Her Final Departure

Avery Montgomery had learned there were two types of tiredness. There was normal tiredness. The type of tired that you came home from a long day with aching muscles and sore eyes. Those days, you just wanted a hot shower, a comfort show, and a sufficient amount of sleep. Then there was hospital shift tired. That was a whole different level of tiredness. It was in your bones, and it followed you home at the end of your shift. It makes you second-guess where you last put your keys or forget when you last ate. It made you swear you'd heard a call bell ring while you were in the shower. 

Avery had been a Registered Nurse for eight years. The last four, she had been working the second shift at Atticus Monroe Memorial Hospital. Two in the afternoon to 1 am.

By the time she had finished charting, given her final report of the night, and walked through the front entrance of the hospital, it was usually 1: 19 am. She had exactly 28 minutes to reach the Terminal. She never missed the 1:47 am train. It was the last train that got her closest to taking her right home. Avery thrived on dependability. The train had been something she could count on. 

Every night it was the same route she walked: Hospital parking lot, 10 blocks down Park Ave. Past the closed coffee shop on the corner. At the intersection where the light blinked yellow after midnight. Down the concrete steps in the massive train and bus terminal. 

Platform two. Car four. Seat number thirteen. Window side, of course. It was never a thought why she chose that seat, day after day. It just felt like it was hers. Until a man started to sit across from her. 

The first thing she noticed about the man was how he never seemed fazed by the weather. The first time she recalled seeing him, it was raining. The second time, it was snowing. She eventually noticed he had been on the train every day of the week so far. She hated herself for it, but after that she started looking for him. But she did. And he was always there. Dark hair. Grey eyes. Black wool coat. No bag. No cell phone.

He looked somewhere around thirty-five, though something about his face made him seem much older when he didn’t smile. He never smiled. He simply sat across from her and folded his hands, watching the darkness roll by out the window.

Avery convinced herself that he was strange but harmless. Certainly, very strange. But then she noticed something else. He never got off that train. Not once. The train stopped at 8 stations between the hospital and Avery’s neighborhood. Passengers came and went, night after night, but he remained. 

At her stop, she would stand, but he never did. The doors would close. The train would leave. And the next night he’d be there. Same seat. Same outfit. Same facial expression. Sometimes she wondered if the shifts had started to get to her. She took it upon herself to ease her mind by asking the conductor. He was a large man, with a bit of pudge in the belly, dark, beady eyes, and dark hair. He wasn’t the most approachable looking until he offered a weary smile.

“That man in car four.”

The conductor frowned at her. “There are usually a lot of people in car four. I’m going to need a little more than that.”

Avery frowned for a moment, reconsidering her actions. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep. The mind loved to play games at the early morning hours. 

“What do you say he looks like?”

Avery pursed her lips for a moment and then drew in a sharp breath. “Dark hair, grey eyes, and he’s got a black wool coat.”

By the look on his face, she knew this conversation wasn't going to provide the answer she needed. 

He stared at her and then gave a little shrug. “I’m sorry, Miss. It’s not ringing any bells.”

“Sorry for wasting your time.” She shrugged. She decided to let it go, as she had enough on her plate right now.

She had a mother who called way too frequently because she worried. A brother she hadn’t heard from in six months. A laundry pile that was constantly on the rise on her lonely chair by her closet. And she lived in a house that felt less and less like home since her dad died. She didn’t need to add friendly stalkers to her list. Was he friendly? She didn’t think so. But she dropped it. At least she attempted to.

But one night changed all that. It was December 17th. She remembered the date well as she noted to herself that was when she would finally call her mother. She had forgotten to call the past few nights. But her mother had stopped leaving voicemails and had moved on to passive-aggressive text messages wondering about her well-being.

Mom: Just checking in.

Mom: No pressure.

Mom: I’m guessing you forgot how a cell phone works?

She laughed when she read the last message. Seconds later, a code blue was called. One of her patients. Her mother's text messages were soon forgotten. A seventeen-year-old boy had driven his motorcycle right into a guardrail and toppled over the side. The mother had arrived 20 minutes later. Avery would never forget the sound that came out of the woman’s mouth. It wasn’t a scream. It was much quieter. A broken little sound that came from deep in her chest. He had been stabilized but was alive. Just barely.

By the time Avery had left the hospital, she felt the weight of the day settle on her shoulders. Standing under the front entrance awning, she realized her hair had fallen out of its messy bun and her feet ached when she wiggled her toes. At that particular moment, she was grateful for the winter chill as it kept her alert. Distracting her from spacing out as she had a long commute home. This was one of those types of tiredness that sleep wouldn’t be able to fix. As she watched the snow fall, she checked her watch. 1:25 AM. If she hurried, she would be able to make her train. So she set out into the snowy night through the city streets. 

By the time she made it to the station, it was nearly empty. Which was unusual. There were usually seven or so people who waited with her on her commute to her neighborhood. Tonight there were only three. A man in a business suit. A college student with chunky headphones. And then the stranger in the black wool coat.

One thing she noticed from this man was that he didn’t seem to be fazed by the cold. It was December; it turned the terminal into a North Pole-equivalent temperature. Or to Avery, it felt like it did. Every night that month after her shift at Monroe Memorial, Avery crossed the parking lot with her winter coat pulled up tight around her neck to shield from the wind. Her hospital badge was still attached to her navy scrubs. By the time she reached the platform, her fingers had gone numb.

The man sitting under the flickering fluorescent lights never wore anything more than a black wool coat. No gloves. No hat. Not even a scarf. He didn’t shiver. Not once. She started noticing him exactly three weeks ago. At first she just thought he was another night shift worker. There were plenty. Nurses. Security Guards. Restaurant workers. People who all had learned to adapt to living on the wrong side of the clock. 

This time, when she approached to wait for her train, the man in the black wool coat stood up and looked right at her. Something about the expression on his face made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and a lump formed in her throat. She stepped on the platform and met his gaze. She cleared her throat; it felt dry like sandpaper.

“Hey.” She croaked. She kept a safe distance from him, but she could see his features more clearly now. Dark, well-maintained hair, a little bit of stubble on his chin, and grey eyes that were gorgeous but almost seemed to look right through Avery. As if she wasn’t there. 

He didn’t respond.

“Hey,” She spoke up again, much sharper than before. “Let’s not make this weird.”

    His eyes grazed over her features, and then he took a purposeful step forward but kept a respectable distance. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Avery frowned. What an odd thing to say. 

“I work at Atticus Monroe Memorial. I come here almost every night.”

“I’m aware.”

“What?” She squawked. Frozen in place.

“I am aware.” The stranger said coolly. He glanced down at the tracks. “You take the 1:47 am.” 

He looked at the clock. 1:41. “You have six minutes.”

“Six minutes for what?” She asked sharply, her eyes narrowed. 

He never answered her. 

A light breeze in the tunnel ruffled her hair, whipping it up so it fell on either side of her shoulders, and it made a low howling sound as the wind looped in the tunnel. A train appeared not far from the end of the tunnel, just into view. Avery stepped forward, ignoring the man, and prepared herself to board.

Before she could process, the stranger had gripped her firmly by the arm. He was ice cold. As was the air that brushed past her ear when he spoke again.

“Don’t get on that train.”

Avery stared at him. “What is wrong with you?” 

“Nothing.”

“Then don’t touch me.” She stiffened. Shaking him off.

He let go of her immediately. But he didn’t step away from her. His voice lowered. “Whatever happens tonight, don’t get off the train. You hear me.”

Avery’s agitation now started to turn into unease. “Why?”

The man’s jaw tightened.

“Because something is waiting for you.”

Something he couldn’t protect her from.

The train stopped in front of the platform with a screeching halt. The doors opened and people stepped off. The college kid with the funky headphones walked up the stairs. The businessman found the exit. But Avery hesitated.

“Please.” The stranger watched her with almost a pleading gaze. 

Avery shrugged. Her mind was made up. She boarded the train.

The stranger in the black wool coat followed. Much to her dismay. 

Car four smelled distinctly of wet coats and old metal. Avery took her usual seat. And the man sat in front of her, directly across from her seat. Neither glanced at each other or spoke.

The train departed the station with a rumble of life. 

The first 10 minutes of the ride seemed normal as always. The glowing city lights passed. Tired faces of passengers reflected in the glass. Some homeless man lay slumped, sleeping against the glass. Someone could be heard coughing a few rows back. Avery watched the clock on the far upper wall.

1:52.

1:56.

The clock then had reached two in the morning. Avery sighed, now sitting more easily in her seat. Less ridged. Maybe her exhausted brain had misinterpreted his words. Maybe he was unstable. 

“Avery.”

Her eyes flickered upwards towards the voice. He was staring at her. His gaze was more intense now, with a sense of urgency. She hadn’t told him her name. Her heart started to thud in her chest rapidly. 

“I never gave you my name. Are you following me?” She glared, bile creeping in her throat from her now-resparked nerves. 

“No.”

“Then why do you know my name?” 

His eyes softened, and he smiled weakly, as if greeting an old friend. “I’ve known you for a long time, Avery Montgomery.”

She scoffed, her eyebrows rising skeptically. “That’s not possible.”

“Is it?”

She looked away from him, no longer meeting his gaze.

The train had now entered a tunnel, the windows now nothing more than black mirrors in the darkness that enveloped the train. Avery could see herself and his reflection in the glass. However, she noticed something quite strange. Their reflections didn’t match their natural positions. Her reflection was staring straight ahead. His reflection was looking right at her. But when she turned to face him, the man was looking out the window. When she looked back at his reflection, everything was normal again. Her stomach clenched. 

“What’s your name?”

The man hesitated. “Warren.”

“Warren, what?” Avery asked, her voice full of suspicion.

“Warren Dean.” The man exhaled, trying to offer his best ‘Get-to-know-you ' smile.

After a moment of silence, she nodded slowly. “Okay, Warren Dean.”

She was trying to smile. “What’s going on?”

Warren rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his shoes on the ground. “I was really hoping you weren’t gonna ask me that.” 

“Well, I’m asking.” 

He looked at her with that look again. “Don’t get off at your stop.”

Avery made a noise that appeared to be a mix between a scoff and a nervous chuckle. Again, she smiled. “You keep telling me that.”

The train started to slow, and her stomach dropped. They were almost there.

“Well, I mean it.” He said sharply.

“Why?” Avery pressed.

“Because if you get off this train, you are going to remember.” 

“Remember what?”

Pure fear showed in his features, but she didn’t understand why he was terrified for her. They had never met until today.

“If you get off this train,” He inhaled sharply. His eyes were almost wild now. “You are going to remember me.” 

“Please, just stop.” Avery couldn’t do this. Two in the morning. This man who had been following her and was now telling her this bizarre story. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she still wasn’t sure if she could trust his intentions. The air felt like it had dropped a few degrees in the car. Her mind was screaming that she just needed to leave. 

The train finally squealed to a halt, gears grinding. And the doors of the train flew open. There was no announcement overhead when they approached. Perhaps the PA system had required a repair. Technology always acted up in these frigid temperatures.

Avery stood and walked to the platform.

“Avery!” Warren cried.

Avery had taken a glance at him before he rose to his feet and the train doors shut. He watched her from the window.

“You should have stayed on!” Warren’s shout was muffled.

Avery watched the train roll out of the station and disappear into the tunnel. 

She felt an eerie shift as the air cooled around her and pure silence. She slowly turned around, her breath creating small plumes. She noticed the station was empty. Completely. Not a soul to be found. 

Avery shivered, not from the cold but the icy feeling that grew in the pit of her stomach; that told her something was gravely wrong. For the first time all night, she felt wide awake.

She spun around, taking a better look at her surroundings. The vending machines were dark and weathered as they hadn’t been touched in ages. A layer of dust covered the glass. The ticket booth was vacant, with a sign that read ‘CLOSED’ in big red, capital letters. Upon further inspection, the departure board was completely blank. She heard no footsteps. No traffic in the distance. No sign of life anywhere. 

She checked her cellphone. NO SERVICE.

She glanced at her watch. 2:17 am. She had been on the train for a whole half an hour. Her ride was only supposed to be a thirteen-minute ride. She attempted to call her mother. The phone didn’t ring. She then tried again. Nothing.

Abruptly, the departure board flickered on and chimed a long DING! Avery jumped but then looked up at the board. One line appeared. 

1:47 AM ARRIVED.

She frowned as another line appeared. 

1:47 AM FINAL STOP.

Avery took an abrupt step backwards. Then her phone buzzed. She jumped so hard that she almost dropped it. There was no service. How would she get a notification?

She had received a text message from her mother’s cell phone number. 

MOM: Honey, where are you?

AVERY: My station.

The reply came almost immediately.

MOM: Avery, you don’t have a station. It’s been years.

In that moment, her stomach plummeted. Before her fingers could even hit the reply button, she heard footsteps echo behind her. She spun around.

“You're not supposed to be here.” Her mystery man from the train said.

“How did you get off the train?” 

“I didn’t”

Abruptly, the station's rails began to vibrate. Warren grabbed her, steering her away from the sound. “Don’t look.”

Avery’s head shot up. An old train emerged from the tunnel’s darkness. It was dark, paint faded, and no conductor. 

“Hey,” Warren hissed, trying to redirect Avery. But she couldn’t look away.

A woman was sitting alone who looked and wore an identical outfit to hers.

“What’s going on?” Avery’s said, her voice sounding small.

“You died.” Warren frowned.

“No way.” Avery sniffled.

“October 14, 1998. You were twenty-six.” 

Memories hit her like a bullet train. They flashed through her mind like a projection. Rain, headlights, Warren gripping the steering wheel, a railroad crossing, and finally, shattering glass. 

“You died too.”

He nodded.

Avery furrowed her eyebrows, looking around the vacant station. “But, what about-”

“It’s not real.”

“My mom?” Avery choked. 

“Alive.” Warren confirmed. “She buried her daughter twenty-eight years ago.”

“No…” Avery’s eyes welled with tears. “Why am I here?”

“You couldn’t accept what happened,” Warren said, now holding her hand in his. “It was the only way you felt… normal. After.”

A memory surfaced: Starry Summer, Warren laughing, her leaning on him.

“Promise you won’t leave me alone.”

“Never.”

He smiled through tears. They were together for eternity.