Last Stop

Slipping a worn transit card into her back pocket, the young woman boarded the train, preoccupied with bits of dried pizza dough under her nails. Scanning the seats, she barely registered the night-shift passengers scattered about. Finding an empty row, she settled into a blue plastic seat as the train got underway. Her fingers worked at the stubborn flakes, trying to free them.

A sudden movement made her pause. Peeking left, she saw a man’s hand gripping the seat back beside her. Long, ragged fingernails held dirt from things she’d rather not know about. Reyna adjusted the pizzeria cap over her platinum blonde hair and shifted slightly away. Massaging the stiffness in her neck, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

Her phone buzzed in her lap. Reyna jumped, then laughed softly at herself. Punching in the security code, she saw a photo of her boyfriend. A smile lit her weary eyes.

Reyna tapped the little message bubble in the corner and read his text:

On your way?

Just boarded. See you in a few. ❤️

The text swooshed away, and she exhaled. She crossed her legs and scrolled the headlines. Neat brows furrowed. “Ukraine Peace Talks with Russia Stalled.” “Zelenskyy Refuses Meeting with Putin.” “More Refugees Seek Asylum in the U.S.” An anguished sigh stuck in her chest. She rubbed at the tension in her eyes and wrapped a protective arm across her chest.

“Think I don’t see… hmph, I see where ya been…”

The back of Reyna’s throat clicked dry. The sound had teeth. She waited, listening, heart hammering. Strange people on the train weren’t unusual—they usually ignored her if she ignored them. Cursing under her breath, she slumped slightly. Keeping her head forward, she strained to spy his reflection in the window: a man in a red hoodie glared back. Tension shot from the base of her neck down her arms in prickling jolts. His reflection scowled, lips twisted, eyes burning with cold, focused hatred.

“Last stop now. Nobody here sees nuthin,” he growled.

Reyna bit her lip and turned for help. But the other passengers didn’t seem bothered at all. Across the aisle sat a middle-aged woman in purple scrubs. Her blank gaze fixed on the phone in her lap. Reyna shook her head, wondering if she was overreacting. Then she noticed the woman snake an arm around the purse and bag of groceries beside her and squeeze them tight.

The air felt tighter, and Reyna felt the weight of someone watching. She locked eyes with the young man sitting behind the woman. Twenty, maybe twenty-one. Reyna raised a hand, but he jammed headphones over short-coiled curls and turned his back.

“Forget it… we gonna stop now…”

Closer, his breath hot on her neck. Reyna cowered in her seat. The ominous presence loomed taller behind her. Then—a flash of red! The man lunged forward, arm raised overhead. Something glinted in his hand before it fell. Her hat flew off. Her phone slammed to the floor. Her boyfriend’s photo smiled up at her. Then pain. Bright and searing, like molten lava, cascaded through her neck and shoulders. His eyes locked onto hers. Tiny fists pressed into her mouth, holding back the screams. Twice more, the attack came like a red wave of fire crashing over her.

“Stop… it’s time to …”

His voice drifted away. A familiar, comforting hand took hold of hers, gently pulling her away—away from the train, away from the fire. Mariupol. Bombs. Her childhood home. She stood at the front window. Someone screamed. Rooted there, she watched the city crumble. Her mother yelled for her to run.

Again, a hand grabbed hers just in time. Glass shattered inward. Reyna recoiled as shards tore across her back. She lived. A refugee in a strange land, yet holding hope to rebuild from the ashes. The burning torment in her neck returned, a reminder that life might always threaten to go up in flames.

Reyna blinked, rising above the chaos as a helpless spectator. She watched as her life flowed from her neck and pooled on the floor. Her huddled body bumped and swayed with the rattling train. The madman loomed over her like a predator. The other passengers pressed themselves against the walls, as far from her fate as possible.

The train ground to a halt at the terminal, and the doors parted with a happy little jingle. The digital sign above the door read “LAST STOP,” yet no one moved. After what seemed an eternity, the man in the red hoodie, with a satisfied grin, sauntered out. The other passengers shrank away as he passed. Some lifted phones to record his backside. On exiting, they heard him say… “Just go… go now… ya gotta go.”

Reyna floated above it all. She reached out to her injured self, curled up alone on the hard plastic seat. The frail body convulsed with pain and sobs. Desperation hit. She had to get herself to safety. Before she could do anything, her ghostly self was yanked toward the open door. Her flailing hands passed through the handrails and doorjamb. Tossed out, her body slammed onto the dirty platform floor like a sack of garbage. She sprang up and raced to reach the doors. They slammed shut in her face. Aghast, she strained to pry them open with all her strength. Her eyes locked with those of her physical self, balled up, alone and losing consciousness in the car. Another wave of agony shot through her neck and shoulders, and both girls grabbed at their necks in unison. Outside, Reyna slammed her fists against the window, while inside, Reyna reached for her. Then, the train and all inside wisped into smoke, as if it had never been there at all.

“Wait!” she cried and grasped at the vapor. It dissolved between her fingers, leaving her bewildered and trembling. Dirty tile walls and concrete floors matched every other train terminal she’d seen. “Wait,” she called again. The sound was lost in the empty space. The echoes of her cry held a bit too long. It looked abandoned and forgotten long ago. Cobwebs covered the turnstiles, giving them a tombstone-like appearance. Long, ominous shadows stretched out in front of them on the litter-strewn floor. The edges of the shadows flickered and danced toward her from the weak, blinking exit sign above. Its dull red glow pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat winding down. Reyna shivered and wrapped her arms tightly about herself. There had to be another way out. Peering down from the platform edge to where the tracks should run away into the tunnels, she could see nothing but misty darkness. She recoiled at the sheer nothingness and backed away as one might when perched on the edge of a great height.

A wind came from nowhere, whipping up dust, old ticket stubs, and candy wrappers from dark corners, carrying whispers toward her. “I see where ya been… I know where ya goin…” The voice tightened around her heart. Reyna clawed at the stabbing pain roaring to life in her neck. She sank to her knees, choking and gasping for breath. Wild eyes searched the darkest corners for a door, a window, a person. Nothing but shadows crouched near empty vending machines, behind garbage cans, and beyond a broken ticket vendor window.

Her frantic search froze on an old wooden door. It creaked and swayed in the wind before limply opening wide. A shadow of a figure hid among the mop and broom handles inside the utility closet. Her breath caught in her throat as it began to push forward.

“Nobody here sees you…” the whisper grew as the figure drew closer.

In the dim light, Reyna began to see the black shadow turn red. Her blonde ponytail shook back and forth. Her nails were caked in dirt as she clawed backward across the grimy floor. He was mere feet from her now. The sound of bombs exploding and glass shattering began to echo across the hall. The need to escape drove her back further until she slammed against the wall, hard and unyielding. Even then, her feet fought to push her farther from the advancing figure. In the darkness, the exit light pulsed; his hoodie flashed red, then black. Red again, black again in sync with each step. With nowhere to run or hide, Reyna curled into a ball, burying her head. Defeated, her mouth stretched into an empty scream. She had nothing left inside except… one tiny prayer.

“Help me.”

The wind fell silent. There was a shift in the room. The dirty girl peeked through her clenched arms. Her eyes stretched wide in surprise. She rubbed her tear- and smudge-streaked face and checked again. A table stood in the middle of the room where there had been none before. Reyna stared in disbelief. The pulsing exit light remained. It blinked ever slower, giving glimpses of the strange sight before her. She wiped her nose on the hem of her t-shirt and stood to get a better look. A crisp white linen cloth was spread across it, holding fine dinnerware with ornate china, elegant silverware, and crystal goblets. Hesitantly, she moved in to tap a dessert spoon to check if it was real. Solid enough, she lifted the heavy silver piece and noticed the initials R.P. on the handle.

“It’s for me,” she whispered, and the tension in her face drained away with a smile.

Platters of fruit, roasted meats, and desserts filled the table, their heavenly aroma wafting to her nostrils as she inhaled deeply. She licked her lips unconsciously while running her dirty hands through her tangled hair to smooth it. A crystal decanter of wine drew her eye, and she took hold of it eagerly. Pressing it to her lips, she drank deeply with a thirst she had never known before. Reyna sighed with delight and wiped her mouth with a gold-embroidered napkin. The light of the room grew dimmer still. Her surroundings were quietly fading along with the light. She reached for a succulent dish of roasted lamb and sank into the comfort of a golden chair. It could only be described as fit for a king. The throbbing misery in her body ebbed. Tears spilled over the edges of her eyes as she pulled the tender lamb meat from the bone and placed the savory meat into her mouth. She sighed in contentment. The light grew darker still.

The platform remained the same ugly, forgotten place where Reyna had arrived just moments ago. However, she no longer cared to find the exit. Shadow figures of bombs fell around her. Explosions cascaded across the walls. The sound of silverware on bone china drowned out the shattering of windows. The shadow figure that came from the closet—he was still there as well. He stood before the table. Eyes of fire watched her dine. His whispers turned to shouts as he demanded she “Stop!”

He could do nothing but threaten as she ate of the goodness set before her. His words held no more power. She feasted before her enemies without fear.

“I see ya…” his voice like gravel. Reyna either no longer heard or cared. The flickering sign slowed to its faintest pulse. The table held the finest treats she’d ever tasted. She indulged. With each succulent bite, the agony in her neck melted into sweet relief, like oil poured over her battered body and soul. Reyna remembered hands that clung to safety and hands worn thin chasing a future. There were hands that were gentle, and others that hurt, dragging her into darkness. She touched the soft linen tablecloth—the hands that set this table offered her healing and wholeness.

Reyna raised the crystal goblet, brimming with choice wine, and gave thanks. The shadow lunged toward her. She drank deeply, filling herself with peace. Her hands stretched into the dying light. They were spotless, the nails washed clean, and the shadow dissolved into nothingness. The last flicker of life extinguished, and the platform flooded with light.