Room 119

by T F Lince

  Just then, the guard announced, “The next stop is Cockfield Station. Cockfield Station, the next stop.”

  Dean turned and looked at the guard.

  “I thought we didn’t stop here. Disused, you said.”

  The guard put his head down. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Dean.

  “It’s got a use today, sir.”

  Dean looked up at the man with the stick who was halfway along the corridor. The train stopped and the door opened. Dean acknowledged the man with a bow of his head. He thought he owed him that at least; he’d given Dean a break when Dean had been with his mum and dad. Dean hadn’t worked out why the man had done that, but he was grateful nevertheless.

  Dean turned. The train had stopped for a reason – was it a good time to get off?

  The guard muttered, “Are you sure, Dean?” as he got out. Dean ignored him and stepped off the train. What could be worse than being in there with Mr Scary?

  The man in black wiped the window with the sleeve of his overcoat. He shook his head at Dean in disappointment.

  The rain was worse than ever. A rumble of thunder clattered in the distance. The guard stood at the door, looking at the station clock and then at his pocket watch which were both perfectly synchronised, every tick of the second hand passing into history. It was ten minutes past the hour. Dean assumed the train must be leaving at fifteen minutes past.

  The guard peered again at his watch and said, “Dean, are you sure you want to get off, sir?” The tone of his voice said much more than the words themselves. It was as if the guard was trying not to give too much away, but would welcome Dean back on the train in a heartbeat.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  The guard looked at the man with the cane as if to seek approval before taking a newspaper from the tray in the corridor. He got a slow deliberate nod in return as if the tall man was intrigued to see where this was heading.

  “Something to read on your journey, sir.” As the guard said this, a bolt of lightning crackled through the air and struck Dean in the back, forcing him to his knees. The guard threw the paper to where Dean had fallen, alone on the station. The rain was pouring off his brow; his chest was thumping with pain from the lightning strike; he was struggling for breath. As the paper landed in front of him, Dean held his hands to his neck and threw his head back to try and get more air into his gasping lungs.

  The man with the silver-topped cane tilted his hat forward and looked down on Dean from the train. He pointed his cane at the paper and weaved it in a circular motion. The pages of the paper turned, one after the other.

  The guard was still looking at his watch, which now said fourteen minutes past six. He moved his focus to Dean and then back to his watch, which was eating up the seconds before departure.

  Lightning again struck Dean, in the chest this time. It was louder and more violent than the first strike. His body went into shock for a second or two, contorting as the lightning made its way through it. He was now on his hands and his knees and in excruciating pain.

  This must be the end.

  Dean looked down at the newspaper. The man in black withdrew his stick.

  The newspaper had settled on the obituary page. Dean read:

  Dean Harrison, 42, City Trader,

  Loving husband of Sarah Harrison and proud father of Jodie,

  Died after a long, hard fight following a car accident.

  The boy from the North did well. God bless you, Dean.

  Sarah and Jodie

  Love you always x

  Dean looked up at the guard, who was closing the door. The man in black took off his hat and held it to his chest. He looked sad, as if to say, “I tried my best for you, but you did not see what was in front of your very eyes.”

  The guard looked at his watch and shook his head before reluctantly blowing his whistle with a loud shriek.

  Part Three – Dean and Sarah

  Chapter 24 – Back to Life

  A month after they’d discovered that Dean had lain for two days unconscious in his smashed up car on an old farm track, Sarah and Jodie were approaching the Intensive Care Unit as the alarms were going off. Doctors and nurses streamed past them as Jack, Dean’s friend from work, came towards them.

  “Jack, is it Dean? What’s happened?” Sarah asked anxiously.

  Jack hugged her and said, “You’d better go in, Sarah. This doesn’t look good. Jodie, come with me.” Jack grabbed Jodie’s hand and led her towards an adjacent room. Jodie looked over her shoulder to her mum.

  “Mum, will Dad be OK?”

  “I don’t know, Jodie.”

  Tears started to run down Sarah’s face. She could see through the window of the emergency unit that Dean’s gown had been ripped off. Then she heard a shout of, “Clear,” and a loud thump. Dean’s body contorted upwards as the shockwave fired through it.

  Dean was knocked to the ground. The last lightning strike was the worst yet. He could see the train easing away from the station, the man in black and the guard looking on solemnly. He raised himself up and staggered to his feet, shuffling forward to catch the door of the next carriage which was getting further and further away. He tried running, but his body was having none of it. It was like he was wading through treacle.

  “Not like this,” he said. “Not today, not like this.” He managed to gather his limbs and muster some type of running action. His arms were doing their best to propel him forward, but no power was being transferred to his legs.

  The second carriage had gone past. He reached for the door of the next one, but his hand slipped. The train was gaining speed, and if anything, Dean was slowing down.

  Then his limbs started to respond. He managed to gain some control over his body, and all of a sudden he was running next to the train. His heart rate felt like it was going through the roof and he was struggling for air. Another lightning bolt forced him back onto the platform. He fell; he had nothing left in his body to give. If the train left him behind, he would be paying the Ferryman a visit.

  Dean lay flat on the cold, wet station platform. The last carriage was approaching, and with it the last door of hope. He had to get back on the train, but his energy was fading fast.

  With everything he had, he managed to get to his feet. It was now or never.

  Sarah moved into the back of the ICU. Beeeeeeep – the monitor was still flat-lining. The doctors were shaking their heads.

  “He’s gone.” The blind panic turned into organised chaos, then levelled off at reality. One doctor opened Dean’s eyes and shone a torch to look for any reaction or last signs of hope. Then he looked over to Sarah.

  “I’m so sorry, Sarah, we did what we could.”

  Sarah crumpled in the corner of the room, her knees hugged into her chest. No sound came from her other than a gasp for air from time to time to fill her lungs; she was crying too much to speak.

  “Time of death 6.16pm, Sunday 18 June 2017.” The doctor covered Dean’s face with the bed sheet and made his way over to help Sarah to her feet.

  Sarah broke her silence. “Dean, please, no.” She raced to the side of the bed. The doctor in charge held the others back.

  “It’s OK, leave this to me.” He looked at her. “Sarah, I can give you two minutes, then we have to tidy him up. After that, you can come back in. Two minutes. That OK?”

  “Thank you, Darren, thanks.” Sarah knew Darren from medical school days, before she had given up her career to have Jodie.

  Darren turned around as he was leaving. “Sarah, I’m really sorry we couldn’t save him.”

  Sarah acknowledged this with a hand gesture and a nod, then hugged Dean’s empty body as reality took a big bite into her life.

  “Dean, I love you so much. We can’t live without you.”

  Dean looked up from the platform to the sky.

  “Sarah?” he said out loud. “Sarah, was that you?”

  He felt adrenalin flowing into his arms and legs. “Sarah!” he shouted again as the end of th
e train eased past him. With his new kick of energy, Dean managed to stand and limped after the disappearing train, his limp turning into a jog, his jog into a run, and his run into a sprint.

  The last carriage had now passed him. This was his life in a nutshell. Do I want to live or do I want to die?

  Dean was flat out, sprinting for his life. He let out another “Sarah!” as he caught up with the door and fumbled for the handle. He was struggling; at the pace he was running, he could not get a good enough hold on the silver T-shaped door handle. He tried and failed a second time.

  The train was matching his pace, but it was speeding up and he was on the limit. He would only get one more chance before they were out of sync and the train would be gone. He again reached out with his right hand to twist the silver door handle. As he did, the door flew open from the inside and a silver-topped cane was held out.

  Dean grabbed the cane and was pulled through the doorway into the last carriage. The man in black’s hat had come off with the effort he’d expended to pull Dean in.

  Dean lay in a soaking heap on the floor, leaning against the back of the train. The guard was working his way over to join them.

  “Dean, Dean, are you OK?” Dean looked at the guard, then up the silver cane at the mysterious man’s thin face and bald head. He was showing no emotion.

  “Thank you,” Dean said. “I won’t let you down, I promise.”

  The man put on his hat and retrieved his book from his inside pocket. He was looking confused as if he was fighting with himself to come to a decision. Dean got the impression that it would not be plain sailing yet and he might have another couple of things to prove. This was about giving him a second chance, and he was a long way from being out of the woods. But at least he was still in the woods.

  The man again consulted his book, his face morphing with his dilemma, and Dean could do nothing but honour whatever decision he made. Moving his hand across Dean’s life calendar, he leant his head to one side and smiled at Dean, who was still in a foetal position near the train door. He slid the date marker to the right, just as he had done at Dean’s mum and dad’s wedding, before performing the now customary tilt of his hat with his bony fingertips.

  Sarah was pleading with her dead husband.

  “Not now, Dean, think about Jodie.”

  Darren peered in and decided to give her some more time.

  “Dean, we have got so much to live for. We love you and need you. You are everything to us.”

  The faintest of lines appeared on the heart monitor. It was not even enough to trigger a sound. Then another bouncing line. It was still very faint, but was strong enough to register the softest of beeps.

  “And do you know how many people will miss you, Dean?”

  Beep…

  Sarah heard that one. She looked up at the monitor. It was faint, but a heartbeat was there.

  “Help!” she yelled. “He’s alive, Darren. Please come quickly!”

  “Sarah, are you OK?” Darren rushed back into the ICU as the monitor beeped again. “It’s probably picked up your heartbeat, Sarah…”

  “The monitor’s on his other hand, Darren.” Sarah stood back to prove her innocence.

  Beep…Beep…Beep…

  The beeps got stronger and the line more prominent. “Jesus Christ,” Darren shouted as he punched the red button and sounded the alarm. Within seconds, the room was again flooded with uniforms. “Let’s get some air in him now. How long was he gone for?”

  “Five minutes?”

  “Christ, we have a pulse and he’s breathing.”

  The curtain was flung open as more staff entered.

  “Get him on oxygen. If he was out that long, his brain will be starved.” Darren looked at Sarah. She already knew this, so he wasn’t telling her anything new. Sarah respectfully left the room and watched from behind the glass partition as the medical staff worked on Dean’s recovering body.

  After a few minutes or so, Dean’s heart rate was back to normal and he was breathing unaided. Darren looked through the glass to Sarah and handed the reins over to another doctor.

  “He’s yours, Brian.”

  He then walked out to try and explain the inexplicable.

  “Right, I don’t know what has gone on. You know it doesn’t work like this, Sarah.”

  Sarah wiped the dampness of her earlier tears from her face with the sleeve of her jumper.

  “I know, Darren. I just think Dean didn’t want to go yet. He’s a fighter, you know. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Five minutes he was gone, Sarah. Five minutes. He might…well, you know...”

  “I know, Darren, but he is back and I’m just thankful for that at the moment. After that, whatever will be, will be. Miracles do happen.”

  He gave her a hug.

  “Well, for your sake, I hope you’re right. We’ll get him cleaned up and then you can see him. Is Jodie with you?”

  Sarah’s tone changed. She wasn’t going to take any crap and Darren knew it.

  “Darren, don’t even think about stopping her seeing her dad. She saw the alarms; she needs to see he’s OK, otherwise she’ll have nightmares. She’s been dreaming about clowns and stuff ever since he left.”

  Darren squeezed her arm. “Clowns? Well, she has to see him if she’s seeing clowns. How can medicine argue with clowns?” He patted her arm again. “Go and tell her he’s OK for now, but you know I can’t promise anything, Sarah. But his heart rate is stronger than it’s been all week. Give us ten minutes; I need to check him over.”

  Sarah opened the family room door and gave Jack and Jodie a hug. She was crying.

  “Ooooh, that was close, Jodie. He’s OK for now, but we nearly lost him.”

  Jack moved back to allow Sarah and Jodie to chat.

  “Sarah, I’ll give you some time. Thank God he’s still with us. I’ll visit again tomorrow, same time.”

  Jodie and Sarah both hugged him. “Thanks, Jack,” they said in unison, although Jodie’s thanks had an ‘Uncle’ before the ‘Jack’. Then Sarah led Jodie to the ICU which had a calmness about it now. She looked at Darren for approval, which she got.

  Sarah and Jodie sat down next to Dean and held a hand each. Jodie gave her dad a kiss.

  “I love you, Dad, I knew you wouldn’t leave us.”

  “Jodie, your dad is still very ill. He was gone for five minutes. We have to wait and see – is that a deal?”

  Jodie smiled. “He’ll be OK, Mum, he’s my dad. Anyway, I know how he can win our chess game. I don’t know why that matters, but it does.”

  Sarah looked at Jodie. Everybody needs to believe in something, and that something for Jodie was a chess game. After what had just happened, who was Sarah to make up the rules? The rule book had just been thrown out of the window.

  Chapter 25 – Answers

  Dean was awoken by the guard. “Liverpool Street in five minutes, Dean, you nodded off.”

  “Thanks. Wow, you won’t believe the dream I’ve just had!”

  The guard shook his head.

  “It was no dream. He is letting you stay a while longer to weigh you up. We thought you were gone, but you seem to have him confused. I think he’s planning a test for you; when he’s confused, he normally has a test. Be ready, Dean.”

  Dean, who was now a little more awake, felt his clothes. They were soaking.

  “A test? Hasn’t he tested me enough?”

  The guard smiled his normal smile, which Dean had not seen earlier in the journey.

  “He’ll have tested you enough when he’s sure you want to go back. You’re a fighter, Dean, I’ll give you that, but he’s got to feel it deep inside you. He’s very fair, but it’s his job.”

  The guard’s words would have confused Dean last week, but the jagged pieces in his jigsaw were more jigsaw-shaped now and were starting to slot together. There were just a few more to go, and fewer pieces left meant the picture was getting clearer.

  The guard left Dean with his trademar
k happy smile, heading for the door to open it for the other passengers on the train. “Liverpool Street Station. All change.” Dean looked for his case and then remembered that it had been sacrificed earlier, his clothes scattered all over Welnetham Station. He checked his pocket for his keys and phone. Luckily they were both there, along with the coin he had been given by Molly. Then he left the train and headed home. It had been a long day and his bed didn’t have to call him twice.

  After a good night’s sleep, Dean woke up with thoughts flying around his head. If he was getting a second chance, or even a second chance at a second chance, he needed to be prepared. All through his life he’d known that knowledge was power, and nothing was any different wherever he was now.

  His mind offered him a recap. He clearly wasn’t in the normal world. Everyone seemed to know his name. He had rung Sarah loads of times and she was never in. He had met a clown, a Ferryman, not to mention the silver stick crusader who seemed to be alternately trying to kill him and save him whenever they met. Dean actually quite liked how the man in black went about his business, though, and felt they had mutual respect.

  In addition to this, he had met a couple forty years younger than they should be; he had ridden on a train line that did not exist anymore; he had met his mum and dad before he had even been born, and had managed to get his dad’s boat named after him. Maybe he had even named himself. In order to solve this conundrum, he would need to have as much knowledge as possible.

  He remembered what Molly had said on the riverbank: “He’s called Sharon.” Dean typed Sharon Wiki into Google; it was not a very good first attempt. After disregarding the origins of the name Sharon, Sharon Osbourne, Sharon Stone and Sharon Watts from EastEnders, he gave up when he learned that Sharon is a town in York County, South Carolina. He needed a different approach.

  He tried Sharon Wiki ferryman. Bingo! That did the trick. Top of the search was Charon (mythology) – Wikipedia.