Strangers on a Train

Strangers on a Train By Margot Quietwater Margot Quietwater Copyright 2023 As the train chugged along the tracks, the scenery outside shifted from urban sprawl to open countryside. The rhythmic sound of the wheels on the rails created a soothing hum, punctuated by the occasional horn of the train. Inside the passenger car, the chatter of fellow passengers and the rustling of newspapers filled the air, blending with the ambient sounds of the train. The lighting was dim, with a warm golden glow from the overhead lamps. The seats were plush and comfortable, with soft fabric upholstery in shades of blue and gray. From time to time, the train passed through tunnels, enveloping the passengers in darkness before emerging again into the light. There Megan sat, engrossed in her novel, the reality of the world around her on the peaceful train ride was none of her concern. The 43-year-old mother of one wore a loose-fitting black sweater over a pair of faded blue jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, with a few strands of hair framing her face. She wore a pair of simple gold hoop earrings, and other than her wedding ring, no other visible jewelry. Despite being in her 40s, Megan had what you would call “model good looks.” At least, that’s what her husband, Todd, would often say. Truth be told, Megan had an unmistakable presence that exuded confidence and poise. She was a modest 5-foot-7 with a slender but toned figure, her long limbs accentuated by her effortless posture. Her face was the perfect symphony of striking features, with piercing blue eyes that sparkled with intelligence and a radiant smile that lit up a room. Her chestnut brown hair framed her face in soft waves, and on days when she put forth more effort into her appearance, she often styled it in a side-swept part that added a touch of glamor to her already stunning looks. She found herself on the train that Sunday evening after having spent a weekend in the city with her girlfriends. Todd had taken their daughter, Zoe, upstate to visit his parents. While she loved a wilderness retreat from time to time, Megan couldn’t say no to a night out on the town with her oldest friends. Todd happily offered to enjoy a daddy-daughter weekend with Zoe and his parents. The weekend was full of dancing, drinking and expensive food and she was nursing a bit of a hangover when she boarded the train back to their suburban home, but the pain faded with each turn of the page. The thick hardcover book had a deep navy blue cover. The title in bold white letters read, "The Count of Monte Cristo" and the author's name, Alexandre Dumas, was written in smaller letters just below it. The pages were slightly yellowed, indicating it had been read many times before, and the spine had some creases from being well-loved. She had picked it up from a used book store in the city, excited to add it to her growing collection of used classics. As she read, Megan would occasionally glance up and take in the passing scenery outside the train window, the rhythmic sounds of the train wheels lulling her into a peaceful state of mind. But despite all the possible distractions, her attention was firmly on the words on the page. That is, until he walked in. The strange man entered the same car that Megan rode in and took a seat across the aisle, directly in front of her. He had a distinct odor that filled the air and while Megan tried not to judge, she was having a hard time ignoring it. She pulled her eyes away from her book and forced a smile in the direction of the strange man. He stared at her with an almost lifeless expression. He was peculiar, to put it lightly, perhaps in his early 60s, with wrinkles etched deeply into his skin. His hair was a shock of white, and his beard was a wispy mess. He wore a long black coat that seemed to swallow him up, and his eyes were a piercing gray-blue, almost as if they could see right through you. There was something mysterious and unsettling about him that Megan couldn't quite put her finger on. He made her feel uncomfortable, but not unsafe. She returned her attention to her book, but she skimmed the words on the pages without fully committing their meaning to memory. She went over the words on the page again, but she just couldn’t focus on what she was reading. Instead, her mind wandered to the strange man in front of her and whether or not she should be worried. She closed the book and placed it in her bag and then feigned a stretch to see if he continued to stare at her. He was, but this time he was muttering something under his breath. Megan’s skin went cold and her pulse began to race as she watched the man speak with increasing speed. It was quiet, barely above a whisper, and Megan couldn’t make out full sentences, but she picked out the occasional word. “Body.” “Heart.” “Lover.” “Surrender.” The last word was the one that made her skin crawl. She had no idea what the man was up to, but she wasn’t interested in sticking around to find out. She quickly packed her bag and turned to scan the rest of the train car. It was empty. She didn’t know exactly when everyone else left her car, but right now it was just the two of them. She thought about screaming, or running to the next car, but she froze in fear. She fished out her cell phone from her purse and pretended to check an important notification. She dialed 911, but service was dead. Her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to cry, but that urge was interrupted when her body suddenly lurched forward as the