Now where was I?
There’s a line from a rock and roll standard by the Grateful Dead that goes ‘what a long, strange trip it’s been.’ Amazing how that one line can sum things up so well. It’s been almost a month since the last time I posted something. Not for the lack of material, just a lack of time. My non-writing life has kept me on the go these last few weeks, with travels taking me a long way from my keyboard. Ain’t complaining, just explaining. And as an old country boy that I used to work with would comment, ‘nuff said’.
My last post talked about character names. Finding the right name for a character can be a trial. Many times in the past, I wrote a story and changed the names half a dozen times or more before I found something I really liked. And to keep from having all my characters sounding too Vanilla I use different methods to come up with some really unique names.
The obituary list in the newspaper often has some very classy ethnic names. In addition, you might get a glimpse of the history behind this individual, which may slip into your character and help to flesh them out. Baby books can be useful too. Sometimes I’ve deliberately used a name that was traditionally male for a female character, or a male sounding nickname to give you a little glimpse as to how the character might act. An earlier post had parts of a short story called “Goody Twoshoes” which was the name of one female character. Another one in that same story was Wanda Wildchilde. Both names were distinctive, and they may have given you some clue as to how they would behave. But having my characters go against the stereotypes is half the fun of writing.
And sometimes, I can’t resist the temptation to use the name of a real person who has crossed my path at some point. Now, I won’t admit to using such a name for the victim of a killer, or that creepy psychopath that was getting away with murder. So I’ll have to leave it up to you. Is that character’s name real? Or is it just a twist of my imagination?
Last time I shared the first part of “Alderschot” a story that takes place at a rural train station. In case you’re curious, there really is such a place. At least there was a few years ago. Alderschot was the little spot where the east-west railroad tracks crossed the north-south line, and it was where my train from Niagara Falls connected with the train going to Windsor, Canada. This little station was the inspiration for this story. And now, here is the rest of “Alderschot”.
********************************************************
Annie took a step away from the train. “I’m not getting on board.”
“Me neither.”
They moved back together, keeping the train in sight, until their backs pressed against the chain link fence. The steps suddenly folded back into position and the doors slammed shut. The train shuddered, and then began picking up speed as it moved out of the station. With the rails shimmering, it rolled south around a bend and into the fading daylight.
“Maybe we’re imagining things,” Annie said.
“No way. I’d walk home before I got on board that train.”
As the last car rounded the bend, the sky was filled with a shower of sparks and the roar of an explosion. Maurice and Annie were thrown to the concrete. Pressure from the blast squeezed them against the links, forcing indentations from the wire into their skin.
Somehow Annie’s voice penetrated the noise surrounding them. “We’ve got to help them!”
“I can’t move.”
Neither one could pull themselves away from the fence. Then as quickly as it had started, the pressure was gone. Maurice rolled to his knees. His hands trembled as he pushed himself up to
his feet. Instinctively, Annie reached for his hand. She doubted that her own legs would support her.
“They need our help,” she said, leaning against him.
“Nobody could have survived that blast.”
“We’ve got to look.”
His eyes flicked to the smoke rising from the curve, to her face and back again. “I ain’t no hero.”
“Neither am I. But we still have to look.”
Together they moved to the edge of the platform. They didn’t have the strength to jump to the tracks. First they sat then squirmed off the edge, dropping the five feet to the jumble of cinders beside the railroad ties. Annie realized she was still holding his hand, but made no effort to remove it. They proceeded slowly toward the bend.
“You feel it?” Maurice asked.
“The energy. What was it you said before?”
“Static. Like lightning about to strike.”
“I think it already did.”
They inched closer to the curve, their progress impeded by the force of the explosion and the aftershock. Annie realized she was lagging behind, letting him break through the pressure a step at a time, like someone breaking the trail on a snow covered path. But it was easier to walk in his wake than forge a separate path.
With her head down, she didn’t notice they had rounded the curve until she bumped into his back.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
It was several moments before he found his voice. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Still holding his hand, Annie moved up beside Maurice. There was a loud cracking noise, as the area immediately before them filled with the sparks of supercharged energy. Then as quickly as it had begun, it dissipated.
“Where is everybody?” Annie’s voice sounded loud in her ears, but in reality it was barely a whisper.
“I have no idea.”
The ground between the rails was free of any litter or debris other than the jet-black cinders that lined the tracks. Even the wooden ties, stained dark with creosote and the drippings of a thousand crossings, looked typical of the railroad. Beyond that, the tracks were vacant.
No bits of blood splattered clothing.
No body parts.
No luggage.
No shredded magazines, newspapers or books.
Nothing.
“Oh my God,” Annie said softly. “Where could they be?”
Maurice took a tentative step forward, gingerly placing his foot on a tie before moving ahead. He bent smoothly at the waist and placed his free hand on the rail. “It’s cold. No vibrations. Nothing’s been over this spot recently.”
“How is that possible?”
“Beats the hell out of me.” He straightened, and then slowly turned his head from side to side. Annie watched him draw in several deep breaths and slowly let them out. “Smell that?”
She sniffed daintily at the air. “I don’t smell anything.”
Maurice turned completely around to face her. “Precisely. You said before that you’ve traveled by rail a lot. When’s the last time a train rolled through a station or crossing and didn’t leave the odor of diesel fumes twenty minutes after it moved on?”
“You’re right. I could always smell the exhaust. But what does it mean?”
He turned her around and they started walking back toward the platform at Alderschot. The path offered no resistance now. “It means there was no train. What we saw didn’t exist.”
“But the people. The Thibodeaus. The family. The fishing buddies.”
“Up in smoke. Ain’t nobody going to tell us otherwise.”
“But they were real, Maurice. We talked to them. We watched them interact. They were as real as you and I are.”
They had reached the edge of the platform. Maurice put his back to concrete wall and laced his fingers into a stirrup. Annie put her right foot in his hands. Without speaking, she placed her palms on his shoulders. Annie pushed off the ground as Maurice lifted her up. Like a circus act, she was suddenly on the cement walkway, watching him vault from the pit to stand beside her.
“Now what?” Annie asked.
“We wait.”
*
They sat on the concrete bench, their baggage at their feet. Annie kept glancing at the loudspeaker above the shelter, trying to will it to come to life. She noticed that her watch had stopped. Probably the results of the shock wave. Or whatever it had been. In the distance, the sun began its decent.
“How long do you think we should wait?” she asked.
Maurice gave her a brief smile. “As long as it takes. There’s got to be a real train through here sooner or later. Unless you feel like hiking until we hit civilization. You got somebody waiting for you?”
“No. It could be hours before something comes through.”
“Could be miles to go before we found someone. Best to stay put.”
He had barely finished speaking when they heard a loud click above them, followed by a buzz of static.
“Shit. Not again,” Maurice said.
“Wait.”
A voice with a high nasal pitch rang out from the speaker. “Attention, any southbound passengers. Estimated departure from Alderschot to all points south will be fifteen minutes. Repeat, fifteen minutes to depart Alderschot. Hope to have you aboard before the sun sets.”
Annie reached over and squeezed his hand. “That’s the normal voice. Hokey wishes and five-minute intervals. Reality.”
Maurice gave her a slow smile. “You seem to know a lot about these trains.”
“My aunt raised me. Mom’s sister. She died last spring. Before she went, she gave me a rail pass. Good for a year. I’ve never been on a train before. At least, not that I can remember. I’ve been using it the last six months.”
Maurice nodded thoughtfully. “Grandmother took care of me. She lives in Motown. Cooks the best food I’ve ever had. Gave me a pass for the summer. Before I start my senior year of college. A chance to travel. See some of the world.” He nodded again. “Never seen anything like this. Let’s see how real this train is.”
The quarter of an hour passed quickly. They walked up and down the platform, trying hard not to appear anxious when the train was visible in the distance. The shiny silver cars roared
into the station and every door burst open with the gasp of air brakes. Several conductors stepped onto the platform, stretching their legs and surveying the night sky. Animated people were visible through the windows, adjusting packages and children into their seats. Annie and Maurice walked from the engine back, peering through the windows at the passengers.
“What do you think?” Annie whispered in his ear.
“Looks pretty sweet to me.”
“I hope we can find two seats together.”
He glanced down, looking at her pale fingers laced through his own. One of the conductors approached them.
“Plenty of room in the next car, folks. Only another minute before we leave Alderschot. Don’t want the trains to run late, ya know.”
Quickly they climbed into the car. Near the back, they found two seats together, facing forward. Annie took the window. Maurice stowed their bags overhead, then settled in beside her. There was the clank of doors, followed by the whoosh of brakes as the train began to rock slowly out of the station. The conductor appeared beside them, making sure everyone was settled into their seats.
“Has there ever been an accident on this line?” Annie asked quietly.
The conductor’s face, a friendly grin a moment before, twisted quickly into a scowl. “You another one of them?”
“One of what?” Maurice said.
“One of them gore-mongers. It was all over today’s paper. Bloody anniversary and all. You’d think people had better things to do with their time.” He started to turn away.
“Wait,” Annie pleaded, “can you tell us about the accident?”
“I got a bunch of cars full of people to tend to, Missy. But if you’re really interested, give me a minute.” The conductor finished his turn and continued to check on the rest of the passengers.
“What do you suppose that was about?” Annie asked.
Maurice shrugged and kept his attention on the window. They were passing the bend in the tracks, where they had hiked only a short while earlier.
A few minutes later the conductor returned and dropped a thick newspaper in Maurice’s lap.
“You can read it for yourselves. Much as I hate to admit it, the account is fairly accurate. Don’t know why young folks the likes of you would be so interested though. Only a freak thing.”
Annie leaned over as Maurice opened the paper. The article covered three columns on the right, marking the anniversary of the
train wreck, twenty years ago to the day. Only two survivors out of three hundred and seventy. A young boy of four. A girl only
two-years old. On the following page were old photos of the scene. Passenger cars were scattered and tumbled across the tracks, as if an angry child had backhanded his toy train set in a moment of frustration. A sidebar gave quick details of the events leading up to the crash, and listed some famous people who had perished.
“Sweet Jesus. They never knew what hit them,” Maurice said, his voice a soft whisper in her ear.
“Turn it over.” Annie pointed a shaky finger at the paper.
He did as she asked. On the following page were other articles, reflecting the improved safety standards for the railroads, expanded training for the crews and charts showing the steady growth of rail travel. A small box at the bottom of the page caught her eye. Under the caption “Where Are They Now?” were two blurry photos.
The four-year old boy.
The two-year old girl.
Next to the original pictures were computer generated versions, using an age progression software program. Although grainy, the images were fairly accurate.
“That’s us,” Maurice said softly, letting the paper drop to the floor. “You and me, babe.”
The End
