One-way Ticket to Oblivion

I open my eyes and feel the warmth of the sun as I wade softly through a field of marigolds. The gentle touch of each petal sends warm sensations through my fingertips. Every few seconds a cool breeze jets across my face. My spine tingles. I feel safe.

As I eclipse the crest of the hill before me, I see a tower, as white and brilliant as a million grains of sand on the beaches of a distant shore. Beyond the tower I behold the sea – bright, with blue and green hues. It glistens with the intensity of a thousand diamonds, the sun refracted, though it does not blind me. I feel at peace.

As I approach the tower, I press my hand to its smooth surface. It feels cool to the touch, though it is smooth and pleasant. I search for the door, but there is none. As I walk the circumference of its base, I feel like I’m getting colder. As I complete the loop back to where I started, my eye catches the field from whence I just came. The flowers before me now lie withered and dead. I feel strange.

I turn my gaze back towards the sea. It no longer glistens, but instead glows a dull red. A flash of light grabs my attention in the distance. Shortly after I hear the echo of it’s roar as it races across the waves. The water seems to be inching closer to me. My heart begins to race. I feel afraid.

I frantically circle the tower again, desperately hoping for a door or a window that will allow me to retreat from the fast-approaching storm. Again, I find nothing. I circle the tower once more. My heart starts to race faster. The crash of thunder grows in frequency and intensity. The storm is nearly upon me. I feel wetness on my feet. I look down and see the red as it climbs slowly up my legs. I try to run, but I can no longer move. I feel dread.

As the water closes in closer and closer to my face, I dread that this is the end. I don’t know what to do.

Suddenly, I hear a voice. It is muffled at first, but slowly grows louder.

“Farrow.”

I look around but see no one. The water is nearly over my nose. I struggle for a breath.

“…Farrow.”

There it is again. I plunge my head underwater and open my eyes. I see nothing but red. My heart pounds in my chest.

“Mr. Farrow?”

Suddenly, the water recedes and with a jolt I am pulled from that hellish nightmare from which I was sure I would not survive. My eyes open as I look up into the face of a man wearing some sort of uniform. He boasts a broad mustache and a narrow figure. A look of concern etches across his face. I feel numb.

“Ah, there you are Mr. Farrow. Might I have your ticket, please? And would you mind telling me how you snuck in here? I just checked this car three minutes ago and it was empty.”

Ticket? Did he say ticket?

I looked around and tried to get my bearings. It felt as though I could barely move my head, so my eyes darted back and forth. As I began to get my senses back, I noticed the steady drum of iron against iron. I was in what appeared to be a train car. The man before me must have been the conductor.

“Mr. Farrow, did you hear me? Are you alright, sir?” The man looked more and more befuddled by what was unfolding before him.

I nodded – at least I think I nodded. I didn’t feel as though I could speak just yet. I felt confused.

How did I get here? And where exactly was here? Why did he call me Farrow? Was that my name?

I felt a rush of air against my face and turned slowly towards its source. Rain drops rushed in through the open window next to me and splattered across my face. I felt cold.

“Goodness me, Mr. Farrow. So sorry about that.” The man apologized as he reached over and pulled down the window. As I watched him close it, I stared through into the darkness beyond. A flash of light lit up the sky momentarily, and in that moment I could have sworn I saw the figure of a man floating several hundred feet in the air. I blinked and looked again, but there was nothing but darkness. Another flash gave me a brief glimpse once more, though I saw nothing but clouds and sky. I squeezed my eyes shut momentarily and then turned back towards the man in front of me.

“Did you just call me Farrow?” I asked him rather shakily.

“Yes sir. You are Mr. Farrow, correct? I was told to expect you, and you match the description, though I have no idea how in blazes you snuck past me. As I said, I literally just checked this car several minutes before I found you. Did you see that flash of red light?”

Flash of red light, I thought. What is he talking about? How did I get here, and what was my name? Why could I not remember? It hit me that I didn’t actually know what my name was. Was it really Farrow? I had no idea. My head began to throb. I felt sick.

“You said someone told you to expect me? And they said my name was Farrow?” I asked the man as I put my fingers to my temples to try and sedate the throbbing.

“Yes Mr. Farrow. Early this morning an older fellow came into the train station and told me that his friend – that’s you sir – would be arriving in the evening, perhaps quite suddenly, and that I was to make sure he was comfortable. Of course, I had no idea it would be this sudden. It was almost as if you just appeared out of thin air, sir, like magic. That’s silly of course, but I absolutely must know how you did it.”

In truth, I had no idea about anything this man had just said. My temples throbbed harder as I strained to remember anything, even the tiniest inflection of a memory. But everything was blank. It was as if I had just appeared out of thin air? I had little recollection of anything before I woke up, save that horrid dream that I still recalled so vividly.

What was my name? And how did I get here? Those were the two questions I needed to find an answer to first. After that, we could try to learn more.

I started to sit up and began looking through my pockets. In my right chest pocket I felt a firm piece of paper. I pulled it out and read the words across it’s face. It was a train ticket.

One Way Coach

Oxford to New Brunswick

Issued to Mr. James Farrow

Seat 16 Cabin 13

Valid only on date of issue

It was stamped on the side 128693.

“Ah, there’s your ticket Mr. Farrow. Just let me stamp that for you,” the conductor noted kindly as he held out his hand.

I gave him the ticket as I pondered the words written on it. Oxford to New Brunswick. Where exactly was New Brunswick? And it said my name is James Farrow. That’s one question down, I guess. But why was I in Oxford, and why was I headed to New Brunswick?

“Here’s your ticket back sir,” the conductor said as he handed it back to me. I looked at the stamp. Where he had stamped was the date JUNE 22, ‘54. It was June, 1954. I seemed to remember that I had journeyed to Oxford to meet with a former colleague there. But when was that, and what was it for? I tried hard to remember. I know he had asked me for help, but not what for. Everything was so fuzzy. I felt confused.

Then it hit me. That was January. I had been in Oxford six months! How come I couldn’t remember any of it? I strained to think. I looked back at the ticket. It said I was destined for New Brunswick. But why? I wanted to resist; to get up and demand I be let off the train. But something deep inside me kept me from doing it. It was as if I couldn’t do anything but go along with it. I felt conflicted.

“Where exactly is New Brunswick, um…” I asked as looked at the man’s nametag, “Mr. Lincoln?” I noticed Mr. Lincoln had a yellow flower next to his name tag. I think it was a marigold. Odd.

“Oh, it’s Charles, sir. Charles Lincoln. And New Brunswick is one of our newer destinations. They only just added the rail station there about a year ago. I hear it’s quite nice; really top of the line. This is actually the first time I shall get to see it,” Mr. Lincoln said excitedly.

I studied the man for a moment as he spoke. There was something slightly off about him, though I couldn’t put my finger on it. I looked around the cabin of the railcar we were inhabiting. There was nothing abnormal about it. It looked about the same as any other railcar I had ridden before. I leaned forward and looked down the rows. To my left I could see through the glass window of the door into the other car. It appeared empty. I turned to my right. There was no car. We were in the caboose. I felt anxious.

I turned my gaze back to Mr. Lincoln, who seemed to be studying me inquisitively. “How long until we arrive in New Brunswick,” I asked him.

“Ah, we should arrive there tomorrow around three in the afternoon Mr. Farrow. I know it’s quite a long ride. Are you perhaps hungry? I can grab you something to tide you over for the evening. It’s probably best to sleep now while it’s dark, but I’m sure you’ll want to have a bite to eat first. I’ll be right back.”

I eyed the conductor as he walked towards the vacant car next to us. I studied him some more as he walked, but I still couldn’t figure out what it was that seemed to be bothering me. As he passed through the door, he turned and paused momentarily, as if he was struggling with the handle. Strange.

I waited until he was out of sight through the next door. I tried to sit up, but my body still felt stiff. I pushed myself and was able to stand, though it took me several moments to gain my composure. I felt dizzy, but it was fading slowly. I walked up and down the isle, checking each seat. I found nothing going towards the front. As I walked towards the back, I noticed there was a briefcase tucked neatly under my seat. Bypassing that I quickly checked all the way towards the back. Finding nothing further, I returned to my seat and bent down to grab the briefcase. As I did so, I looked under the seat for anything further. I noticed a small piece of scrap paper barely sticking out from under a ripped fold on the underside of the seat. I grabbed it and my briefcase and sat up. I unfolded the piece of paper and read what was written on it:

Don’t drink

That was strange. I flipped the paper over in my hand. On the opposite side there was a peculiar looking symbol. It looked unknown, yet also somehow familiar. What did this symbol mean? Who had written this note? I placed the paper in my breast pocket and turned my attention to the briefcase. It was made of a luxurious dark leather with golden filigree adornments around its corners and edges. On the front were the words “Nova Aurora,” etched in some sort of red thread. It was truly a work of art. As I flipped it over, I noticed there were six number dials on the top of the case near the handle, with a button next to that. I tried pressing it, but it was locked. If this was my briefcase, I surely did not remember the code to open it.

I was so engrossed in my findings that I nearly jumped when a hand was placed on my shoulder.

“Sorry, Mr. Farrow, didn’t mean to startle you. You found your briefcase I see. Trouble opening it?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I said as I nodded. “It seems so.” I looked up at him. Why did he have that smug smile? It was almost as if he was satisfied that I couldn’t open it.

“Here’s some food for you sir, along with some fresh water. Hopefully this satiates you enough to get some more rest tonight,” Mr. Lincoln noted as he handed me the items. It was an assortment of mixed meats and crackers, along with grapes and an unmarked bottle of what appeared to be water.

Don’t drink I was reminded as I took the items and nodded to the man with a forced smile pressed upon my lips. Surely that wasn’t what the note meant, was it? I looked back at the conductor. Was I being overly paranoid about the whole ordeal? Nothing seemed to make sense to me. I felt wary.

“Thank you,” I said to the man. “I think I will eat and sleep some more if that’s alright.” It was a lie, of course.

“Yes sir, of course,” he noted as he smiled yet again. “Is there anything else I can get for you? A pillow perhaps?”

“Yes,” I replied. “That would be lovely.” Again, I forced a smile. I started eating as I watched the man walk to the front of the cabin and unlock a small cabinet. He pulled out a pillow and blanket, re-locked the drawer, and brought them back to me.

“Here you are Mr. Farrow. I hope they are to your liking. Would that be all, sir?”

“Yes, that will be all. Thank you.” I tried to be polite, but I was still leery of the whole situation. Plus, I still felt rather drowsy. A sleep did sound good, but I must know more about what was going on. I shook my head and tried to put sleep out of my mind. I looked up to see Mr. Lincoln fiddling with the door again as he eyed me oddly. I nodded to him as I put two grapes into my mouth. The food was delicious, although the crackers were a bit salty. I eyed the water bottle skeptically. I pulled the folded paper back out of my pocket and examined it again. I read the words once more; “don’t drink” it said. I looked back at the unmarked bottle of liquid, my eyebrow raising ever so slightly. It was an odd thing for a public train to not serve some sort of well-known brand. Maybe the note was a clue. After all, I woke up in a strange train headed to a strange destination with no idea of why, nor how, I’d gotten there. Perhaps this was no ordinary train after all. Something was not right for sure, but I still didn't know what. Boy, those crackers are salty. I felt thirsty.

I flipped the note over, noting the mysterious symbol yet again. It is strange, I thought to myself. What could be the significance of it? At this point, I had zero context, so I needed to learn more. I turned the note over several more times, examining its texture and weight. It definitely wasn't normal paper. It felt almost as if it were parchment paper, which was really only found in universities. That's it! My mind was instantly brought back to some memory from my recent past…

A notebook lay on the table. On it were words – no, symbols. There were several lines of these strange symbols, much like the one drawn on the paper in my hand. Each one was similar to the others, yet slightly different in design. I did not recognize them from any I had seen before. I think I was a historian of sorts. I looked up from the table to see a familiar face. I suddenly remembered being asked to come to Oxford to assist my good friend Howard Grayson in deciphering some strange texts his department had found. Howard was a professor at Oxford, and also somewhat of a historian. He had sent me a letter asking me to come assist with their discovery.

I looked back at the notebook on the table. I think I had figured out some of the meaning of the text, though I could not remember what it was. I spoke muffled words to Howard, he nodded in reply, then pointed to a specific symbol on the page. That was it; that was the symbol on the piece of paper I held. I looked up at Howard as he mouthed a word to me…

I immediately snapped back to the present. What was he saying to me there? Was this note from Howard? Was my old friend sending me a message? It seemed that with every new question I answered, several more arose. This was quite the conundrum I found myself in.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember what Howard had said to me. I watched his lips as I replayed it over and over in my mind.

Open

That was it! The word he had spoken to me was open. The symbol on my paper meant open. But open what? I clenched my teeth in frustration; more questions.

I looked up in my annoyance and peered through the cabin door to my left. I did not see the conductor in there. I stood to my feet and began to walk towards it cautiously. As I approached the door, I eyed the cabinet to my right; it was the same one he had retrieved my pillow from. I reached for it and tugged gently. It didn't budge. I tugged a bit harder – still nothing. There were several other cabinets, but all gave me the same resistance. I had little faith that the door to the next cabin would be any different. I slowly reached my hand over as I eyed the door to the cabin beyond the next one. I grabbed the handle and twisted. It did not turn. My heart sank. It appeared that I was some sort of prisoner. This also confirmed that my suspicions about the conductor had some merit. I still didn't know what his intentions were, nor why they were taking me to this New Brunswick place, but at least I knew I needed to be careful from now on.

It was weird how calm I felt. You’d think for someone who’d just discovered they were a prisoner on a train headed to an unknown destination with no idea how they'd gotten there that I would be hysterical, but I felt oddly calm. I couldn't explain it, but felt as if I knew what I was doing, even in a situation as odd as this. Whoever I was in my life before today, I must have experienced some things. If I hoped to survive what was to come, I needed to find this part of myself soon. For now, I needed to figure out how to get out of this cabin.

Since I was locked on this side, I took a moment to study the cabin next to me. It didn't appear to be any different than my own, save for an extra storage bin near the next door. Presumably, it was locked as well, but it did make me wonder what all these cabinets contained. I strained my eyes to see if I could spot anything out of order or abnormal, but there was nothing apparent. I jiggled the handle some more, and tried pressing my shoulder sharply against the door. Neither budged. I was going to have to find some other way.

As I turned around I scanned the interior of the area, hoping to find some sort of tool or heavy object with which to try and break open one of the cabinets. And, as a worst case, to break the window to the next car. I preferred to keep this as tidy as possible to avoid unwanted attention, but one way or another, I needed to escape. However, the cabin was annoyingly bare. These people, whoever they were, knew what they were doing.

Just as I was about to give up, I caught something odd out of the corner of my eye. The window that had been open earlier, the one through which I had swore I saw someone, was fogged up. It was the only window in the whole car that was so. I walked towards it and sat in my original seat. I eyed the window, trying to spot why only this one was fogged up. There didn't appear to be any cracks or openings. Strange, I thought to myself. As I stared, something began to move on the window itself. The fog disappeared from one portion of the pane. Slowly, a line was being created, as if some invisible force was drawing something. I watched, dumbstruck, as the line twisted and turned and combined with other lines. After what seemed like an eternity, it stopped. After a few more moments of being stuck in my trance, my eyes focused on the whole image before me. It looked like the symbol on my paper. I fumbled through my pocket and quickly pulled it out. I studied it, then the one on the window. They were exactly the same. What was so important about this symbol? What was so important about open?

As I looked back up at the mysterious symbol on the window, I noticed it starting to fade as the blank areas were fogging back up. I again was awestruck, trying to comprehend what was happening. I looked around. I was still alone. After a few more moments, the symbol was gone and the pane was solidly fogged up. Though again I found it odd, all that was happening, I still felt rather calm and collected. Whoever was sending me these messages must be a friend. Perhaps it was even Howard.

I snapped out of my thoughts to notice a new line being drawn on the window. This time, the lines began to resemble letters. I watched eagerly as the letters formed into a word.

Draw

Draw? What was that supposed to mean? What was I supposed to draw? I remembered the symbol that was just drawn on the window. The word before me faded and I was left with a clean slate. It was worth a shot. I used the note as a guide.

So, I drew it, as best as I could. It wasn't pretty, but I think I did a decent job of it. As I drew the last line, the window above mine began to slowly slide open. I was astonished! Did I do that? Did drawing this mysterious symbol somehow cause the window to open? Would other symbols do other things? This just kept getting stranger…

My mind whirled as I was brought back to the room in Oxford with my friend. There was a pile of books on the table, a blank notebook in front of me, and a mysterious orb-like object floating at the center of the table. Just below the object was what looked like a tome. I looked up at my friend as I heard his words, clear as day.

“We found it at a dig in Norway, way up north near the Soviet border. It was sealed in an underground tomb, of sorts. We have men out there now who are trying to open further passages, but we wanted to get started studying this text. It’s written in what appears to be a dialect of ancient Nordic runes, but it's unlike anything we've encountered before. We hoped you might be able to assist us with some translations. Your work with ancient languages is unprecedented. None of the others we hired were able to decipher much. I fear you are our last resort.”

I looked up at my friend’s warm smile, though I could see the look of concern hidden behind his guise. Something seemed to be troubling him. I eyed the signet on his ring as he leaned on the table. It was an image of a half-risen sun with an intricate eye in the middle. I remembered my friend had mentioned something about working with a group called the New Dawn. Perhaps that was what the ring represented? I wasn't sure what my good friend had gotten himself entangled with, but it seemed there was more at play here than a mere archeological discovery.

I got back to my work surveying the runes from the book before me. I remember deciphering some of their meanings. There was wind, light, darkness, sound, push, and open. Wait - that symbol there was for open. That was the one I had just drawn on the window. I tried to look at the other runes on my notebook, but their images were blurry. The whole scene started to fade as I was slowly sucked back to reality.

As I came to my senses, I noticed a new set of writings on the window. This time it was more.

The ticket holds the code. Use the runes. Get to 7.

The ticket holds the code? I pulled the ticket out of my pocket and looked it over. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it. It had my name on it, the station I left from, where I was headed, and my seat and cabin number. On the side was the usual stamped ticket number, and the bottom contained the date stamp from the conductor just a bit ago. What possible code could the ticket hold? I flipped the ticket over to the reverse, but it was blank. I flipped back to the front. Puzzled, I read over each line again. The only possible thing that could have been a code here was the stamped ticket number, but that seemed illogical. And what was it to? The door to the next cabin had no apparent locking mechanism that I could see on this side. The number was six digits. Perhaps the briefcase? I grabbed it off the floor and flipped it over on my lap so the lock was on top.

The ticket was stamped 128693, so I tried entering that code. The lock did not budge. Perhaps I needed to enter the code backwards? Still, it was no luck. There was no way I had time to try every possible combination. I tried hard to think what it might be. If only my friend had left me a clue. He was a smart man, and quite fond of mathematics. I looked at the ticket again. The only other numbers on the ticket were the seat and cabin numbers, 16 and 13, plus the date. Perhaps it was just a simple math problem? Sixteen and thirteen, huh? I studied the numbers on the ticket. If one used simple addition, you could add the nine, three, and one to equal thirteen. Then you could add the eight, six, and two to equal sixteen! Maybe that was it. I tried them in that order, as they were on the ticket.

8-6-2-9-3-1

The lock still did not move. There were more possible orders in which to input the numbers, and fortunately far fewer possible combinations now, so it didn't take me too long to try them all out. Every last one failed to open to case.

At this point I was getting frustrated. I thought for sure I had figured out the code, but I couldn't understand what I had done wrong. I looked at the numbers again. They swirled on the page as I focused on them with my mind’s eye. I raised my eyebrow as I noticed something I had missed. There was another combination of numbers that equaled 16 and 13. I immediately tried one possible order of the new code…

9-6-1-8-2-3

Nothing again. I had just as many new combinations to try, so I set off again. The first few were no luck, but after the fourth try, I pressed the button and heard an audible click as the suitcase propped open just slightly. I let go a sigh of relief as I slowly opened the case and peered inside...

To be continued.

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