strange man urged her to tell him, but she bit down on the words - it was none of his business! He had no right to ask such a personal question! But… he seemed so… trustworthy? That something about him seemed to call to that part of her, the musical part of her she kept locked up within herself, as though he coaxed it from her with thought alone. “I want… I want to play a show... I want not to have to struggle for money… I want… my dad--” She cut herself off with a sob that threatened to spill over. A white gloved hand rested on hers and she looked up. Alistair was not smiling anymore. His gaze had softened; something about his expression told her he had known loss.

“I understand,” he said. “And I want to help you. Here…” He gestured to the curtain again. This time, she looked. “What do you see…?” As he pulled the curtain aside, her eyes widened.

Beyond the bus, the curtain and beyond that window lay a field. No longer could she see the street beyond the glass, but a rolling meadow in a hazy afternoon of spring… she knew this place. The country cottage of her grandmother on her father’s side, surrounded by flowers. She looked closer; there were people by the house. Casey gasped as she recognised the people standing there.

“ Mum…? ...Dad…?!” She stared in shock. “How…?” She felt a hand upon her shoulder, and turned to see Alistair smiling. They were no longer on the bus. They stood in the field, surrounded by warmth, surrounded by flowers and sunlight and a perfect day. She heard laughter, and looked to see her younger brothers and sisters playing near the cottage behind her parents. They called to her, waving for her to come closer, to join them.

“Go to them,” Alistair told her. Casey looked back at him.

“But… how is this possible?” she breathed.

“I told you my dear. I grant wishes. This is what you want isn’t it?” He waved a hand toward the scene in front of them.

“...Why me…?”

“You deserve it! You’ve worked so hard since his passing, you deserve some happiness…! Go on, embrace it!” She felt him nudge her forward. Her parents looked happy, waving her closer, calling to her. She couldn’t remember her mother smiling so much, her father seemed so real… but he had died. But how could he have? There he was! He waved at her, grinning like he always used to do. Instinctively, she took a step forward. This was the way it was meant to be. She wouldn’t have to work three jobs anymore, she would be able to finish school, play her violin, she could go to music school! She wouldn’t have to work in that stupid kitchen anymore, she could hug her father again. It was almost like the past few years didn’t happen - he didn’t leave them, he didn’t get shot. That wasn’t him at the funeral. But… wait. She remembered hearing the news and collapsing at school. She remembered standing there at the funeral, silent, as her mother and siblings wept. She’d had to be the strong one, she only had to do that because he died. As she looked on, the scene warped slightly. Her father looked a little paler, she could see a… reflection, of a man in white behind her. Her brows furrowed. Yes. Her father was dead, and her mother had to work so hard to pick up the pieces. Her mother… her sisters and brothers. Without Casey they would be in big trouble, they would run out of money quick, they might even lose the house. She couldn’t turn her back on them!

“This… isn’t real…” Casey managed. Why did she feel so sluggish?

“It’s your dream…” Alistair told her gently, he placed a hand against her back. “And you can live it. Just take this…” He held out a hand to her, and upon it lay a key, an old brass one, tied with a white ribbon. “And you can live it...forever.”

“But…what about at home… what will happen…?”

“You will be happy with your family here. Leave your worries behind…” Casey felt strange, here was everything she wanted, her family back, a home to live in, she could see it all there, just waiting for her. But… why did she feel so dull, so hazy? It felt like she were in… some kind of fog.

If you ever feel like your mind’s in a fog…just give it a little ring.’ The words echoed inside her head. Slowly, she reached into her pocket, and felt the little metal sphere in her hand. She carefully pulled it out, as though she were dazed or hypnotised.

“What is that?” Alistair asked sharply. Casey held up the bell. “How did you--? Stop!” he cried in a sudden panic. The warmth began to dissipate, along with the haze swarming her mind. Anger struck her - how dare he mess with her head!

“No… I can’t. I can’t do this. I won’t abandon my real family for some dream!” Casey shouted. She couldn’t just abandon everything to some dream world, real or not! She had responsibilities to deal with. Her father had always taught her to accept responsibility, she had to look after her family. Even if it was hard, even if it felt hopeless, she couldn’t give up. Dad never did, so she couldn’t either!

“It’s your happiness! Take it girl!” Alistair urged.

“NO! I won’t live a lie and I won’t be happy with this hollow life! I won’t!” The last thing she saw before the world went dark was Alistair’s disappointed face.

Casey blinked as her vision cleared. A cold wind blew over her. The girl looked around. She was… home? Yes… she was standing outside her own home. How had she gotten here? Was it all a dream? She looked down. She had her bag, she had her clothes,and they were dry. The ground was wet where it had just rained, but she was completely dry. How…?

Suddenly she heard her mother’s voice inside. She took a step forward, clenching her fist in determination. Something in her hand made her look down again. In her palm lay a key and a little bell. A shiver ran up Casey Ferguson’s spine. As she put the items in her pocket, to head inside, she glanced at the time. It was 1:22am.

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About the Creator

Kima

Been writing since I was small, always loved all kinds of stories whether film, tv, books or short stories. Finally getting round to write my own!

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