The Stranger

The train jostled and clattered as it raced over the uneven tracks, a loud short whistle breaking the silence in the car. James startled and bolted upright into a sitting position. When the short whistle was followed by a longer, drawn-out blow, the deafening sound made him reflexively cover his ears with his hands. The noise was so loud. He squeezed his eyes tight and held his head waiting for the screech to dissipate in the wind that carried it.

Finally, he cautiously opened his eyes and looked around before tenatively removing his hands from his ears. He was alone and he puzzled over the wave of relief that washed through his body at the revelation. What did it matter if he was alone? Had he expected someone to be with him? He wasn’t sure but told himself that being alone was a good thing. But alone where?

He was sitting on a metal floor in the middle of an old and dark compartment. He was on a train but couldn’t understand why. To his recollection, a subway was the closest he'd ever come to taking a train, and this was definitely not a subway car. He was in a freight car, or so he assumed. He really didn’t know anything about freights except what he saw in movies or observed at railroad crossings, but what else could it be?

The floor was warm metal and there were small holes pinpricked throughout that let in bright light. It reminded him of camping in the Arizona desert after college. Back then, like now, he had been enveloped in an eerie darkness with only the distant light of the stars to keep the fear at bay. Only it wasn't the starlight, but bright sunshine, creeping in where the metal rusted after years of harsh weather and ill repair.

Sunshine. The thought caught in his brain. What time is it then? He asked himself before immediately raising his left arm to check his watch. He could barely make out his wrist, but the dim light was enough to confirm his watch was not there. He felt his wrist with a pang of regret for the lost watch. It had been a gift from an ex-girlfriend and it was the only thing he had after nearly two years together. It was just as well, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms...

The train jerked hard to the right, bringing his wandering mind back to the present. Instinctively, he put his hand back on the floor to steady himself, but instead of making contact with the warm, gritty metal, his hand touched something wet and… sticky? He jerked it back reflexively and brought his fingers slowly to his eyes. He couldn’t see anything, so he slowly lowered his fingers to his nose. He inhaled hesitantly at first, but when nothing registered, he breathed in more deeply. As his lungs expanded the only smell that broke through the musky odor that permeated the car was the faint scent of something chemical that he couldn’t place. He rubbed the substance between his fingers before holding his hand to a beam of light from a nearby hole. He still couldn’t make out much, but it was definitely thicker and darker than water. He had already discarded the possibility of oil or gasoline, but the only other alternative was something he really didn’t want to think about it. Pushing the thought aside, he wiped his fingers on his pantleg and scooted away from the wetness.

“Is anyone in here?” He whispered in the darkness. He listened intently; hackles raised.

After a few seconds, he tried again.

“Hello?” He called into the darkness, a little louder this time.

There was still no response, and he wasn’t sure if his sigh was in relief or defeat, but before he had a chance to ponder it, the train pulled hard to the left. It startled him and he clung tightly to the floor. How fast were they going? It didn’t feel safe. The car was plunged into darkness and the air cooled noticeably. His heartbeat quickened, but within seconds the light returned. It must have been a tunnel of some sort, he reasoned, but the thought did little to comfort. There weren’t any tunnels in Iowa, were there? Was he still in Iowa? Could he have left the state? His mind reeled and he had to take a few breaths to calm himself.

What the Hell is going on? A prickly sensation washed over him and the hairs at his nape stood at attention. His sister, Cathy, would have teased that someone just walked over his grave. He shivered. In this setting, the memory of his sister just increased his unease. They hadn’t talked in years, not since… He couldn’t think about her now. It was too easy to get caught up in the guilt and self-pity and he didn’t have time for either now. Now was a time for action. He had to do something. He had to figure out what was going on.

He methodically scanned the car straining his eyes for anything. He couldn’t make out much in front of him, so he panned to the right. The shadows seemed to deepen in that direction. So, he looked to the left. It too seemed darker somehow and creepier if that were possible. Slowly he rotated his body 180 degrees. Although still dark, in this direction, he could make out a thin white line from floor to ceiling. The door! It had to be the door. He crawled to it swaying with the train’s velocity. They seemed to be moving incredibly fast, which seemed odd for a freight.

As his mind puzzled over the speed, his body was drawn to the light and he moved slowly toward it as if hypnotized. Upon reaching it, he raised his hands to the wall and felt the recess of the door. Like the wall, it was made of thick metal. His mood sank with the realization that he would never be able to open it from the inside, but something made him try anyway.

He ran his fingers across the light seam. He was amazed to find something hard, wedged in the bottom track. Hope soared within him. Maybe it had prevented the door from fully latching. Diligently, traced it and tried push inside to widen it, but it remained unchanged. Instead, he splayed his fingers and palmed the door much like he had a basketball in his youth. He exerted force outward and to the right. His muscles strained and he was just about to give up when he noticed the gap had widened. The light went from an almost invisible line to about an inch thick.

Progress. He let out a quick yelp of pleasure and returned to the task with more vigor. After what seemed an eternity, he had the door open a full two feet before falling back on the floor panting as his lungs filled with cool, late-summer air. It was a salve to both his body and his spirit.

“Thank you, God.” He panted, lying on his back, his head turned toward the passing scenery. His body was exhausted, but his mind raced as it tried to process the images as they flew by him.

He was no longer in Iowa. He was in the North, probably South Dakota, he reasoned. The mountains were rocky, dark, and full of evergreens. He had taken a road trip with his parents the year before his dad died. They had traveled from Iowa through Nebraska and Wyoming to get to Yellowstone, but they returned on the northern route through Montana and the Dakotas. It had been a long trip and they had all been ready for it to end, but his mother refused to go so close to Mount Rushmore without stopping. It had been a great day; one of his best memories.

“Cathy, I finally made it back to the Black Hills.” He whispered reaching his arm through the gap as if trying to touch the mountains. “You were right, they are amazing.”

A solitary tear fell from his eye as he looked away from the majestic view. The Black Hills had ended up being Cathy’s favorite part of the trip. She had talked about them incessantly, reading every fact she could find in the AAA travel brochure. Their mom had been entertained, but James had been irritated beyond reason. She hadn't shut up until he had ripped the pamphlet from her grasp and had thrown it in the back with their luggage. As usual, he had lost his temper and had started a fight.

James stared at the dim ceiling above him before realization struck. He could see the ceiling. He quickly rolled in the opposite direction of the door and studied the interior of the boxcar. Thankfully, he was alone. He had assumed as much earlier, but there was still a lingering fear that someone could be quietly huddled in the shadows. He scanned every inch of the car. It was still dark in spots, but enough light now penetrated that no place was completely black. James was relieved to find that the wet spot on the floor wasn’t blood as he had feared, but yellow paint or dye of some sort. He had a little on his fingers and a mark on his jeans. He rubbed his fingers over it, but it was dry.

His mind went back to Cathy. Her clothes had always been covered in paint. At one time, she had had dreams of becoming an artist. She had been pretty good, too, but James would never admit that to her. They never had that kind of relationship. Their family had not been supportive or encouraging. Their Irish-Catholic roots went deep. Their parents had been good, loving parents in their way, but they worked hard and had little time for complaints or grievances. A job well done wasn’t something to be rewarded, but an expectation. And art was something for wealthy folks. Young girls had better things to do with their time than to paint pictures, no matter how pretty. They were meant to get an education, a job, or a husband. Maybe all three.

James shook his head. He wasn’t sure why his thoughts kept drifting back to memories he had buried years ago. He needed to focus. How had he ended up on this train, and why? Think, James, think. What’s the last thing you remember?

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, allowing his mind to drift back to events from the night before. It had been a typical Tuesday. After work, James had gone to Winslow’s for wings and a beer. He vaguely remembered talking a some of the regulars, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Jonesy and Ray had been arguing about if the Cowboys would have a winning season this year and then a waitress had dropped a tray. Had there been something else? His last memory before waking on the train was Jonesy shouting “Cowboys!” as he lifted his Bud Lite to toast.

In his mind’s eye, he could see the scene clearly. Jonesy’s arm raised in salute, his chipped-toothed smile mocking Ray, the world’s biggest Chief’s fan.

“Cow-boys!” Jonesy had shouted, pausing between the syllables. Ray had shaken his head in protest.

“Suck!” Ray had shouted back.

Then Jonesy had shouted out another “Cowboys!” before chugging his beer.

That was it. He couldn't recall anything else. Not really. Except… there was another man, a stranger. There was something odd about him. Yes, what was it? James closed his eyes again and focused on the memory.

“James, right?” The man had said when he approached the trio. He had dismissed Ray and Jonesy with a glance and at the time, James had thought it odd that they hadn’t even looked up, but had just continued as if they hadn’t seen him.

“Yeah, that’s right.” James had said. “Do I know you?”

“Not really,” the man had chuckled. “I’m a friend of Cathy’s.”

James opened his eyes and shook his head. Had that really happened? The argument between Jonesy and Ray was clear now, but he still wasn’t sure about the stranger.

He concentrated on the image of the stranger and allowed his mind to drift as the constant rattling of the train lulled him.

“Cathy?” James had asked.

“Yes, James.” The stranger had said. “Cathy’s in trouble. She needs you.”

Where did that thought come from? He found a hole in the ceiling and focused intensely as he tried to make the image clearer in his head. Had he been dreaming? Was there really a stranger? A part of him was convinced he must have hit his head. Maybe he was suffering from some sort of concussion.

He tried to recall the stranger’s face, but it was a blur. He had been blonde and had a friendly face, but James could not recall any specific features. Just that he had reminded James of a younger version of his dad. James recalled thinking the stranger had looked like his dad’s brother. Uncle Tom had died before James was born, but dad had always kept a framed photo on the mantle, and James was certain the stranger resembled him.

“What did you say?” James suddenly recalled his reaction from the night before. When the stranger had mentioned Cathy, it had upset James and he had intended to stand. Before he could, the stranger had put his hand over James' hand and the gesture had rendered James immobile.

“Listen, James.” The stranger had said. “There isn't much time. You need to get to Cathy. It’s important.”

James watched the scene play back in his mind’s eye as if witnessing it for the first time. He had no real recollection of the events that had transpired, but as he recalled them, he was certain they had occurred.

“I haven’t seen Cathy in years.” James had responded. “I wouldn’t even know where to find her.”

“I’ll guide you, James.” The stranger had replied.

“How…” James had begun to argue, but the stranger interrupted.

“It’s time. You must go.” The stranger said and stood, his hand still covering James’ hand. “Do you trust me?”

Trust him? How could he trust him? James didn’t even know him, but as he recalled the scene in the bar, he knew that he had trusted him.

“Hurry!” James heard the stranger’s voice. It wasn’t a memory but seemed to be coming from the boxcar. James sat up and scanned the car. He was still alone, but his hackles were up again. James looked out at the passing landscape and saw a bridge in the distance. Again, he heard the stranger speak.

“Get ready, James. There is little time.” The stranger said, but this time the voice was in his head.

Without thinking, James struggled to his feet, gripping both sides of the opening for support. He looked out at the forest and for a fleeting moment, he questioned his sanity. Then he saw the approaching bridge that spanned the river below.

James inhaled deeply.

This was insane. Maybe he was insane. Was he really going to do this? Then what? Even if he survived, how would he find Cathy?

The thoughts raced through his mind, but he dismissed them. Something inside told him he had to get to Cathy. Memories of their childhood rushed through his mind. The memories calmed him.

“Now!” the stranger finally shouted and without hesitation, James lept from the train.