Another day on the train. Her eyes flickered open to filtered rays of sunlight, as she watched the countryside go by for a few seconds. Seconds technically wasted, but she didn’t need them. Outside the window, a town was being passed, a water tower jutting out of the terrain, a large red splotch across its surface. She absently wondered how it had gotten there. An old high school senior prank gone wrong? She didn’t know, and it was a little annoying. But soon enough, that section of the American midwest was long behind her.
She sighed, looking down at her watch. Every day on the train, she had gotten up at the same time, exactly. Eight thirteen in the morning. It was eight fourteen now. Currently, based on the landscape, and a concept of when they should be where, this was Oklahoma. She was from Nebraska, but she had boarded the train in Missouri. Her recent trip had been a bit of a whirlwind, all considered, and it had left her exhausted. Her job was like that sometimes, and it was annoying. And technically, it still wasn’t done. She was still on the train after all.
She decided to be nice to herself, and stay in her seat until nine. Reaching into her bag, which was chock full of various things, chief among them volumes and volumes of books. On the trip, she’d already burned through seven, and that was with her rationing them somewhat. She had five left, one of which was in progress. She was currently working through a pulpy science fiction novel about foreign explorers on a distant planet navigating swamps filled with knife wielding cat people. Not her favorite, not her least favorite. It occupied the time.
When her watch read nine, she closed the book, now about a quarter of the way through. She did her best to read slowly. She reached into the bag for more belongings that she’d need for getting up and moving. Her wallet, just to make her less easy to rob. Same went for her keys. Next, she grabbed a smaller bag, more akin to a small purse then anything. It rustled a bit with its contents within. Finally, she grabbed the most peculiar item out of the bunch. A long knife, fit for skinning animals. She tucked it into her waistband, obscured by the seats, so that the few awake passengers in this car couldn’t see her with such an oddity. They would probably give a woman with a large knife in her pants a bit of a side eye, and the last thing she wanted was issues with the conductor.
With her collection of items, she walked out of the car, and over to the next one. She wanted to check a few things off of her list, just so she could get as much work done as possible. Best to spend the daylight the best as she could, after all. It was only efficient. She strode down the length of the train, heading for the second to last car. She knew that was where one of them was, the people she needed to see. Only one of them was really of any importance, her acquaintance near the front of the train, but there were two others she needed to see first, because they had some relevance to her job. Colleagues, in an abstract way.
The first was an older man. Late fifties, early sixties, he had calloused hands and a build as if he’d worked for much of his adult life. His white skin was tanned, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun, or used to, and it was starting to slowly recede. He was wearing relatively nice clothes, perhaps because he was retired, and had a gray flat cap. He had a newspaper open, and was reading it in relative peace when she approached. Sliding into the seat across from him without a care, as he raised an eyebrow, putting the paper down with a confused expression as the perceived stranger sat down in front of him.
“Sorry to bother you sir-” She started, trying to inject the most embarrassment she could manage into her tone. Some of it was genuine, some of it was played up.
“-But I’m hoping that you might be John Brockman?” She was able to almost perfectly note the shift in his stature and expression when she called him by name.
He took a moment before responding, because he clearly needed it.
“That would be me-” There was a pause, as he looked directly at her, as if a bit of confusion had him. He hadn’t expected that.
“Sorry to bother you, again. But I was told to find you. It’s about your son, Donald.”
Brockman’s attention had been fully piqued, now focused on her. His eyes just a bit colder now.
“Nothing bad, I promise you, sir-”
“…If that boy has gotten himself in jail again, I swear by christ-” He started. She held up a hand.
“Nothing like that, sir. It’s about employment. He’s up in Kansas now, he needed recommendation and vetting for a job at our office facility. I’m…quite the good private detective.” A flat out lie. But one she’d honed, gotten ready for this moment. Taking a long breath in, and keeping a steady stare at Brockman.
He took a long moment. As if trying to search for the deception that he couldn’t possibly know was there. Before a smile cracks on his face. The older man clearly did not expect this to be a lie. She knew his son’s name, and he had been in Kansas last the man had checked. She’d done…research, in the previous days.
“Well-that’s great! What do you need to know?” He said, with a bit of…not excitement, but a genuine sense of happiness in his voice.
“Just a few things. Your employment history, and corroborating his. Would you mind going through those, to your recollection, for me?”
Brockton paused, then began to list them off. She knew all of them already, and had internalized them. Verifying it from his willing mouth was useful, but it still wasn’t anything she hadn’t learned over the past couple of days. She didn’t even really bother listening once he really got into different anecdotes about he and his son’s history. His son was a delinquent sort, and got into a lot of trouble back in the day. She didn’t really care.
When he was done, she smiled nice and wide to him. Doing her best to play the past of an overzealous private investigator. He gave her another questioning look, as if trying to pin down some kind of absent trait. He shook his head.
“Well that should be everything! Thank you very much sir. I’ll get this back to the boss as soon as possible.”
“‘Course, anything for my boy.” He says with a vigorous nod.
She stood, and began to walk away, with a wave. Now starting to walk towards the front of the train, she stuck her hands deep in the pockets of the jacket she was wearing. It was a bit warm out, but still, it felt nice to have the layers on.
She stepped past her bag, seeing it untouched. No one had tried to steal her stuff on the previous days of the trip, she wasn’t expecting it now, but old paranoia lingered in her head, from previous trips overseas.
Next on her list was another individual, who, from any outsider’s perspective, would seem unrelated. A younger woman than Brockman, but still older than her. Sepia skin and amber eyes, as she looked out the window of the train. She was currently in one of the dining cars, though no food was in front of her just yet. No newspaper or book in sight, just the sight of the countryside to pass the time. She could respect that, kind of. She walked over, clearing her throat. The woman looked at her with a curious sort of expression.
“…Is this seat taken?” She asked, pointing at the one across from the woman. She could see her gaze flick across the car, seeing that there were plenty of open seats available, but being unwilling to bring that up…trying to be polite. She had read her right.
She shook her head.
“No, it isn’t.”
She nodded, and sat down across from her. Smiling. The woman gave a somewhat awkward nod, and returned to staring out the window for now. The silence between the pair lingered, from an awkward sense from one party, and a calculated sense from the other.
“…Are you Johanna Carter?” She posed, to break the silence. Johanna seemed startled, turning over to her.
“…Yes? Are you-” She started
She held up her hand. Shaking her head a bit, as if knowing the answer-because she was pretty sure she did.
“I’m not with the police. Private investigator. Your sister hired me, I’ve been looking into your case” A lie she had long since perfected, over the past few days.
“…Oh.” The relief in her voice, like with Brockman, was palatable. It was almost funny, all things considered, if things weren’t as bad as they were. And if this hadn’t gone on as long as it had.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m bad at the outreach part of the job.” An embarrassed sounding laugh escaped her lips.
“No-no, it’s alright. So? Did you find anything?” Her voice soared with hope. She likely hadn’t heard anything positive, since she had been first accused of murdering that little boy out in Missouri. She didn’t really know if she had done it or not, none of the information she’d gathered in the last couple of days really gave her a good idea. A complex criminal trial in the middle of a lot of other trials. Johanna had simplified it by skipping town, though. The woman leaned forward, eager to hear what she had to say.
“…Nothing concrete yet. I was just wondering if I could hear your side of the story in full, it could help me cross reference some much needed information, that could help prove your innocence, once and for all.” She spoke with expected conviction, that beneath the surface was completely and utterly hollow.
“Right, right, so it all started back in July-”
She’d read the story all before, back on paper and otherwise, so she hardly paid attention to it this time. She had been out on a late night walk in her neighborhood, when the attack had happened. A robbery gone wrong. The assailant, according to her, had fled the scene, leaving the body of the victim’s son cold dead in her wake. She had moved away, but had been picked up by the police. The assailant that she had seen had never been found. She was pretty sure she knew why, but best not to cause a scene. She had escaped custody due to a shift guard falling asleep, and slipped out the back to begin a life on the run, looking for a way to clear her name ever since.
“-I’ve been looking to clear my name ever since” She concluded her tale, looking across at her.
She gave the best she could at a genuine nod. She realized that if she ever did this again with anyone, she should bring a notepad and pen to sell the illusion. Oh well. Brockman, and now Carter, had bought the lie regardless. It was a well practiced lie. She tried to make it seem like she was making a mental note of the story she had just been told.
“Well, thank you for that. It confirms more than a few things. With any luck, we’ll have your name cleared in no time.”
Johanna smiled wide.
“That’s a relief-tell Chloe I say thank you, I didn’t expect her to believe me.”
She didn’t.
“I will. Though-” As she stood, and moved towards the exit of the car, she stopped right by Johanna’s seat. Leaning over to the woman, close enough to whisper in the woman’s ear without anyone else in the dining car hearing her.
“To be safe, get off at the next station. I think there was a plainclothes cop back there.” She jammed a thumb towards the back of the train. She saw Johanna pale as she took her exit, likely quick to scramble off. She smirked to herself. Just that easy.
She returned to her seat, about ten minutes before the train was due to roll into the next station. The town’s name was wonderfully generic, Strawberry Point, and she had been planning for her arrival here for a while now.
She did just a bit more reading, clearing a couple of long and small texted pages before the train pulled into the stop, at this average sized town in the middle of nowhere. People embarked and disembarked. She saw Johanna swiftly do so, making it into the crowd with ease. She was looking over her shoulder all the while.
What was more important to her was the movement of one John Brockman. He would be hurrying to the nearest phone booth, to tell his wife all about the success of his son. All it would take is a little bit to ensure he didn’t get back on the train, and didn’t interfere. She closed her book, and stood from her seat. Moving swiftly through the halls, navigating the commotion and bustle with ease, she’d had a lot of practice with this by now. Quickly, she reached the entrance way that would have been used by Mr. Brockman. He was returning from the phone booth, hurrying to get back on his train before it began to depart without him. He was looking down at a new newspaper he had purchased, a more local one, which made him unfortunately susceptible to what came next.
A kick to the lower stomach, with the side of her foot. He wasn’t looking, so it would be easy enough to dismiss as unfortunate luck of bumping into someone on public transit.
John Brockman didn’t get back on the train, because he tumbled back down onto the station, forced to scramble back up to avoid falling onto the tracks below. He watched in horror as the train departed, lamenting his bad luck for the rest of the day, she was sure. She might have felt bad, but he could just buy another ticket…and besides, he was in her way.
That was both obstacles dealt with, in record time for one of her assignments. And without any issues, really. She wove her way back through the boarding masses and back to her seat. She needed to wait for the right time for the rest of her task, unfortunately. She knew if she tried it now, she’d probably lose her chance. A few more people needed to depart and embark, which meant the best chance would be a few stations down the track. Which meant, it was back to the books, or taking after the now departed Johanna and stare out at the mundane and familiar landscape to lose herself in thought. Neither were appealing, though for different reasons. She did a mix of the two anyways, as she lulled herself ever slightly. Nearly half asleep, but never able to fully reach rest. She was a bit too wired for that, at the moment.
It was at about half past four in the afternoon when she decided to next act. The sun slowly started to lower from the sky. The train had just pulled into another station, for another quaint little town, this one titled Arbor Flats, with people getting picked up and dropped off as with all the others. She peered out the window, watching three other obstacles willingly step off the train, and remove themselves as a problem going forward. She’d sigh in relief, if she hadn’t prepared for this a dozen times before.
Once the train pulled out of the station again, she was ready to move. Reaching into her bag for a few more items, stuffing some into her purse, including the knife, not needing to quickly access it just yet. For the person she was going to speak with, it was probably better not to have it plainly visible anyways. She set off down the aisles of the train cars, ahead one, ahead two, ahead three-past where Johanna had been, ahead four, ahead five. The closest passenger car to the front was where she saw him.
He had grown since she had last seen him, a full grown man as opposed to a teenager on his way there when they had last crossed paths. He had short black hair, relatively close to a buzz cut but not quite there. Sandy skin crossed his body, brown eyes looking at a half written letter in front of him, a silver coin with inscriptions on it resting atop it, almost like a point of inspiration as he wrote. He was wearing a leather jacket colored brown, faded red slacks, and a baseball cap rested in his lap. A large bag sat next to him in the seat, one she was sure was filled with all sorts of nasty stuff.
As fate would have it, the two were the only ones in the car.
She walked up, and saw him move his head ever slightly. Enough that she knew she’d been heard before seen. She settled into the seat across from him. Not bothering to ask. He raised an eyebrow at her. His face was scarred down one side, as if someone had cut a knife down his cheek three times in quick succession.
“Hey, sorry, I just-” She paused, trying to emulate awkwardness that she might have had a few days ago.
“…I think we went to highschool together.” She concluded, with a little bit of a laugh escaping her lips as she said that.
“Oh?” He said, giving her a bit of an almost knowing squint. She knew she wasn’t blown yet. He shifted his hands slightly, moving the letter off to the side, but keeping the token in his hands. He ran the silver emblem through his fingers as he listened and spoke. Little did he know that was his biggest tell.
“Yeah, yeah. You woulda known me as Owen back in the day. I know I look a bit different.” She said, with a bit of bashfulness in her voice, trying to get ahead of the inevitable question.
He just nodded. Not really giving a response to it.
“Anyways. How’ve you been? Crazy running into you here, Bowen.”
Bowen nodded again.
“I’ve been well. Things have been hectic, but I’ve made it through. Heading down south to see some family now.” His words were somewhat strained. He clearly wasn’t used to small talk. She really, really, envied that.
“Oh, that’s nice. I’m on here for a similar reason, as a matter of fact. Going to see my Uncle John for a few days.” She smiled, as if the prospect was enticing.
“I see. Do you go down to Texas often?” He said, with a hint of curiosity in his tone.
“Not so much anymore, no.” A perfected lie.
“Well, I’m glad you’re getting to do it now.”
The two fell into a silence for a moment or two, before she next spoke.
“…That’s a nice coin, by the way. What country is it from?”
When she said that, her smile dropped completely. And her gaze turned to a stone cold stare.
His posture shifted in an instant. His weight shifting closer to his bag, his half smile moving into a scowl. A glare, even.
“No need to shoot me.” She said, raising her hands slightly. “I assume you’ve got a gun in that bag, at least. Or several.” He did, she knew that much.
He didn’t say anything. Just maintained the stare.
“I’m here to help. You’re headed to Georgetown, right? Deal with the cult problem there?” She said these words slowly, and clearly.
He hesitated. But nodded. “Yes. I am. How do you know that.”
“My cell is in a network with one up north. They got intelligence that there’s a chaos agent on this train, who wants to make sure you don’t get there.”
This was a gamble. He might choose to disregard her, for her claimed allegiance. He was a professional, after all.
But he bought it. “Where?” He said, leaning forward slightly.
Internally, she had a broad grin on her face. Externally, she kept her cool.
“One of the back cars. I can show you exactly who. They played their hand a little too soon.”
He nodded, as if it was a familiar thing that happened to him. Lucky, because she had just made it up. She stood up, and started moving towards the exit of the car, calling over her shoulder. “Come on. We can take them together.”
Perhaps it was the reassurance that she was walking in front of him, perhaps it was something else, some familiarity-they had gone to high school together, perhaps the coincidence of them entering the same field wasn’t too much to believe. Either way, he followed her, after grabbing a very visible handgun from his bag. She didn’t smile, because if he saw it in the reflection, he might think something was wrong. But the internal joy skipped-she might finally get off this damnable train.
Through one car, then another, then another, the two walked, until they eventually reached the one she had been staying on. Only a few people left, here. She stopped at her seat, moving into it’s confines briefly. He strode a few steps forward, before pausing to look back at it.
“One second, just need to grab some weapons.” She said, in a hushed voice. He nodded.
She reached into her bag. Withdrawing another pair of knives. Tucking them at her side, before nodding, gesturing to the cars ahead.
“They’re in either the next one or the one after, I’ve seen them in both, we should hurry-”
She got lucky, because he suddenly stopped caring about her being ahead of him, hurrying over to the next car. Pulling the pistol out of his belt once the pair were out of sight, she followed suit with a knife. He peered into the next car, sweeping with his eyes, before throwing the connecting door open, hurrying across, and pointing his gun around.
The car was empty. The one occupant would have been John Brockman, reading his newspaper in the twilight hours of the day, but he’d ended up not quite on the train. A few other people might have been passing through, including one Johanna Carter, but they had departed by now.
It was her perfect chance. The knife swung for his back. He spun around, just as it lodged itself in her side.
The sharp and all too familiar sound of a gun going off echoed through the car, as her grip on the knife loosened, and she tumbled to the ground. The shock and rapid blood loss caused her vision to dim already, as she tumbled to the ground. She looked up, seeing the blood flow from his own wound, as he looked down at her, shocked.
The wound wouldn’t kill him. But the bullet would kill her. And so would the next two.
————————————————————————————
Another day on the train. He was feeling more masculine today, for all of the nothing that was worth.
Today was November 17th, 1977. The date was on his watch, it was on the newspaper Brockman had been reading, it had been on the large clocks overlooking the train stations. November 17th, 1977, a cold chill had set in in most parts of the United States. November 17th, 1977, a completely unassuming date, where nothing would occur for most of the billions upon billions of people on the planet.
It had been November 17th, 1977, for exactly 82 days. At least, it had been for him. It had been the same day, over and over again, trying to stop one monster hunter from leaving this train alive. While surviving himself.
A practically herculean task. Some days, he died, getting shot, his neck broken, or even tossed off the train. Some days, he ran out of time, went to sleep, and woke back up in the same spot on the train. Over and over again. 82 days.
He had spent over half of those days planning for that maneuver. Making sure people that would interfere weren’t on the train-John Brockman, a man with a heart of justice, would act too quickly in the face of seeing a man attacked. Johanna Carter? Johanna was magical. And thus would have a bone to pick with him, the moment he started trying to kill Bowen.
He was also magical, supposedly. He could do this whole accursed cycle of days. It was all him. He could end it at any time, a godlike power fully within his control. And yet the powers he had sold his mind, body, and whatever part of the soul that was real to, they, it, he, she, wouldn’t allow that. He had a task. To kill Bowen, this monster hunter, this guy he used to go to high school with. That hadn’t been a lie. And it was the worst part about all of this. The guy who would ruin the entire cult, the entire organization, the entire plan that he had now dedicated his life to, was the same guy who dated a cheerleader at his high school.
He, who had sold his being for power, couldn’t kill one person, in 82 days. At first, he thought it was because of some subconscious aversion. Maybe for the first ten days or so it was, he hadn’t killed anyone before. But now? After all of this?
He was certain he was just inadequate.
He had wanted the means to change the world, he had wanted to make the world a place where he would want to live, where he wouldn’t feel ostracized, trapped in by boxes set by people who had come before him. And in some part, he had gotten that. He looked different now. Shifting ever slightly closer to whatever form he truly wanted. He slowly was starting to recognize himself in the mirror, somedays.
And yet, as he stared out the window at the water tower with the red splotch for the 82nd time, not feeling very free at all. A cycle. One he needed to break.
So he decided to break it. He began working on a new plan. A knife fight wasn’t one he could win. He’d tried getting him poisoned earlier on, but he wasn’t eating, not today, not at all. He’d wait for another day, but if he broke the loop now, he wouldn’t be able to set another one up in time. It took…a lot out of him.
He needed to be able to kill him quickly, without dying himself…and that’s when it came to him.
He spent the rest of the day outlining this plan. Scheduling the next dozen days of plans, tests, and schemes. How he could get this scenario just right. He didn’t feel much better than he had that morning. But there was some small, miniscule gratification in progress.
————————————————————————————
It was 31 days later when they were finally ready. They had been on the train for 112 days. It had been November 17th, 1977 for 112 days. But finally, they were ready.
The day they woke up, watching the stained water tower go by, they didn’t feel masculine or feminine. Their reflection in the window half reflected that. Sometimes it did that, ever since they had made that pact with that power.
They stood, to go about their day.
They spoke to John Brockman. And gave their best performance yet, embellishing him about how they wanted to help his son do the best he could do once he got hired at their workplace. He seemed the most pleased he’d been, and would leave the train without incident. They’d make sure to trip him, though, just to be safe. His strong sense of justice made him a liability whether they attacked in that car or not. Ideally, they wouldn’t. But he got left behind at Strawberry Point regardless.
They spoke to Johanna Carter. The poor, poor, magical freak. She hadn’t gotten her magic via a pact. She had been lucky enough to be born with it. Or unlucky. They gave her the same spiel about how they were trying to clear her name, but left out the bit about there being a plainclothes cop on the train. They had a better idea, for later. One they had tested over the past few days to make sure they would get it just right when it counted.
After that, it was a matter of waiting. When the sun started to dip in the sky, the train arrived at Arbor Flats, at the same time that it always did. The train’s times never changed, unless they tried to change them. It was convenient. Something they could always count on.
They walked by Johanna, who had moved back to her own car since their last conversation with her. They slid into the seat behind her, seeing the woman tense at even the small motion. They leaned forward enough to be able to whisper.
“You’ll want to go out by the front of the train. There’s someone looking for you. Taller guy, near buzz cut. I think he’s on his way. Trust me.”
Their voice cut through. The words provoke enough instant anxiety-why wouldn’t they be after her after all. She hurried out of her seat with her bag. They smirked to themselves.
They took their time walking towards one of the front cars of the train. Being careful not to arouse any suspicion. This time, they had left their knives and bag with the rest of their belongings. They weren’t going to need any of that for this.
Out the window of one of the cars, they saw their victory starting to play out. Bowen, moving through the crowd, chasing after poor, poor Johanna Carter. It was as they thought, having stalked Johanna after pulling this maneuver before. They gave Johanna Bowen’s description, then made sure she’d run into him. Then, the jumpy magic user she was, she did something that would expose herself. The time she followed, Johanna had conjured some kind of floating shield. It hadn’t really protected her.
Regardless the practical witch hunter would chase her off the train. Taking one gun with him. He wouldn’t catch her. He wasn’t prepared enough, nor ballsy enough to fire a gun into a crowd. But he’d try, all the same. She’d get reported to his superiors. If it hadn’t been November 17th, 1977, for 112 days.
They casually strolled into his car. Reaching into his bag, and pulling out the second handgun. There were other firearms and weapons in there, but they were either too close distance, or disassembled. The handgun would do.
They turned off the safety. They knew how to do that much, from going to the range when they were much younger. They knew Bowen re entered the train from the front, then moved back up, catching his breath after running to get back on the train so he wouldn’t completely botch his mission.
His fatigue, and surprise, at seeing them holding a handgun with deadeye aim, made him just a second too slow. They had timed this out.
They could afford to hesitate the half second that they did, realizing victory was there…but they didn’t want it.
Adrenaline made them pull the trigger. They saw him raising his own firearm.
One shot. Two shots. Three shots. Four Shots. Five Shots.
In quick succession, five bullets riddled into Bowen with deadeye aim. They hadn’t ever shot him before. They’d only ever been shot.
It was a strange medley of emotions, watching his body hit the floor. The silver token, clenched in his other hand, rolled over, and settled in the growing pool of his own blood. The brilliant silver stained red.
A smile broke on their face, they started to laugh, as the sound of people hurrying into the car could be heard. The sound of screams, the sound of commotion, seeing them holding the gun in one hand, and laughing before the corpse of Bowen. Someone hurried up to them, a brave soul, tackling them to the ground. They released their grip on the gun, which clattered to the ground. Crushed beneath the weight of another, they released their hold on the fabric of time. The cycle was broken, in the blink of an eye.
The train eventually pulled to a stop. They spent an awful amount of time thrown into a seat with various people watching them to ensure that nothing was tried. They were far too exhausted to even attempt it.
Eventually, the police arrived, dragging them away to some local jail. They were told they would be tried for the murder of Bowen Powell. They knew that wasn’t true. But they nodded along. Cooperated with their lawyer, who assured them they could get off with self defense, since Bowen had a gun too-they must have feared for their life, after all.
They had little intent of standing trial. The day of, they woke up. Finally no longer feeling the fatigue that had been wrought, after thirty days. They used their magic again. They would break out eventually.
Maybe it would be two hundred days this time, they mused. Or maybe a year?
Kindling And Miscellany 