At the Edge

by Lee Murray

  Thank heavens, the weather hasn’t screwed up the trains.

  I pace, carefully avoiding the edge. Would anyone save me if I passed out and fell onto the tracks? I gaze along the platform at the handful of businessmen, soaked in grey suits that match their expressions. Doubt they’d notice.

  A few columns down, three teens have staked their territory. Each of them sports a two-litre bottle of soft drink, most likely spiked with alcohol. They puff on cigarettes and roar like cavemen discovering fire. Their laughter cuts through the sheets of rain, sweeping under the awning.

  My phone buzzes again.

  ‘Please be Mum,’ I whisper.

  I look at the name. My throat tightens.

  I push the phone to my ear. ‘What do you want, Ben?’

  ‘Dana, where are you?’

  ‘I’m at the station.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To my parents’.’

  ‘Waikanae? At this hour? You’re being stupid.’

  ‘Stupid?’ I shout over the howling storm. ‘This is the smartest thing I’ve done in three years.’

  He sighs. ‘Look, it’s pissing down. Please, let me come get you and we can talk about it. If you still feel the same tomorrow, you can go stay with your folks then … when it’s safer.’

  I clench the phone so hard, it shakes in my hand. ‘Safer? I’m twenty-eight. I can look after myself.’

  ‘You’re upset. You know what happens when you’re worked up.’

  So goddamned condescending.

  ‘You have no idea…’ My lip trembles and tears brim in my eyes. I wipe them away and breathe deep, holding the phone aside so he can’t hear me losing it.

  ‘Dana, please come home. I love you. I don’t want anything to happen—’

  ‘You should have thought about that before you did what you did.’ I hang up before my voice cracks completely, and shove the phone away. I hug my arms around myself.

  Slapping my forehead with the heel of my hand, I rock back and forward in my boots. Sniff back tears.

  Stupid, Stupid.

  Fingers stiff, I grab my pill container from my purse and wrestle out a little white beacon of light. Provigil. Pro-Vigilance – pharmaceutical companies couldn’t be any less subtle.

  I’ve already taken today’s quota, but I don’t care. I swallow the pill with the last sip in my water bottle and grimace. I hadn’t noticed how thirsty I was. Too late to go find more. The train’s yellow eyes pierce the gloom as it slithers to the platform.

  Stumbling aboard, I nestle into a corner seat. Straight away, my eyes start to droop, so I get my book out. I can get away with sleeping just about anywhere if people think I’m reading. A lame trick, but it seems to work.

  A woman sits in the seat across the aisle from me. Plush yellow handbag and a veil of neat auburn hair – harmless. The three teens are down the other end, making enough noise to wake the…

  *

  My head nods – bounces back. Fog settles behind the eyes.

  Just let go. No one can stop us from sleeping.

  I smile bitterly. Waikanae is the end of the line, so I won’t miss my stop.

  *

  ‘Excuse me. Miss? Excuse me…’

  I snap awake. The auburn-haired woman is reaching across the aisle with my phone. ‘You dropped this. It’s been ringing.’

  ‘Oh. Yeah. Thanks.’ I take the phone and scroll through the missed calls from Mum. A text: No worries sweetheart. I’ll pick U up from station. Dad made spag-bol 4 dinner. Be safe.

  The train rattles along, and I sway. Nausea wallows heavy in my stomach. Massaging my temples, I sigh. The Provigil hasn’t kicked in. My scarf’s strangling me again. I pull it loose.

  ‘Are you okay?’ the woman asks.

  I cough and rub my eyes, picturing how they look – puffy, red – windows to the soul of a zombie. ‘Ah, yeah. Just killer-tired.’

  ‘You want me to keep a look out for your stop?’ she asks.

  ‘No need. End of the line,’ I say.

  Picking my book up from the floor, I turn the pages thoughtfully. As if I care where I was at. Out the window, a scrub of black rushes by. My reflection’s blurry, streaked in lines of water, charging down the glass. Ragged hair, doing its best to impersonate a bird’s nest.

  Look at yourself, you’re a wreck.

  ‘Where are we?’ I ask the woman.

  ‘We’re nearly at Porirua.’

  ‘Sweet, thanks.’

  *

  The train lurches to a stop. My eyes blink open.

  ‘Porirua station, next stop Paremata,’ the voice-over announces.

  Asleep again? Pathetic. Why did you bother with the pill?

  The woman’s gone. She must’ve gotten out. The teenagers, too. I’m alone.

  Heavy footsteps enter at the far end. A hooded figure wearing a khaki jacket steps into the aisle. By the build, I guess it’s a man, but he doesn’t remove his hood. He sits in the far corner seat, his face shadowed.

  A chill runs across my skin.

  He settles himself, gets out an apple, and starts working the skin with a pocket-knife. Creepy as fuck.

  No way I’m falling asleep again with this dude watching me. I have to change carriages, but if I go now, he’ll know I’m scared.

  The train clunks into motion again. Slow pulses of its mechanical heart shake through me.

  Biting my fingernails, I hide behind my book. Secretly, I watch the man’s reflection in the window. He keeps working the apple. Its peel snakes down in front of him.

  My head jerks back.

  Fool. You’re dropping off again. Go now.

  Calm as I can manage, I head to the doors. The train slows, groaning.

  Tucking my hair over my ear, I sneak a peek at the hooded man. Still peeling, still staring. How long does it take to peel an apple?

  Is there a security camera? Surely someone’s going to see this guy’s got a knife. Not cool.

  Lamp-posts flash by, flickering in the rain like they’re spitting fire. Dizzy, I grip the yellow support rail, trying to steady myself. The train stops. Doors open and I stagger out into the downpour. Racing to the next carriage, I step back on board, hoping the man fell for my ruse. Part of me feels like a total jerk, assuming the worst of strangers, but I’m not taking any chances now.

  Sinking into another seat, I re-shape the woollen python around my neck and sigh.

  *

  ‘There you are, Sleeping Beauty, you dropped this.’

  Batting eyelids, I take a moment to focus. It’s the woman again, holding out my book.

  ‘Thanks,’ I croak. ‘I thought you got off at Porirua?’

  She sits opposite me and pulls a newspaper from her yellow-leather handbag. ‘I just went looking for a magazine, but this was all I found.’

  I nod and slip my book into my bag. No use keeping up the reading charade now. We’re the only two passengers in the carriage.

  ‘Is it that bad?’

  ‘Pardon?’ I say.

  ‘Your book? It seems to be putting you to sleep.’

  ‘I’ve got a condition.’ I give a polite smile, trying feebly to make up for my snappy tone.

  ‘Let me guess: narcolepsy?’

  I raise a brow. ‘Yeah. Most people don’t know what it is.’

  ‘I’m a counsellor. I’ve worked a bunch of cases with sleeping disorders, they’re more common than people think. Do you have cataplexy and hypnogogia, too?’

  ‘Only when I get … stressed.’

  ‘Do you have a support group?’

  ‘Used to.’

  ‘It’s important. You should keep it up.’

  I sigh. ‘I was stable for a while. I guess I got lazy and stopped going. Haven’t been this bad in years.’

 
‘Something set you off?’

  Cursing the tears that are edging from the corners of my eyes, I nod. ‘My boyfriend and I…’

  She twists the newspaper rolled in her hand. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ I shake my head and pull out a tissue. ‘He was sleeping with someone else. Probably because I was too busy sleeping. Ironic, huh?’

  ‘I know it’s none of my business, but you can’t use your condition as an excuse when things go wrong.’

  I blow my nose. ‘I know, but it’s been a crap day. I found out this morning. It’s not every day you discover the man you love is actually a cheating piece of shit.’ I swallow back the salty lump in my throat.

  The woman knits her fingers together over crossed knees. ‘You need to take control of your life. Stop escaping your problems by going to sleep.’

  I narrow my eyes. ‘Excuse me? You don’t even know me.’

  ‘Are you ever truly awake?’ The woman smiles with her mouth, but not her eyes. Smug. I’ve had therapists give me the ‘wake up’ speech before, but lecturing a stranger on a train? Is she for real?

  ‘Thanks for the advice.’ I stand and grab my bag.

  ‘Do you think Ben cheated on you because you’re always sleeping? Or because when you’re awake, you’re always complaining?’

  Slowly, I turn back. ‘I didn’t say his name was Ben.’

  She lifts her hands and starts clapping slowly.

  Clap. Clap…

  *

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  The train jolts and I wake, heart racing. The hooded man sits at the far end of the carriage, flicking his pocket-knife open and closed.

  I never changed cars. It was a dream.

  Shit.

  I shake my head to clear the drowsiness. It clouds me like fumes of liquor, tickling the thirst of a drunk. Not now.

  With shaking fingers, I pinch the back of my hand – yes, I’m awake. The Provigil will take effect soon.

  Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that.

  Where are we?

  A sweeping roar envelops the train – the muffling growl of rock. The tunnels. Paekakariki station must be next. I stare out the window. I barely recognise the bedraggled reflection, superimposed on a wash of black motion.

  Should I try switching carriages again?

  Go, or stay … you’ll fall asleep either way.

  The train brakes begin their screeching wail. Picking up my bag, I stand and move to the door. I wrap my arm around the support rail and waver with the rhythm of the clattering train. A shuffling sound startles me. I flick my head around and gasp. The hooded man moves through the carriage towards me, his face visible now. Sharp blue eyes rake down me, catching on my chest.

  He might be innocent. This might simply be his stop.

  It doesn’t matter. Icy terror cracks through my chest and every muscle in my body commits mutiny. Cataplexy.

  My knees give like someone’s hit them with a hammer. My eyes roll back. I don’t even feel the floor when it swoops up to clout me.

  *

  ‘Would you look at yourself? Honestly, you’re pitiful.’

  I’m sprawled on the train floor. Paralysed. Too weak to stand up.

  Clack, clack, clack.

  Dark green heels circle to stand before me. The counsellor-woman. Am I dreaming again? Seriously? Wake up!

  ‘Oh no, you’re not going to wake up.’ Green heels pivot. She taps her toe like a teacher who’s caught a student passing notes in class. ‘You know why?’

  Her yellow bag drops to the floor and she crouches. She cocks her head, bringing her face in line with mine. Auburn hair sways in time with the jolting train.

  ‘Because you’re a coward. I wish you could see what you look like right now. Slumped like a sack of recycled rags.’ She feels the material of my coat and frowns. ‘Is this polyester? At least no one’s going to mug you for your clothes.’ The woman lifts my arm, drops it to the ground. ‘Always an excuse for something. I can’t drive a car, I can’t go swimming, I can’t ride a bike, I can’t, I can’t, me, me, me!’ She pouts. ‘You know what? It’s not the narcolepsy, or the cataplexy, it’s you. You’re bleeding useless. Lazy, selfish, and now you’re delusional too. Crazy bitch. No wonder he left you.’ Her eyes lather me in distaste. ‘But don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.’

  She grabs my wrist, clutches my forefinger and looks me in the eye. ‘You’re mine now.’

  She snaps my finger backwards. Bones crack and I cry out.

  *

  Gasping, I wake up on the carriage floor. Pain shoots through my arm. Sprained wrist, broken finger, I must have fallen on my arm. I roll over, cradling my injury. My breath quickens and I slide myself into the corner. Nightmare counsellor-woman’s gone.

  Breath heaving, I pull my scarf free and stuff it into my bag.

  Scanning the rows, I can’t see the hooded man, but he could be hiding.

  Don’t be stupid. He must’ve gotten off. Probably stepped right over you while you were unconscious.

  The train clatters onward. We must be getting close to Waikanae. If I can just stay awake…

  A vibration purrs against my leg. I fumble for my phone, swiping the lock open.

  My throat is so scratchy, all I can do at first is cough. ‘Mum!’

  The line crackles. Mum’s voice distorts. ‘Dana … are … you…?’

  ‘Mum, can you hear me? Mum?’ I hug my knees. ‘Mum, I’m freaking out.’

  Her voice is scattered. Her tone nervous. ‘Your father’s … rain…’

  ‘Mum, I can’t hear you.’

  ‘… on his … meet you … but … down…’

  The train slows and shudders to a stop and I pitch forward, dropping my phone. I scramble to pick it up. Lights blink on and off in the carriage.

  ‘Mum?’ The connection’s gone.

  We’re not at a station, did the train break down? Is something wrong with the tracks? Is that what Mum was trying to tell me?

  Out the window, a river runs below. White noise dashing over black rocks. It’s the Waikanae River Bridge. We’re just a minute out from the platform.

  I push my finger to the emergency buzzer. It crackles static.

  A hand grabs the back of my neck and slams my face into the wall. The smell of iron burns in my nose.

  The man spins me. Hood pushed back, his shaven head comes in close. He crushes a palm against my mouth, silencing my cries. He pins me to the wall.

  I kick at his shins and he rams his knee into my thigh. Pain blooms. He flicks out the pocket-knife. Steel bites against my neck and I shiver in his grip.

  He drives his fist into my gut. I buckle. Everything spins in the flickering light.

  Giving up, just like that? Useless. Why not take a nap and wait for it to all be over?

  Breath acidic on my face, he whispers in my ear. ‘Shush, sweetheart. This’ll be easier if you don’t fight.’ He licks my cheek and I go rigid.

  That’s it. Just close your eyes.

  My hand slips into my pocket. I seize my phone and slam it into his head again and again. He staggers back. With a scream, I send my boot into his balls and shove him away.

  Turning to the exit, I yank the emergency lever. It’s stuck. The doors won’t budge.

  I snatch my bag and stumble through the carriage.

  The man strides down the aisle after me. Jittering fluoro lights cast his shape in stop-motion.

  Is there a security camera? Is anyone seeing this?

  No. You’re on your own.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ I shout.

  I dig through my bag. My finger finds the keyring and I grip the jagged cluster. He lunges for me and I strike. Metal teeth scrape his face, snagging flesh.

  He snarls, blocking my second blow. He grabs my throat, cr
ushing my airway.

  I gag, dropping the keys.

  Look what you’ve done. You could have just let him have his way, but now he’s going to kill you.

  Clutching at his outstretched arm, I tear a patch off his olive jacket. Boots skid on the ground. I lose my balance. Eyelids flutter.

  Pass out now and maybe you’ll still have a chance. Everything will be all right. Just go to sleep.

  ‘No!’ I say, more of a cough than a word.

  The man smiles, as if curious. His pale eyes glow in the strobing light.

  ‘Excuse me?’ he says. His voice is light, almost polite.

  ‘No!’ I growl, fighting to get the word out. Something inside snaps. My hands dive out. I scratch at his face. He recoils. My thumbs find his eye sockets and I dig.

  Screaming, he falls back. Red lines slither down his cheeks. He stumbles backward onto the row of seats flanking the carriage.

  At my feet, the tip of my scarf hangs out of the bag. I drag it out and coil it around the man’s neck, pulling it tight. He thrashes. I shift behind him to avoid his swinging arms.

  ‘What’re you doing?’ he gurgles.

  ‘Surviving,’ I say through clenched teeth.

  Who’s crazy now?

  ‘Please—’ he squeaks.

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘No…’

  We crash to the ground, but my lock on him is firm. I twist the cloth in my fists – constricting. We worm across the carriage floor. His arms flail. Fingers claw at the scarf. He grows weak. I keep the pressure taut. Finally, he stops. One leg spasms for a while.

  Gulping air, tears stream down my face. I blink them away.

  *

  Hydraulics sizzle and the doors open. Lights flicker back on. My eyes fix on his outstretched foot – the velvet-green heel, skewed to one side. A puddle of auburn hair spreads across my chest. I push the body away and scramble back.

  Long green jacket. My tightly-wound scarf. Pale blue eyes gaze up at me, vacant. Yellow handbag at her side, contents spewed across the floor.

  Throat burning, I retch.

  What’ve I done?

  My book lies open at my feet. Pages all crumpled.

  A voice-over announces, ‘Waikanae Station, end of the line.’

  I fly from the train, racing into the dark embrace of night. My eyes no longer fight to stay open.