My little sweetheart.
He wished he could have been there for her more, but with his marriage to Molly growing more distant by the day, a void had been created. A gap that he could never bridge – especially after the day Molly vanished into thin air.
It had been a typical summer’s day. Zoe was out playing with her friends, doing things that ten-year-olds do during the holidays. Adrian sat in the garden, sunning his expanding belly, beer in hand. He could recall every word Molly had said that day – none of which was out of the ordinary, except for some strange ramblings about travelling across the stars; but considering she was a bit of an astrology buff, he’d figured she was just spouting some zodiac nonsense. Normally when he mocked such a thing, she’d get upset and sometimes fight with him, but not on that particular day. No, on the day she went missing, she just up and left the house. An act of randomness. A bolt out of the blue. No bags or anything that suggested she was leaving for a long time. And at the time, he’d figured she’d had enough of his bullshit, fallen into what seemed like a trance and left. If that was the case, she’d have been back in a few hours, ready to start the bickering all over again. But not that day. Molly vanished and left her family with a lot of unanswered questions.
Seven years gone. And today was the anniversary – which plagued Adrian. He could sense the weight of the date all week and drank to mask the grief, especially after the Ryan family solicitor called and reminded him that in Ireland, after seven years, a missing person is officially declared dead – which he was well aware of. A funeral had already been organised to help give Molly’s parents some closure.
A smell of diesel filled his nostrils while he stroked his long beard. Dark thoughts crossed his mind and he did not have a shred of guilt for drinking on the job. He didn’t care for the safety of his passengers or what his boss thought of him. In fact, accelerating the engine was one of the only aspects in his life where he still felt totally in control.
Adrian wished he was heading for destination unknown and not some commuter town on the outskirts of Dublin – which was now rapidly falling into a state of decay due to political upheaval. He figured it would not be long before it was in a complete state of dystopia, and its downfall over the last year or so had contributed significantly to his family’s financial issues.
What hope does my beautiful Zoe have in this world of ruthlessness? Fuckin’ elite classes hoarding money and wealth while the rest of us starve outside their gated communities.
He didn’t care as the alcohol slid effortlessly down his throat; the sensation of his first drink of the day was enough to help him black out the smell of his train. Diesel fumes, oil, machinery and old industry, his senses were assaulted by it all on a daily basis. Still though, he enjoyed his work. It gave him a chance to clear his head and the last journey of the night was his favourite. Just him and the dark tracks, in solitude.
Some of the stations were lit up well, but the further he got away from the city, the less the stops looked like actual train stations. More of a baron platform, with a single sign, the perfect spot for a potential victim of crime to find themselves.
After leaving his penultimate stop, he couldn’t help but notice that an unusual amount of people had gotten off for this time of night, leaving the carriages lifeless and hollow. With another chug from the beer bottle, he pushed hard on the accelerator. The engine roared into life and gathered speed quickly. Only ten minutes to go, may as well see what this baby can do. He turned the radio on, tuned to his favourite station and cranked the volume. The sound of Axl Rose screamed around the cabin.
As the train passed under a bridge, static cut into the tune, pulling him from his private party, and that’s when he realised that he was pretty drunk. He checked himself in the side mirror, his eyes red and tired. He didn’t feel as fatigued as he looked, so shrugged it off with a laugh and went back to tuning the radio. Within the static, he heard a woman’s voice saying his name. Then he heard it again, only this time more clearly, and even though he hadn’t heard her speak in seven years, he was sure it was Molly.
For fuck’s sake, Adrian, get yourself together, man!
He slapped himself, figuring it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Surely a declaration of death and her anniversary would do that to a tired old drunk?
Adrian could not see more than four or five feet ahead as the train swallowed the tracks. He laughed, thinking about how a fox or deer wouldn’t stand a chance if they got stuck in the headlights. And that was when it happened. It only took a second, but that second seemed to last forever… a woman was on the tracks, staring into the cabin, eyes locked to his. Her mouth was open, but whatever sound she made could not be heard over the static which now boomed from the speaker. And then there was nothing. Silence in the cabin.
At first, Adrian thought he was dreaming. He noticed his pale face in the side mirror and the hairs on his arms and neck stood on end, his skin prickled. Then reality hit him hard as the blood splattered across the window came into focus.
What the fuck?
Those three words repeating again and again in his mind, with the occasional outburst. “What the fuck!?” He could not think straight, panic set in, and although he wanted to stop the train, he couldn’t. Something within compelled him to keep going.
When the train came to a stop at the final station, he took a step back away from the controls and watched his hands as they relentlessly shook.
“What have I done? Why did I have to speed?”
He exited the cabin and walked round to the front of the train, expecting to see some poor soul mashed across it. He was relieved to find nothing more than a few streaks of blood. Was the train going so fast that the body liquidised, like a fly hitting a car windscreen when driving on the motorway during summer? Without thinking, his body started to move and before he knew what was happening he had gotten some old oily rags from a compartment in the cabin and begun cleaning the blood from the glass.
“Hey, pal. What’d you hit?” A familiar voice spoke from behind him, gravelly and old. He knew it belonged to James Mulligan – a security guard who worked the late shift at the station.
Adrian spun round and locked eyes with him. “Oh, hey Jim, err… nothing major. A deer, I think?”
“Ouch, damn thing must have taken the head off, eh?”
Adrian exhaled a nervous laugh. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Where did this happen?” Mulligan asked, seemingly intrigued by the situation.
“Ah, it happened about a half hour ago,” Adrian lied. “I was only about two or three stops outside of the city.” It was at this point Adrian realised that he’d been drinking. “But, you know, it’s getting late and I want to get home. Zoe will be waiting up for me.”
“I hear you, pal. I was going to ask if you wanted to come for a quick pint? My shift is just about finished now that you’ve pulled in. Time for lights out and lockup.”
“Maybe some other time, Jim. As I said, my kid—”
“Are you alright? You’re looking a bit pale…”
Adrian didn’t have time for chit chat and opted to end the conversation as quickly as he could. He needed to get out of here. With no body plastered to the train, it was quite possible that some poor soul was lying beside the tracks somewhere in need of help. “I’m fine, Jim. Look, I have to go.”
“No problem, pal. Go home and get some sleep. You look like you need it. And hey, don’t feel guilt over the deer, pal… happens all the time.” Mulligan laughed.
Adrian didn’t.
“Pints next time, yeah?”
“Sure,” Adrian replied, before stuffing the oily rags into his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and making his way to the carpark. He glanced back to see Mulligan watching him as he went, which didn’t help his sense of paranoia.
In the car, he slapped the steering wheel in frustration. “Fuck!” His hands were still shaking. He took a few moments to compose himself and tr
y and clear his thoughts. But the image of the woman’s eyes kept flashing before him. Even when he closed his eyes, he could see them. It hadn’t been long enough for him to register anything about the woman. He couldn’t tell if he knew her. He couldn’t even be sure what colour her hair was and didn’t want to admit to himself that she resembled his missing wife. But the one thing he was certain of was that her eyes looked totally at peace, despite her gaping mouth. Whoever she was…
Fuck.
What if she wasn’t dead? Did she try to leap out of the way at the last minute and was only partially caught by the speeding machine? Could she be lying on the side of the tracks gasping her last breaths? He supposed nothing would survive being hit at that speed and began formulating a plan. He recited it repeatedly to himself until he was convinced that this was the best course of action. After all, he had been drinking. If a body was found – dead or alive – this incident would be investigated and he could be in a world of trouble.
I have to find the body.
The roads were empty late at night, so he figured he’d stick to the back roads in the hope of avoiding a police checkpoint – to be breathalysed now would be a disaster. He thought ahead to when he’d arrive at the station. Grab yourself a coffee from the petrol station on the way. That should help cover up the booze. Everything had gone to plan so far, he’d got a double expresso and a bottle of water into him and even managed to stop his hands from shaking before he reached the station, thankfully without any brushes with the law. While parked outside, he took a moment to look at a picture of Zoe on his phone. I’m sorry for drinking on the job, sweetheart. I have to go find out if I hit someone or not. Your daddy is no good to you in prison.
He pocketed his phone, exited the car and made his way around back. In the boot, he rustled around and found his torch – one he’d bought in the event of changing a tyre at night. Never in a million years had he thought he’d be using it while searching for a body that he hit while driving a battering ram under the influence.
He trod carefully along the tracks, keeping a sharp eye open for whatever his torch exposed. It was quiet, almost eerie. The night sky was covered with dull clouds. Light pollution from the city could be seen in the distance, and the cold suddenly gripped him. With a shake of the head, he forced himself forward.
After about twenty minutes, he came to the spot where he guessed the incident had happened. But there was nothing to see other than train tracks, stones and grassy banks either side. The air was musty and foul, which started to give him a headache; well, it was either that or the booze wearing off and a hangover was creeping in. Even though he had run the train along the tracks for years, he struggled to get a sense of familiarity. And it was at this point his senses kicked in, a moment of absolute clarity, forcing an outburst. “What the fuck am I doing?”
He slumped to his knees and looked to some stars shining through a break in the cloud, hoping that he’d wake up at any moment, but he wasn’t asleep. He was alive and in deep trouble if he couldn’t find out whether he’d hit someone or not. A star shot across the sky, distracting him, and he realised he was completely alone. A depressing thought. Then the star vanished behind a dark piece of sky – not the night, but something, colourless, hovering between clouds. He stared at it for some time, trying to make sense of it, but whatever it was slowly faded from view, leaving him feeling exhausted and in desperate need of some rest.
I’m losing the plot. Hearing her on the radio, seeing her on the tracks and now some black egg in the sky?
He decided it was time to head home; to sleep and wash the day away. It was nearly 2 a.m. and he was surprised Zoe hadn’t called him, wondering where he was. Perhaps she’d dozed off early, which would probably be for the best.
He didn’t mind the long walk back to the car. Cold air helped clear his head and he figured if anyone came to question him over the woman or the blood on the train, he would claim he’d hit some local wildlife – that seemed like the best story to stick to. It wouldn’t be the first time a train took out an animal, according to Jim Mulligan. And after all, what choice did he have?
Adrian’s car was the only car in the carpark, and by the time he returned, a layer of frost covered the windows. He grabbed an ice-scraper from the boot and proceeded to cut away the chunks of ice. His hands were freezing and started to go numb. And that’s when his phone rang.
Shit.
Adrian struggled to remove the phone from his pocket, almost dropping it as he did so, his cold fingers lacking the strength to grip the device. The screen flashed; the device vibrating in his hand. It took him a few seconds to realise that it was Zoe calling. He glanced at the time again, and a sense of worry shot through his body. He stabbed at the screen to answer before the call bounced to voicemail and with a quivering voice, he croaked, “Hello?”
“Dad, where are you?”
Adrian hesitated to answer her question. He had been gearing himself up all night to answer questions from the law, not from his daughter at 2 a.m. and for some reason he couldn’t explain, he felt the need to lie to her. “I’m just leaving Jim Mulligan’s house, sweetheart.” He immediately regretted it as he anticipated her next question to be to ask why he was at a work colleague’s house so late. But that question never came. Instead, there was a long pause. “Sweetheart? Are you there?”
“Dad,” Zoe began, her voice laced with sorrow, “you need to come home.”
“What’s happened? Is everything okay, darling? You sound upset!”
“You need to come home now, please. I don’t know what to do.”
“I was heading home anyway, but is everything okay? You have me worried!”
Zoe paused again, and he could hear she was crying.
“No... It’s Mam.”
“What about your mother?”
Zoe broke down into tears and struggled to get the words out. And through the inaudible blubbers, Adrian just about made out Zoe’s plea for him to hurry.
“I’m on my way.”
For the entire journey home, a million thoughts raced through his mind. What has happened at home? What could possibly have Zoe so upset?
When Adrian pulled into the driveway, he leaped from the car and stormed into the house. In the living room he found Zoe on the couch – judging by the makeup all over her face, she had cried herself to sleep. He didn’t wake her, but went to fetch a drink before doing anything. He needed something to help with the nerves, there’d been too much action for one day.
He made his way into the kitchen and grabbed hold of the fridge door and that was when something caught his eye; the same thing that must have caught Zoe’s attention before she called him and plunged into tears. A piece of paper torn from an A4 pad with messy handwriting scrawled across it, addressed to him, dated seven years ago, signed by Molly.
His lips moved as he read, realising that his wife was really unhappy in their marriage and with her life. More so than him. In the first paragraph, she touched on the good times when they first got together. Carefree early days around the time when Zoe came into the world. Nevertheless, the letter quickly descended into the dark. She explained her struggles with depression and how she wanted nothing more than escape from her life. As hard as that was to accept, it still wasn’t the heavy load that was about to land at his door. In the last paragraph, Molly told him directly what she was going to do, as soon as she’d delivered this message. She would get up, leave the house and would probably never see any of them again. And that’s when he realised the letter was written in Zoe’s handwriting…
Adrian rushed to the living room, turned on the light and gently woke her.
“Dad?”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“What time is it?”
“Late.”
She stirred, slowly adjusting her eyes, “Are you only just home?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, presenting her with the letter. “What’s this all about?”
&
nbsp; Zoe examined it and gave him a stern look. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“No, you’ll think I’m crazy.”
“Sweetheart, I know today is a hard day, being her anniversary and all–”
“Yeah, and? It’s not like you give a shit.”
“Of course, I do. I loved your mother very much.”
Zoe turned over towards the back of the couch. “That’s not what she told me…”
Adrian rubbed his temples in frustration. “What?”
“I said you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Believe what? What happened?”
“She fucking spoke to me, Dad.”
Adrian stood up and took a step back. “What?”
“Yeah, tonight. I was in the kitchen listening to the radio and I heard her. She was talking to me. Through the static! I wrote some of it down…”
“Sweetheart, please, you’re just emotional—”
Zoe snapped round. “Don’t you dare talk down to me. It happened. I’m not crazy or emotional. She contacted me, told me those things and I have to go find her.”
Adrian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was all some crazy dream, surely? It was the emotion of the anniversary. “Sweetheart, we bury her tomorrow...”
“We’re burying an empty box, Dad!”
“Our family needs closure, darling. It’s been seven years. No trace, nothing. We have to accept that she is gone and it is time to move on.”
Zoe jumped up from the couch and stormed towards the door. “You believe whatever you want to believe, Dad. Whatever helps you sleep at night… I know she is out there somewhere and I’m going to find her.”
Adrian watched her leave the room and listened to the heavy footsteps make their way upstairs. His head spun, so he plonked down on the couch and drank his beer. His thoughts raced and flooded with questions. She killed herself seven years ago, I know she did. But what if she didn’t? Is she haunting me? Haunting us? What is going on here? Are we all losing our minds?
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