by A J Rivers
Glance. Slash. Stick. Glance. Slash. Stick.
He gets through the passengers and makes it to my row. One man chose the aisle seat directly across from me, and he sits as far back as he can, already reading a book.
"Mr. Jones," the conductor says, adding the man's bright green header before even looking at his ticket. "Good to see you again."
The man nods. "Good morning, Thomas."
My eyes slide up to the note above his head as the conductor makes his way to mine. I watch Mr. Jones stand up and set his book in his seat before heading down the aisle in the direction of the snack car. He's on his way to Georgia. I glance at the conductor.
"When are we going to leave?" I ask.
"The train has been delayed, but we should be moving shortly," he reassures me.
"What's the delay?"
"I don't know."
He disappears through the doors blocking the walkway between this car and the next. My phone ringing takes my attention, and I fish it out of my pocket.
"Is that your train still sitting at the platform?" Sam asks when I answer.
"Yes. We've been delayed, but the conductor doesn't know why. Are you at the station?"
"Just got here. Give me a second." Muffled sounds accompany footsteps as he carries the phone with him across the station. He asks about the delay, but I can't understand the response. More muffled sounds carry me back to where Sam started. "Apparently there was an issue with a passenger getting off to smoke a cigarette, but not bringing his ticket or ID with him. They already closed the doors when he tried to get back on."
"Is he in first class?" I ask.
"A sleeper car, yeah," Sam says.
"I saw him before getting on the train. That shouldn't be too difficult to figure out. I'm sure we'll be leaving soon."
"Alright. I'll check in with you later."
Tucking my phone away, I wake the screen of my computer back up and see the familiar video paused on a still of Mary grinning down at a massive vanilla milkshake. I press the down arrow on my keyboard until I get to the comments section.
SeeatSea-He-Me: First
Chapter Nineteen
The train finally starts moving twenty minutes later, and as soon as the announcement says the snack car is open, I'm ready for coffee. I stuff my computer back in its bag and under the seat in front of me and go head up the aisle. As I go, I take note of the people and their green notes. Only two other people in the car are headed for the station near Feathered Nest, though I doubt either will end up in the middle of the woods with me. They will more than likely head to one of the other towns nearby or switch trains and journey on somewhere else.
Coffee from a snack car in a train is never a gourmet experience, but a sleepless night and early morning make the little paper cup gripped in my hand glorious. I'm tempted to just lean against a wall, down this cup, and get another to bring back to my seat with me. Instead, I check to make sure the car will remain open for at least the next couple of hours so I can come back for a refill, then make my way back to my car. Passing through the two cars that separate the snack car from mine gives me the opportunity to scan more faces, check more behaviors. These cars are even more sparsely occupied than the one I'm in, with the one closest to the snack car only having three people in it.
My phone ringing in my pocket startles a woman sleeping against the window, and I mouth an apology as I answer.
"Hey, Eric."
"Are you already on the train?" he asks.
I got in touch with both him and Bellamy last night to let them know what was happening. Knowing they know about the plan is like having a safety net under me. I hope I won't need to use it, but it's good that it's there just in case.
"Yes. We got moving a little bit ago."
"How about Sam's train?"
"I haven't heard from him yet. There's still a little bit before it's supposed to leave, but we were delayed, so I don't know if he will be, too," I tell him. "There are so few people on this train. I would think the conductors would want to get everybody into one car. Wouldn't that make it easier to keep an eye on people?"
"They do limit the cars that are available. Some of the ones on that train are probably totally empty. They also anticipate how many passengers are supposed to be boarding at different stations and how long they'll be riding. They let them spread out, so there is no big crush of people moving in and out of a specific area of the train. People also just like to have at least the illusion of choosing their own seats. It gives them a sense of freedom and autonomy, which is one of the most effective means of crowd control," Eric explains.
"Because people who feel like they're being controlled or limited in what they are allowed to do are more likely to push back against it," I say.
"Exactly. Especially when there's the issue of perceived value, like when it comes to train seats."
"What do you mean?"
"Every person assigns importance to different things. That becomes perceived value. You like window seats near the back of the car. Other people prefer aisle seats. Some may really hate the idea of sitting near a bathroom, while others would specifically seek that out. Some want to be in the middle of the car away from the doors, so there isn't as much shuffling around when passengers get on and off. Other people would rather be close to the door, so they can get off first. It's all about what the individual values. When people are given the freedom to choose their own seats—even if it's limited just by the number of cars available—they feel like they are getting value for what they paid. Assigned seating creates a sense of animosity because inevitably people don't get what is of greatest value to them and will feel slighted," Eric explains.
"I can see where that would bother the guy sitting across from me," I say. "Tons of empty seats and he chooses the one directly across the aisle from me."
"That's a little odd," Eric says.
"Yeah, but I have the feeling it's where he always sits. He and the conductor greeted each other by name. What's strange is he's going all the way to Georgia. That can't be a trip he takes by train every couple of days." I walk back into my car and get to my aisle. His seat is still empty. "And he's still not here."
I thought I muttered it, but it was loud enough for Eric to hear.
"Not there?" he asks.
"He got up while we were still delayed and hasn't come back yet. All his stuff is still here, but he's not."
"Maybe he went to the observation car," Eric offers.
I make a face at the phone even though he can't see me.
"It's a passenger train through small-town Virginia, Eric. There is no observation car."
I turn to my seat and pause. Eric says something, but the words go past me without sinking in.
"Emma?" he says a second later, my name cutting through to get my attention.
"Yeah. I'm sorry. What did you say?" I ask.
"I wanted to let you know I'm still working on getting the transcripts from Mary Preston's vlog. Apparently, they were never requested because there was no reason to believe they had any connection to the bombing."
"Okay. Thanks for doing that for me. Just let me know if you get your hands on it," I say, still staring at my seat.
"Sure. Is everything alright? Your voice changed," he says.
"I'm good. Will you ask Bellamy to look at the profile? She might have some insights."
"Alright," he says, and I finish the call before stepping into my row of seats.
I set my coffee and my phone on the tray table, take my seat, resting my hand on the closed lid of my computer. I reach under the seat in front of me and find my backpack tucked exactly where I put it. Only I know my computer was in it when I put it there. Standing, I look around to see if anyone is paying attention. Eyes slitted to the side toward me, or sudden extreme devotion to a menial task might give away who took it out. But the passengers ahead of me seem oblivious to the world around them. The young mother is reading to the little boy curled up with his head in her lap. Two o
f the others are reading. A few more are sleeping or plugged into earbuds, lost in whatever is playing on the devices in their laps.
I'm sitting again when my peripheral vision catches someone sitting two rows behind me. He wasn't there before. No one was sitting behind me when I left to get my coffee. I walk out into the aisle and briefly lift my eyes to check for a green note above his head. It's there, announcing his journey to Florida, the last stop on this route.
"Did you see someone near this seat?" I ask, pointing toward my seat.
The man looks up from the sketchbook he has propped on the tray table in front of him. He glances in the direction I'm pointing, then looks at me and shakes his head. Dark hair cut close to his head and intense blue eyes give him a distinctive appearance that doesn't seem to fit with the pencil sketch on the paper in front of him.
"No."
"No one?" I frown. "You didn't see anyone near this seat?"
He shakes his head again, then eyes me carefully.
"Were you wearing a sweater?" he asks.
"A sweater? No, I was not wearing a sweater," I tell him, the sharp 't' sounds dipped in more acid than may have been necessary.
"Then, yes," he nods, straightening up and pointing at me with the eraser of the pencil in his hand. "When I came back from the restroom, there was a woman in that row. I leaned down to get my pad out, and when I looked back, she was walking out of the car. She had on a blue sweater, and her hair was pulled up like yours. I didn't get much of a look at her, so I just assumed it was you."
I didn't see anyone who looked like that in the cars I walked through on the way back from the snack car, so I point to the door behind him.
"She left in that direction?" I ask. He nods. "You weren't here when I left."
"What?"
"You weren't sitting here. When I left to get coffee, there was no one sitting back here."
"You might not have seen me, but I was here." He gestures up toward the green note. "Conductor-approved."
I walk back to my seat and lift the computer screen. My fingers tremble as I peel away a bright green sticky note adhered inside.
Chapter Twenty
The door to the car opens, and the conductor starts down the aisle again. He's not checking tickets this time, just glancing at the sticky notes and the people sitting beneath them. I wonder how many times he does this a day, and how often he barely even notices what he's seeing. Everything is so routine, so consistent it must just flow through his brain and barely register unless there's something seriously wrong. That seems to happen when he gets to the aisle between my seat and the one beside me. I tuck the note I found in my computer out of sight and watch him stare down at the empty seat.
“He hasn't come back since the train started,” I mention.
The conductor looks over at me, seemingly confused to have heard my voice.
“Excuse me?” he asks.
“The man who is sitting in that seat. You called him Mr. Jones? He got up while the train was still delayed at the station, and he hasn't been back. He didn't bring anything with him, so I don't think he moved seats.”
"Thank you," he nods.
That's it. With no other response, he continues past me and the man drawing in the sketch pad to go into the next car. I take out the note again and look at it. The black ink across the vibrant green is difficult to decipher, but it looks like the initials for the Castleville station, where I boarded. Running my finger across the mousepad, I wake up the screen. Nothing seems changed. The same video is up that was when I closed it. There are no new windows or anything moved. It's as if the woman took the computer out just so she could put the sticker inside and walk away.
I stuff my computer back into my bag and sling it over my shoulder as I shuffle into the aisle and head in the same direction the conductor went, the direction the other passenger said the woman walked after leaving my seat. A button opens the sliding door, and I step into the small vestibule. Metal plates beneath my feet shift and bounce at the coupling, a stark reminder I'm briefly between two cars rather than actually in one.
The next door opens for me, and I start down that aisle, glancing at each passenger as I go. Though I'm looking for a sweater the way the man described, I'm aware the woman might have very well taken it off, so I keep my eye out for someone blonde. I get to the end of the car with no one matching the description and pass through another connector into the next car. The conductor is still in this one, making his way along the rows and checking on passengers. There is only one blonde woman in this car, and she is considerably shorter than me, with a glossy bob. He couldn't have mistaken me for her even with only a partial glance.
I'm making my way toward the end, expecting the conductor to just continue through, but he stops and turns back around. His eyes narrow when he sees me.
"Can I do something for you?" he asks in a lowered tone, coming closer like he doesn't want me to disturb the passengers.
"Oh, no. Thank you. I'm just looking for someone," I tell him.
"Mr. Jones?" he asks suspiciously.
"No," I reply. "Someone else. She stopped by my seat when I was in the snack car. I apparently just missed her. She's not in this car, though, so I'm just going to check in the next."
I start to move around him, but he shifts into my path.
"You will not find her in the next car," he says simply.
"How do you know that? I didn't even describe her."
"I know that because the next three passenger cars are empty. Beyond that are the first-class sleep accommodations," he tells me.
"The cars are empty?" I ask.
"Yes. The last of those passengers disembarked. There won't be further passengers in those cars until we reach the end of this leg."
Meaning they won't pick anyone else up until we get to the station outside of Feathered Nest.
"So, you won't go into those cars until we get to the station?" I ask.
"No. My responsibility is to the passengers, and since there are none in there, and those in this car have been instructed the doors between the cars are locked, there's no point in going in there," he says.
"You don't think it's worth going in there even though you have a missing passenger?" I ask.
Thomas draws in a breath, squaring his shoulders as he plasters on a fake smile and gestures for me to back up, so I'm away from the others in the car.
"We don't have a missing passenger," he says in a lowered tone as he continues to guide me up the aisle. "Simply because Mr. Jones is not sitting in his seat right now doesn't mean he's missing. I'll thank you not to disrupt the other passengers. Inciting panic is taken very seriously."
"I'm not trying to incite panic," I tell him. "I just…"
"Good. Then, please return to your seat. I'm sure your friend will come back to your seat when she has a chance."
He continues walking directly behind me until I've gone through the next connector. I make my way back to my seat and drop my bag into the seat beside me before sitting down and taking out my phone.
Sam answers on the first ring.
"We got started right on schedule," he tells me. "So, we're not too far behind you. Everything is calm so far. Nothing weird or unusual. I don’t get a strange vibe from anyone I’ve seen so far."
"It's not as calm here," I say, keeping my voice low so my words don’t drift out into the aisle, to be heard by other passengers.
"What do you mean?" Sam asks, sounding tense. "What's going on?"
"I'm not sure yet. Maybe nothing. When I went to get coffee from the snack car, I put my computer in my bag, under the seat in front of me. But when I came back, it was sitting on my tray table, closed. I opened it and there was a sticky note inside."
"A sticky note?" Sam asks.
"Has the conductor come by to check your ticket?" I ask.
"Yes."
"The note he put above your head to say where you're going. In this car, they are bright green sticky notes. There was one on the inside of
my computer, stuck to the screen. The destination on it was Castleville. Nobody in the car seemed to be paying any attention to what was going on, but there's a guy sitting a few seats behind me who said he saw a blonde woman near my seat. She apparently walked away not too long before I came back," I explain. "So, it's entirely possible some woman has been on the train for hours, is bored, and was wandering around trying to find something to entertain herself. She found the sticky note on the floor from one of the passengers who had just got off and left it in my computer as some weird joke."
"I mean, that's certainly an explanation," Sam acknowledges. "But how would she know there was even a computer in your bag? I'm aware you can drink your volume in hot beverages, but I can't imagine you spent so much time in the snack car some woman could come poke around in your bags without someone thinking she looked suspicious."
"And where is she now?" I ask.
"What do you mean?"
"I went through the next two passenger cars looking for her since the guy who saw her said that's the direction she left. But I didn't see anyone who looked even remotely like what he described, and the conductor told me the other passenger cars are empty. They are the ones for the passengers who got off before I boarded in Castleville. Which makes two missing passengers. The man sitting across the aisle from me got up during the delay, and I haven't seen him since."
"Did you tell the conductor?" Sam asks.
"I did. He didn't seem concerned and actually scolded me for suggesting he was missing. Which I found strange. He knows this guy by name. He knows where he sits," I say.
"Then maybe he knows of strange habits he has. Keep your eyes open. If anything else happens, let me know."
"I will."
As I pull my computer out again, the bag slips from the seat onto the floor. I lean over to pick it up and glance toward the back of the car, where I find the sketch artist’s intense blue eyes staring at me. They quickly flicker away, but they don't take their strange chill with them.
