Next Stop, Nowhere Good

As my vision comes into focus, the ache behind my eyes begins to fade, and my temple throbs to the rhythm of my heartbeat. A slight chill in the air tickles my skin as I come to and examine my surroundings; the scent of steel fills the air as the plush red cushion of my seat gives way and groans beneath me. The lighting is dim as I shift my weight, bringing myself upright as I rub my eyes and notice a contrast with the true darkness outside. I notice a methodical clatter-clack echoing around me, further noting that the space around me quakes to the beat of that sound. It seems that I'm...in a rather fancy train car? I touch a warmth i feel upon my temple, and experience a blinding tinge of pain as faint blood is evident on my hand. I gaze upon my odd surroundings, and ponder for the moment...how did I even get here? I don't remember getting on a train, but...more importantly than that...I soon realize...that I don't think I can even remember who I am?

My heart races and the pain in my temple throbs further, as I try to calm my nerves and collect my thoughts. My name is...dammit, I don't know, do I? But I'm from...I mean, at least I know that I live in...I'm not quite sure at all, but its in America...right? At least...I think I'm American...but right now, I'm not too sure about anything really. Does it have anything to do with this swelling on the side of my head; this pain, and faint blood that's dried upon my temple? I don't honestly know, but I feel like I gotta start moving, so I shift my weight unto my legs as I begin to stand. This is apparently a bad idea, as i fall back into the seat and feel so many aches in my bones. I brush the sensation aside as I work again to stand upon my feet. After a few tries, I finally succeed and begin to make my way to the nearest door; the car I'm in is completely empty and feels abandoned, but maybe I can find someone in the next one. The windows show me a dark sky pierced only by the light of a waning gibbous, gleaming in the distance as I take hold of the other seats for leverage.

I reach the door and gain better confidence in my every step, grasping the handle and taking a breath, as I shift my weight and slide the door open with all my might. The clatter-clacks echo louder than before, as I find myself outside the train car gazing upon the next door before me. I concentrate and take my steps carefully, the scent of steel further filling my lungs as I glance upon the horizon beside me.

There is nothing but open farmland for miles, yet the usual sounds of the night are seemingly non-existent. I can only hear the sound of the train along it's tracks, and the smell of sparks fills my lungs as...despite all the open air surrounding my senses, all i really smell is steel and smoke. The night air and the scent of grass and wheat escape me, as only steel and faint blood fill my every breath. I grip the new handle now before me, finally finding my footing for sure as I slide the door open and step into the new space. I release my grip and the door slams shut as I look upon another empty train car. I mean, no one else is around, but it seems I found the bar car as a myriad of bottles litter a wall before me. They clatter subtly to the same rhythm of the tracks that I noticed before, but i find this room quieter and notably brighter than the previous one. Something familiar seems to enter my vision, as a certain bottle of whiskey comes into focus and sparks a memory.

I remember sharing this particular bottle with...a judge? Yeah...we sat in their office, Judge Johnstone and I were sharing concerns about a corruption case, and of some sort of dark rumors in the town. Am I a lawyer then; like...is this a memory of what I did often, or something more specific? My temple throbs as I recall wearing a certain suit of mine that I favored, since I had a date with a lady of bright auburn hair afterwards. I try to take hold of the memory, but as with a fleeting blink of the eyes, the image is gone and I lose focus. A thought then occurs in that moment; if just seeing the shape of that bottle brought forth the start of a memory, what if I went ahead and drank some?

I hurry to the counter and find the latch I was looking for, flipping it open as I make my way behind the counter and to the bottle in question. Gripping it's textured surface seems to bring forth a new piece of the puzzle; as I remember the name of...the Carson family? Yes...Bill Carson, he's a man I seem to know a lot about; he has no wife, but is apparently responsible for three kids he needs to raise. I grasp the bottle and notice the glasses beside me, spotting one that seems quite comfortable to hold.

It's shape is wondrous in my grip, as I pop the top and pour it's contents forth. The scent of this whiskey brings untoward another burst of inspiration, reminding me that I prefer it with a slice of grapefruit, and a spritz of cranberry juice and pineapple juice. I pause as I ponder the combination of flavors, but with the realization that all the ingredients I wish for currently surround me, i reach for them and make my preferred concoction.

Two glasses sit before me now; one is filled with an elixir that is apparently to my preference, and the other with only a couple ounces of just whiskey. I drink the dry glass first, seeing if this basic but palpable sensation sparks the same sort of connection as the tactile and olfactible ones did...and hell yeah it did. The taste of it, as is, pushes the narrative forward as I recall that I wished for strong emotions for Bill Carson and his children. Am I...Bill Carson? I remember a moment of being in the desert heat, thinking about my family as I wished for...damn, I'm not too sure. The connection seems to begin again, only to fade further into a quandary that brings arduous emotions into the fray of more confusion.

I take hold of myself as I now drink the strange concoction, its tangy balance of flavors entertaining my taste buds as I now remember that I am...I think my name is John Fredrikson. Am I Bill Carson's lawyer then? Maybe he's an old friend, or someone I work with? I know his name and current family situation, so I'm probably close with him in some way. I finish my drink and make another, but even finishing that one didn't seem to bring anything new to the surface. In my desperation, I attempt to make yet another drink...and realize that these drinks are pretty damn strong. Whether I'm a light-weight or not doesn't matter here, i got a little over-zealous and quickly lose control as the room spins, and I find myself struggling to stand. I grip the counter before me, as my knees buckle and I fail to hold my composure.

Falling to the floor, I roll onto my back and look upon the ceiling; everything is spinning as the clatter-clack of the train apparently rocks me to sleep. Strangely, I awaken soon after however, as it feels like no time has really passed at all. I leap up and stand forth, feeling sick in the pit of my stomach, but otherwise I'm perfectly sober and don't even smell of any alcohol. During that realization though, a warmth oozes from my temple and blood seems to fill my vision. I grab a nearby washrag and wipe away what I can, noting a small nearby sink that I now reach for.

I turn the faucet and dig my hands into the flowing stream of cool water, splashing water vigorously as I try to clear my vision. Soon I notice my reflection, as I realize something strangely new to me. None of the other surfaces until now carried my reflection; the windows just peer straight into the night sky, as if there is nothing there but a pristine void. The glasses and bottles themselves seem to be a myriad of hollowed and matted surfaces with no discernible reflection or sheen at all. Nothing but this mirror before me seems to even wish to reflect light, and what I see before me is...quite its own quandary.

I see a man in his fifty's, with short hair who uses dyes to keep his hair colored dark, about as dark as the suit he wears. I also hadn't realized until now that I'm dressed in a very fine suit indeed, but its different from what I noted in my memory of John Fredrikson...the memories I've seen of myself. I dab my forehead with the nearest wet towel, clearing the dried and fresh smears of blood as I notice the bruising and swelling in my temple. I rinse the rag and aim for the nearest bottle of spirits, pouring forth as I dab the wound and feel the burning sting of it against my flesh. Faint make-up smears upon my face, as I decide to wash that away as well.

I look around and see just the bar and chairs around me, the surfaces are all as hollow as the life in this room; empty of anything one might expect. Further questions race through my mind as I make note of the exit to the next car. I don't really understand how I even got on this train, or where its going, or who I am and why I'm here. However, I believe that I'm John Fredrikson, the lawyer, and that going forth into the next car might somehow give me more answers. I stuff a fresh rag into my jacket, in case this odd wound decides to open up again.

Unlike before, I make my way into the next car with no issue, noting a third quarter moon in the sky, which...catches my attention. There is strength and resolve in my steps now, as i suddenly recall...there was a waning gibbous just earlier. Wait...do I have an interest in astrology, or am I simply well aware of the phases of the moon from my schooling? I'm not sure, but I find myself increasingly frustrated and confused at my situation.

I balance my weight and slam, quite hard, the door of the current train car, and notice before me a bevy of assorted meals and deserts. It seems that I've found the dining car now, and as with the bar-car beforehand, it is fully stocked...but devoid of all human life. As with a bottle of familiar liquor in the bar-car, I notice in my peripheral a slice of pie that touches my subconsciousness and begs to be tasted. I hesitate in annoyance about this predicament, and notice that the peach pie brings forth a memory of...home?

I remember being younger, not a child, but an older teenager really; filled with...lots of love, and anxiety, and pain and wonderment. I see her name quite clear; Jenny Leeland...but everything else seems to be in an infuriating haze. My stomach rumbles as the thought of eating that peach pie begs me forth. Instead of merely giving in to the immediate sensation of consumption before me, I take heed of the space around me.

As before, I notice no reflective surfaces as everything that should have even a simple sheen, is merely matte. All the tables are fully set however, with plates loaded and glasses full, as if people were supposed to be sitting and eating here; socializing and living their moments...but no...there is no life here at all. The windows are a perfect sight into the darkness surrounding the train, lacking the usual reflections of the dining car's lights. I find myself curious and try to place my hand upon the window, hesitant on if I'll actually even reach a surface. Yet...in the moment that I was just about to touch it, i feel the train hit a bump and accelerate. I'm thrown back a bit, away from the void as a new thought comes to mind. Even if there were no other passengers, there should be a conductor...or even a fireman available to replenish the coal...right?

I feel a tear run across my cheek, as the thought of Jenny urges to pierce through the fog in my mind. I turn and spot the slice of peach pie, its scent taking hold of my attention; overpowering the aromas of the steak directly beside me. This train feels wrong, and the urge to eat that pie...does not really feel my own. In a fit, I decide to pull the nearby plate of steak closer, fighting the need for that pie as I grab the meat in hand and bite into...the worst-tasting piece of food I've ever imagined!

I gag at the unnatural sensations in my mouth, feeling as if a wet combination of sawdust and sand were just pressed against my tongue. I throw the steak towards the slice of peach pie in frustration and further confusion. It beckons me still, begging for a bite to remember, but I decide to run instead. I'll find out if anyone else is here, and where the hell this place is. This is not a normal train at all, and I feel like I'm just playing someone's game.

As I exit this car, the pain in my temple swells and pulsates to the rhythm of the train's clatter-clack, as I notice in the sky that the phase of the moon has changed yet again. With a waning crescent high above, I trudge on; entering yet another car devoid of life. The lights are even dimmer than the first car's, as this time it's a luggage car filled with cloths and leathers. Yet again I spot a detail in my periphery; a certain raggedy sack that reminds me of the time I left home...on a train...much like this. The emotions of loss and regret fill me as I run past it all, and into the next car.

The moon changes yet again, as the new moon brings about true darkness. The sounds of the train itself seem to disappear during that realization, as panic sets in and I grasp for the handle before me. As I enter the next car however, it seems that with the slamming of the door, blood begins to fall forth from my temple. It obscures my vision a bit, as I hurriedly reach for the rag I hid away in my jacket. As I do so, I feel a large bruise in my side as my breathing begins to ache. I tear my shirt along the buttons in a panic to see my entire left side bruised, as if I had just been battered. In my panic, I drop everything and keep running, straight through the passenger car I'm now in and into the next car.

Frantically, I soon lose count of how many cars I've run through; of how many times the moon outside has cycled though all of it's phases, and of how many new injuries I've acquired by simply going into a new car. This time I'm in a very brightly-lit passenger car, taking hold of the nearest furnishing for leverage. I then let my battered and bloodied self fall upon the plush seating; pain upon the initial impact, but comfort in it's embrace. It gives way in the same manner as when I first woke up, in that initial car. Whomever is doing this, at least got this detail right. Its been hard to completely ignore every new clue, every new item that was placed in each car to drag forth slivers and hints of memories...but I think I've put something together. My name is John Fredrikson, and Bill Carson's family are the remnants of an old promise I made to Jenny Leeland...well, Jenny Carson now. She was Bill's wife, but more importantly...she was my first true love.

We were deeply in love, but I had to leave the monotony of that town and chase a dream...and she didn't come with me. I became a lawyer and we hadn't talked in years...but I came back home though; back to that town, as I made sure I was assigned to an office there. I reconnected with her and therefore met Bill, and their three kids...a happy family that fell into dire straights after consumption took her life a year later. I...I had promised to take care of her...forever...but I lied, and I was selfish. While I was away, she nursed her pain with opioids, and then found someone that actually took care of her...someone who gave her the family she always wanted. I think I chose to watch out for her family after her death, helping them however I could...but they lost their lives too.

Agony and regret fill me, as I come to the conclusion that...I too had died, battered to submission in some back alley. But for what reason, and why am I here? I never believed in the inferno...but is this a hell of my own creation? Is it just like the train I rode on when I left Jenny behind? Am I...being made to experience that regret for eternity...do I deserve this? As I struggle to breathe past my broken ribs and further collect myself, an aberrant voice enters my mind.

I feel a sharp tinge inside my head, as a voice not my own fills my thoughts, "Why yes...yes you do deserve this. But...you are not John Fredrikson...you are..." A deeper pain takes hold of my mind as new memories rush forth, filling in all the gaps of John's life as I make a brand new realization. The aches and pains are gone now, the blood and bruising immediately vanish as my breathing normalizes.

I sit up, and ponder my new truth...my name is actually Harry...Harold Svetson...and I ruined the life of John, and the Carson family. I...I had the Carson home burned down...because their homestead was in the way of rails I wanted to lay down, and they refused to sell their land. I silenced John, who was tirelessly investigating local corruption. He was clean, and refused to take money from the locals I had in my pocket. But this...their lives...they're just one of many stories that are as fleeting to me as the money I've spent, laying the foundation for my own dream. Ruining the dreams and lives of others, in order to build...my own hollow empire.

I then hear the voice again, piercing the veil between what I know of myself as Harry, and of what I know of myself as John. Its echoing and grating this time, as it speaks words I seem to have heard a million times by now. The familiar voice tells me, "Well...that run was another quick one...disappointingly so! I had hoped that this time you would actually explore this life more...before the manic set in...but at least you didn't fall off the train like last time! Anyway...there will be many more chances to revisit John. Soooo, lets reset you...and on to...Nancy Shefield's life, huh?"

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A rooster's call bores into my head, as my eyes open upon the charred remains of...is that my house? I then awaken further with a sudden rush of adrenaline, noting that my body lays upon the morning dew. Spots of moisture littering my nightdress, as the sun rises above the treeline. Its warmth, and my bright auburn hair, tickling my face while I roll onto my side. My body aches as I try to stand, straining like I've come out of a very...very deep slumber of some kind. But...I can't seem to remember what I was dreaming about, and more importantly...I can't remember who I even am?

I panic a little and gaze upon the empty field around me, devoid of any other life as I can't seem to see or hear that rooster I awoke to. I'm quite confused, as my eyes fall back upon the house before me. It seems I found myself in the field behind this house, as a thought beckons me forth to a charcoal chasm in the corner. I take a deep breath and saunter forth in submission, the moist grass feeling a little odd between my toes. The sight of it all is odd and sort of unnatural though, as if it was a deliberately crafted blaze, starting in different spots like bites taken out of a sandwich.

I come upon the open wall and peak within to find...perhaps someone's bedroom? Along one wall is a pile of ash surrounded by...perhaps the bedposts of a couple's bed? I'm curious enough to immediately step in, making note of all the moisture and mildew within; how long ago did this happen? The floorboards creak beneath my weight; the scent of coal and wet logs fill my lungs, as I look upon the remains of a nightstand. In the charred wood and ash, the light of the sun glints upon something there. Proceeding carefully and feeling the floor creak with every step, I come close enough to reach for a necklace. The sight of it seems to remind me of something, as the hints of a memory come forth.