Absolute Uncertainty On The Train

The sound of rapid metallic banging coupled with Bishop being flung to his right and slamming his head into a window… what a way to wake up. Pain seethes through Bishop’s temple. He grimaces and rubs his head. One of the joys of getting older. Bishop often falls asleep without planning on it, which results in waking up in alerted and urgent ways. Can’t be great for the heart.

The pain starts to fade and Bishop wonders where the hell he is. Something he often spends doing at the “experienced” age of 58. The metallic banging subsides. Bishop’s body is shaking to and fro. He focuses his eyes, trying to fixate on something. The window. The window he just smacked his head against. Outside the window, trees zoom past, brown and green blurs.

Bishop checks the rest of his surroundings. He is on a train. This is concerning, Bishop doesn’t remember getting on a train. In fact, does he even remember what he was last doing? He sees a couple other people sitting in some seats ahead of him to the left. They look like two businessmen. They might be asleep? He realizes there are several other people scattered throughout this particular car.

Is it called a car? A cabin, perhaps? Oh, like that’s what’s important right now! You’re on a train and you have no idea why, you idiot!

Bishop checks himself… dressed normally. Nothing strange happening there. Pockets! Yes, he should check his pockets! There are those detective skills finally coming in handy! Fired from the job, not from the mindset.

Bishop has his wallet, a pack of gum, house keys… and that’s it. No ticket. No explanation as to how he got on this train. There’s a strange taste in his mouth. It’s bitter and almost herbal. Bishop’s heart begins to race.

Was I drugged? Was I placed on this train… for some reason?

Bishop checks his watch, still on his wrist. So, no one tried stealing it. Any thief worth his salt knows this thing could go for a pretty penny. A gift from the police force when he made Detective. They spared no expense. He flexes his hand as he looks at his watch… pain exists here too.

So, what is going on? Bishop is on this train, has no idea how he got here. He has no ticket, he has a bitter taste in his mouth that he cannot identify. He is woozy, though starting to regain his senses. His hand aches. He doesn’t seem to have been robbed. But he hardly ever rides trains. Someone had to have put him here. But who? And why?

Then, that hot, uncomfortable feeling comes over Bishop… the one he gets when he’s done something wrong and is afraid he’ll be found out. He bolts out of his seat and races ahead. The car, or cabin, whatever it is, that he is in… it seems to be the second one from the very front of the train.

Do they call that the locomotive? Oh, who cares, Bishop?!

Bishop tries to throw all train vocabulary and trivia out the window he just slammed his temple on and speeds to the front of the train, past all the seats. He notices several people in his peripheral vision as he races ahead. He flings the door open, enters the next… cabin. But it’s empty. No passengers. He moves quickly to the front but slows down as he sees a train attendant, laying on the floor, knife in his chest, blood staining his shirt. The attendant is crumpled in a heap, pushed up against the door where the controls are.

Where the engineer sits? Or is he a conductor? Isn’t a conductor part of an orchestra? So, it’s an engineer. Wait, Zach went to school to be an engineer, didn’t he? Oh! Stop it!

Whether he is an engineer or a conductor or a trumpet player, no matter. He is behind the door, plain to see through the little square window, dead as disco. A knife in his neck. Bishop tries to open the door but it’s locked from the inside. He rattles the door. Harder. Harder. It won't budge. Then, something even more concerning catches his eye. As he feels the train moving and swaying even faster, he sees a lever pushed all the way forward, and it's propped all the way forward with a broom handle.

Bishop clearly doesn’t know a lot about trains. But that lever seems to be something you would not want stuck in a forward position while the engineer/conductor/first-bassoonist lays dead next to it.

And that hot, uncomfortable feeling grows hotter… and more uncomfortable. Bishop sits down in one of the empty seats.

He is being set up. And it’s with his own plan.

A plan he was never really sure he’d ever go through with. But a plan he never should've written down… he is now realizing. As someone seems to be following this plan to the letter… and they’ve plopped Bishop on this train so he could take the fall.

November 5th, 1985, Bishop and his partner, Grady McKnight, chase a suspect into an abandoned building. Part of a wall comes down and falls on them. Grady’s last words, “Scott, tell Claire I always loved her.”

The one time Grady didn't call him Bishop. It’s like he knew he was going. And Bishop tried to tell Claire, Grady’s 19-year-old daughter, but she would have none of it. She felt Bishop was at fault for sending them after the suspect. Bishop always felt Claire blamed him for her father’s death.

March 9th, 1986, the headaches start to set in. They affect Bishop’s work. It’s hard to focus. Were they a product of that wall falling on his head several months ago? Or something else?

The next eight months, Bishop swallows more pills than a tuna swallows water. They make the smallest of dents in his constant pain. His ability to focus is almost non-existent. His work suffers.

November 4th, 1986, Bishop is fired. Thanks for the almost one-year anniversary present, jerks. Bishop tries to get money, stating his lack of ability to focus is due to his getting injured on the job. No one is buying it. No one will pay him. All the while, no one has been paying the McKnight family for Grady’s death. They claim he was reckless and didn’t follow proper protocols.

This makes Claire hate Bishop even more.

December something, 1986, Claire’s Mom passes away.

Bishop hasn’t seen Claire in a while. She hates Bishop. She hates the police… almost as much as Bishop now hates them. The next year, Bishop was miserable. But he concocted his plan. It involved this very train. The one that heads right towards the police station. It would stop just before it, but if someone were to get on the train, kill the engineer/conductor/oboe-expert, lock him in the room with the controls, push this train to its limit, it’d jump off the tracks at that stop... crashing right into the police station.

Now, this wasn’t a plan where Bishop somehow got the money he deserved. It was plan where Bishop got the revenge he desired. The hatred that inhabited his heart this whole time after he got royally screwed over, he needed to feed that hatred. Or did he?

He wrote this whole plan out, spelled out every detail, had it organized, three-hole-punched and put in a binder! But he genuinely didn't know if he could go through with it. On one hand, he absolutely wanted to. People would get what they deserved. Bishop would get a sense of satisfaction. But then again, Bishop would get a sense of remorse. He would hate himself. He is not this type of person. He dedicated his life to stopping these types of people. So engulfed in his work, never found time for a family or a wife… hardly any dates. He couldn’t do it. The plan has been sitting on his desk for three months… and he never took any action. He had days where he wanted to, more than anything, but he never acted. He couldn’t.

But now, someone is. They got a hold of his plan, they put it into action, and they managed to get Bishop on the train to frame him. But who?

Whoever it is, they would have to be on the train still! If they’re following the plan to the letter, they wouldn’t be bailing until we cross the river just before the police station. A quick jump out the window into the deep part of the river, it’s the cleanest getaway.

Bishop peels himself up off the cheap seat and lumbers back towards his original section of the train. He bursts through the door and scans the faces. He sees the businessmen again. They’re speaking with two beautiful women in their 30’s. To his left… is that Congresswoman Herrera? Her hair looks less shiny and curly than usual but… yes… that is her. The one who vehemently opposed the expensive police station when it was built. Oh, this person is good. They even got Herrera on board as another person who could take the fall. Bishop never put her in the plan. But he did put others in the plan… others who could be on board and be top suspects.

There’s one of them. Joey Seven, aptly named after his three missing fingers. His years in prison have not been kind to him. Bishop wasn’t aware Joey Seven had gotten out. Bishop and Grady put him away a few years back. It was something they were about 70% certain that Joey Seven did, 10% for each finger. Even if he didn’t do it, he committed plenty of crimes in the past that he got away with. So. it was completely alright if he was innocent in this situation. Joey Seven deserved to be in jail. He nearly withered away in there too. Wrinkles upon wrinkles on his face. The wrinkles of a lifelong criminal.

To the right of Joey Seven, there’s another one from the plan. Sheisty. He always pulled stunts like this. A big to-do, a big distraction. Draw police one way while his crew robbed a bank somewhere else. Sheisty always got caught for small stuff, got bailed out by “newly rich” friends and then inherited a small fortune. This is exactly the type of thing he would do. What if he is doing this? Crashing the train into the police station while his crew robs a bank. Sheisty looks so different from the last time Bishop saw him. Sheisty used to have wavy, brown hair and now he’s bald.

I guess that’s the style now.

And then, Bishop’s jaw drops. Behind Sheisty, behind the construction worker and the teenager inexplicably wearing a winter hat and a tank top, it’s Claire McKnight. Grady’s daughter.

It’s been a bit since Bishop has seen her, but she looks so grown-up. She must be 21 now. She looks so much more mature. Claire was never part of the plan, though. Which gives Bishop the immediate reaction…

If Claire is as imbittered as I am… this plan could serve her well. Could Claire do this?

“Bishop.” Claire’s voice is ice cold. “It’s been a while.”

“Claire.” Bishop’s voice comes out all scratchy. His vocal chords are weak from a long sleep. How long was he out for?

“That’s all you got to say to me?” Claire scoffs and approaches Bishop but she brushes past him like she owns the train.

How cocky of her. What a peppering of confidence this one’s been seasoned with… is that an expression? I think so. But this confidence of hers… so comfortable… acting like she is in complete control… is she the one who put this together?

“No, it’s just– there’s so much…” Bishop doesn’t know what words to string together. He wants to explain himself. He wants to apologize… for something… anything. But he also has a nagging suspicion that Claire could be a guilty party here.

The train whips along and a sign zips past the window. It catches Bishop’s eye. A big, blue sign. His eyes dart towards the window and he looks up ahead. Another blue sign.

Mason Road. If the plan is going according to… plan… at the rate that the train is moving at… we have 17 minutes until it jumps the tracks and crashes into the police station. Meaning in 16 minutes, the person running the plan will need to escape into the river. Also meaning… if I can’t figure out some way to stop this train… then I need to jump out in 16 minutes too. I need to figure out who is behind this… but I also need to figure out if I can stop this train.

Bishop checks his watch. 12:45 P.M. Departure time will have to be strictly at 1:01 P.M. A surge of pain shoots through his hand.

Whoever is running this plan… my plan… they really did a number on my hand. This person had to have used some brute force.

Claire turns back around and stares at Bishop. Everyone else on the train seems to be staring in their general direction.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Bishop asks.

“Oh. You don’t know what’s going on?” Claire is legitimately interested… or so it seems.

“No, I have no idea what’s going on! I just woke up on this train and I have no idea how I got here!” Bishop finally let's it explode.

“Yeah, we’re all in that same situation.” Claire says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Bishop’s jaw dangles. His mouth lays open as if to say ‘huh’ but it cannot muster any words. He looks around at everyone on the train. They're all looking at him.

“We all just woke up within the past few minutes.” Congresswoman Herrera helps to explain. “No idea how we got here... really groggy.”

“Like I was drugged.” One of the businessmen says. Everyone nods in agreement.

“Sour taste in my mouth.” Businessman number two says. Everyone nods along some more.

“The last thing I remember…” Claire squints as she tries to think. “I was at home… reading a book on my back porch… and then… here.”

Okay, whoever took my plan and is running with it has made some changes. Improvements, really. If you’re going to be drugging people and bringing them on board the train… then you have to make sure no one sees you doing it. So, you fill a whole car with drugged people. Take over the whole car. No one sees you doing this because everyone in the car was drugged. Is it car? Or cabin? Absolute uncertainty. But that's what I deal in. That's what I live in.

One of the women is talking about what she was doing before appearing here on the train and how she is so scared. Bishop tunes her out so he can think.

But whoever is pulling this plan off… they’re on the train with us. Most likely also on the car slash cabin. Which also means that one person is lying about their symptoms. One person is just playing along to make it seem like they were drugged too.

“Okay!” Bishop interrupts the rambling and takes charge of the moment. “What other symptoms do people have besides the grogginess and the sour taste in the mouth?”

“What does that matter?!” Joey Seven explodes.

Oh, don’t test me Joey Seven. Matter of fact, that just added you one point on my suspect list.

“The more we know about our side effects, about ourselves, the better we can figure out this situation.” Bishop responds.

“Oh, so you’re going to play detective now?” Claire’s voice of condescension hits harder than the window hit Bishop’s temple. “It’s been a while…”

“It hasn’t been that long!” Bishop snaps back. “Come on, people! Symptoms!”

This is good, though. Claire is thinking of me as a bumbling idiot. Like I lost a step being out of the game. The others probably see an old man that doesn’t know what he’s talking about too. No one will suspect my motives… trying to figure out this information… all the while hiding that I know what is happening. Can’t let on that this is my plan in the works here. Not that I’m the one doing it…

“Well, I got a killer headache.” The winter-hat-tank-top-teenager says. “Especially in the back.”

“Oh yeah, my head hurts too.” Joey Seven quickly adds.

“You know, my head doesn’t hurt… by my arm and wrist do.” One businessman says.

The other businessman, the women, Herrera, the construction worker, and Claire all nod and agree. Sheisty tries to flex his arm and grimaces in pain.

“Yeah, mine feels like it got all wrenched up.” Sheisty says.

Interesting. The first one to speak up, the teen, talked about his head hurting and INSTANTLY Joey Seven tagged along. But it seems everyone else is experiencing hand and arm problems. Explanation. The attacker did something to everyone’s hand or arm… and the teen happens to have a headache… probably from drugs. Looks like a drug user. But Joey Seven, trying to NOT look guilty, instantly latched onto the first symptom he heard. That’s two points for you Joey Seven. And points are not good. This is golf. That’s how golf works, right?

Another blue sign whips by outside the train. Peaslee Road. According to Bishop’s calculations, that should mean about 14 minutes until they crash. 13 minutes until they need to escape. Bishop glances back to the door, to the car/cabin ahead, remembering that there is no way for him to access the controls of the train. He likely isn’t going to be able to stop this train. The best he can do is identify the mastermind and get as many people to escape with him into the river as possible. Save as many lives as he can… but bring the mastermind to justice. That pair of handcuffs he swiped from the station, the pair he always keeps on him… just in case… in his inner jacket pocket right now. He can attach himself to the mastermind once he finds him out… or her… bring him to justice… or her.

“Okay, what other symptoms?!” Bishop’s tone is urgent.

Everyone is quiet, looking around at one another.

“Come on!!” Bishop urges them.

“I don’t know. I think that’s about it.” Herrera speaks up again. “The sour taste in the mouth…”

“Yeah, like pickles!” Sheisty speaks up.

“No, more like a grapefruit.” Herrera responds.

A smattering of ‘yeah’s’ and ‘grapefruit’s’ echo from everyone else. Sheisty looks around confused.

“Well, maybe it’s grapefruit. I don’t know. I’ve never eaten a grapefruit.” Sheisty looks a bit sheepish.

Who has never eaten a grapefruit? Come on! Alright, Sheisty. That’s a point for you too.

Another blue sign whips by. Bishop calculates 12 minutes until impact.

Okay. Joey Seven has motive. Bitter man, mad at about being imprisoned… perhaps wrongfully. And he made himself seem suspicious. Sheisty pulls stunts like this all the time. There could be a robbery planned once this train crashes. And he looked suspicious just now. This isn’t getting any easier. Plus, there’s Congresswoman Herrera… a public hater of the police station. But would she go to these lengths? Then, several people who are likely all innocent bystanders roped into the equation… smart move by the mastermind… wish I thought of that. Then, there is Claire…

“Okay, what is all of this doing for us?!” Claire interrupts Bishop’s train of thought just as he was getting to her. “Someone drugged us and plopped us all on this train! This train that basically no one uses anymore.”

“What do you mean? People use this train all the time.” Bishop responds curiously.

“No, trust me Bishop, they don’t. I know. Better than you.” Claire says with her know-it-all attitude.

She knows? Why would she know that? Even if she is right… that’s probably not information someone would know unless they looked into it. She's speaking all high and mighty, like she knows better than Bishop. Like Bishop is a fool compared to her.

“I’m surprised to see you here, anyway.” Claire says, changing the subject. “Alone, at least.”

“Alone? Who would I be with?” Bishop is confused. He is rarely with anyone. What’s that mean?

Another blue sign whips by. Bishop checks his watch and fights through the stinging pain in his hand.

Yep. 10 minutes until impact.

“Why do you keep checking your watch?” Claire asks. “Wait, you went ahead to the next cabin… what was going on up there?”

It IS a cabin!

Claire spins around and bolts for the cabin in the front of the train. Bishop quickly follows after her and everyone else follows behind him. It isn’t long before everyone sees the dead attendant and the dead man locked in the room with the controls to the train.

“Is the engineer dead?” Herrera asks in a lifeless voice.

It IS an engineer.

“What the hell is going on here?” Sheisty screams out in what sounds like legitimate terror.

“Okay, everyone.” Bishop can’t hide the truth anymore. “Just try to remain calm and listen. I tried to get into the room with the controls. I can’t.”

Still thinking Bishop is an idiot and that she is so much smarter, Claire tries to open the door. She obviously is unable to.

“Nor can anyone.” Bishop sprinkles a little attitude into Claire’s confidence-seasoning. Try out that blend, darling. “Look, I don’t have time to explain. But we’ve clearly all been drugged… and the person who did it… they're still among us. Pretending to have also been drugged. And right now, we are on a collision course with the police station.”

“What police station?” Claire asks in preposterous fashion.

Wow, really not as smart as you’re trying to appear, huh?

“My police station.” Bishop responds. “Your father’s… old station.”

“Her father?” One businessman speaks up. “Wait, you and her dad were cops, or what?”

“Yeah. Bishop and McKnight.” Joey Seven speaks up, his voice dripping with malice. “Playing chess with all the pawns in the city. Throwing anyone in jail that they desire… all part of their master plan… to make themselves look better.”

Before Bishop can respond to Joey Seven who notches a few more tallies in his own Points Column, Claire interjects.

“The police station isn’t there anymore, Bishop!” She yells. “It’s been gone for years!”

Bishop stares into Claire’s eyes. They look so honest. They look so worried. All while her mouth spews complete fiction.

What is her angle? Trying to confuse me? Make me lose my train of thought? Ha! Train... Alright, that’s a point for Claire. I hate to say it. But she is really starting to look more and more guilty.

“How long until we… crash into this station?” The construction worker pipes up.

“The police station is gone!” Claire screams.

“No, it isn’t, Claire!” Bishop screams so loud that a pain surges through his head.

Bishop stumbles backwards and catches himself on a seat. The pain scorches from temple to temple, ricocheting through his brain. Ringing sounds in the annals of his mind. Bishop tries to focus.

Now is not the time for a headache! And how much time until… I’ve lost track. Where were we on the timer?

Bishop searches out the window for answers. Nothing looks familiar. Trees whip by that seem so foreign to him. Signs flip past, square, blue blurs.

“They tore the police station down years ago. There’s a strip mall there, now.” Claire informs everyone.

“You’re talking about Station 113?” Herrera asks.

Claire nods. Herrera and Claire look over at Bishop… with a different look. One that is not of anger or panic… but of sorrow. Of worry.

What is this now?

“You would know!” Bishop yells at Herrera.

Everyone is confused by this random outburst. Hell, even Bishop is confused what he meant by that. He just needs to ignore this headache and power through. Something is happening. He has limited time to right this wrong. He looks around the train.

Wish there were some painkillers in this car. Is it a car? Or a cabin? Gah! No time for that now! I got less than… how much time? Less than 15, that’s got to be for sure. But how much less? Hell, we could be close to the one-minute mark. I have no idea.

Bishop scans the faces. Suspects all around. All staring at him. It could be any one of them. Any one of them could've stolen his plan and kicked it into gear.

There’s no way in this limited amount of time I can determine who the mastermind is. I only have one pair of handcuffs. McKnight’s got the other pair. And I don’t see him anywhere. Where the hell is that guy? Oh well. Looks like I only have one option. Let the mastermind die with his crime. And anyone else that dies with him… oh well. Can’t take any one person with me not knowing if they are the innocent one or the guilty one. If I take the guilty one and let them free, they get away and don’t pay for their crimes. If I take an innocent one and treat them like they’re guilty… well, that won’t fare well for my career. I’m liable to get fired if I do that.

Bishop checks his watch. The dials are fuzzy and hard to make out. His headache lingers.

“Bishop! What is going on?! How much time until we… crash?!”

Bishop looks up. A familiar pair of eyes. They almost look like McKnight’s eyes. But they belong to a beautiful 20-something girl. Too bad she is going to have to die with the guilty party. It’s the only way the guilty party pays for their crimes.

“It’s the only way.” Bishop says.

“What?!”

“Sorry, darling.”

Bishop throws his jacket off in one fell swoop. The jacket would be extra weight. Not good in the river.

Speaking of which, there is the river. Bishop sees it clearly through the window. He pulls his pistol out and shoots the window several times. Everyone screams. Cracks spiderweb throughout the glass. The glass is weak.

Time to make my move.

Bishop lunges forward and dives… right through the window… glass shattering all around him… but he feels nothing. Bishop soars through the cold air… towards his destination… the cold, deep water.

Everyone on the train is left in utter shock.

“What the hell was all that?!” Sheisty screams. Everyone looks to Claire.

“Yeah, who was that guy?! Was he really a cop?!” Herrera is frightened and shaking.

“He was, but he got fired six or seven years ago.” Claire responds.

“How did he not know about the station getting torn down?” Herrera asks. “The strip mall’s been there since 1992!”

“I don’t know. He’s been losing it the past several years. That was why he got canned.”

As Claire trails off and everyone is left in a state of panic and confusion, Joey Seven crouches down by Bishop’s jacket on the floor. It lay flat on the floor with one lump in the middle of it. Joey Seven turns it over, locates an inside pocket and removes something.

An orange pill bottle with a white piece of paper taped to it, folded several times, making it look like a small book. Joey Seven opens the first page and his eyes widen.

“You’re not kidding, he’s been losing it.” Joey Seven then begins to read the paper. “This man should not be out on his own. If found, please call… blah, blah, blah, some number… If he complains of headaches, get him to take one of these pills.”

Joey Seven turns the page and another piece of paper falls out onto the floor. It is a yellow, lined piece of notebook paper, folded up several times. It is dusty and withered with age. Claire scoops it up.

“What’s that?” Herrera leans in.

Claire’s eyes begin to well with tears as she reads the black ink.

“A plan.” She says. “A plan to… crash this train into the police station. Details on how to alter the controls… kill the engineer… to drug people and bring them on board to set them up for the crime… Joey Seven… Shiesty…”

Claire squints, trying to continue to read. The ink changes from black to blue halfway down. The legibility of the words is worse, it’s harder to read.

“Several random people to fill the car of the train.” Claire continues. “It says… ideally six. Also, Congresswoman Herrera… and… and me.”

“He put us all here?!” Joey Seven is livid. “How much more time do we have until–?”

The question is never finished. The answer is given… at breakneck speed… with breakneck force… with absolute certainty.