Westchester Station - the assault

by The Assault--Free(Lit

  ***

  "You’re probably wondering why I called this meeting," Winstead said and offered a weak grin to the people waiting in his office.

  "I want to know what the hell is going on," Gannon said with a stomp of her foot. "I’m kidnapped. She’s kidnapped. I don’t know, I suppose you were kidnapped, too," she finished, looking at Green.

  "I can see why you would say that. I felt the same way the first time I was brought toWestchester," said the station master.

  "In that case, let us go," said Magdya. "Put us on the next train and get us the hell out of here."

  "I wish I could. But that is not how things work inWestchester."

  "Really?" Gannon smirked. "Then pray do tell how things work. And we better like the answer."

  Winstead ran his fingers through his hair before responding. "I’m afraid that won’t be the case for now. You were brought here for a reason. All of you. Usually it is up to the individual to discover what that reason is. Just as I did nearly ten years ago. This time I suspect what that reason is."

  As far as Gannon was concerned, he was talking in circles and she wore her distrust on her face. "Enlighten us further."

  "You’re here, all of you, to save Westchester Station."

  The long silence was broken by a chortle from Gannon. "And why the hell would I want to do that?"

  "Because if you don’t, you’ll never leave."

  "Right." Gannon jumped to her feet. "You and what army are going to stop us? Those freaky ‘guards’ you have all over the place?"

  Winstead smiled tiredly. "I’m afraid they’ve left. Along with nearly all the denizens ofWestchester."

  "So all your friends ran out on you. Good for them," Gannon said, then nodded smugly.

  Winstead ignored her sarcasm. Instead he turned his attention to Magdya. "You sensed them, didn’t you? Out on the platform?"

  "Evil," she said, her voice trembling at the memory. "They were talking to me, laughing at me. Trying to burrow into my mind! I have to get out of here," she finished with a whisper.

  "You aren’t even on my manifest," Winstead told her. "How did you get here?"

  It took Magdya a minute to answer his question, to stop focusing on whatever lurked outsideWestchester. "By cab. A cab brought me here."

  He nodded. "Much like I was first brought here."

  "You still haven’t answered my question," Gannon broke in. "Where is ‘here’?"

  Winstead pointed at the skylights above. "How many moons do you see?"

  "One, of course. There’s a full moon right above me. Another full moon. Wait, why is that one only a crescent?" Then she glared at Winstead. "Lights. A trick of refraction."

  "No. As I told you when we first talked,Westchester is an intertimesionaltrain station. It’s a meeting place, a nexus if you will, of various time lines and realities." He forced a smile. "Quite a few interesting people, human and otherwise, have passed through here."

  Magdya stared at him with dawning comprehension. "The barriers are breaking down. That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it?"

  "I’m afraid so. I don’t know how or why, but there is no other explanation. Mr. Green’s presence is proof of that."

  Green blushed at the unwanted attention. He didn’t understand most of what the man was saying, but enough to know that if Winstead was telling the truth, he hadn’t escaped. He was now no more a free man than he was before. But this time he had no idea who his captors were. Or if his final freedom was even possible.

  When Green remained silent, Winstead turned his attention to the women. "I’m going to have to discover what we’re dealing with and stop it. I could use your help."

  "You kidnap me and then expect me tohelp you?" Gannon pointed at herself. "My momma didn’t raise no fool."

  "I didn’t bring you here."

  Gannon leaned forward in her chair. "Then who did?"

  He wiped his brow. "I’m not sure. I am merely the caretaker of the station. I don’t make the final decisions."

  Gannon was not appeased. "You’re just passing the buck, asshole. Always blaming these unseen superiors of yours. Some caretaker you are! You let that—woman—run that coffee shop."

  "She was here when I first arrived. At least one of her customers is a violent murderer. Unfortunately, it’s best for everyone that she stays where she’s at."

  "And you can’t do anything about it. And you don’t have the balls to go to your ‘superiors’ and tell them to let us go. I don’t believe a word of your bullshit." Gannon finished with a snort of disgust.

  Winstead winced because in one sense she was right. He had always followed orders without question, no matter how cryptic those orders were. He wasn’t even clear onhow he received his orders, just that he always knew what he had to do. That, he realized now, was merely one mistake he had made. But that I’ll have to deal with later. "I could use your help, but I won’t force you. Magdya?"

  She paled. "I can’t deal with those...voices."

  "I suspect you may be the only one among us who can. Hopefully it won’t be necessary."

  "But you don’t know."

  "No," he said and sighed. "I don’t. I have no idea what to expect. But I do have to find out."

  Magdya crossed and uncrossed her legs nervously. "But if we stay here and wait for you..."

  "I may not be back," he finished for her. "And in all likelihood you shall never leave." Then he stood. "Mr. Green, since you are my valet, I will expect you to accompany me. Ladies," and he gave each a bow.

  Gannon glanced from one to the other. The short woman; Gannon was sure she would be of no help at all, not after her performance on the platform. She didn’t know what to think of Green; he looked lost and totally confused. Andshe certainly didn’t owe this man anything. But what she had just seen on the station platform overwhelmed any counter argument. "All right," and she jumped to her feet. "I’m not going to sit here like some wallflower at the prom praying to be asked to dance. You’ve got no television, no radio, no decent books or magazines to read. I’d be bored to death just waiting. I’m done playing that game."

  Winstead managed a small smile. "Westchester is anything but boring. Thank you."

  Gannon pulled on her leather vest. "What now, bwana?"

  He shrugged. "I guess we better stock our safari. Where is that store you told me about?"

  "I don’t know if he’ll be open," Gannon said as she led Winstead to Oscar’s Oddities. She pointed at her watch. "It’s very late."

  They had left Green and Magdya to fend for themselves in Winstead’s office. Winstead could only hope they would still be there when they returned. "Time is not an absolute here inWestchester."

  After a few minutes they arrived at the wooden door. "Here we are." She looked at Winstead questioningly. "You’ve never been in here?"

  "My duties pretty much keep me tied down to my office." Which, he now realized, was another serious mistake. "There’s no sign he’s closed. Try it."

  She turned the handle and the door opened willingly. "I think he is closed," she said when they entered. "The lights are off."

  He pointed to the back, where a single light beckoned. "If he’s here, that’s where he’ll be." They squeezed down the narrow aisle, more than once nearly knocking merchandise over. When they got close, they could see a man seated at a desk huddled over something.

  "It’s him," Gannon said. "Oscar," she called out.

  The man turned, then flipped his glasses down from his forehead. "Ah, it’s you, Mrs. Gannon. I am sorry, but we are closed for the day."

  "I need your help. He needs your help." She pointed at Winstead. "He’s the station master here atWestchester."

  "The station master! Yes, Mr. Winstead, I believe." He rose and approached them with an outstretched hand. "I had so hoped to meet you before now."

  "I apologize, Oscar is it?" he said and shook the shop owner’s hand. "Work and all has kept me tied to my office."

  "Understandable. Yes, everyone c
alls me Oscar. So you need my aid. What may I do for you?"

  "We’re going to be inWestchester for several days. I thought it best to bring some things. Food. Several canteens for water. Sleeping bags and backpacks."

  He rubbed his chin. "Most of those items I don’t carry. This is ‘Oscar’s Oddities’ after all. The food I can help you with, though. This way." He led them swiftly down several aisles before stopping at a table bulging with fruits and vegetables, canned foods and condiments. "Some Spam?" he held up a can. "Original, from World War II as you can tell by the packaging."

  "I can feel my arteries hardening already," said Gannon with a grimace.

  "A bottle of Doakes and Haig Recipe Sweetener then? It goes with about anything."

  Winstead shook his head. "I doubt we’ll be cooking anything."

  "In that case I think these will suffice." Oscar pointed at his array of fruit. "Apples, mangoes, oranges, crubbins, strawberries..."

  "Did you say ‘crubbin’?" Winstead asked, interrupting.

  "Why, yes," and the merchant picked up a fruit Winstead had never seen before. "So you have heard of them! Most people have not. Very unusual and very rare. Some claim it was the crubbin, not the apple, that the serpent persuaded Eve to eat in the Garden of Eden." He handed it to Winstead.

  Winstead felt a chill as he held it in his hand. "When did you get these?"

  Oscar looked up at the ceiling, concentrating. "Last week, I believe. Don’t worry, they are quite fresh. Good for several weeks I assure you."

  "They’re supposed to be quite good," said Gannon. "A cross between a fig and a kumquat in taste, I think the article said."

  Winstead looked at her in surprise. "You’veheard of these?"

  She was taken aback by his response. And the ashen look on his face. "Why, yes. I think I read an article about them several weeks ago."

  "They’re rare, and a specialty item," Oscar added. "But then, all I carry are specialty items."

  "The Universal Dictionary," Winstead whispered.

  Oscar heard him. "Ah, a most unique document. I just happen to have the only extant copy. If you are interested."

  "Yes," Winstead said rapidly. "Very much so."

  "Then I shall show it to you. First, what provisions do you want for your little jaunt?"

  "Apples will do. The mangoes. No crubbins."

  Gannon made a moue. "Rather bland and unadventurous don’t you think? Try one. You might like it."

  "No." The others started at the strength of his denial. "Just what I told you. Two dozen of each. Then show me the dictionary."

  The merchant dutifully bagged the produce and handed them to Winstead. "This way," he said jauntily and led them deeper into his store. When they arrived at the books, he turned on a lamp so they could read the titles on the spines. "Universal Dictionary. Let’s see. I do try to keep these in alphabetical order. M, N, O," he intoned as he ran his fingertip across the volumes. "S, T, U. Aha, here we are!" He removed a leather-bound tome and handed it to Winstead. "The Universal Dictionary. As promised."

  When he had first come across it, it had been open so Winstead had never seen the outside before. But when he opened it, he recognized the handwriting. "How long have you had this? Who did you get it from?"

  Oscar smiled shyly. "HowI received it must remain my secret. I will say I’ve owned it for several months now."

  Winstead swallowed bile. "How much?"

  Oscar tilted his head in concentration. "A most rare and invaluable item you are holding, my dear sir. Obtaining it was extremely difficult and, some might say, fortuitous. I cannot part with it for less than $4,000. Since you know of the Universal Dictionary, you know that is a fair price indeed."

  Winstead sighed. "I don’t have that kind of money. I’m not sure that much money is in all ofWestchester."

  Gannon turned her attention from one man to the other. She had no idea what this book was, but Winstead’s concern was final proof of its importance. And she knew that the merchant was not open to bargaining. Reluctantly she opened her purse. "I have it." Barely . "You’re going to pay me back somehow," she told Winstead as she handed nearly half her remaining funds to the merchant.

  "A most wise purchase," Oscar said and smiled. "Now if there is nothing else, I must bid you good day. We are after regular business hours."

  "What about guns?" Gannon asked.

  "I have a few. The very pistol that killed Wild Bill Hickok for one. Also bows, bolas, slings, spears and sabers."

  Gannon frowned. "I don’t think I have the time to learn how to use a sword. But I wouldn’t mind a pistol."

  "Of course. Follow me and I’ll show you what we have. You can come back and retrieve your purchase after you have been cleared for a license."

  "We can’t wait that long," Winstead said immediately. "We’ll have to make do with what we have."

  Oscar nodded. "In that case let me show you to the door."

  Winstead clutched the book as they walked to the exit. To him, the dictionary was unwanted proof that whatever was happening had been going on for months. You haven’t been doing your job, he scolded himself. I only hope we can correct that.

  Once outside, Gannon loosed her anger. "Just what the hell is so important about that book? If I was brought here to be your bankroll, then you can let me leave now! I’m broke!"

  "This book lists everything that exists in our world."

  "Don’t most dictionaries?"

  "No. It’s much more complicated than that. If it’s not in this book, it doesn’t exist. Period. I met the lexicographer the first time I came toWestchester. At that time, the crubbin did not exist."

  Screwed again. "I paid $4,000 just for that? An incomplete dictionary?" She shook her head furiously. "Youare paying me back."

  "You’ve said you’ve heard of the crubbin. When?"

  "This is nuts. You are nuts. Like I told you, I read about it in an article several weeks ago."

  "Let me assure you that the crubbin didn’t exist when I came toWestchester." He opened the book and rapidly turned the pages. "Here," he said after a moment. He pointed out the word written in longhand on the lined stationery.

  "Yeah, so? Where’s the definition?"

  "You’re not listening," he said as he closed it. "If the crubbin is now back, then other things may be back as well. Things that are much more dangerous."

  "Like what?"

  "I don’t know. Without reading every word in here, Icouldn’t know. As I’ve tried to convince you and the others,Westchester exists both in our world and outside it. When you’re here, you become removed from your world. You’ve noticed how time works here, haven’t you?"

  She paused. "Well, I noticed the clocks are screwed up. Too many minutes."

  "That is only part of its other-dimensionality. Some of the people I met here on my first visit were," and he suppressed a shudder, "unusual."

  "Maybe we should wait until we can get those guns."

  "No. No time." He tried to force a smile. "I suspect that, except for us,Westchester is pretty much abandoned now."

  "Which is what it deserves, if you ask me."

  He pointed to the book. "You still don’t understand. Westchester acts not only as a gateway. I suspect it acts as a barrier as well. If all the various dimensions and realities were to merge into one." He stopped to let his words sink in. "Our world,all worlds, may be destroyed. Which is one of the reasons I had to have this dictionary."

  "So you’re telling me that whatever you write in that book suddenly pops up like a mushroom and whatever you erase disappears?" She gave him a withering glare. "You’re not planning on playing God with us are you?"

  "No," and he clutched the book tightly. "But I want to make sure no one else can, either. Except perhaps for the person who legitimately owns this book. Let’s get back to my office. We still have a lot of work to do."

  After Winstead and Gannon left, Magdya waited five minutes before talking to Green. "We’ve got to get out of here. Now."
/>
  Green frowned and shook his head. "The master said to wait."

  She stomped her foot. "He’s notmy master. And he’s not yours! You don’t have to obey him or anybody. He’s a lunatic, can’t you see that?"

  Green thought long before replying. He wasn’t surewhat the station master was. Or whathe was, for that matter. Not a slave; that had been made clear enough. But he still had no real idea where he was, let alone when. The machine called a telephone, the lights...nothing was familiar. And these white people, they acted so differently from what he was accustomed to. Especially the women. "I don’t know."

  "Hell with you then." She stood and started toward the door. "I’m getting the hell out of here. You want to stay here, go right ahead."

  Alone? What if something happened to the others? What if they didn’t come back? "No. I’ll come with you."

  "Then shake a leg before that asshole gets back."

  They found no guards or anyone outside the office. "This way," Magdya said, grabbing his hand. "I think." Their footsteps echoed in the nearly empty chamber, causing her to think someone was pursuing them. They passed by the ticket booth and she noticed the sign had been changed to "Closed." Could the station master actually be telling the truth? she wondered for the first time. After a long walk, they reached the stairs leading to the upper level. "I hope the guards aren’t outside," she told Green as they started climbing.

  But once they reached the top, she realized the guards weren’t necessary. There were no doors, just a solid wall. "But Iknow this is where I came in," she said and beat her fists against the wall.

  "Perhaps the platform," Green said, trying futilely to calm her. "We can follow the tracks."

  She turned to him with teary eyes. "No! They’ll be waiting for us. The voices..." Her voice faded. "How did you get here?" she asked, taking his hand and heading back down the stairs.

  He had difficulty keeping pace with her. "A tunnel."

  She was nearly running when they reached the bottom. "Where is it? Show me!"

  He stood at the bottom and looked around the room. There were small corridors branching everywhere. Which one was it? "It could be any of them," he said after a moment.