The Death Train

I noticed the slight rocking movement first. Then, the gentle white-noise of a motor. A humming, whirring, clacking, all in rhythm. Every sound and feeling dragged me further down, down, down. Back into sleep so deep, I couldn’t feel my body anymore. Pain, memory… it all floated away, replaced by a need to rest. To let go…

Underneath it all, there was an electronic beep that seemed to slow. Down. Down. Like a countdown. Cycling closer and closer to ending. 

Why was there a countdown in my dream?

The thought jolted me awake. The beep sped up for a moment, mirroring my heart-rate, before settling back into a rhythm.

It was hard to open my eyes, like they had been glued shut. I fought past the sand-paper grit and peeled them open, allowing my vision to adjust.

Rows of seats spread out before me. A few seats had people asleep, but the majority were empty. The compartment was mostly dark, with a few track lights to illuminate the pathways. There were large windows on the outside walls of the cabin. When I glanced out of the closest one, it showed the shadows of trees flashing by, highlighted occasionally by a burst of moonlight as it broke free of the cloud cover.

A train. I was on a train. And we were going fast.

I tried to stand, but my body felt wrong. Disconnected, like it was not really mine. Movement was stilted, as if I was wading through quicksand, trying to keep my head above the darkness. 

Something was off. And worse, I didn’t know how or why I was there.

I scanned around my seat. There was nothing under or above in the luggage compartment. I had no bag or purse. No cell phone. That alone was enough to feel the shiver of worry down my spine. 

I emptied my pockets. No ticket stub. No clue to where I was going. The only thing I found was a small crumpled piece of paper. It had “I’m here” written on it in shaky chicken-scratch letters.

There was something familiar about the writing, but as much as I strained to remember, I couldn’t think past the fuzziness in my brain. Maybe I was drugged? 

The thought should have terrified me, but I felt… relieved. If someone drugged me, then the weird feeling in my body was temporary. I just needed to let it wear off.

I tried again and stood up. Rocking with the motion of the car, I lurched forward, grabbing onto the aisle seats as I walked forward.

Towards the front of the car, there was a man; his eyes were wide, as if he saw something I could not.

“Hello? Sir?” 

When he didn’t respond, I placed a hand on his shoulder. He was the only person I saw who was awake. I gave a gentle shake, but his eyes did not even blink as he stared, unmoving, towards the front of the train. I wanted to help him, but a more pressing need, the need for answers, kept my feet moving forward.

The next car was a sleeping car. It had several compartments, with seats that reclined flat and a door for privacy. One long walkway divided it in the middle. I looked in the first one to my left to see if anyone was awake.

It wasn’t a compartment I saw inside. It was… me. 

Small, red hair shining in the bright Summer sun. We were splashing in Lake Placid, squealing in delight as the minnows tickled our legs.

I shook my head, trying to see what was past the memory. The drugs were giving me hallucinations. But I couldn’t see past the images. They played out like a movie before my eyes. My movie. 

I looked across into the window on my right.

I was screaming. My brothers had tied me to a chair and then left me to find my own escape. I wriggled and twisted until the ropes fell off my small frame.

One showed me getting lost at Grand Central Station, and the kind man who helped me find my family.

The next window showed one of my worst memories. My sister convulsed with a seizure in her bed as I wept, scared and unsure of what to do.

I was shaking now. I did not want to see more, but I felt like I was being drawn forward. There was something strange about this train. I needed to find the front. I needed to see the conductor and get some answers.

Window after window. Memory after memory. The abuse I felt from my brothers. Trauma. Heat Stroke. Surgery. Fights with my husband and my kids. Almost dying. My brother’s suicide.

There were good memories too. My wedding day. The birth of my first child. Surrounded by all my children, and the love I felt from that. My first grandchild. Going to his soccer games. Going to Ireland for my youngest daughter’s wedding. My closest friends and the hours spent chatting and laughing and crying together.

The hallucinations were potent, and I was crying by the time I had reached the last window. I looked back. I wasn’t sure how many compartments I had walked through. It seemed like forever, but also not long enough.

Finally, I saw the engineer’s cab before me. The door was locked, so I knocked loudly. When no one answered, I looked through the window. 

Dimly lit inside, I could barely make out the instrument panel, full of knobs and buttons and levers that I did not know what they did. The side door was open, and the cab was empty.

There was no one driving this train!

Bile rose in my throat. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. Every emotion, already heightened by watching hallucinations of my life, raged to the surface. Panic tightened my chest. I was going to die out here if I couldn’t figure out how to stop this train.

The first thing I looked for was an emergency break. I scanned the walls, ran to the end of the cabin and back. Nothing. I couldn’t stop it from back here. 

Next, I tried the door to the engineer’s cab. They reinforced it against entry. Maybe I could get there from the side?

I slid open the side door and felt the icy blast of wind against my face. The train lurched and sped up, as if sensing my resolve to stop it.

I grabbed on to the safety handle bar at the entrance and slowly stuck my head out of the door. There was a path. Barely.

I would have to inch along, holding onto a ledge to make it to the open door. 

The train lurched again, and sped forward, straining the cars and connections to the limit with a mighty groan.

I had no choice. I needed to stop the train. 

I rubbed my hand down my pants, hoping to get rid of any moisture that was left on my skin.

There was something in my pocket. Another note. This one said, “It’s okay. You can let go now.”

I wasn’t ready to let go. I had to stop the train.

I took a deep steadying breath and climbed out the door. 

My first step slipped against the slick narrow edge. I banged against the side of the train and my feet dangled inches from the terrifying wheels. 

Fortunately, I still had a hold of the entryway safety handle. I slowly engaged the muscles in my arms and pulled my foot back to the ledge. 

There was not much to hold on to. The ledge for my feet was maybe four inches. Two inches for a fingerhold. It took all of my will to let go of the handle and to place both hands on that tiny ledge. Slowly, so slowly, I inched forward.

The sharp night air bit feeling back into my body. And everything hurt. Every muscle screamed. My head pounded. Weakness crept into my bones, and I sobbed with the pain. 

I had only gone about a foot. I knew I could turn back. I could accept my fate and go back to the safety of the sleeper car.

No. I wasn’t ready to give up. I started whispering the names of my children and grandchildren. I wanted to see them again. They needed me.

I took one great shuddering breath. It helped a little and seemed to clear away some of the pain.

I focused on my breathing. With each inch, I counted in a breath with the names of my children. Out a breath with the names of my grandchildren. I could do this. Only a little further.

I could see a bright red handle just inside the cabin. Maybe six more feet. I could make it. I had to.

The train sped up again. The G-forces tore at my body, but I kept moving. Inch after agonizing inch. I went down the list of names of my husband, children, and grandchildren.

“Buzz, Katie. Rob. Meghan. Bridget. Mary. Bethie. Joey. Noah.”

Another inch.

“Buzz, Katie. Rob. Meghan. Bridget. Mary. Bethie. Joey…” I blew out my breath through gritted teeth. “Noah.”

Something told me to look forward. 

Through the gloom in the trees, I saw it. A tunnel. We were racing toward a tunnel.

I needed to hurry, or I would be crushed out here. 

“Buzz, Katie. Rob. Meghan. Bridget. Mary. Bethie. Joey… Noah.” 

Another breath. Another inch.

I started adding more family members to the list. Nieces and nephews. Daughter-in-law and son-in-law. So many names. So many reasons to keep going.

“Raine. Diarmuid. Ruthie. Nina. Dominic. Rosemary. Danny. Genevieve. William. Jim. Dan. Kathryn. Kelsey. Celina. Daniel. Shane.”

I even thought of the ones we did not speak to anymore. Wondering. Wanting to reconcile. I whispered their names too.

“Mary Pat. Tom.”

I swung my body into the engine car, just as the darkness of the tunnel engulfed the train.

I knelt on my hands and knees for a moment, catching my breath as the adrenaline surge passed.

I couldn’t see anything. The panel was dark. I could feel the outline of the buttons, but I didn’t know which one to push. I held on to the engineer’s seat, barely breathing as the train raced around tight curves at a break-neck speed. 

The sleepy feeling fought to take over again. Down. Down. Down. All I wanted to do was close my eyes. To let go. Everything seemed so far away. My family. My memories. Like they were fading into the blackness that surrounded me. It was so close. If I just let go, allowed the drugs to wipe away the pain again…

There was a light ahead… the end of the tunnel. It was just enough to see the red handle. Before I could change my mind, I reached out and yanked the handle down.

The jolt sent me flying.

***

In a hospital room, her family stood around her bed. One grabbed their mother’s hand. “I’m here.” She whispered. “We’re all here.” 

There was a small spike in the heart monitor, but otherwise, no sign she heard or could respond. Not anymore.

Her brothers had just left. Nieces and grand-nieces and grand-nephews. One by one, family came from across the country to say their goodbyes. 

Cancer was particularly unforgiving. A small lump was the first tell, but she didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t go to the doctor. Money was scarce, and she was afraid. She suffered in silence for months. 

It was her body that finally betrayed how sick she was. She lost so much weight. Her hair and skin lost their luster. It became harder to move around. Words and memories became jumbled. She fought so hard, but in the end, un-treated cancer always wins.

“It’s ok. You can let go now.” They all reassured her. “We’ll be okay.” 

No one wanted her to leave, but they also did not want to see her suffer anymore. They alternated between tears and prayers as they kept her hospital death vigil.

The youngest rocked her baby and sang a lullaby. Nurses buzzed in and out of the room. Checking vitals, explaining how the end would go.

Her heart rate slowed, as did her breathing. Small gasps, further and further apart.

***

I wanted to sleep. To let go. The countdown had begun again. The steady beep, beep, beep. The cycle was counting down.

The train sped up. The light at the end grew brighter… This time… Maybe this time I would let go. I would rest.

***

In honor of my mom, who suffered so long before she let go. She would have been 68 this month.