The Girl on the Train

The screeching brakes jolted Emma awake. She lifted her head off the train window, disoriented. The conductor’s voice crackled through the speakers, announcing their arrival at Briarwood Station. Emma sighed, grabbing her bag as she prepared to exit and switch trains.

Commuting was always exhausting, but today felt different. Emma’s head pounded. Her thoughts felt fuzzy, like trying to peer through frosted glass. Had one extra glass of wine been enough to make her feel this awful? As Emma shuffled along the platform to her connecting train, she decided she’d have to give up alcohol altogether if last night was any indication.

Settling into her seat for the last stretch of the morning commute, Emma tried to collect herself and begin her mental preparations for the day ahead. As a social worker buried under a mountain of cases, there was always more human suffering and tragedy piled on top of her own personal drama. She gazed out the window as the train pulled away, hoping today’s clients would provide a distraction from her swirling thoughts.

The train rounded a bend and Emma gasped, jarred alert by what she spotted in the overgrown fields flanking the tracks. The body of a woman, face down in the snow. Blood pooled beneath her, stark red against the white ground. Emma froze, one shaking hand covering her mouth. But in the space of a blink, the gruesome sight vanished. Emma whipped her head from side to side, scanning the peaceful snow-covered meadows sliding past the windows. There was no body, no blood.

You’re losing it, Em. Emma’s pounding heart began to slow at the realization. Stress and lack of sleep were catching up to her. Hallucinations could be the next level in her downward mental health spiral if she didn’t make caring for herself more of a priority. Maybe a self-care Sunday was in order. Emma smiled softly, imagining a bath with a glass of wine. Well, maybe a cup of tea instead after her turbulent start to this morning. As the train pulled into Central Station, Emma felt more centered and clearheaded. The hallucination was surely a fluke. With one deep breath, she steeled her nerves and headed into her chaotic day.

..................

The week passed in a blur. Emma researched the causes of hallucinations to reassure herself. Stress, anxiety, grief, isolation. She was likely hitting enough criteria to make the bizarre incident seem less extraordinary. There would be no more visions to derail her fragile sense of control. By Friday evening, a full five days had passed without another disruption from her subconscious and Emma felt certain she could file the event away for good.

As she wearily made her evening commute home, Emma contemplated stopping for an ingredients to cook a healthy dinner and spend the weekend recharging. Saturday morning spa appointment? Checking real estate listings in sunnier climates that she couldn’t afford? The possibilities for self-care seemed endless now that Emma felt confident she had a handle on her mental state.

The train’s rocking motion lulled Emma into a doze against the window. As they passed the meadows and forests at the halfway point she suddenly startled awake once more. The nightmare from last week stood out vividly on the snowy horizon, as real as if it was happening all over again. The woman’s body lay in the field, the blood looked freshly spilled. Emma screamed without sound, horrified at the return of the vision she believed was an artifact of one exceptionally bad morning.

As Emma sat paralyzed, the train shrieked to an unexpected stop. Passengers murmured anxiously to one another. Through the window Emma saw the conductor hustling down the track, coming up alongside the rows of cars. Over the static of the intercom, his announce echoed through the cabins. A body had been reported on the tracks ahead. Police were on their way. Passengers should stay onboard for now.

The world tilted violently. Emma’s stomach heaved, bile rising in her throat. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Her vision hadn’t merely been a hallucination. The image ingrained in her mind was very real. A woman had died, her body dumped beside the tracks. And Emma had seen her.

As Emma crouched by the tracks and emptied the meager contents of her stomach into the scrubby weeds, she knew this changed everything. The police would want to speak with anyone who potentially witnessed evidence of a crime. Emma wracked her foggy brain, trying to recall every detail of the horrific tableau that had flashed before her eyes twice now. The snow covering the body had melted away to reveal more gruesome injuries the second time. Surely that ruled out a natural death if the body had been moved?

Amidst the chaos of law enforcement storming the scene, Emma slipped away unnoticed. She was in no state to give a statement today. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t come forward. On Monday, rested and collected, she would tell the detectives everything she knew. Justice would be served for the nameless victim that haunted Emma’s dreams.

Monday morning Emma awoke feeling lighter than she had in years. Her Fitbit tracker showed a full 7 hours of deep REM sleep. She really had gained clarity and control through this ordeal. At the police station, she recounted every detail she could muster about the woman’s appearance and the surroundings where her body lay. It was liberating to hand over this macabre knowledge that had ruptured Emma’s carefully composed routines. Surely the authorities would take over now that Emma had come forward as a good Samaritan.

The detectives in charge of the investigation furrowed their brows as Emma shared her account. Why had she not reported the first sighting immediately? Could anyone corroborate her supposed whereabouts that whole week? Emma stuttered through explanations about the hallucinations she believed she was having. But even to her own ears, coincidentally seeing the crime scene twice seemed improbable. When the detectives asked Emma to stay local in case they required further questions, a feeling of dread overcame her newfound sense of peace. Rather than sliding back into her solitary distance from others, this mystery had dropped Emma into the center of an ominous spotlight.

.........

In the following weeks, the case plagued every newspaper and broadcast. Young woman, brutally murdered, no leads. Police remained tight lipped about clues or persons of interest. Emma compulsively scoured the coverage, searching for any mention of herself as the sole witness. But it seemed the detectives were keeping that piece of information very close to their chests. Without confirming any details, they asked Emma to come in and review a series of pictures of known criminals. She sank lower in her chair under the weight of their unspoken suspicions. None of these men were familiar to her at all.

Convinced this fruitless exercise was proof of her insignificance to the investigation, Emma carried on trying to regain normalcy. Outwardly, everything proceeded as usual. But inside, Emma still traced the woman’s final moments over and over. And always hovering on the periphery were the detectives’ lingering questions about Emma herself. Where was she that week? Who in her solitary life could vouch for any part of her routine? The scrutiny wore down her reserves.

On a night when darkness and isolation closed around Emma with suffocating pressure, she found her phone dialing the police station in desperation. The officer who answered kindly updated her that no arrests had been made. In the silence that followed, Emma broke. She wanted to know if she was still under suspicion. She needed to clear her name and dissolve this toxic connection to the victim that haunted her relentlessly. In a stunning moment of clarity brought on by overwhelming emotion, Emma confessed her darkest secret.

The night of the woman’s death, Emma had blacked out. She compulsively drank herself into oblivion many lonely nights. That week remained a complete blur. Emma sobbed openly into the receiver now that her deepest shame was unveiled in hopes of final absolution. Only then did the officer quietly reply that according to records, the victim died three days before Emma’s first reported sighting of the body. Emma froze, waves of confusion and fear crashing over her once more. She was innocent of this crime, yet utterly trapped inside its brutality and mystery all the same. Why had the images of violence toward this woman seized Emma’s mind so vividly? What twisted game was her memory playing? Emma slowly set down the phone without hanging up, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She backed away, slid down the wall and pulled her knees tightly to her chest. Sobs wracked her body as her mind fractured and the last thin thread of hope unraveled completely.