Chapter 1- Departure Times
“This is never going to work.”
Laura gazed down the tram aisle before feeling his cold breath on the back of her neck. He was breathing fast and anxiously, but then again, he was always breathing fast.
“Would you stop that? You’re giving me your nervous energy like it’s a disease.” She snapped.
“I am nervous!” He hushed back, “This is a terrible plan and we never should have agreed to go through with it.”
Laura knew he was right. The plan was truly awful, and it was almost certain to end in disaster. The train was falling apart, a clean slice down the middle. She often wondered if it could still function but given its current state, Laura didn’t hold out much hope.
“If you would just shut up and have a little faith, we might make it through this in one piece; although, the same can’t be said for this train.”
“Have a little faith, are you kidding me?”
“Relax, we’ve got this.”
He scoffed. He was clearly unsettled already and Laura’s lie was so incredibly unconvincing that he had started to become hysterical. Popping her head down the aisle once more, Laura checked for signs of movement, of the enemy, but she was greeted with emptiness.
“See? Nothing.” But as she uttered the words, the cracks in the train began to rumble and the surface beneath them slowly began to be torn apart. The left side of the train gradually fell away from the right, with only the rubble beneath it keeping the train suspended in the air.
“Laura!” He shouted. She turned to see him taken hostage by the split. “I’m not going to make it.”
“Do you trust me?” She shouted.
“What? You want to do this now?”
“Give me your hand!”
He ran and leapt towards Laura as the train succumbed to the damage. Laura jumped off the train, grabbing both his hand and the edge of the train in the process. “I’ve got you.”
The sweat on Laura’s pillow brought her back to reality. She’d had the same dream now for two months and each time it ended the same; hanging onto the edge of the train, with someone she’s never met, doing something she’d never do. Each time she dreamt the dream, it became more real; feeling more life-like each time. But his face was never clear. She could hear his voice but his face remained a mystery. Forever unknown perhaps, she wondered. But the repetition of this particular dream had stuck with Laura. It felt so real that she could have sworn she could taste the sweat falling from her face as she reached for his hand. Yet although she knew deep down it was simply a figment of her imagination, she still held out hope that such a person as him could exist somewhere in the world. Each time she saw him in the dream, she was enveloped in a rich and warming feeling like no other and the thought of experiencing such a connection with another person, outside of her sub consciousness, filled her stomach with little white butterflies.
Laura checked the clock, which read 6.45 AM. She’d slept in later than she had planned but she didn’t actually have any plans, so she didn’t mind. Conforming to her usual routine, she threw on her usual outfit (a simple shirt, t-shirt and jeans) and headed into the kitchen. Her flat was small and narrow, kind of like those old, dingy alleyways you find when you’re just trying to get somewhere you’ve never been. It also had an unusual smell that wasn’t particularly fragrant or foul but instead lingered around stubbornly despite many open windows and air fresheners. It didn’t bother Laura though, she had just been thankful for the chance to move out of her parents house and had grabbed the first thing she could. Apparently, she had never considered moving either because she had put up with the place for six years despite despising it. But it gave Laura freedom…And that was good enough of a reason to stay.
Casting the image of her dream-trapped mystery man, she reached for the letters. The post had come before she had woken up, as usual. Quickly flickering through the letters, she almost didn’t notice the cream-coloured envelope addressed to her. Of course, it’s addressed to me, she thought, who else would it be addressed to? However, there was something rather unsettling and out of place about the letter which struck her attention. If it wasn’t for the date on the postage stamp, she would have easily thought it to be some ancient relic. Her name and address were written in longhand; joined up so effortlessly that Laura thought it may have been written with a quill. She reached for a knife before effortlessly tearing the seam of the envelope, revealing its contents. Despite all Laura’s hopes, instead of unveiling answers, the letter greeted her with a multitude of new questions (each more bizarre than the first).
Questions were all that Laura had, and that would have to do for now.
* * *
Claire wasn’t the smallest one. She was the youngest of the three but she wasn’t the smallest; she took pride in that. Laura had always been short and petite and Claire had always liked the fact that she had grown to be taller than her sister because it made her feel like she could protect Laura the way she had protected her all those years. Molly could take care of herself because Molly wasn’t like Laura. Molly was paranoid and anxious, and Claire had grown tired of her ways. But Laura? Laura was clever and collected, but she always trusted the wrong people. She had grown up trusting everyone and Claire had been forced to trust no one in order to protect the people she cared about. If she was completely honest, Claire would admit that she’s always despised the fact that she has no one she can trust but she never blamed her sister for that. Laura had done so much for her and Claire felt that she owed her a great debt. However, she hadn’t thought of that in a long time and she wasn’t prepared to make any changes now.
She reached for her keys in her pocket but struggled to find them amongst the clutter. Claire never took a bag with her; she thought that their sole purpose was simply absurd, why couldn’t women have better pockets instead? She picked her clothes and outfits in a similar fashion: sturdy, practical and easy. It has been a long shift at work and she fantasises over her bed, the dreamless dreams and countless sweet sheep that awaited her. Eventually, she pulled out her keys and the door swung open.
The letter was so delicate and dainty that Claire might have walked straight over it had it not stuck out like a sore thumb. Indulging herself, Claire tore open the carefully constructed parchment prison; releasing the contents to reveal...nothing.
Nothing but questions in un-answering handwriting.
Her father’s handwriting.
* * *
And last there was Molly, she thought as she turned over to see that Jake had already gotten out of bed and presumably headed downstairs to make something for breakfast. He usually did that, as he was obsessed with surprising her; but she always happened to hear a phone call or see him pottering about and had grown accustomed to faking her surprise.
She looked out the window. Grey skies. Grey skies and wind awaited her on the outside. Amazingly, Molly didn’t have any plans today. It was her first day off in months and she had no idea why. She didn’t remember asking for this particular day off but had been turned away when she showed up to work this morning. Apparently, she had booked today off with ‘prior plans’ just last year. Plans that would seemingly now be missed.
The clock read 6:45 am, which in itself had very little importance to Molly, in fact, she often questioned the very importance of time itself, the whole concept baffled Molly. Having spent most of her career working in a laboratory with other animals, Molly had noticed that mankind were the only species that worried about running out of time and were also the only species that counted time. To Molly, life was easier with time out of the equation. But it was only 6:45 am, so it was too early to be asking those kinds of questions. It wasn’t long before Jake returned with a full English breakfast and a cup of tea, fresh from the kettle.
“How did you sleep, my love?”
“I slept well, thank you. What’s all this about?” Molly asked.
“What? I can’t surprise my gorgeous fiancé with breakfast in bed every now and then?” He smirked.
Jake was a simple man; he had never asked the world of Molly but had always offered it to her. He worked in a café, not too far from their house. It didn’t bring in a lot of money but they both loved the homely feel and locals that it brought in. They had bought the place a year or so ago; it had been Jake’s idea as a way to help distract Molly and himself from reality. And distract it did. People loved the ‘Corner Café' and had mentioned time and time again how it had brought a new sense of life into an otherwise dead village.
It was home to Molly. She was finally home.
“I guess you can but be careful, I might get used to this.” She chuckled. They were struggling with things at the moment and laughing was all that could keep her from crying. The thought of losing their cosy cottage home or the Corner Café always brought her to tears, but it was an ever-approaching doomsday that simply became more likely with each passing day.
“Ooh, before I forget, this arrived for you this morning.”
“This morning?” She asked, confused.
“Yep! Before 7 AM too! These postmen are getting more and more efficient, don’t you think?”
“They delivered the post before 7 AM?” She questioned.
“Yep. Crazy, isn’t it?” He smiled.
“And you don’t think that’s the slightest bit weird?”
“Well, I did at first but the postman explained it really well. Something about it being an urgent letter, or an express letter, maybe? I don’t remember exactly.”
Molly forced a polite smile as she watched Jake leave the room. She wasn’t one for deciding things based off of her instincts but there was something about the whole situation that just seemed... Off to her. Pushing her worries aside, she gently tore open the envelope.
“To my eldest daughter Molly,
I write to you with the utmost urgency and discretion. I apologise for reaching out to you with such a dangerous request but I had no one else to turn to that I could trust with the nature of this inquiry. By the time you are reading this, it will be too late for me but you can still save yourself.
Growing up, you were always the most mature and level headed one and I’m counting on that today. I need you to think back to the accident. I need you to think back to seven years ago...”
