On the Sky Train, there was no “all aboard” shout, reminding passengers that they were on a schedule. No, the Sky Train was all about efficiency. Each boarder was expected to know where and when they were supposed to be on that train, and if you weren’t, oh well. It resembled the old-timey trains, with the black smog and deafening noise, in nothing but name. The Sky Train was sleek and silver, and glided along the transparent tracks with hardly any noise. The only way you could see it from the ground was its shadow as the sun reflected off its shiny roof.
Ophelia paused for a moment, then hauled her suitcase up onto the step. The suitcase was small, but so was she. There wasn’t much inside, but it wasn’t for lack of belongings. She could only pack so much without her Aunt Lydia becoming suspicious. She’d told her she was sleeping over at a friend’s house.
After a moment, Ophelia joined her suitcase on the step. Other passengers bustled past her on their way in or out, none of them sparing her a glance. That was the thing about the Sky Train. Everyone was always where they were supposed to be, so if a small child without her parents was taking up the doorway, then that’s where she was meant to be. No questions asked.
After a quick glance into the doors in the hallway, Ophelia took a left into what looked to be the luggage room. She didn’t bother checking for a ticket collector to catch her. On the Sky Train, there wasn’t any. If you bought a ticket, you should know where to be without any help required. And no one would dare to attempt stowing-away.
Well, no one until her.
The room was the perfect hiding spot. It was filled with all different kinds of luggage, from giant trunks fit to house a human to little handbags that could probably barely hold a pair of gloves. Ophelia squeezed her way into the room, making her way to a darker corner in the back of the room. She tucked herself behind two stacked suitcases, and waited.
It wasn’t long before she heard the train doors close with a soft hiss. There was a muffled scuffle of passengers hurrying to find their seats before the train started moving. But Ophelia didn’t move until she felt the slight lurch as the train left the station.
Using the suitcases around her as a crutch, Ophelia stood up, swaying a little. She could feel a slight vibration underneath her feet, but other than that it felt like they weren’t moving at all. To make sure, Ophelia hurried to the window. As she peered out the clear, smudgeless glass, she felt her stomach drop to her feet. Somehow, in the few moments since the train had started, they had left the ground and were high in the sky. The curtain of clouds was so thick Ophelia couldn’t see the ground below them. Ignoring the bundle of fear in her stomach, Ophelia got right to work. She knelt down and unzipped her suitcase, taking out a variety of items: a yellow bandana worn thin from use, a folded photograph of a young couple with bright smiles and tired eyes, and a small notebook opened to the first page, which was covered in messy bullet points.
Ophelia closed her suitcase and placed the items on top of it, carefully smoothing the photograph as she put it down. It was the only photograph she had of her parents; her aunt refused to keep any photos of them in the house because it would “trigger Ophelia”. This photo survived shoved underneath her pillow, and she cherished it more than anything.
The bandana was half of a matching set owned by Ophelia and her mother. She had taken it with her to wear on the train ride, telling Ophelia it would help her father find her in the crowd. This bandana was Ophelia’s, and was perfect as an identifying characteristic.
The notebook had no sentimental value. Ophelia found it forgotten in the back of her aunt’s desk drawer, and claimed it for her own use. There wasn’t much written on the pages, and the handwriting was large and shaky from underuse. Ophelia had stuck a pen in it to write more if necessary. But hopefully, if this trip went well, she wouldn’t need this notebook anymore.
For Ophelia, this train ride wasn’t a vacation. She was on a mission to find her parents.
Back home, after they had gone missing while on their anniversary vacation, everyone had assumed them dead. Not Ophelia. Aunt Lydia thought this was her way of avoiding feeling grief. Ophelia knew that if she had gone missing, her parents would never rest until they found out exactly what happened to her. The least she could do was return that.
The first step in her plan, successfully sneaking onto the Sky Train, was complete. Ophelia was a little unsure of what to do next. She had no idea where to start looking for them now. All she knew was that this was the train they had left on, and according to the hotel they had booked, had never made it any farther.
Ophelia didn’t expect to find her parents just relaxing somewhere on the Sky Train six months later, but maybe she would find someone who would remember them.
Leaving her tiny suitcase tucked behind a large steamer trunk, Ophelia tucked her meager supplies into her dress pocket for safekeeping. Peeking out the doorway, she swung her head left and right, searching for a door with a particular symbol. While there was no ticket collector on the Sky Train, there were still workers onboard once the train was on the move to assist if necessary. You just needed to know where to look.
Ophelia didn’t know where to look. It took her fifteen minutes and three laps of the car to find the tiny door with the symbol. The hallway was empty around her, but Ophelia still gave a quick look over her shoulder before entering the room. She’d never heard anything about what happens to stowaways on the Sky Train.
The train worker’s room was just as sleek as the rest of the train, if a little smaller. The walls were the same silver as the luggage room, and most of the space was taken up by a desk so shiny Ophelia could see the tiles of the ceiling in its reflection. Seated at the desk was a man in a silver uniform and hat. Ophelia couldn’t tell his age, but the man had a mustache so he must have been older. He looked surprised to see her standing there, and fixed his posture before saying in poorly disguised confusion,
“Is there something I can do for you, miss?” He straightened his hat awkwardly. Clearly he didn’t get many visitors.
Ophelia paused, then asked “How long have you worked on this train?”
“Two years last month,” the man said proudly. “Why’s that?”
“I was wondering if you’d seen some people,” Ophelia continued, reaching into her pocket for the photo. Taking a few more shuffling steps into the room, she held it out to the man. He took it from her, thankfully holding it with the care it deserved. He gave it an initial, almost uncaring, glance. It didn’t seem like he recognized them until he looked a second time, when he paled considerably.
“So have you seen them?” Ophelia asked, letting the hope she felt bleed into her voice. Maybe he would be more inclined to help.
The man looked stricken. The confused but calm appearance he’d had was gone. His eyes flicked between her and photo, her and photo…
“Where do you know them from?” the man asked finally.
“They’re my parents. They went missing on this train six months ago,” Ophelia told him, and he blanched.
She watched as the man seemed to have a debate with himself. His face was scrunched, and he would open his mouth, hesitated a moment, then closed it again. This cycle continued for long enough that Ophelia was about to say something, when,
“If you really want answers, go down this hallway to the left, then take the last door on the right at the end of it.”
“Down the hallway to the left, last door to the right,” she repeated obediently, bouncing on the balls of her feet. He handed back the photo, looking like he regretted saying anything. “Thank you, sir!”
His response was in the form of a grimace, but Ophelia barely noticed. She was ecstatic. She didn’t know what was behind that door, but it was one step closer to her parents. The man handed her the photo back and shooed her out the door, giving a whispered “good luck” as she hurried out into the hallway.
Following his directions wasn’t hard. The hallway was mostly cleared of people, only a few stragglers remaining. It gave the train an abandoned feeling, even though she knew this car was filled with people. Those in the hallway gave her a wide berth as she ran down it. It was unheard of for someone to be running on the Sky Train. You would get to your destination when you got there, there was no need to be hurrying and disrupting the peace of it all. Ophelia didn’t care. She was already on the train, so what could they do now?
The door the man had told her to go to was shut tight. She worried for a moment she wouldn’t be able to get in, but it swung open as she turned the doorknob. With one last look behind her (she definitely wasn’t supposed to go in here), Ophelia stepped inside and shut the door behind her. She didn’t want anyone else getting in and catching her in the act.
This room was very different from the rest of the train. Where other places had empty gray walls, this room’s walls were a mottled brown, covered in little slips of white paper. It was dark, and the only light coming from a massive open oven in the center of the room. Heat emanated from it in waves, and the orange sparks that flecked off the fire cast the room in an eerie glow.
Ophelia moved closer to the white slips on the wall. Looking at them now, she could see they were train tickets. More specifically, Sky Train tickets. The dates varied largely, but Ophelia only focused on the group of more recent tickets. After a minute of searching, she found her parents’ tickets. She knew it was their tickets from the rip in the corner of her mother’s ticket that she always made so she could identify it without looking. But why were they here?
Ophelia turned her attention next to the oven. It hurt to look at, she had to squint her eyes just to turn her face in its direction. It looked like those pictures she would see in school of an old-timey train, with their ancient coal ovens someone had to continuously shovel coal into in order to keep it running. An odd smell emanated from it, something sort of singed, like someone had stood too close to it and their shirt had caught. There was a big number three on it, indicating that this wasn’t the only one on the train. But what was it for?
She moved closer, hesitant. She was scared to move too close to the open fire, and startled as the wooden floor creaked under her feet.
The heat was worse the closer she moved. It was overpowering, drawing her in while simultaneously making her wish she was moving away. She heard another creak behind her but ignored it. She was focused on a tiny bit of writing right under the door that was too tiny for her to read.
If only she was just a little bit closer…
And suddenly she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, and she was falling forward, falling right into the heart of the flames.