by Amy Cross
“Hey!” she said, hurrying over to him. “Fancy seeing you here, honeybunch!”
Thin and well-built, barely in his early thirties and with rugged good looks, Thomas Clay Lacy was still wearing his work uniform as he turned and smiled. He held his hands out and hugged her, while planting a kiss on her lips.
“Stubble,” she said after a moment, pulling back. “Couldn't you shave when you come to see me?”
“I didn't have time,” he replied, taking her hand in his and leading her away from the yard, across the dark garden. “I suppose I could have gone home and got myself all done up fancy, but I'd rather spend more time with you.”
“I don't have long,” she told him. “Maybe ten minutes or so. Everything's so hectic on the ward tonight.”
“After I came all this way?”
“Now don't be sour,” she said with a smile. “You know how it is. Besides, if you'd actually made an honest woman out of me, you wouldn't have to come and visit me like this. I'd be at home, waiting for you every night. At our home.”
“You know how it is.”
“I do, but...”
They stopped, and she reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Darling, don't you think that one day we might... Well, you know, we might be like a normal couple. I do so hate having to snatch a minute here and a minute there.”
“My job takes me away a lot.”
“We could still...” She paused. “Well, it's not my place to be so forward, is it? I'm sure that you'd... I mean, if you wanted to ask me something, I'm sure you would. Maybe you just see me as something else, as someone to have a bit of fun with. Not the marrying kind.”
“Don't get like that,” he replied with a sigh. “You know how I feel about you, Priscilla. I love you, it's just that I want everything to be perfect, and for that to happen I need to keep working and saving.” He paused. “We'll get that house one day, you know. There'll be a garden and a fence, and then we can start thinking about...” Sighing, he kissed her gently on the forehead. “I know the world's full of guys making promises to girls, and I know you might not believe me, but I swear I'm going to make this work. I just need another six months or so to really get the money together. There's a new route opening up to the south and I'm gonna take some extra trips, so I might be away more than usual but...”
His voice trailed off for a moment, and finally he took a step back.
“Damn it,” he muttered, “I sound like such a liar. Baby, you just have to believe me.”
“I do,” she replied, stepping closer and putting her arms around him. “I swear I do, it's just hard having to wait.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a photo she'd had taken of herself, and she pressed it into his hands. “This is for you. Something to remember me by whenever you're away on the road.”
“Just six more months,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I can feel it, baby. We're gonna be just fine.”
***
Two weeks later, hundreds of miles away from Middleford Cross and Nurse Priscilla Parsons, Thomas Clay Lacy sat on the engine's steps as it rumbled along a desolate set of tracks that ran through the dark forest. He and a co-worker were the only crew-members on the train as it made its way steadily through the night, carrying coal to the Sobolton processing plant, and for the most part their job consisted of taking it in turns to man the cabin.
There was plenty of time to sit and watch as the world passed by, and to contemplate the darkness in the depths of the forest, and to look up at the vast array of stars in the night sky. On the wall just outside the engine, Lacy had pinned the photo of Nurse Parsons, and he couldn't help but smile every time he looked over at her.
Suddenly the train began to slow.
“What's up?” he called out, turning toward the cabin.
At first there was no answer, but a moment later his co-worker Henry, an older man, leaned out through one of the side windows.
“You didn't see him?” he shouted.
Lacy got to his feet and immediately jumped down onto the gravel that lined the edge of the railroad.
“See who?”
“There was a guy on the track,” Henry explained. “I just caught a glimpse of him before he hurried out of the way. Still, we should make sure he's properly scared off. The last thing we need is to hit someone.”
“Hang on,” Lacy muttered, making his way along the side of the train before reaching up and taking the rifle that Henry was holding out for him. “Probably just some drunk kid, you know what they're like in this part of the world.”
He checked the rifle as he walked past the front of the engine, and then he stopped to look at the track ahead. The train's lights burned through the darkness, and it was clear that the tracks were empty now. Still, he trusted Henry and he knew that if the old man said he'd seen someone, then there couldn't be any doubt. Holding the rifle up, Lacy looked around at the dark forest that lined either side of the track, and after a moment he realized that he sure felt like someone was out there, watching him.
“Hello?” he called out, his voice echoing slightly. “Anyone dumb enough to be running around out here at this time of night?”
He waited, but there was no reply.
“I sure as hell hope not,” he continued, taking a couple of steps along the track. “This is railroad property and we're authorized to use force if we come across any trespassers. Out here, all alone in the dark, I'm not in the mood to take any prisoners, so I'll shoot if I see the whites of your eyes.”
He waited again.
Silence.
“So your best bet,” he added finally, “would be to stay the hell away. Got that?”
He paused, before turning and making his way back toward the engine, where Henry was still leaning out the window.
“I'm pretty sure I scared him away,” Lacy muttered, holding the rifle up for him to take back. “Like I said, it was most likely just some kid. He's probably peeing his pants with fear right now.”
“What are you talking about?” Henry replied, pointedly not taking the rifle. “He was right in front of you.”
“Who was?”
“The guy! When you were shouting all that stuff out, he wasn't more than five feet from you.”
“Huh?” Lacy turned and looked along the track, but he still couldn't see anyone. More fog was moving in, though, making the air cold and a little damp. “There was no-one there,” he said after a moment. “You sure you don't need glasses, old man?”
“I'm telling you,” Henry continued, sounding a little agitated, “the goddamn man was standing right next to you. There's no way you could've missed him!”
“Well... Why don't we just get going?”
“What if he's jumped onboard?”
Lacy looked back alone the train, seeing the scores of coal wagons they were hauling.
“You know what they said at the depot,” Henry continued. “If they find someone riding along, they'll fine us. I don't know about you, but I can't afford to pay no fines. If someone's messing with us, we need him gone.”
Sighing, Lacy carried the rifle back to the front of the engine and looked along the side of the train again. There were twenty wagons hitched in a row, going so far back that they disappeared into the darkness. Fog, which had been building for the past few minutes, now seemed to be getting thicker.
“Do you see him now?” he called back to Henry.
“No, but I reckon he's close. I don't like the feel of this. Maybe we should just get going.”
“Might be a jumper,” Lacy muttered, taking a few more steps along the side of the track, looking up at the side of the first wagon. “I had one of those once in Mississippi. Some damn suicidal idiot was always daring himself to jump in front of the train, like he could never make his mind up. We went along the same stretch of track night after night, and every time I saw that guy loitering next to the same crossing, trying to build up the courage to end it all. Of course, night after night he chickened out, and I k
inda got used to him.” He paused for a moment. “And then I swear this had happened close to a hundred times, until one night he just did it. I don't know what had changed, but he took that extra step he'd never taken before, and he went right under the wheels.” Another pause. “You'd think a train's so big and heavy, you wouldn't feel when it goes over human bones, but you do. You feel that crunch.”
He stepped forward a few more paces, before looking back and seeing Henry's silhouette still leaning out of the engine.
“I had to clean the bits out myself,” Lacy continued, his voice sounding crisp and cold in the night air. He began to walk to the next wagon. “There was no point reporting it, we'd only have ended up with a load of hassle, so we tossed the bits away and let the wild animals have him. Best part was, he had a little crucifix around his neck. The guy was religious and he ended up dumped in the forest. How's that for a little poetry, huh? I was just a kid at the time, eighteen years old, and there I was, pulling arms and legs out from under an engine just like this one.” He ducked down to check under the wheels, but there was nothing. “Hell of a time.”
Making his way to the next wagon, he realized that there was no way he could be sure there was no-one hiding away. It'd take an hour at least to search every possible spot, and even then a determined stowaway could just double around.
He turned to look back at Henry. “I've gotta admit, I was wondering -”
Suddenly he stopped as he realized that although he could see Henry's silhouette still leaning out of the cabin, something seemed different. After a moment, he saw that a kind of liquid was dripping from the side of the old man's head, and slowly that drip turned into a steady dribble, getting faster and splattering down against the gravel below.
“Henry?” he asked, hurrying over. “You okay up there?”
He had to get all the way over to the side of the cabin before he could see the truth. Henry's head was tilted forward, and a thick knife wound was glistening on the side of his neck. For a moment, all Lacy could do was stare in horror, before finally he turned and looked around, aiming the rifle at the trees.
“Who's there?” he shouted, trying not to panic.
He turned back to look toward Henry, just in time to see the old man being pulled back into the cabin, disappearing from view.
Taking a step away from the train, Lacy stared in wide-eyed shock at the cabin. After a moment, he realized he could hear a faint bumping sound inside.
“Damn you,” he whispered, feeling his anger starting to grow. “God damn you to hell!”
Climbing up the steps, he hurried into the cabin with the rifle raised, ready to shoot. The interior of the cabin was small, small enough for him to instantly see that there was no-one in there apart from the body slumped on the floor. After checking to make sure he wasn't about to be surprised from behind, Lacy hurried over and crouched down to check the old man's pulse, although he immediately realized that he was too late. There was only the one knife wound, but it was thick and deep, and all Lacy could do was gently close his friend's dead eyes. Getting to his feet, he paused for a moment, but all he could hear was silence. He made his way to the door and, keeping the rifle pointing straight ahead, he peered out.
He waited.
There were no sounds at all.
And then, suddenly, he heard a couple of footsteps crunching across gravel nearby.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered, feeling a sense of cold, hard anger building in his gut, turning his panic into rage.
Stepping out from the cabin, he jumped down to the side of the track and looked around, but there was no sign of anyone in the darkness.
“You've made a big mistake!” he called out. “You killed a friend of mine, he had a wife and children back home. If you think I'm gonna hide, you've got another thing coming. I'm gonna blow your goddamn head apart!”
Hurrying across the gravel, he made his way around to the other side of the train. Still seeing no-one, he glanced over his shoulder before ducking down and looking under the wheels. He expected to see legs somewhere, perhaps on the other side of one of the carriages, but there was still nothing. Getting to his feet again, he hurried across the gravel with the rifle still pointed forward, still ready to shoot.
“Come on!” he shouted. “You goddamn coward, what are you waiting for?”
Silence.
Taking a deep breath, he was about to call out again when he realized he could hear a faint crunching sound coming from somewhere near the front of the train. Hurrying back, he looked up at the side of the cabin and listened for a moment to what sounded like someone scrabbling about in there. He was certain Henry had been dead a couple of minutes ago, so he figured the killer must be a thief who'd gone in to take valuables. There were plenty of people like that around, and some of them were devious enough to slip around almost unnoticed. With the rifle pointed forward, Lacy climbed up and then stepped into the doorway, ready to fire.
“Okay, you've -”
Stopping suddenly, he stared in horror at the scene in front of him. Henry's body was still on the floor, but another figure was hunched over one end, furiously tugging at part of the corpse's head. For a moment, all Lacy could do was watch as the dark figure used bare, trembling hands to tear chunks of flesh off the body, dropping the bloodied pieces into a cloth bag as if he was trying to gather as much meat as possible. A fraction of a second later, however, the figure stopped and froze, as if it was aware it had been spotted, and finally it turned slowly and stared at Lacy with wide, wild eyes.
“What the hell...” Lacy whispered, aiming the rifle while taking a step back.
“Can't you hear it?” the figure asked with a thick, almost impenetrable accent. “Can't you hear it all around? It's making me do this!”
Lacy closed one eye, to make sure his aim was true.
“It won't stop!” the man shouted, getting to his feet and stumbling forward. “It's that voice! It keeps telling me to -”
Lacy pulled the trigger, blasting the man's head clean off his shoulders. Blood and bone were sprayed across the dark cabin as the man staggered back, and for a fraction of a second he seemed to start reaching up with his hands, as if to check what had happened, before finally he slumped down and landed next to Henry's body.
With the rifle still in his hands, all Lacy could do was stare at the horrific scene in front of him. The thick night fog, which had been getting stronger all the time, had now begun to enter the cabin.
***
“We must take care to watch them most carefully,” Sister Helga remarked as she and Sister Theodora made their way across the bright, sunny lawn. “Everyone who comes to Lakehurst must be -”
“Sister!” Theodora said suddenly, pointing toward the trees. “Over there!”
Turning, Sister Helga saw that a man was staggering toward them, having emerged onto the lawn from the forest. Wearing some form of dark blue uniform, and with blood all over his face and chest, he was holding a rifle in one hand and a cloth bag in the other, and he seemed to be walking with the stiff, awkward gait of a man who could barely muster the strength to take another step. Finally, as the two nuns ran toward him, the man dropped to his knees and tears flowed down his face.
“My dear man,” Theodora said, stepping toward him, “whatever -”
She gasped and stopped as the man tossed a bloodied cloth bag at her feet. From the open end, several chunks of torn flesh fell out. One of the chunks still had part of an eye attached.
***
“We found the train,” Inspector Wright explained as he stood with Sister Helga a few hours later, in the latter's office inside the main building. “It was on the line about thirty miles from here. Poor Mr. Lacy must have wandered all the way here.”
“And was it as he described?” Sister Helga asked. “He was ranting and raving so much, it was difficult to be sure of what he was saying.”
“Two bodies,” Wright replied, nodding sadly. “Another railroad worker, Henry Thorpe, was one of th
em. Looks like he was stabbed in the neck.”
“And the other?”
“I doubt we'll ever know. He was wearing rags and he was deathly thin, so I imagine he was one of the vagrants we get passing through the area.”
“May the Lord take pity on them both,” Sister Helga replied, clearly shaken by the news.
“It'd help,” Wright continued, “if you and the other nuns here at Lakehurst didn't take pity on them. I've warned you before about the way you insist on going out into the forest and feeding those vagrants. It only encourages them, and then they get desperate. The guy most likely thought he could rob the train. There's been a lot of violence in these parts lately. The sickest part is, he looks to have gone for...” Pausing, he cleared his throat. “Well, there's no need to go into the details.”
“I saw what was in the bag that Mr. Lacy brought here,” Sister Helga replied. “There were parts of a human body. Some of the vagrants... When a man is hungry enough, he sometimes resorts to eating whatever he can find. Even the flesh of his fellow man.”
“If it was up to me,” Wright muttered, “I'd take a shotgun and clear those camps. No-one wants a bunch of homeless dirt-bags in the area.”
“I won't stop helping those who are sick and unfortunate,” Sister Helga told him. “Here at Lakehurst, we have a duty to -”
“I know,” he replied, slipping his notebook into his pocket, “you have a duty to help every violent criminal who takes root in those forests. In case you haven't noticed, you're exacerbating the problem, and now an innocent man has paid with his life. Not to mention Mr. Lacy, who seems to have suffered a complete breakdown after everything he witnessed.” He turned and headed toward the door, before glancing back at her. “But at least you get to tell yourself you're a charitable woman,” he added bitterly, “so long as you don't think about the consequences too hard. Don't worry, I'll see myself out.”