Time Passage: A Time Travel Novel, page 2
I didn’t move for a minute or so, and we just stared at each other. Glancing about, on edge, I ambled over to her, and she lifted her old, watery eyes on me.
“Hello, young woman. You’re awfully pretty, you know.”
I swallowed. Those were exactly the same words my mother used to say to me. Exactly. The same. You’re awfully pretty, you know.
“Who are you?” I asked, feeling my skin crawl. The entire night was just too weird.
“Nobody.”
“Everybody’s somebody,” I said, searching her face.
“How old are you, young lady?”
“I’m twenty-five.”
The lady cocked a questioning eye. “I bet you went to college and you’re real smart, aren’t you?”
I couldn’t stop a burst of dark laughter. “No, I didn’t go to college and I’m not smart at all. If I was smart, I wouldn’t be here.”
“And what’s your name?”
“I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours.”
“My name don’t matter anymore. I’m nobody now. That’s my name. Nobody. Now, tell me yours.”
Yeah, she reminded me of my mother, but she wasn’t my mother. But I felt sorry for her, even though I knew she wouldn’t want that. “My name is Cindy Downing.”
The woman’s face warmed. “That’s a fine name. A good and fine name for a pretty girl with reddish blonde hair and shining blue eyes. Yes, a fine name, Cindy.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, I guess so.”
The woman leaned her head back and looked me over anew. “Why are you so scared?”
I swallowed again. “I’ve had a bad day.”
The woman studied me. “Yeah, I see that. Do you know what else I see?”
I didn’t say anything. She was freaking me out, and I wanted to go.
“The night will swallow you up. Hear me?”
“What?”
She nodded. “I know all about the night, Cindy. I live in it, and I move in it, and it speaks to me. The night has kept me alive when others are long dead. You have to be quiet, of course, to hear it speak, because it doesn’t use words, you know. It has its own words. But if I’m quiet, it speaks to me. Yes, the night will swallow you right up, and your life will never be the same again.”
The whole scene seemed a nightmare, and I wanted to get the hell away from that woman. It was time to go. I reached into my purse for my wallet, removed a twenty-dollar bill, and extended my hand toward her.
She stared at it. “That’s a lot of money for an old woman.”
I didn’t know what else to say. “It’s not much. Not the way prices are today, it isn’t. Please take it.”
With a shaky, blue-veined hand, the woman reached and took the twenty, quickly stuffing it into her right coat pocket. “Thanks, young lady. Something good will happen to you for this. I just know it.”
I sighed a little, my spooked eyes moving, searching, blinking. “I hope so. I can use it. Do you have anywhere else to go?” I asked, glancing around again, spotting a cop near the front entrance, staring out the windows. Perspiration formed between my breasts and on my back.
“I’m just where I need to be, young lady,” the woman responded. “Don’t you worry none about me. You just go now and catch your train. Somewhere out there, the big night will hide you. You’ll be okay.”
I gave her a half-smile that probably looked more like a twisted grin. “Take care of yourself,” I said, and I meant it, even though I knew the woman probably wouldn’t live much longer.
I checked the departure board, and saw the blinking letters: ALL ABOARD. Finally, I could board the Amtrak train to Chicago.
I joined a line forming near the escalator, keeping my head down, taking the opportunity to glance at my cellphone to see if there was any news. Thank God, there wasn’t. But it was too soon. With any luck, Cliff hadn’t been found.
It seemed an eternity before the line inched ahead, and I stepped onto the escalator and glided down, being one of the few passengers who didn’t have luggage.
Leaving the escalator, I walked briskly down the concrete platform toward the rear of the train, ducking inside the third coach from the rear, finding it wasn’t crowded. The seat I chose was three from the exit doors, just in case I needed to escape quickly.
I sank down in the seat, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes. I took several deep breaths and tamped down the mounting hysteria. While my heart thudded in my ears, I willed the train to move, pressed my forehead with the heel of my hand and blurted out, “Move, train! Move, dammit!”
A man across the aisle shot me a glance.
When the train finally lurched ahead, I let out a breath. I had made it. At least for now, I was on my way. Would I make it to Chicago before the police boarded the train searching for me?
CHAPTER 4
There are good dreams, and there are bad ones. A bad dream startled me awake, and I blinked, wiped my eyes, and realized the bad dream I’d just awakened from wasn’t as bad as the waking dream I was living in. And, of course, it wasn’t a dream, and I couldn’t pinch myself and wake up.
I was on a train heading for Chicago to change my name and hide somewhere—who knew where?—probably for the rest of my life. But who was I kidding? The cops would find me, eventually. Cliff’s family would make sure I was found, no matter where I hid. They had the money.
Thankfully, no one had sat on the seat next to me. I’d been asleep for over an hour, and as much as I dreaded it, I pulled my cellphone and checked the news. Terror rippled up my spine. There it was, already a shouting headline on CNN!
BILLIONAIRE TYCOON CLIFTON PRINCE
FOUND DEAD IN NEW YORK LUXURY SUITE!
GIRLFRIEND SOUGHT!
There was a photo of the two of us in happier days, his arm around my waist, Cliff wearing a tuxedo, and me in a killer cocktail dress, showing plenty of cleavage. My smile was gushing and forced, and he had the high-wattage smile of a movie star. Even as the panic rose, I had to admit that we’d been a lovely couple.
The weight of the moment was suffocating. I dropped my cellphone into my purse and couldn’t stop my scared eyes from moving. That’s when I became aware that my lip was sore, and my left eye was throbbing in pain where Cliff had struck me. I turned my face toward the window and saw my vague reflection in the glass. Why hadn’t I felt the pain before now? Shock? It didn’t matter. Now that my photo was all over the internet, I wouldn’t have a chance. Somebody would recognize me, or maybe they’d already recognized me, and I’d be in jail before morning.
My mind felt bruised, and I couldn’t think. I was a stupid girl in headlights, and a big and fast police car was going to flatten me like roadkill on a back Florida road. I tried to swallow away a lump, but I couldn’t. I needed a drink, wine, beer, water, whatever, but I was too scared to move. I’d be recognized.
So, I sat with my head turned aside, staring out into the night, as lights blurred by, as the train thundered ahead, the moan of its whistle reminding me of that trailer park back in Florida. The freight trains would come rumbling across the tracks at all hours of the day and night, shaking the trailer. I got used to them, and they seldom awakened me, even when their hollow whistle blasted and echoed.
I squirmed when I recalled that the train conductor had taken and punched my ticket and then placed the stub into the metal tab above my seat. He’d seen my face. He’d said, “Good evening.” He’d smiled at me and stared at me a little too long. Did he notice my eye? My sore lip? Why didn’t the homeless woman say anything? Maybe she didn’t see so well? I should have brought a hat to help disguise my face. I should have stopped at an ATM and taken out more cash, so I wouldn’t have to use credit cards, which are so easily tracked. I should have done a hundred other things, but I hadn’t been thinking so good, had I?
I had to get off at the next stop, whatever that next stop was, and make a run for it. It was my only chance. Was the next stop Poughkeepsie, New York? Albany?
I slid out of my coat and placed it on the seat next to me. I grabbed my purse, left my seat and, with my head bowed low, worked my way down the aisle until I came to the bathroom. Stepping in, I closed and locked the door, and faced the mirror.
Surprise. My lip wasn’t so swollen. Lipstick would cover it, and my eye, although a bit puffy, wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined. I applied lipstick, and then concealer and blush, especially around my sore eye. I leaned in, taking a closer look. Not bad. Not bad at all, except that I still looked like the girl on the CNN website. Not bad at all meant that I’d be easily recognized.
Returning to my seat, I saw the conductor working his way down the aisle. I sat and turned toward the window, pretending to be lost in thought, and it wasn’t hard to pretend.
I heard the conductor say, “Next stop, Poughkeepsie, New York. Poughkeepsie, next stop, in about ten minutes.”
And then he leaned in toward me and lowered his voice. “Everything all right?”
I didn’t turn to face him. “Yes, everything is just fine, thank you.”
“Well, you let me know if we can make your trip more comfortable.”
I looked at him through the window’s reflection and he was just a smudge. “Thank you.”
He lingered. I sweated.
What he said next paralyzed me. “You look familiar.”
“Everybody looks like somebody else,” I said, wishing he’d leave.
“Yeah, okay. That’s cool.”
I was certain he was suspicious. Why didn’t I look at him? He was in his early thirties and not bad looking. I was certain he had returned to get a better look at me. I had to get off at Poughkeepsie.
I sat forward, getting ready to shoot up as soon as the train pulled to a stop. If the conductor was standing nearby, I’d blow by him, exit the train and disappear into the night.
I heard the whistle and the ding of bells as the train approached the platform and squealed to a stop. That’s when I saw them: two policemen on the platform, hands stuffed into their jacket pockets, chatting, their breath smoking. I jerked my glance away and plotted an alternate escape.
What escape? There was no escape. It was over. I was caught. I pushed up and headed to the bathroom, a useless idea. Inside, I closed and locked the door, leaned back against it and waited, feeling like a trapped animal. My heart kicked, my saliva was thick. I chewed on my lower lip and waited. And waited. And waited.
When the train jolted, moved and gathered speed, I was breathing through my teeth, sweat on my face, my neck, my back.
Minutes later, as the train was clicking along the tracks, I made my move. I unlocked the bathroom door, slid it open and, after a deep breath, I stepped out. I was surprised to see that the coach was nearly empty, only three other people remained, a 40s something business-type woman at work on her laptop, an elderly man reading a newspaper, and a 20s looking guy staring into his phone across the aisle from my seat. I thought that was strange. Weren’t most passengers traveling to Albany or Chicago?
When I saw that no one was waiting for me, not the conductor or the cops, I ducked my head and returned to my seat, sitting on the edge of misery. Staring out into the night, I flirted with the idea of getting off at Albany and turning myself in. Wouldn’t that be the right thing to do? After all, I had killed a man, even though it was in self-defense. Should I, for once, do the right thing and tell the truth? Wasn’t it time I grew up and accepted responsibility for my actions? Isn’t that what my mother had tried to hammer into me when I was a teenager, running wild and stealing clothes, makeup, and food?
As the minutes ticked by, as the train pushed on, I stared at my reflection in the window, and realized I didn’t like that image of myself, as vague and blurry as it was. I had lived callously and selfishly, indifferent to others, and apathetic about the consequences of my actions. So, yes, maybe it was time I turned myself in, pleaded my case and accepted the outcome. If I had to go to jail, then fine, I’d do my time and then I’d be free to start again. Start a brand-new life.
But the thought of going to prison completely paralyzed my body, mind, and soul. What if I was found guilty of murder and sentenced to twenty or thirty years? If I survived in that hell of a place, I’d be too old and too broken to start again. I’d seen women who’d spent only ten or fifteen years in prison. One woman who lived in our trailer park had spent ten years in a Florida prison for killing her boyfriend in self-defense. She was an old, shattered hag at fifty-two. And I’d met other former cons along the way, and they were mean, broken, and darkly depressed.
The train shuddered. I got the shakes. My hands shook, my throat tightened, and my right eye twitched. What the hell was I going to do?
That’s when it happened, something I’ll never be able to explain. So why am I writing this? Because I have to. Because it happened, and it was crazy and terrifying, and it completely changed my life. Because I have to write it down and try to make sense of it. Because no one will ever believe it.
I heard a whooshing sound. The train rocked, and when I glanced toward the window, I saw we’d entered a tunnel. And that’s when it happened. I felt floaty and detached, the first signs something wasn’t right. I thought it was my nerves, or my mind was tuning out from all the stress. A chill rippled up to the top of my head. I felt flushed, and my eyes got blurry.
On impulse, I shot a glance toward the guy across the aisle, who’d been surfing his cellphone. It was completely weird. He was fading in and out, solid one moment, ghost-like the next. And then he was gone. Vanished! What the hell!?
Sure I was having a breakdown or a heart attack, I gulped in air and tried to stand, but the train shook so violently I couldn’t get to my feet. A puff of cold wind blew across my face; it had a scary scream to it, just like in the movies. And then a smoky, yellow fog engulfed the coach. I was certain it was poison gas, and I was going to die.
In my crazy head, I thought the cops had found me and someone had hired them to kill me and toss my body off the train. My chest tightened, my throat burned, and I was sure I was close to death.
I peered into that churning fog and saw crackling light: red, green and blue, like little firework explosions, dazzling. In frightened wonder, I watched as bright blue threads of light crawled along the sides and ceiling of the train, like an electric current.
The train bucked hard. I braced for the thing to jump the tracks, go barreling off a cliff, and crash.
When the electric, blue current reached me, I felt the shock of it, the sting of it, the pain of it. I screamed. It jolted me from my seat, and I bounced down hard, only to be jolted again. The last time, I thought I would shatter into pieces, and I fainted.
CHAPTER 5
I returned to consciousness slowly, reluctantly, my breathing staggered. My head was leaned back and someone above was trying to get me to drink water from a glass. I choked the first two times.
“There, there, there, now, young woman,” a reassuring male voice said. “You just relax, and we’ll try again. Open your mouth a little wider. Come on, you can do it… just a little wider.”
My eyes were glued shut and my head pounded. I’d lost all track of time and place, and the last thing I remembered was standing in Cliff’s suite, sipping champagne from a crystal flute while he took a drink of his whiskey.
I finally managed to drink some water, and it felt cool on my burning throat.
“Very good, very good. That will make you feel better,” the soothing male voice said.
With effort, I forced my eyes open, squinting into the dim, flickering light that came from a glass globe ceiling attachment.
“Feeling better now?” the male voice asked.
Slowly turning my head, I gazed up into the face of a gray-bearded man with a bushy mustache, calm eyes, and a smiling mouth. I figured he was in his middle-to-late fifties, from his wrinkled forehead, his crow’s feet, and the bags under his eyes.
I licked my lips and found my voice. “What happened? Where am I?”
“I’m Dr. Harlan Broadbent. You fainted, and I was summoned by the conductor to assist and examine you.”
My foggy brain struggled to make connections. I slowly lifted my head and sat up, turning my attention out the window. The train was rocking through wide open country in early evening, passing trees, rickety shacks, and endless, waving fields of long grass, all sliding smoothly backward.
My sleepy eyes opened fully. I saw black smoke billowing past the window and heard the moan of a train whistle as the train wheels went clicking along the tracks.
Was I in a private car? My seat, and the surrounding seats, were velvet, spacious and plush. The décor was lavish, with beautiful, detailed woodwork and brass fixtures. Everything looked retro, as if the train had come from a museum and was the set for a historical Hollywood movie. On the ceiling, ornate, mother-of-pearl globes gave off muted light, not so bright, but relaxing, casting everything in a romantic glow.
“Where am I?” I asked, my eyes returning to Dr. Broadbent. He wore a curious, black, cutaway coat with silk lapels and a high starched collar, a black bow tie, and black and gray striped pants. His wire spectacles enlarged his dark eyes. He looked more like a butler from the TV series Downton Abbey than a doctor. I sensed something was wrong, but my head hadn’t cleared enough for me to work it out.
“First, young lady, may I ask your name?”
I hesitated, my mind a tangle of memories, thoughts and faces. I simply couldn’t remember, and it scared the hell out of me. I was sure I’d had some kind of seizure or a stroke.
“I... I can’t remember. How crazy is that? I just can’t remember.”
He studied me. “I must say, with some small surprise, that you favor a woman I have treated in the past. You have similar features.”
“I don’t know my name. I just don’t know it. Why is that? What the hell has happened to me?”
