Russet: Back in my compartment, my phone goes off—It’s Emma. “Are you there?” she asks. She sounds shaky, frantic. It scares me.
Russet: I fumble the lock, pull the curtains. She’s breathing in rhythm with the train. “Are you ok?” I ask, then close my eyes, hoping.
Russet: “You’re the only person I know who doesn’t have an outgoing message,” she says, “I never know if I should leave a voicemail or—”
Russet: “Are you ok?" I interrupt, "you sound upset." “I just had a strange dream,” she says. “How are you? Is your father still there?”
Russet: “I’m fine,” I lie. I tell her about the egrets, the wetlands, that we’re coming into Klamath Falls. I can’t say what I want to say.
Russet:“What’s up there?” I ask, hoping she'll talk a while. She does--about a friend’s rip-tide adventure, her new long board, a concert.
Russet: I love her voice: It’s like listening to music, the ocean, wind in the trees. My shoulders ease, my teeth separate. I can breathe.
Russet: “What was the dream about?” I ask. “You were in it,” she tells me. “There was snow falling, all around us. It was really weird.”
Russet: I laugh. “Snow? Really? Are you sure it was your own dream?” I mean it as a joke. Emma’s a beach girl. She’s never even seen snow.
Russet: Then she goes quiet and I feel like an ass. “I’m sorry,” I say. “My dreams are always crazy. Was it scary?” I can hear her exhale.
Russet: “Yeah. It was. You were bleeding, from a million tiny cuts.” Her voice is tight. “Dreams aren’t real,” I say, to remind myself.
Russet: “It felt so real,” she says quietly. “The snow was sticking to us, but it wasn’t cold. It was soft and warm. Like...like—”
Russet: “Feathers?” I ask, without meaning to. She goes silent again. Then she says,“Yeah. I think it was feathers. How weird is that?”
Russet: Sh*t. What can this possibly mean? I find my voice. “If you’re going to dream about us, why not a warm night on the beach?”
Russet: She laughs, sweet, sexy. “Where are you?” “Klamath Falls,” I say, and then hear her keys click. “Oh!” she says. “It’s beautiful.”
Russet:“My dad and I used to go up to Crater Lake from here,” I say. “Are you two getting along ok?” she asks. I have no answer for that.
Russet: It’s familiar. Almost every conversation I've ever had ends like this—with me deciding between lies. “Yeah,” I say, “so far.”
Russet: I stare out at the lake. My father studies all night, every night. He digests whole libraries. Hypnosis always interested him.
Russet: I want Emma's dream to be pure coincidence. But maybe it isn’t. He used to hypnotize me and suggest dreams. Just practicing.
Russet: He could have called, charmed her, asked her to close her eyes for a minute to imagine something. It works. He used to do it to me.
Russet:Was her dream a warning? Jabbing the keys, I try the phone number that didn’t work last time. There’s an outgoing message now.
Russet: “Dreams are never meaningless,” my father whisperes. I click off. Would he hurt Emma? I dial 911, then hang up. I have to think.
Russet: I stare at flocks of white cranes out the window. Emma won’t remember that he called. She’ll think I’m nuts if I warn her.
Russet: So what can I do? I’m paralyzed. Why would my father make a point of proving he could hurt her now? Just to keep me scared?
Russet: Has he watched me all along? Does he know I’ve never had a girlfriend, or any kind of friend? Does he know about Dillon, too?
Russet: Heavy with rage, I walk engine-to-caboose 3 times in 3 disguises. My father is not on the train. I’m glad. I might've killed him.
Russet: Locked back in. It takes a lot of window staring, white cranes, and wetland marshes rolling past for the rage to diminish.
Russet: I want Justin to be my uncle or my cousin. I want my mother to care about me, to try to find me. I'd give anything for a family.
Russet: But real cops don’t slap-dose train attendants. Real mothers don’t abandon their kids to group homes. I'll never have a family.
Russet: The only reason for my father to scare Emma is to control me. But I’m on the train, carrying the letter, being careful—as ordered.
Russet: I’ve talked to Justin twice, though. My father would hate that. Does he know? He must. Emma’s dream was my warning.
Russet: The train slows, curving through pines, starting up Calimus Hill. I know my father, what he can do, will do. But Justin?
Russet: He seems real. If I hadn’t seen him drug the attendant, I wouldn’t question anything about him. He has two phone numbers. So what?
Russet: So he did his homework on my father, protected his ID. That's cop-like. My father switched phones, too. I change clothes and faces.
Russet: It takes an hour to find a woman dozing, purse unzipped on the seat. I borrow her phone, call the number on Justin’s card. He picks up.
Russet: I use Blake’s voice. “Found the kid, he's right here.” “Dude!” Justin exhales. “Will he talk to me?” I almost laugh. “Let me ask him.”
Russet: I lower the phone. “He wants to talk,” I say in Blake’s voice, then count four heartbeats before I answer in my own. “Yeah. Ok.”
Russet: For some reason I switch the phone from my right ear to my left. Then I just breathe because I don’t know what to say.
Russet: “Are you there?” Justin asks. My breath hitches. “Yes.” He tells me his name, then says he knows why I am scared.
Russet:“Bullshit.” I spit the word, to make him talk. “Listen,” Justin says. “Your dad is dangerous. Do you understand what’s going on?”
Russet: And suddenly I feel five. He sounds so kind. So honest. And my whole life, all I have ever wanted was to know what was going on.
Russet: “Still there?” he asks gently. “Yeah.” I touch the letter under my shirt. “What do you know about my dad?” It comes out a whisper.
Russet: “I’m your uncle,” he says. “My folks adopted your dad when he was nine, then your mom, at seven. Four years later, they had me.”
Russet: “They aren’t related,” he says before I ask. “Your mom ran away at fourteen. When your dad finally found her, they got married.”
Russet: “She left when I was little,” I begin. Then the brakes whine. The whine becomes a squeal. I hear the conductor shouting .
Russet: I crush the phone against my ear. “Sit backward!” Justin yells. I switch seats. The train is vibrating; I brace for a crash.
Russet: I need someone to explain the craziness, the mysteries that poison my life. Justin has to survive this. So do I. I try to think.
Russet: The window could shatter. I lurch, grab the flimsy blanket, cover my head, then ball up, hands behind neck. The train is screaming.
Russet: The sound is painful, steel on steel, everything is shuddering, the train barely clinging to the rails on a long, level curve.
Russet: The sound of the damn brakes keeps rising. It’s maddening, deafening. My body is rigid, ready, but the crash doesn’t come.
Russet: I lift the blanket. The window's a rushing blur of green and brown. The train is speeding up. With the brakes on—on level ground.
Russet: Holy shit. How fast are we going? A hundred miles an hour? More? No seat belts, no airbags. No one is going to survive. No one.
Russet: Another long curve and I close my eyes, just waiting to die. The car leans, moaning, but somehow the train stays on the tracks.
Russet: And somehow I hear my phone. I pat my pockets, scan the floor, realize I’m sitting on it. I check. It’s one of my dad’s numbers.
Russet: The train jolts and I slide sideways, end up half-kneeling, my shoulder jammed against the curtain that covers the glass door.
Russet: I fight my way back into the seat, press the phone to my ear. “Get on the floor!” my father is shouting. “Lay flat. Play dead.”
Russet: “Are you on the train?” I yell. No answer. Does my father know I was talking to Justin? Maybe. The brake squeal drills at my ears.
Russet: Stiff with fear, thoughts rattling, I start to slide to the floor, then stop. My father said to play dead? PLAY?
Russet: He suggested/induced so many nightmares when I was little…I learned how to tell. I think this is real. So I try to chase the logic.
Russet: If he thinks he's saving the world, he’ll crash a train to kill Justin and me. Or maybe it’s only Justin he wants. Not me. Not yet.
Russet: Maybe he still needs me to carry the letter. That’s why he wants me on the floor, braced between the seats and the sleeper door.
Russet: I struggle upright to call. “I’m standing up, forehead’s on the glass,” I say clearly, then hold my breath. The train begins to slow.
Russet: The train’s barely rolling when the stolen phone rings. “Is the kid ok?” Justin asks. “Yeh,” I say in Blake’s voice. “What was that?”
Russet: “Who knows? The Amtrak guys are sheet white,” Justin answers. He talks to Blake, but doesn’t ask to talk to me; he just hangs up.
Russet: Does Justin think the train almost wrecked because he and I were talking? It sounds nutty, like something my father would tell me.
Russet: I switch to my phone and call my dad. Before he can speak, I say “F*ck with Emma once more, in any way, and I will kill you.”
Russet: “I had nothing to do with that,” he says. I make a sound like a snarl.“The same way you never had anything to do with hitting me?”
Russet: He doesn’t answer for a few seconds. When he does, he is whispering. “Yes. I know you can’t believe it. I don’t blame you.”
Russet: That stuns me. Not the words, the whisper. It’s one, long, sad sigh. I stare out the train window at the trees, numb, tired.
Russet: He acted like a different person when he hit me. He never seemed to remember later, either, unless I cried or he noticed my bruises.
Russet: What if it’s real? Every crazy thing he taught me. What if the world is at stake? I close my eyes, let the train rock me.
Russet: Amtrak’s speaker clicks: Lay over in Chemult until the problem is corrected. They will provide buses, etc. for those who want out.
Russet: “Are you there?” my father asks. I swallow, breathe, then answer. “Yeah. Dad? Why do I have to carry the letter? Will they kill me?”
Russet: I don’t expect an answer, but I get one, in the same strained whisper. “Maybe. But you have the best chance. Probably the only one.”
Russet: I hold the phone tighter. “Dad? Best chance of what? Tell me.” “I can’t,” he whispers, choked, hoarse. “Trust me. Just once more.”
Russet: “How can I?” I ask him. “You lied. You gave me all those nightmares, hit me, left me an orphan. You know how alone I felt.”
Russet: He hangs up. I am breathing hard, feeling stupid, scared. Orphan. Now he knows I talked to Justin. And he knows what Justin told me.
Russet: The train slows, rolling onto a sidetrack. The speaker clicks on: Freight coming. Once it passes, it’s just ten minutes to Chemult.
Russet: My memories are pulling at me. I slide along the edge, trying to find the logic, to forget how and why, and focus on what’s next.
Russet: My father meant to wreck the train? Kill hundreds of people? Or something/someone else meant to and he just knew how to stop it?
Russet: When told him I was standing up, by the window, he slowed the train. Oh, I know how crazy that sounds. I do. But it is all I have.
Russet: The attendant knocks. He’s holding a tray. My lunch. He looks shell-shocked and apologizes for the delay. We both try to laugh.
Russet: I eat, then the stolen phone rings. Justin? I pick up. No. It’s a woman trying to reach her mother. “Who are you?” she shouts.
Russet: “Conductor Smit,” I say, deep-voiced. "Calm down, no one was hurt.” “Let me talk to my mother!” she screams.
I hang up and think.Russet: Then I redial. Using conductor-voice, I say the phone was found in the café. I get her mother’s name and promise to page her.
Russet: I erase the call-record, wipe the phone with a solvent make-up remover and go flush it down a toilet. Then I call Justin.
Russet: I tell him Blake has no reception, but he can call me directly if he wants. He says “Ok.” and hangs up. I stare out at the pines.
Russet: There's a tall man in the trees. I see an odd flash of white as he turns. It could be a coat draped over his shoulder. Or a wing.
Over 1,000 people are reading this little experiment. Russet is telling his own story on a twitter account. He talks. I type. I don't know what happens next. He's 18, just trying to figure out his complicated life. You can follow him on twitter: http://twitter.com/kathleenduey
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