The Last Train to Evermore

It was a slow, swaying motion that woke them. The clack of the wheels on the track, the faint rumble of an engine that was working too hard. The chatter of people with no obvious conversation. Their head rested against the glass, gently tapping it every couple of seconds when the train shuddered.

They opened their eyes. Heavy and tired. I don’t remember being on a train. Bang. Their head made contact with the glass again, harder this time, as the train shuddered more violently, as if trying to wake them on purpose. They searched their head for a bump, but found only a damp coldness.

Past the window, there was nothing but darkness stretching out in every single direction.

Eyes blinking, they focused, then squinted as darkness gave way to light. Stars rushed forth, filling the cabin with light.

The fabric was soft. A deep blue with pinstripe yellow lines. The stars outside receded, and the cabin was left in the soft glow of a yellow light. It was only now that they noticed the small golden lamps gently moving back and forth along the walls.

Standing up, they could see that the seats occupied an indeterminate space in front of and behind them. Among those they could see, people sat quietly.

An elderly couple held hands, heads together as if joined at their temple.

A child, head down in a colouring book, scribbled intently.

A man stared at the ceiling, blank-faced as if his mind was lost behind his eyes.

A woman read a thick, leather-bound book, her eyes flicking around the cabin until they made eye contact. She smiled.

But they did not return it. Instead, they looked down and slunk back into the seat.

Fingers rubbing on temples, they thought of how they could have possibly got to the place they were in. Closed eyes and small circular motions often helped them remember things, but it had no luck here.

Pockets. Phone. That would have some answers, surely.

They found keys, a wallet, and an empty pack of chewing gum, all before they found their phone. No answers to be found there either, as there was no sign of life. The battery was long dead.

Outside the window, the stars were now being left behind. One after another. If one had to guess, it was like they were moving through space itself.

A voice interrupted the star-gazing. “Ticket please.”

They looked up to see a conductor standing in the aisle beside them, looking down upon them through thin-rimmed, round glasses.

He was older. Grey hair on the top and bottom of his head, his glasses failing to hide kind eyes. He wore half a smile, his suit neatly pressed, with not a crease in sight and silver buttons that shimmered under the pendulating lights.

“Ticket,” he repeated.

They hesitated and could do nothing but blink at the conductor before their mind kicked into gear and their mouth started working again.

“I don’t think,” the passenger began before stopping, searching pockets desperately, finding nothing more than already emptied pockets. “I don’t remember getting on.”

“That happens sometimes,” the conductor said. “Let me help.”

The conductor put his hand upon their shoulder.

“Have another look,” the conductor said, adjusting his glasses.

Trouser pockets were still empty, but when their hand slipped into their inside jacket pocket, they felt a stiffened piece of paper.

A yellow ticket, with black and gold detailing at the edge.

They handed it over, finger now making a scratching motion upon their temple.

The conductor studied it. His large eyebrows lowered before he flipped the ticket over and let out a large, audible hmmmm.

“Is something wrong?” the passenger asked.

“I wouldn’t say wrong,” the conductor said slowly. “Just exceptionally peculiar.”

The conductor held out the ticket, presenting it to the passenger.

It’s blank. No destination, no seat number, no railway operator, no times or dates. Nothing. Just a name at the top.

The passenger looked up at the conductor, eyes wide. “What does that mean?”

The question at first gets a half-baked shrug from the conductor, who takes his time to formulate an answer.

“I haven’t seen this before. I haven’t been on the job long. But I have heard about it, this rare phenomenon where a passenger’s destination has not yet been decided.”

The passenger doesn’t get a chance to respond before the conductor clips the corner of the ticket with a small punch.

He looks at the passenger over the top of his glasses, one brow raised. “We’ll see where you end up.”

The conductor is off down the aisle, moving with fast, little steps as if in a rush.

With the ticket back in hand, the passenger looks at it. The name on it, ODDEN, suddenly brings memories rushing back.

Rain. Headlights. Brakes Screeching. Pain. Lots of it. Then none. Nothing. Darkness. Blackness.

Then here.

Oh, does that mean?

Odden didn’t get a chance to finish the thought as they caught the drool trying to escape their mouth. They took a big gulp and swallowed it down.

“I was thinking that might be you. I could recognise that voice amongst a million.”

The voice came from behind them. Soft like the fabric of the seat and familiar like a favourite perfume.

Turning, it was like Odden forgot how to breathe for a moment before they realised they weren’t even breathing anymore. Their chest didn’t rise. It didn’t fall. It just stayed still.

“Jules?”

Jules’ face turned into a full smile.

He looked almost exactly as Odden remembered him when they were in uni together. Dark curls descended over his forehead, trying their best to hide the thoughtful eyes that Odden had spent numerous nights staring into, trying to figure out what he might be thinking.

They were calmer now. Anguish didn’t hide behind them now.

Odden stared, rooted to the chair as Jules moved to sit beside them.

“You-” Odden began, voice breaking like it was starting to jump-start a universe. “You died.”

Jules’ smile receded slightly.

“You’re right. I did.”

Odden’s fingers crumpled the ticket into a ball. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

Silence befell them for a moment. They just sat, swaying with the train’s motion.

“You look the same,” Odden said, finally.

“So do you.”

“That’s impossible, right?”

“I went to your funeral.”

“I know.”

“You-” Odden stumbled over their words. “You were only twenty-three.”

“Who’d have thought my heart would fail me at such an age, huh?”

Odden nodded. They remembered the phone call. The disbelief and the denial of what they were hearing. How it left them feeling like a hollowed-out piece of fruit. They’d spent weeks afterwards thinking… hoping… wishing that Jules would text them as if nothing had ever happened.

Instead, there had been nothing but silence. No notifications, no calls.

Odden believed they would always reunite, but then the only place they existed was in their mind.

“I thought about you all the time,” Odden said, resting their shoulder against Jules' shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Constantly, which is probably more than I should have.”

Jules tilted his head, huffing a laugh. “I don’t think there is a time limit on thoughts.”

Odden looked at the bump just below the root of Jules’ nose. Back in university, their whole lives had stretched out before them. Jules struggled with Odden’s pronouns for the first two weeks before getting the hang of them. From there they had spent late nights in dorm rooms. Shared headphones on two in-the-morning walks home.

Their first kiss had come after a dropped midnight kebab. It wasn’t romantic. Wasn’t graceful either. It was just raw and messy. Inevitable, with remnants of the night’s earlier alcohol induced sickness between their lips. But they didn’t mind; all they cared about was each other, and something that had been teased for what seemed like an eternity came to fruition.

Bliss soon turned to complications. Odden had been restless, chasing the stars that now sat outside the window. Scared of staying still for too long, whilst Jules had wanted stability.

Jules had wanted plans. Odden had wanted spontaneity.

Jules had wanted things to be solid. Odden wanted it to be fluid.

Fights followed, and before long, things had been said that they didn’t really mean. Even though they didn’t mean them, they were words that could not be taken back easily. From there, they drifted apart as if the flow of life were taking them in opposite directions.

Only neither of them had ever really let go.

Odden had believed, even if it was stubborn, that someday they would happen across each other again.

In a book shop.

At a cafe.

Anywhere where recognition across a crowded room could reunite them. Hollywood style. They were destined to be together. It had been said between them so much that they thought it could be nothing other than true.

But it wasn’t. Life isn’t a movie.

“Did you ever think we’d reconnect?” Odden asked.

The smile came back in full on Jules’ face. “All the time.”

“Really?”

Jules nodded. “I figured someday you’d send a message, or I’d pluck up the courage to message you. Or, somehow we’d end up back in the same city and come across each other, and it would be like the old times, and things would just be forgotten.”

They both laughed but didn’t really know why.

“I guess I didn’t expect it to be like this, though.”

Odden’s eyes searched the train again.

The child was now drawing stars. Lots of them, as if trying to recreate the whole night sky.

The elderly couple had turned their heads and were staring into each other’s eyes. Odden could see them mouthing love you to each other.

The woman stared out of the window, a tear rolling down her cheek.

The man had his head in his hands, shoulders rising and falling dramatically.

Outside the window, galaxies now slid past the window.

Odden turned back to Jules. “Where are we?”

Jules looked out of the window at the swirling colours flying by. “Somewhere in between, I think.”

“In between?”

“I’ve been thinking that this is a place where people pass through.”

Odden felt a chill move up their back, making their whole body shake. “So… this is, like the-”

Jules answered before Odden even put it into words. “Probably.”

Odden brought a hand to their chest. No heartbeat. “So we’re dead.”

“I would say so.”

“Great,” Odden said. “I always imagined dying would be a whole lot more dramatic.”

Jules laughs, Odden’s shoulder becoming a rest for his forehead.

How Odden had missed that sound. That touch.

The train began to slow, and outside the window, strange shapes drifted by. Odden moved closer to the glass, and for a moment, it looked like an ocean. But it wasn’t. It seemed more like people, swirling and shimmering as if the galaxies and stars they had passed had turned to liquid matter.

“Are they other people?”

“I believe so.”

“All those colours, it’s hard to believe-”

“…that this is the afterlife,” Jules said, completing the thought.

As the train rolled to a stop, it came upon a station suspended in the glowing sea. The old man and woman stood. They motioned for the young boy to follow them, and they stepped off the train before disappearing and becoming one with the light.

“Where’d they go?” Odden asked.

“Rebirth. Rest. Who knows?”

Odden looked at their blank ticket again.

“So where do I go?”

Jules studied it. “Good question. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see where the line ends.”

The doors slid closed. The train continued on. More landscapes, in many different forms, drifted past. A distant city sat on top of a small star. A barren desert under a violet moon. At each stop, more passengers left the train. The woman got off when the train stopped at the base of a snow-covered mountain. She looked around, as if searching for someone, but no one joined her. She stared at the train moving off, lip quivering.

“I missed you,” Odden blurted.

Jules looked surprised and didn’t respond for a second. Odden was relieved when Jules put a hand on theirs.

“I missed you, too. So much.”

“So much?”

“So very much.”

Hesitation filled the air around them.

“I always thought we’d get another chance.”

“Me too.”

The train pulled into another station. There is nothing but darkness. No stars, no galaxies. Not even a city perched on a star.

Odden shifted in their seat uncomfortably. “Is this the end of the line?”

“I’m not sure,” Jules said, looking around.

The man who’d had his head in his hands stood up, his eyes red. He walked out through the door into the darkness, and suddenly he was not there anymore.

“Is this us?”

“I-” Jules said, voice shaking.

“I don’t want darkness.” Odden slipped their hand into Jules’ and gripped hard.

The train doors closed. Odden and Jules let out a joint breath of relief. The train moved on again.

The train gave a long, low whistle. Crackling came out of speakers that Odden had not seen before. The conductor’s voice, almost distorted, flowed out of them.

“Next stop. Evermore.”

Jules went very still. Odden noticed.

“What’s Evermore?”

Jules stared out of the window before pulling a ticket out of his pocket. It read JULES.

EVERMORE.

“It’s a place where people go to stay.”

“Stay?”

“As in, a forever place.”

“Forever?”

The train began to slow again. Odden could see the platform coming up on them. Lanterns like the ones in the train bathe it in a warm, golden light. Fields of tall silver grass stretch out beyond it as far as the eye can see.

There are small houses dotted about the hills. It’s peaceful. Too peaceful.

“If someone gets off here,” Odden said slowly, “what happens?”

“They remain.”

“And you’re staying?”

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

Odden gripped Jules’ hand tighter.

“I’ve been waiting here on this train a long time, and this is the first time it has reached Evermore.”

“You think…”

“What?”

“That you were waiting for me?”

Jules shrugged. “Maybe.”

The train pulled into the station. People were in the fields beyond laughing, talking, walking hand in hand through the grass.

“Are those all the people who remained?”

“They are.”

“Why?”

Jules turned toward them. “Because sometimes you’d rather spend forever with them than move on without.”

Odden felt their unbeating heart do something strange. It felt like it was beating all over again, like Jules had breathed new life into it.

The conductor appeared at their side, taking Odden’s crumpled ticket from them.

“Still blank,” he said thoughtfully, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“What does that mean?” Odden asked.

“It means, if my interpretation of the forever book is correct, that you still have a choice.”

The train came to a stop. The doors hissed open. For the first time, warm air drifted into the carriage.

Jules pulled himself to his feet.

Odden followed.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

“Come with me,” Jules said quietly, holding his hand out.

Odden closed their eyes. Endless days in shimmering grass. No pain or loss, just a moment that they chose. Together. It sounded beautiful and safe. Then they heard music, the same music that had played on repeat in their apartment. A memory of when the world felt endless and open in front of them.

Odden looked at the creased, blank ticket. “I always knew we’d reconnect.”

“And we did.”

Odden finally took Jules’ hand, fingers fitting together easily, as they always had as they stepped off the train.

“I loved you,” Odden said.

“Loved?” Jules said, dimples appearing like they always did when he was teasing.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

The conductor cleared his throat gently. “All aboard.”

Odden finally took a breath. Then they kissed Jules. Not as raw and unfiltered as their first. It was warm and felt like home, as if they were tying a bow on a memory.

As they pulled apart, Jules’ eyes were bright and shining like the grass.

“You should go,” Jules whispered.

Odden nodded before they stepped back onto the train. The doors closed in front of them.

Jules stood on the platform, lanterns casting orange lights across him.

As the train pulled away, Odden saw Jules raise a hand. Odden raised theirs in return. The station faded into the distance.

Odden sat down and felt the ticket warming in their hand. Warmth spread through the paper. It wasn’t creased anymore, as if it had never been crumpled in the first place. A word had appeared under their name.

LIFE.

The train’s whistle echoed as galaxies reappeared outside the window. The echo turned the whistle into shorter, sharper sounds. The pitch lowered until it was just a beep.

A heart monitor.

Odden’s eyes moved behind their eyelids before bright hospital lights overwhelmed their vision. Someone shouted for a doctor. Their lungs burned, their whole body ached. But they were breathing.

They were alive.

Odden closed their eyes.

Somewhere, out there in the cosmic soup above them, far away in a quiet field under lantern light, someone they still loved existed.

And for the first time in a long time, Odden felt sure of something. That whilst life might be messy and fragile. Whilst it may sometimes be tiring and hurtful.

It was worth the return.

They took another breath and held on.