End of the Line

Donald Parker pulled away from Columbus and South Water precisely on time, and three minutes later, when he crossed State Street, Friday became Saturday. To him, midnight was like a spell that changed everything. Office buildings stood mostly dark above him, their upper floors disappearing into a hazy sky that reflected enough light back toward the ground to erase the stars. There were still plenty of people around, but they no longer crowded the sidewalks. Cars no longer packed the streets, and the drivers who remained seemed less inclined to lean on their horns the instant a light turned green. The people in this version of the city weren’t in nearly as much of a hurry to get somewhere they didn’t actually want to be. At this hour, Chicago finally had room to breathe.

For the next several minutes, Route 6 wound through the Loop, stopping fourteen times before it would finally be allowed to stretch its legs. Wacker. State. Balbo. Columbus. Donald knew the progression like the back of his hand. The passengers changed just as predictably, and Donald greeted each of them with a resolute politeness that never wavered. If you rode on his bus, you were all but guaranteed a smile and a “how ya doin’” at the very least. Donald watched the exchange of humanity unfold one opening and closing of the doors at a time, and before he pulled away from each stop, he checked the large rectangular mirror above the windshield.

Only one passenger who had been on the bus at the origin point had yet to depart. In fact, Arthur Bensen had been on the bus since it left the depot, before Donald even arrived at the start of the route. He occupied one of the sideways-facing seats near the front, one arm stretched across the metal rail beside him and his legs extended farther into the aisle than Donald technically should have allowed. Arthur had been driving buses for almost nineteen years, which apparently meant he felt entitled to ignore every rule he spent his own shift enforcing. But this was an old routine. Arthur lived near the end of Donald’s route, and nearly without fail, he was always the last person to exit the bus at 1:03 a.m. Then Donald would turn off the route indicator and finish his shift with a solo ride back to the depot.

As they approached Columbus and 11th, Donald made his announcement.

“Last downtown stop.”

The Museum Campus stop was the last opportunity for anyone to get on or off before Route 6 went express, and most of the people riding this late knew it. Those who didn’t occasionally learned the hard way that remaining seated meant committing themselves to several uninterrupted miles before Donald could legally open the doors again.

A handful of passengers stood when he pulled toward the curb. Donald watched them make their way down the aisle in his mirror while another small group waited beneath the CTA sign outside. The doors folded open, allowing one collection of strangers to trade places with another. A barefoot woman carrying her high heels in one hand stepped onto the sidewalk, followed by two men Donald had picked up along Wacker who were still carrying on the same conversation they’d been having when they boarded. A tired-looking man in a black jacket stepped aside to let them pass before climbing aboard, tapping his fare, and disappearing toward the rear.

A second man hurried toward the bus just as Donald was preparing to close the doors, one hand raised over his head. Donald waited. He always waited when he could. The man reached the bus breathing heavily and offered a grateful nod as he stepped aboard.

“Appreciate you.”

“You got it.”

Donald checked the sidewalk one last time, then glanced into the mirror. Everyone who had boarded was either seated or working their way toward one. Arthur hadn’t moved, other than to pull his legs in to allow people to flow in and out. Donald closed the doors and embarked on his favorite part of the route.

Depending on traffic, he had ten, sometimes fifteen minutes when the Number 6 stopped being a city bus and simply became another vehicle traveling south beside the lake. After twenty-seven years of this, the familiar combination of engine vibration, rattling panels, and tires against pavement was like a silence made entirely of noise. Cool air moved steadily through the vents. Something near the rear axle squeaked whenever they hit a dip. And layered beneath it all was the smell.

Public transportation developed its own particular odor by the end of the day, created and recreated by the hundreds of people who contributed to it. A municipal miasma that was instantly recognized by all but identified by few. Donald could name some of it. Rubber flooring and old upholstery. Sweat. Perfume. Disinfectant. Fast food. Damp clothing. And worse things Donald preferred not to think about.

Donald glanced into the mirror and saw that Arthur had tipped his head against the window and closed his eyes. Around him, the other passengers had surrendered to the express portion of the trip in their own ways. Some slept. Some scrolled through their phones. Others stared through the darkened windows at the lake or the skyline they were leaving behind, lost in whatever thoughts had followed them onto the bus.

Donald looked back to the road. There was something comforting about being a small part of so many people’s routines. He had never been able to explain why without making himself sound either sentimental or slightly strange. He knew hundreds of people he didn’t actually know. He knew where they got on and where they got off. He knew which ones wanted to talk and which considered eye contact an unforgivable invasion of privacy. He knew who worked weekends, who disappeared for two weeks every Christmas, and who occasionally stumbled aboard smelling of tequila and poor choices. The regulars were even easier. Donald knew their schedules, their preferred seats, their days off and, more often than not, their names.

Faces and names had always been his thing.

The express run ended at 47th and Lake Park. A passenger pulled the cord as they approached the stop, and the familiar chime sounded above Donald’s head. He smiled.

Back to work.

The doors opened. Two passengers stepped off. One climbed aboard. The doors closed.

Route 6 became a bus again.

Hyde Park opened up around them one stop at a time. The towering buildings of downtown were gone, visible only in pieces when the streets and buildings allowed it. Lake Park Avenue carried them past apartment complexes and brick homes, businesses gone dark for the night and windows still glowing several floors above the street. The stops came regularly again, and the population of Donald’s bus continued its gradual turnover, but now, as people left, fewer replaced them.

By the time he finished that portion of the route around 12:35, the bus had begun to feel different. It wasn’t empty yet, just quieter. The passengers were more spread out now, and the spaces between them grew with almost every stop. The city wasn’t ending. It was just becoming the part tourists never took pictures of.

Woodlawn came next, another neighborhood Donald knew almost as well as his own.

Twenty-four-hour laundromats glowed beneath streetlights. Corner stores with burglar bars over their windows advertised cigarettes, beer, and lottery tickets. At the curb, familiar CTA signs waited on poles marking stops Donald had pulled into so many thousands of times that his foot sometimes seemed to leave the accelerator before his brain told it to. When he next glanced up at his mirror, he knew most of the people who remained, and as he continued, those he didn’t began to disappear.

Eight passengers became seven. Seven became six. Six became five when a young man wearing a blue hoodie pulled the cord, thanked Donald on his way out, and walked into the night.

At the next stop, five became four. Donald checked his mirror.

Now he knew every name.

Vivian Beltran sat on the right side of the bus, still wearing the maroon scrubs she’d had on when she boarded after work. Her head rested against the window, eyes closed, though Donald knew she wasn’t asleep. Vivian never slept on the bus. She said she couldn’t. Too many years working nights had taught her body that sleep required permission, and apparently a forty-foot CTA bus wasn’t authorized to grant it.

Across the aisle and two rows back sat Tonya Johnston, scrolling through her phone with one thumb. Donald could see the light from the screen reflecting in her glasses. Tonya managed a restaurant downtown. Donald had never eaten there, despite Tonya telling him at least twice a month that she would take care of him if he came in. He always told her he would, though Donald was pretty sure she knew he wouldn’t.

John Pope sat farther back, facing forward with his arms folded across his barrel chest. His chin rested against the front of his work shirt, and the reflective strips running across it caught the passing streetlights every few seconds. Donald would wake him before his stop. He always did.

Arthur remained near the front, exactly where he had started.

These were the people who belonged to the end of Donald’s route.

Another CTA sign appeared ahead, and Donald eased them to a stop along the curb. There was nobody there waiting. He opened the doors regardless and waited. After a few seconds, Donald closed them and checked his mirror before pulling away.

There were five passengers.

Donald kept his foot on the brake, staring into the mirror. Near the back of the bus, sitting upright in a forward-facing seat Donald could have sworn had been empty less than a minute earlier, was a man he did not recognize. He was bald and incredibly pale, something Donald might have struggled to distinguish on the darkened bus if not for the contrast of his lips. They were a bright crimson that made the rest of his skin look like polished ivory.

And he was looking directly at Donald without a trace of discernible emotion.

The moment seemed to stretch. Donald lost track of how long he’d been locked in the unwelcome staring contest. His calf began to cramp from the pressure he was applying to the brake, and his knuckles popped beneath the death grip he had on the steering wheel. His heart began hammering hard enough to hurt, and he had to remind himself to breathe. He couldn’t remember a time he had ever been this scared.

“Donny?”

His eyes snapped to Arthur. The fear slid away in an instant. His grip relaxed, and a sudden quiet laugh jumped out of him.

“Sorry ’bout that. Must have got lost thinking about something just now.”

“You okay?”

“Oh yeah,” Donald said with a wave of his hand past his face. “Been a long day, ya know?”

“I hear that.”

Arthur slid up to take the seat closest to Donald.

Donald pulled away from the curb. There were only four stops to go. Only four people left on the bus. He was looking forward to the drive back to the depot, followed by the drive home in his own car. He was planning on catching the Cubs game tomorrow afternoon. The thought of grabbing a ballpark dog and an ice-cold Miller Lite brought a smile to his face as he made his way toward Tonya’s stop.

71st and South Shore Drive came into view. There was no familiar chime. No need for it at this point. Tonya was already ambling down the aisle with her bag in tow. She stopped beside Donald as he took his foot off the accelerator and began coasting toward the curb.

“You gonna miss me next week, Don?”

“Miss you? Where are you going?”

“Vacation,” she exclaimed with genuine excitement. “Booked a cruise for me and Darnel.”

They came to a full stop, and Donald opened the doors.

“Where to?”

“Virgin Islands. I’ll pick you up a souvenir.”

He smiled at her and tipped her a wink. “I wouldn’t say no to that. You be safe.”

“I will. See you when I get back.”

“You know it.”

The doors closed, and Tonya waved as she strode away. Donald smiled as he imagined what tourist take-home she might come back with for him. He’d genuinely appreciate anything at all. For Donald, it was absolutely the thought that counted.

He glanced at the mirror.

His blood ran cold.

The man. The man was still there. Donald remembered seeing him at the last stop, remembered the terror, remembered Arthur saying his name and somehow making all of it disappear. And now the man was sitting in the seat Tonya had just vacated.

He was staring directly at Donald.

Donald’s body began to lock up again when—

“Why don’t any of my passengers ever bring me gifts?”

Donald turned his head to look at Arthur over his shoulder.

“Probably because you’re a dick.”

They laughed hard enough at that to wake John Pope, who abruptly sat upright, shook off his sleep, and started making his way toward the front of the bus.

“What are you ladies giggling about up here?”

“Just talking about how Arthur here lacks anything that approximates a personality.”

“Not true. It’s just different on my shift. Everybody is always in a big damn rush.”

“It’s alright, Arthur,” John said. “I don’t talk to anyone all day either.”

“You talk to Donny.”

“Yeah, well, Donny’s not a complete bastard.”

John offered Donald his knuckles, and as Donald rolled to a stop, he bumped them with his own.

“Night, John.”

John waved a hand over his shoulder without turning around and started walking down the sidewalk.

Donald closed the doors and checked his mirror. He saw him. He remembered seeing him at the last two stops. The man had moved again. Now he sat across from Vivian. He wasn’t looking at Donald this time. He was staring at her. Vivian was wide awake now, but she didn’t seem to see him at all.

The fear didn’t flood Donald’s system the way it had before. This time it settled somewhere deeper. His chin began to quiver, and his throat tightened as he fought back a sob.

“You think John has any friends at all?”

Donald turned toward Arthur. For some reason, he had to clear his throat and swallow before he could put on a playful smile.

“Do you?”

“Only you, Donny.” A smile played across Arthur’s face. “Only you.”

Vivian gathered her things and joined them at the front as they approached South Shore Drive and 75th Street.

“Donald, I wanted to thank you before I say goodnight. I accepted a transfer to another hospital. Better pay and better hours. I won’t be riding your bus anymore.”

She held out a hundred-dollar bill.

“Viv, you put that back in your purse,” Donald said with mock sternness. “Where’d you land?”

“Northwestern Memorial. They’re going to help me move closer too.”

“Congratulations, Viv.” Donald nodded with something that resembled pride. “You deserve it. I know how hard you work.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You’ve always been good to me.”

She seemed to consider something for a moment, then leaned over and quickly deposited a kiss on his cheek.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

She stepped off the bus for the final time.

Donald sat there stunned in the best kind of way. “You too.”

He watched her go for a moment, the feeling of the unexpected kiss, as brief as it had been, lingering long after it ended.

Finally, he closed the doors.

And checked his mirror.

The man was sitting five feet from Arthur. His eyes were locked on Donald’s. And this time, he was smiling.

The fear returned, but before it could fully take hold, Arthur spoke.

“I am doing this job all kinds of wrong.”

Donald looked back at the road. The image of the smiling man behind him slipped away before Donald could hold onto it. He smiled and touched his cheek.

“Arthur, my boy, I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with you there.”

79th Street and South Shore Drive was next. The end of the line. Donald liked this part of the drive too. The final few blocks with just him and Arthur shooting the breeze was usually a great way to end a shift. He’d never tell Arthur that, but he appreciated it just the same.

“Enjoy the game tomorrow, Donny. Hope you catch a homer.”

“Must’ve been to hundreds of games at this point. I’ve never caught a single one.”

Arthur stepped off the bus.

“Maybe tomorrow is your lucky day.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears.”

“Night, pal.”

Arthur walked away at a brisk pace.

“Night.”

Donald closed the doors.

He checked the mirror.

The man’s pale face was directly over his shoulder.

His smile had parted to reveal teeth stained a shade only slightly less vibrant than his lips. Donald had originally thought him bald, but from this close he could see that the man was completely hairless. No eyebrows. No eyelashes. His eyes weren’t right either. They seemed to tremble inside their sockets without relinquishing eye contact for even an instant.

Donald watched as the man slowly raised one overly long finger to his lips and held it there vertically, as though Donald could have made a sound even if he wanted to.

His heart rate spiked. His muscles trembled as he shifted the bus into park. The tears that had threatened earlier spilled down his cheeks, washing away whatever warmth Vivian’s kiss had left behind. A sob escaped him as his bladder let go.

Still, he managed to reach slowly for the switch that would turn off the route indicator.

Old habits died hard.