The Runaway

The Runaway

1.

Within seconds of awakening, the Woman was on her feet with her back against the wall. She scanned the surroundings for the safest exit: window, vent, door, and a real Picasso. Then, her eyes landed on a little girl in the corner, struggling to open a jar of jam.

The child stared at her curiously. A moment later, she appeared next to the Woman, holding out her jam.

The Woman took it after a pause.

“Are you a princess?” The child beamed at the Woman, showing off her missing tooth.

The Woman was not sure. In fact, she did not know where she was, who she was, or how, with no money or ticket, she found herself in the finest train cabin, wearing an equally fine dress that floated like ink through water.

Instead of troubling herself with riddles that would only worsen her growing headache, she sat down and began to wrestle with the jar of jam.

“Do you like jam? I love Mirabelle jam. It’s my jam because it’s named after me. Daddy said that they only make it in France, but I found some in a secret place in the—” She stopped herself just in time. Then, without missing a beat, “What’s your favorite flavor? If you can only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

It’s a marvel how children wield questions like a machine gun. As a last resort against the onslaught of questions she had no answers for, the Woman slipped her right foot out of a gorgeous stiletto heel. Then, she delicately wedged the point of the heel beneath the rim of the jar. With a flick of the wrist, the jar gave in with a soft pop.

“Wow, how did you do that?”

Again, “I don’t know.”

“How did you do it if you didn’t know?”

“I suppose I knew subconsciously.”

“Sub-kong-shush-ley?”

“Subconsciously,” the Woman corrected. “It means that it is accomplished without the full awareness of the mind.”

“It’s not fun when you do things sub-con-scious-ly.”

“No, it’s not fun at all.”

…

“Are you a secret spy? Like James Bond?”

James Bond, that’s a name she knew.

“If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”

“Fine. I’ll trade you! My secret for yours.” Before the Woman agreed, Mirabelle whispered, a bit too loudly, “There’s a magic fridge here that gives you anything you want.”

The Woman scoffed, “Don’t trust that fridge, you never know the strings attached.” Her fingers drifted towards her forehead. The headache was getting worse.

The child frowned. “It’s your turn. I told you my secret, now you have to tell me yours.”

“That’s only fair.” The Woman leaned in with a sardonic smile. “I lock my best secrets away in the most secretive of places…” The little girl leaned in as well. “In my subconscious.”

“That’s not a secret!”

“It has the word in it.”

Mirabelle narrowed her eyes at the Woman as she dug a spoon into her jar of jam, scooping out a precarious load. But as it hovered near her lips, she remembered something quite important.

In a flash, the spoonful of imminent carpet stain was thrusted under the Woman’s chin.

“Daddy said that we must serve our guests first.”

But the Woman did not hear.

“Um, Miss James Bond, are you ok?”

The train jerked beneath her feet as the world slanted on its axis. Black pinpoints began buzzing in the Woman’s periphery, like the inverse of stars in a spiraling galaxy.

Suddenly, the door of the cabin opened. It was a man in a uniform, the GQ of train conductors.

“Good evening.” He bowed. “Please follow me. Everyone is eager to make your acquaintance.”

Subconsciously, the Woman’s hand reached for her stiletto. She began to slip it off beneath the table. Despite her severe headache, she maintained the most disarming smile…

“Finally! We’ve been here forever!” Mirabelle hopped off her seat. “Have you seen Daddy? He said he’ll be back soon, but he’s always late,” she chattered as she zipped out the door.

Sensing no point in resisting, the Woman stood in her gorgeous heels and glided after her young companion.

2.

Shades of sunset. Ribbons of willows. Shimmers of rivers.

Outside the window, the landscape rushed by in a kaleidoscopic blur of arriving and departing sceneries.

Mirabelle was bouncing off the walls. “Wow, this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen!”

“Welcome aboard The Kumo Express, the fastest train to paradise.” The conductor smiled. “It’s my honor to be your guide,” he said as he led them through the corridors.

They were in a five-star hotel on wheels. The train’s interior composed of rich mahogany walls trimmed with gold, exuding an old-world elegance.

The Woman treaded carefully after her companions as they passed by countless grand cabins. Eventually, they stopped at a tiny door. Through the glass, they could see what appeared to be the smallest room.

“Let’s begin our tour with the Blue Lounge.” With a flourish, the conductor opened the door.

A room like this couldn’t possibly exist. The Blue Lounge was enormous. All corners carved, all furniture adorned, all surfaces gilded within an inch of their life. Cherubs frolicked on the high ceiling while groups of sofas huddled together like old friends.

“Nemo!” Mirabelle squealed as she bellyflopped onto the floor.

The Woman looked down and was struck by the most paralysing shade of blue. The floor of the lounge was an aquarium, complete with crowns of corals and clusters of clownfish. A world so stunning it hurt her eyes.

Without warning, the Woman was assaulted by a wave of flashback.

Throbbing head. Pounding heart. Shortness of breath.

The water beneath her feet brought back the phantom sensations of suffocation, of freezing cold and drowning darkness.

3.

Wonders never ceased on the Kumo Express. There was one compartment dedicated to the keeping of exotic animals and plants. One boasted collections of priceless artworks, while another was home to thousands of books. There was even one compartment built with indoor rollercoasters, much to Mirabelle’s delight. Miraculously, the train was a zoo, garden, museum, library, and amusement park all in one.

Yet, in every cabin, she instinctively plotted out the escape routes, always searching for the fastest way out.

Finally, the tour came to an end. The Woman steeled herself. They had returned to the tiny door.

“Please stay in the Blue Lounge. I’ll return to fetch you shortly,” said the conductor. Then, he cautioned, “You may wander if you please, but be sure not to go on the balcony.”

When bombarded with questions, he was evasive. He smiled at his young charge, but his expression remained serious. “Train rules, Miss Mirabelle.”

The moment he was gone, Mirabelle turned to the Woman, “C’mon! Let’s go find that balcony!”

So dire was her need to escape, the Woman followed. Luckily, they stumbled across that blasted balcony before she caved into the urge of tossing the child off the train.

With a triumphant cry, Mirabelle raced out, starstruck by their surroundings. Night had fallen. The Woman looked up to see the milky way stretching beyond infinity. Wherever they were, it was far from civilization.

The train was the smoothest ride one could imagine. It moved as if gliding on silk. Its engine did not roar. Instead, it purred.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Alarm bells began blaring inside the Woman’s head, for she realized the most peculiar thing about their train so far – it was running off track. In fact, there was no track at all.

“Look over there!” Mirabelle leaned dangerously over the railing as she pointed to the near distance, where the “milky way” ended in a blazing arc of white light. What was even more unsettling was the fact that their train, slithering on air, was showing no sign of stopping.

She did not trust that light. She needed to get off this train.

4.

“Hey! You can’t be here!” The conductor materialized.

Mirabelle let out a scream.

The Woman leapt to her feet.

Mirabelle fell off the train.

The evening would have come to a tragic end, if not for the Woman’s cat-like reflexes.

5.

When they made their grand entrance, people couldn’t help but stare.

While this group of twenty were all decked out in black-tie, the Woman and child looked as if they just escaped a mugging. Mirabelle was missing a shoe while the Woman’s dress was ripped beyond repair.

An old gentleman dropped his hat into the chocolate fountain.

“It’s a beautiful night, enjoy,” bade the Woman.

As she was about to sweep out of the room, something gripped her fingers. She looked down to see Mirabelle, holding her hand.

Such wholesome trust was going to give her hives. The Woman tried to shake her off, but the child had the tenacity of a barnacle.

The old gentleman fished his hat out of the fountain and approached them. “Please stay, we’re throwing this party in your honor.” He smiled warmly and gestured with his chocolate-covered hat, “Welcome to the Kumo Express.”

And welcome they did. The Woman and girl were swiftly pulled into their midst, ripped dress and missing shoe.

While Mirabelle was regaling the old gentleman with a colorful account of her near deadly fall, the Woman found herself in the middle of a heated argument. About crumpets.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I believe these crumpets had holes since the 1850s,” a young lady in the Victorian dress demurred.

“No, the muffins changed after 2018, that’s when I boarded,” a madam in leopard-print argued.

The Woman narrowed her eyes as she observed them from behind her wineglass.

“Don’t listen to them, they’re like an old married couple,” a distinguished-looking fellow drawled from next to her.

1890s blushed while 2018 gave him the finger.

The man laughed then extended his hand towards the Woman. “Marcus Flynn.”

The name vaguely rang a bell. The Woman replied with a firm handshake and a beguiling smile. “Jane Bond.” The lie slipped effortlessly off her lips.

“So, Jane, how did you find yourself among our happy little family?”

“Jane” took a sip of her wine to buy some time. She had no idea who she was or why she was here, but for unknown reasons, instincts urged her to pretend otherwise. She surprised herself by launching into the most riveting tale, meandering from here to there, saying so much yet telling so little. It was an art, really.

Marcus listened with fascination, but before he could attempt to whisk “Jane” off to the dancefloor, they heard a spoon tapping on glass.

The old gentleman was proposing a toast.

Marcus chuckled next to the Woman. “He likes to give his own eulogy.”

The Woman frowned in confusion.

“…We all know why you’re here. You did something most extraordinary and paid the ultimate price—I know I did, I was the first man to fly.” He winked. “Though apparently you have to survive if you want bragging rights.”

Everyone laughed.

“For your contribution and sacrifice, Death is rewarding you with purgatory in paradise.” He raised his glass. “To purgatory, with style!”

That’s when the Woman realized. Everyone here was dead. She was never getting off this train.

6.

Beethoven’s symphony drifted from the vintage record player as the Woman paced in her own cabin.

Unfair.

Death had robbed her of life, memories, and even her name. So, to the beat of Fate Knocking at the Door, she began to trash her room.

First went the vase. Then, the bookcase. Last was the Picasso. The real Picasso.

And that was when she heard it. It was soft, inaudible to the untrained ear. A click.

There was a secret crawl space behind the Picasso. It contained a medium-sized, innocent-looking backpack.

The bag was separated into multiple compartments. The smallest one contained some credit cards, a Canadian driver’s license, and a well-worn passport under the name of Evelyn Pierce.

“Hello, my name is Evelyn. Evelyn Pierce. Pleasure to meet you.” It sounded wrong.

Then, she opened another compartment. It was home to one box of matches, two knifes, three sets of contact lenses, and four shades of hair dye.

Her headache was back with a vengeance.

She opened the largest, innermost compartment and instantly wanted to run.

First, the money. Stacks of it. All different currencies. And pouches of diamonds. There must be millions.

Second, the passports. Six more of them. All with her photo, but under six different names and nationalities.

Finally, the gun. It was a Glock 19M. Oily. Black. Evil. It was still wet with blood.

This was a go-bag. Evelyn Pierce’s go-bag. The go-bag of a fugitive and murderer. Her go-bag.

Suddenly, the Woman laughed. She should not be here. What great contribution or sacrifice could she have possibly made? She did not deserve to be on the Kumo Express.

Then came a rapping at the door. It had such a jaunty rhythm that the Woman ignored it on principle.

“You left before dessert.” It was the child. “I brought you some lemon pie.”

Again, the Woman ignored her.

After a while, a piece of napkin slipped through the gap beneath the doorframe. In a wobbly scrawl, it read “Let’s play to-get-her soon!” There were also two stick figures, engaging in some sort of hide-and-seek.

Hours later, when the Woman finally opened the door, Mirabelle was gone. In her place was an extra-large slice of pie, showered in sprinkles.

This gave her pause.

When Death gives you lemons, you make lemon pies. What good would come from discovering her past? Dying could be the best way to start fresh and stay safe. She was going to turn Death into her Life’s greatest gift. Decision made, she put the go-bag back where she found it, locking it away behind the Picasso.

7.

Apparently, “to-get-her” was a spy game. Mirabelle was the tail while the Woman was the target, even though she did not want to play together at all.

It was midnight and the corridors were empty. The Woman felt the hair raising at the back of her neck. The child was shadowing her, in plain sight. Wasting no time, she shook off her tail. She despised being followed.

8.

The roar of the tide was mixing with the man’s drawn-out scream, rising to a crescendo as…

… the Woman jolted awake.

Throbbing head. Pounding heart. Shortness of breath.

In the dead of night, she picked her poison and headed for the library.

9.

A good book is like a bottle of fine wine, an eloquent distillation of time and place. It was a pity that the Woman could not enjoy her book, wine, time, or place in peace.

Sitting a few tables behind her and half concealed by the bookshelf was Mirabelle, dribbling jam all over Harry Potter.

At least she had gotten better at the game, the Woman noted. If the child hadn’t yawned so loudly, she still would have been lost between the pages, nursing the glass of red. She really did not like it when people yawned in the library.

10.

The man was a menace unseen but hard to forget. He stalked the Woman through her nightmares, hounding her with the memories she was afraid to remember. Since the Woman couldn’t escape him in the realm of sleep, she decided to avoid sleep altogether. At night, she haunted the library like he haunted her dreams. But as much as she refused to remember, she just could not forget.

11.

When the Woman entered with her book and wine in hand, she was, as much as she hated to admit, impressed. There, right next to her usual spot was Mirabelle, leaning diligently over a Disney comic with a half-finished jar of jam.

As days blurred into months, their game had evolved. Mirabelle went from following behind her, to arriving before her. Just this morning, when she appeared at breakfast, Mirabelle was already seated next to her chair, with two steaming bowls of porridge – the Woman’s favorite breakfast. Then, when the dishes were cleared away and she immediately departed for her morning workout, the little girl had miraculously arrived at the gym before her and was laying out her yoga mat while ginning like a sphinx. How expertly the child anticipated her routines and could seemingly teleport herself to opposite ends of the train, were no small feats.

She must’ve discovered all the train’s secret passages and hidden doors, the Woman nodded almost approvingly as she sat down next to Mirabelle. As dawn awakened another day, the duo lost themselves between their pages. Together.

12.

“Red light!” shouted Mirabelle as she whipped around.

Everyone froze.

“Green light!” She turned back to face the wall.

The Woman observed as Marcus and 2018 dashed towards where Mirabelle stood at one end of the garden while 1980s and the old gentleman lagged far behind. There were also fifteen other passengers scattered throughout the field. Whistle in hand, the train conductor stood next to Mirabelle, the ever-dutiful referee.

Ever since Mirabelle came along, it became a tradition to hold a gameday every week, followed by a feast. This week, gameday was taking place in the Grand Garden.

The Woman was joining them for the first time. As she looked around the sun-soaked lawn and bubbling fountains, she thought that the Gardens of Versailles had nothing on this place.

“Red light!”

Everyone stopped but the Woman slinked forward, concealed by the foliage of the trees.

“Green light!”

Marcus sprinted towards the finish line, and just when victory was within reach—

“Red light!”

Marcus froze but the momentum made him stumble, ever so slightly. This did not escape everyone’s notice.

The train conductor whispered into Mirabelle’s ear and the child’s face lit up with glee.

“Marcus, you’re out!”

As Marcus breathed the sigh of the vanquished, the train conductor snapped his fingers. Instantly, Marcus vanished. A mere second later, he reappeared down the field at the starting line, looking quite disoriented.

“And no cheating,” Mirabelle said haughtily as she pointed two fingers at her own eyes, then one towards the Woman. “I’m watching you!”

Everyone chuckled.

Since moving was against the rules, the Woman held in her smile.

13.

The Woman never stayed for dessert, but it was a day of firsts.

The Blue Lounge was transformed. There was a long, sumptuously laid table, piled high with food, wine, and laughter. The aquarium illuminated the room from below. Families of clownfish swam up from time to time, and through the thin glass, they would attempt to kiss the bottom of their feet. Everyone was charmed except for the Woman. For her, they might as well be piranhas.

“Jane, I believe congratulations are in order.” Marcus saluted her with his glass.

The Woman was given the seat of honor with an empty chair next to her. Its missing occupant was quite happy underneath the table, trying to find a way to “swim with Nemo.”

“Yeah, that was bloody brilliant! I didn’t know humans could run that fast,” 2018 exclaimed as she stole a crumpet from 1980s’s plate.

“You had me holding onto my hat,” said the old gentleman.

“Thanks Edward. Glad I don’t have to be alive to have bragging rights,” the Woman replied.

Everyone laughed.

“Well, enjoy your bragging rights, young lady.” Edward smiled heartily. “You’ve earned it.”

Suddenly, there was a pounding beneath their feet.

The Woman looked down. It was Mirabelle. Trapped beneath the glass floor with the clownfish.

“Who wants marshmallows?” someone asked.

“Sure, we can dip that in the chocolate fondue.”

Nobody even batted an eye.

Panicked, the woman lifted the fondue fountain and smashed it through the glass floor. Without thinking twice, she jumped into the water.

Instantly, her head was wracked with pain. Her hand just grasped Mirabelle’s when her world crashed into black.

14.

Within seconds of awakening, the Woman felt the train slow. A storm was brewing outside her window. Far away, the arc of white light began to extinguish as the stars died one by one. Then, her eyes landed on Mirabelle, sitting next to her bed, struggling with another jar of jam.

“Oh finally!” Mirabelle scrambled closer. Her jam forgotten. “You were asleep forever!”

The Woman took her jar of jam and opened it, all the while scanning the child from head to toe. Mirabelle was completely unharmed.

Apparently, the Woman was out for days. The conductor teleported her back into her own cabin because there was no infirmary on the train.

“We picked these for you.” Mirabelle pointed at the nightstand, overflowing with flowers and care packages. “So, you have to come to our next gameday.” She grinned, showing off her missing tooth.

Suddenly, the train swayed and Mirabelle fell. The jar of jam shattered on the floor, cutting into the girl’s skin. The Woman rushed to her side, slicing herself by accident.

Then, the child started giggling. The Woman watched in bewilderment as Mirabelle rolled around on the floor, bubbles of laughter escaping from her lips.

“Oh, that tickled!” Mirabelle smiled up at the Woman. Glass everywhere yet completely unharmed.

That’s when the Woman realized. Mirabelle was missing the exact same tooth.

The pieces came together: the missing tooth… everyone’s nonchalance when Mirabelle could’ve drowned… should’ve drowned… and how the little girl was the exact same as the day they met.

The train came to a screeching stop.

The force of her realization almost knocked the Woman off her feet – Dead people don’t change.

“Are you okay?” Mirabelle stopped smiling. “You’re bleeding.”

And dead people aren’t supposed to bleed, which meant that the Woman, Evelyn Pierce, was alive.

BAM! Something knocked into the train, sending it careening off course. Mirabelle screamed as the room blacked out.

15.

The match’s ember illuminated Mirabelle’s face as she bit into a crumpet.

The crumpet was from the Woman’s care basket while the match was from her go-bag. The Glock 19M was concealed in her pants.

“It’s all my fault,” Mirabelle whimpered. “Daddy said that storms are God’s way of punishing bad children.”

“It’s not your fault.” The Woman sighed. “Why don’t you tell me about your father?”

And Mirabelle launched into lovely stories about a loveless man.

Her father was a traveling salesman. He’s often gone and always late. But he apparently cared for his daughter very much. So much in fact that he had to buy her jars of jam just in case he forgot to feed her.

“He went to a place called Mexico,” Mirabelle said proudly. “He had to sell snow by the seashore.”

The Woman was too angry for words. That was when she felt pain exploding behind her eyes.

Throbbing head. Pounding heart. Shortness of breath.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Noises came from above their heads. The Woman sprung to her feet. She had to leave. She had to get away from Evelyn Pierce.

Then, she felt a small hand holding hers.

“Now that I’ve told you my life, you have to tell me yours,” Mirabelle smiled up at her

“I-I don’t remember anything.”

“Did you lock them all away?”

“… Yes, but they escaped from me.”

Mirabelle’s face lit up. “I know! There’s a secret place where you can go see all your memories. It’s right beneath the Blue Lounge. I go there whenever I miss my daddy and to play with Nemo!” she said as she took a big bite of her crumpet.

Suddenly, the train flipped.

The crumpet fell to the floor.

The windows shattered.

Someone else was in the room.

“I told you Mirabelle, you must serve your guests first,” rasped the corpse.

16.

BANG!

Gun residue coated the Woman’s hand as the corpse of Mirabelle’s father fell.

The Woman grabbed Mirabelle and ran. BANG! BANG! BANG! She fired at multiple corpses as they dashed through the corridor. They all looked eerily familiar.

The bloated remains of a junkie grabbed onto her ankle. It hissed, “Evelyn, we’ve all been waiting for you—”

BANG!

She never missed.

BANG! BANG! BANG! Click.

The Woman looked at her gun. The chamber was empty.

A shadow materialized before them. She shoved Mirabelle behind her.

17.

“You must come with me.” It was the train conductor.

Suddenly, the Woman felt a pull from within her belly. The next thing she knew, she was stumbling inside a steel bunker along with Mirabelle and the rest of the passengers.

“What’s going on?” 2018 demanded.

“The train has stopped. You’re all in danger,” the conductor answered.

“Forgive me for asking, but why are we stopping? And what are those dreadful creatures?” 1890s shivered.

“They are Demons from the Past,” he said, face grim. “When the train stops, you are no longer moving towards paradise. And the longer you stop, the more you risk being trapped in purgatory forever.”

Fear scattered like a murder of crows.

“Good Heavens! What are we going to do?” cried Edward.

“We must evict the trespassers,” said the conductor. “They are here to haunt the living.”

And it became clear to the Woman. So long as she was alive, the demons would come after her. And so long as she kept running away, the train would never move forward. She was a danger to everyone around her.

“But we’re all dead,” Marcus said from next to her.

“Someone is not supposed to be here,” said the conductor. “I’m afraid it has come to this. Please everyone, I’d like to see your tickets.”

All the passengers pulled out their tickets. All except for the woman.

“… Jane?”

She met the eyes of everyone around her. “My name is Evelyn Pierce.” Then, she turned to the conductor. “I need to get off this train.”

18.

The world spun when the Woman materialized on the balcony.

“If you jump, you can never return,” warned the conductor. “And your soul will be lost for eternity.”

“Good. Then everyone else will be safe.” The Woman leaned against the railing, looking at the abyss below. She closed her eyes and was about to jump.

“NO! Don’t go!”

Someone grabbed onto her. The Woman looked down to see Mirabelle’s tear-stained face.

“Mirabelle, let go,” the Woman said. Then, her voice softened. “Please, I need to protect you.”

Suddenly, the train began convulsing. The ground trembled as if there was an earthquake.

“They’re here, I must return to the bunker,” said the Conductor. “Miss Mirabelle, come with m—”

That was when a decomposing hand pierced his body. It was the corpse of Mirabelle’s father.

Mirabelle screamed.

“Shut up, girl,” snarled the corpse, “I want no more noises from you.” Then, it turned to the Woman and smiled, stretching out the bullet wound on its cheek. “Evelyn, you’ve lost your touch.”

20.

“Come out, Evelyn. Come out, come out wherever you are!” The corpses singsonged.

With no weapon and a child on her back, the Woman found herself in the deadliest dilemma. To save everyone on the train, she must stop running from the Demons of her Past, but she cannot do that without risking Mirabelle’s safety. There must be another way to confront them…

“Mirabelle, let’s go swim with Nemo.”

21.

Beneath the Blue Lounge, the Memory Room was a tiny chamber made entirely of mirrors, a kaleidoscopic environment that created the illusion of infinite space. Millions of colorful lights skimmed across the mirrors, swimming from surface to surface.

“Nemo!” Mirabelle ran into the room. The lights, like the clownfish during feeding time, gathered around her, circling the child in a dreamy vortex. Meanwhile, the images of her past flitted across the mirrors.

Mirabelle playing go-get-her alone in an empty house.

Mirabelle eating jam while other kids traded lunches.

Mirabelle running after a man who’s driving away.

When the Woman entered the room, she felt trapped in a cage with her own reflections, sitting in judgment of her. And whereas the lights welcomed Mirabelle, they attacked her like piranhas in a feeding frenzy.

The Woman remembered.

Evelyn Pierce running away from home, bloody and broken.

Evelyn Pierce trading her soul for a bag of blow.

Evelyn Pierce selling drugs off the Mexican coast.

Evelyn Pierce drowning in a chair, a sack over her head.

Evelyn Pierce giving away an infant girl.

In the present, the Woman did everything in her power to not look away. With the lights whirling tempestuously around her, her memories continued their assaults.

Evelyn Pierce collecting cash with Mirabelle’s father.

Evelyn Pierce watching as he knocked out a tooth from his daughter.

Evelyn Pierce flinching as the child’s head smashed against the wall.

Evelyn Pierce aiming a Glock 19M at her partner.

Evelyn Pierce turning the Glock 19M on herself.

The lights whirled faster and faster, engulfing the Woman until she was the eye of the hurricane. Suddenly, the ceiling above them shattered. A horde of corpses dove into the room.

Evelyn Pierce did the only thing she could.

Evelyn Pierce shielded the little girl with her own body.

Evelyn Pierce stood her ground against the corpses of her past victims.

Evelyn Pierce made peace with the pain as they tore into her flesh and bones.

Evelyn Pierce saw the lights swimming around her like Nemo.

22.

When Evelyn opened her eyes, she saw the conductor, mostly unharmed. Immediately, she asked, “Mirabelle? And the other passengers?”

“They’re safe on the way to Paradise.”

“And my Demons?”

“Gone.” He touched her shoulders gently. “They can only haunt the living after all.”

They were in a railway station. With no rails.

“Does that mean...?”

“Yes. Welcome to the Afterlife, Ms. Pierce. You’ve earned your ticket. Would you like to come aboard?” He smiled at her look of disbelief.

Something warm pressed against Evelyn’s palm. When she unclenched her hand, Evelyn saw her own ticket to Paradise.

The train blew its whistle, signaling its departure. In the distance, the arc of white light shone more brightly than ever before.