Chapter 11 - The Father Who Lied
I ran toward the staircase.
The guards blocked my path.
“Move!”
The white-haired woman raised one hand.
They stepped aside.
She followed me as I climbed from the tunnel into the ruined signal house.
Outside, the black train was already sliding past the platform.
Its doors had closed.
The covered windows reflected the station lights like blind eyes.
I ran alongside it.
“Dad!”
No answer.
The train gained speed.
For one desperate second, I saw a door near the final carriage open slightly.
A hand reached out.
My daughter’s hand.
I recognized the small scar across her wrist from a childhood accident.
I grabbed for her.
Our fingers almost touched.
Then someone pulled her back inside.
The door slammed shut.
The train disappeared beyond the trees.
I stood beside the tracks, unable to move.
My father had been on it.
My father, who had hugged me goodbye that afternoon.
My father, who had praised my husband.
My father, who had insisted we take the night train because it was “more comfortable.”
The colorful woman came up behind me.
“He arranged the stop.”
I turned.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“You said this station was chosen for a reason.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me the reason.”
She looked toward the tunnel entrance.
“Your father was the stationmaster here before it officially closed.”
I stared at her.
“He worked in a factory.”
“That is what your family was told.”
The white-haired woman emerged from the building.
“He managed transfers,” she said. “Passengers, identities, documents.”
“No.”
“He was one of the best.”
I stepped toward her.
“Why would he take my daughter?”
“To protect her,” Daniel’s voice said behind us.
The colorful woman had opened a small speaking vent in the steel door below, allowing his voice to carry through the old signal system.
“Protect her from whom?” I shouted.
“From all of us.”
The white-haired woman looked toward the tracks.
“The final station is not on any map. Only three people know the route.”
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“My husband?”
“Yes.”
“And the third?”
No one answered.
Then the ancient telephone inside the signal house began ringing again.
I entered slowly.
The receiver shook against its cradle.
I picked it up.
My father’s voice came through.
“Anna, listen carefully. You have less than six hours.”
“Where are you taking her?”
“I’m taking her where they cannot follow.”
“Who are they?”
His answer was almost a whisper.
“Everyone standing beside you.”
I looked through the broken doorway.
The colorful woman.
The white-haired woman.
The guards.
The tunnel where Daniel remained trapped.
“How do I find you?”
“You don’t.”
“Dad—”
“You find the second key.”
The line crackled.
“Where is it?”
He hesitated.
Then said something that made the room go cold.
“You already carried it once.”
I looked down at my hands.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
The connection weakened.
Before the call ended, another voice appeared in the background.
My current husband.
“He knows too much,” he said.
A struggle followed.
My father shouted.
The phone dropped.
Then my daughter screamed.
The line went dead.
The white-haired woman entered the room.
“What did he say?”
I turned slowly.
That was when I noticed a faint scar across my left palm.
A scar I had carried since childhood.
One my mother said came from broken glass.
But beneath it, something hard pressed against the skin.
May you like
Something small.
Something shaped exactly like a key.
