The Train of Lost Things

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  “Marty,” said Dina. “It’s almost time.”

  Well, it had come to that. He knew what he had to do.

  “No,” said Marty. “It’s not time, not for me. I haven’t found the jacket, and I’m not ready. I’ve made my decision.” He took a deep breath, saying it out loud for the first time. “I’m not leaving.”

  Dina frowned, but Star kept huffing around and shoving stuff out of the aisles as though she hadn’t heard him. He saw her move right past a couple of flashing items without seeming to see them (or maybe she was just out of sympathy for Lonely Ghosts right now). He hadn’t bothered to separate the flashers while he was rampaging, and they winked out here and there from the rubble. As Marty opened his mouth to say something, he saw a blur at the window nearest him. He squinted.

  The fog outside that glass was exceptionally thick. And still thickening.

  “Star!” he gasped.

  The three kids turned toward the window. The mist grew thicker, bulging, and then—it popped clear through the wall into the train. A teenager with a pocked face and serious eyes stood in front of them, inside the train car, pale and panting slightly.

  To their surprise, he looked as solid as any of them.

  This was a ghost? He’d been mist and fog only seconds before!

  “Hey, hey, hey,” said Star briskly. “What are you doing in here? Looking for your stuff?”

  The boy’s lips moved, soundlessly at first, like he was getting the hang of how this whole speaking thing worked. Then he said, “Cheepie.”

  “Ch—eepie?” said Star.

  Marty saw it right away. It was the only thing nearby that was still blinking: a little stuffed bird, pale blue and just bigger than his hand. He picked it up and moved toward the . . . what did he call the boy? Did you count as a ghost if you looked basically solid while traveling inside a speeding Train of Lost Things?

  He handed over the bird, his own mind a whirl.

  “Thank you!” the boy-ghost breathed. “Oh, thank you! I thought I’d never—”

  As Marty stepped back, his hand brushed the boy’s. Scratch “basically solid.” He couldn’t have told that boy’s hand from Dina’s or Star’s.

  Now holding his recovered object, the teenager turned and walked in a daze back toward the glass where he’d entered. Never lifting his eyes from the bird, he melted through the wall. There were several seconds where half his body was mist and half was fully alive-looking. Then he was gone, nothing but cloud and memory as he made his way to his final home on the Other Side.

  Marty felt his mouth drop open. Inside his brain, gears turned and ends whirred.

  There was a spark of an idea churning in his mind. It wasn’t fully articulated, but he was onto something. He knew it.

  Marty grabbed Star’s arm. “I’ve got a thought,” he said. “Come back with me to the engine?”

  On his other side, Dina said, “Marty, the sunrise is nearly starting! We can keep looking for your jacket—let’s do as much as we can before we get pulled off.”

  Dina’s words tugged at Marty, tugged hard. The sky outside was nearly daylight bright. There was so little time left. What if he couldn’t find a way to stay on the train, and this truly was his last chance to look for the jacket?

  But Star was looking at him now, her eyes eager and curious.

  “I’ve got to do this first,” he said to Dina. Then to Star, “Come on. I’ve got this hunch I want to try out.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Back in the engine cab, Marty plopped into the conductor’s seat while Star settled back in the same chair she’d had earlier. He thought of what Star had said about staying on the train: He snapped the seat belt into place, just in case the sunrise came on fast. Then he turned to study the wide touch screen. “You know how to work this?” he asked her.

  “I’ve played around with it a bit. It’s got some kind of a lock setting, though. I can navigate the surface levels, but I think you have to be, like, properly in charge to really get around.”

  Marty frowned. “Show me what you did earlier. You got a list of the drivers and stuff?”

  “Sure,” said Star. Her thin fingers flew over the screen, pulling up tabs and clicking boxes. “It’s a list of all the drivers and the conductors who’ve ever run the train.”

  “And that’s why the train’s not running right,” said Marty, leaning over to study the screen carefully. “It needs that. Someone in charge, to keep things organized. That’s why it’s not working.”

  “I am looking out for the train. I’m doing the best I can. But—”

  She didn’t need to finish her sentence: It wasn’t enough. She was on the train, but she wasn’t part of it. Not yet, anyway.

  “Remember that magical Wi-Fi we were talking about earlier?”

  Star cocked her head to the side.

  “It’s out there, the connection. I think we’ve got to—hook you into it. Connect, right?” Marty selected a tab and zoomed in. “Look at this list of drivers. There should be a place to . . . right here. See this?”

  DRIVERS, the screen said, ADD NEW.

  Star’s eyes were so wide, they seemed to take up half her face. “The train driver, me? Like, officially? But I’m just . . .”

  “A kid?” said Marty. “I don’t think it matters. I mean, you’ve been doing a great job so far. And once you’re properly settled in—think about it! You’ll be genius.” He caught Star’s eye. “Yes?”

  “Yes!” she squeaked.

  Marty pressed lightly on ADD NEW.

  Nothing happened. He pressed again, a little more firmly.

  “It’s grayed out,” said Star. “Why is it grayed out?”

  Marty went back, then forward again. He touched the button over and over. Nothing. “It’s not responding. I wonder why?”

  “The train doesn’t want me,” whispered Star.

  “I don’t think that’s how it works,” said Marty. “It’s just, for some reason, the link is totally dead.” He was quiet for a minute, thinking. He’d been sure this would be enough. Star was the right one for the job. She just needed to be linked into the network. Right?

  But there was still something missing.

  20

  THE ANSWER IS CLEAR AS MIST

  Star slumped in place, looking small and lost in the tall leather seat. Outside the window, tendrils of fog licked and crawled like a supernatural trellis vine. Marty blinked.

  “Star,” he said slowly, “can you tell me again how you came to be on the train?”

  She turned to look at him, puzzled. “I told you already. It was that dark, cold night, and I don’t like thinking about it, okay?” When he didn’t say anything, only kept looking at her expectantly, she gave a low groan. “I guess the truth is I don’t remember it all that well. I just remember—being so, so cold.” She rubbed her fingers together as though to block out the memory. “I was looking for somewhere to stay that was warmer than my box-corner. I climbed up the side of this building. There was supposed to be a spot up on the roof where there was a vent that was warm all night.” She frowned, as though some memory was just out of her reach. “I was thinking about being warm, but then I started thinking about home. How I used to have one, how I wished I had it again. That’s when I heard the horn. I was . . . I was climbing this fire-escape ladder up this building, and it was pretty tall. One of my friends down below yelled up at me, but I kept climbing and then—” She stopped speaking, frozen mid-word.

  Marty met her eyes. “Did something happen?” he said gently.

  Her face had gone chalky. She shook her head.

  “Star,” Marty whispered. “Can we try something?” When she didn’t refuse, he leaned forward and took her hand. It felt bony and birdlike in his. She gripped him back, and together they reached toward the nearest window.

  Thei
r clasped hands hit the pane, pushed through it like spoons through Jell-O.

  Their hands cleared the window glass easily. Outside was cold, and the buffeting wind yanked and pulled at their fingers. Marty’s hand was square, his tan skin dark against the night sky. Star’s hand was pale and thin.

  “I kept climbing, and I was almost at the roof. Almost there,” Star whispered. “But just before I grabbed the handle, there was this giant crack.”

  In his grasp, Star’s hand shivered.

  “The ladder came off the side of the building. It went so fast!”

  Her fingers softened in his.

  “I fell.” She looked straight up and met his gaze. “That’s the last thing I remember. I fell. And then, I came to the train.”

  Through the glass of the window, Marty’s hand stood out stark against the licking fog. His fingers were clasped tightly around a hand of cloudy, opaque mist.

  He was holding the hand of a ghost.

  * * *

  • • •

  Star yanked her hand back in the window. She leaped to her feet. “You’re kidding me. What the heck is going on here? I’m dead? Is that what we’re saying? That’s what we’re saying. If I step outside this train, I’m gonna go all see-through and wisp off to my happy Other Side place and live happily ever after? Or, I guess, not or something? Is that what we’re saying?”

  Marty grabbed her shoulders. “Hey,” he said. “Chill! You’re not going anywhere. I don’t think. I mean, you’ve been on the train this long, right? Why can’t you just stay here?”

  Star snorted. “The train doesn’t—”

  They both turned their heads. A steady beeping came from the console. The last screen was still open and active. DRIVERS, it said. But there was a difference. The second button—ADD NEW—was no longer grayed out.

  It flashed a bright, inviting green.

  “What just happened?” Star croaked.

  “I think you tapped into the Wi-Fi! You needed to know you were—” Marty broke off awkwardly. “Well, you know.”

  “Dead. I’m dead. Gah!” Swallowing hard, Star reached a hand toward the screen. “You really think I can do this?”

  Marty bumped her with his shoulder. “Are you kidding? I’ve seen you at the controls. And the way you stabilized things earlier? You told that train what to do, and it listened. Even without being linked up. You’ve totally got this.”

  Star jutted her chin out and broke into a smile. “I’ve got this,” she whispered.

  She pressed the button. Immediately, an avatar image popped up. She barked out a laugh. “Look! That’s me! Wait—what kind of horror-shot is that?”

  It was a pretty bad picture, Marty thought. Star had pigtails and was missing both her front teeth. Her grin was the exact definition of cheesy. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t that bad, but he actually had to clap both hands over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “Maybe the train will let you . . . update it?” He gasped and choked on a guffaw.

  Star glared at him and turned back to the screen.

  CONFIRM DRIVER STAR BURTON: YES / NO

  Star didn’t hesitate.

  YES

  The whole screen lit up with a warm yellow pulse. Star’s name and picture lined up below the one of Dina’s mother.

  Star spun around to face Marty, all thoughts of bad profile pictures apparently forgotten. “Wow,” she said. “Do I look different? ’Cuz I feel different. I feel like I should have some kind of fancy cap to wear. Or a badge or something. Do I get one of those?”

  Marty laughed easily this time. “I have no idea. But if there is a driver’s cap hanging around here somewhere, I’m sure you’ll be the one to find it.”

  Star tilted her head and reached out to touch the wall. “Do you feel that?”

  Marty knew exactly what she meant. It was less something happening and more something no longer happening—the wobbly, churning, ship-on-the-ocean wavering they’d felt since stepping onto the train. It had stopped the moment Star had officially become the train’s driver.

  “You should think about updating your hairstyle to match your avatar, though.” Marty couldn’t help himself. “I mean, there’s a certain classy sort of look to—”

  Star elbowed him in the stomach. “I’m in charge here now,” she said fiercely. “You don’t get to bad-mouth my pro-pic. I rocked those tails and that gap-tooth grin.”

  The Train of Lost Things rumbled in agreement.

  * * *

  • • •

  After establishing her authority to her satisfaction, Star sat back down at the controls and started navigating the new options and communication levels that she now had access to. The huge grin on her face showed how much she was enjoying her new status. The train seemed to be enjoying it, too, if the purr-hum in the background was any indicator. Outside the enormous front window, the first bar of the sunrise stretched a golden finger up the far horizon.

  The rush of getting Star settled had wiped everything else from his mind, but it all came crashing back on him now. Marty had done it! He’d fixed the train. It would run smoothly from now on. (It still needed a conductor, he was sure. But at least with a driver in place, it could manage till then.)

  Where did that leave Marty? His time was up, and he hadn’t found his jacket. He looked down at his tightly fastened seat belt. He could try and stay on, like he’d planned. Would it even work for him like it had for Star? It turned out there was a serious difference between the two of them, what with her being a ghost and all. She had been dead all along; that had to put her in a different league.

  It made sense, now that he thought about it. You had to be dead to be a driver—or a conductor, probably—but you also had to be aware of the fact and understand it before you could officially take on the job. Dina’s mom must have known this, must have known that Star could be the next driver. But she had waited for Star to discover that in her own time. To discover her own deadness, too. Now Star had done both.

  The ache for his lost jacket pulsed again. He knew the jacket was somewhere on the train. He’d found all those pins, after all. He was sure he could find it, if he just had a little more time. Could he make some more of that time? If this seat belt trick worked, he could stay on as long as he needed to. As long as it took to find the jacket. But . . .

  Marty had to think.

  Leaving Star in the engine room clicking links and exploring subfolders, he made his way back through the cars. His mind raced furiously. Say he managed to stay on. He’d have all the time in the world to search. Sooner or later he’d find the jacket. And then what? Marty reached into his pocket and squeezed his hand around the pins he’d found.

  He pulled one out and looked at the tiny image, cramped inside his sweaty palm. He wanted the jacket, he needed to have it back—Dad needed to have it back.

  Or . . . did he?

  What if it took days? What if it took a week? How much good would the jacket do for Dad if it took a bunch of their actual time together for him to find it?

  Was Marty willing to become a lost thing himself, even for a while, in order to get his jacket back?

  And if he did get the jacket back, then how would he go about leaving the train, exactly, once he’d missed that drop-off window? Could he leap off the side all on his own and, what, plummet down through space? He shuddered. He really didn’t think magic worked like that. You couldn’t just make up your own rules.

  For the first time Marty noticed the narrow light strips that lined the edges of the cars. They seemed to be keeping time with him as he walked through the train: flaring up as he neared, dimming as he passed. Star had hooked right into the main Wi-Fi; she had the boss connection. But Marty? Well, maybe he had his own little hotspot running on the side.

  Was that too weird, even for a boy walking down a magical train?

  Weird or not, Mart
y felt the mind of the train, as real as a second person standing next to him, like it was waiting for his decision.

  What would he decide?

  Marty thought again of Dad leaning toward him, eyes bright as he ran his fingers along the pins on the collar. Was it really the jacket making his eyes shine? Or was it—could have been, all along—Marty himself who held the magic?

  If, just if, Dad did have only days left, was Marty willing to spend even one of them away from his side, chasing his past at the cost of his present?

  He couldn’t do it.

  Marty had no idea how much longer Dad had, but he wasn’t going to be away from him one minute more than he needed to. He didn’t know if he could help, if anything could help, but there was one thing he could do.

  He could be there.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, resting a hand lightly on the compartment wall. “I can’t stay. I have to go home.”

  * * *

  • • •

  There are some steps that can’t be taken, some doors that won’t ever open, until the way behind has been thoroughly shut off. Call it magic or miracle or meant to be: The only way to truly move forward is to turn your back on the past.

  Marty made his decision. He squared his shoulders with the strength of it. He turned. The train lurched. He stumbled. As he fell, he caught hold of a string, which upset a shelf, which sent a cascade of objects toppling around him.

  When he regained his balance, one object was clearly visible at his feet.

  It was shaped like an egg. It was a whistle.

  Dad’s long-lost eggwhistle!

  * * *

  • • •

  Marty would not be going home empty-handed after all.

  21

  RIDING THE WIND-WAVE HOME

  Marty found Dina on the roof of the train, looking out toward the sunrise with glistening eyes. She turned toward him as he scrambled up through the hatch and came to stand next to her. He planted his feet wide so he wouldn’t wobble, but the train’s ride was smooth as a lullaby.