Chapter 5 - The First Husband
The signal-house door shook beneath a heavy knock.
“Open it,” the man outside called. “We only want to talk.”
The colorful woman did not respond.
Instead, she crossed the room and slid a metal bolt into place.
I stared at her.
“What did he mean?”
“This is not the time.”
“You told me you had been married once.”
“I was.”
“And what happened to him?”
Another knock struck the door.
Harder this time.
The old telephone remained silent, but I could still hear my husband’s last words inside my head.
Ask her what happened to your first husband.
The woman looked toward the boarded window.
“He died on this railway.”
I felt a chill move through me.
“How?”
She hesitated.
“That depends on whose story you believe.”
The man outside began forcing something into the lock.
Metal scraped against metal.
She pulled open a cabinet and removed a dusty railway lantern, a rolled map, and a small revolver wrapped in cloth.
I stepped back.
“Why do you have that?”
“Because warnings are useless if no one survives long enough to give them.”
She handed me the lantern.
“Hold this.”
I did, though my hands were shaking.
Then she unrolled the map across the table.
Several stations had been circled in red.
Some were still active.
Others had been abandoned.
Each circle was marked with a date and a woman’s name.
My stomach twisted.
“These are all disappearances?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“More than the newspapers ever reported.”
She pointed to the station where we were hiding.
“This was the first.”
The lock cracked.
We had little time.
“My husband worked for the railway,” she said. “He discovered that certain night trains made unofficial stops. Passengers were removed, identities were changed, and records were altered.”
“Removed by whom?”
She looked toward the door.
“Men like the one outside.”
I glanced at the dates.
Some stretched back more than thirty years.
“This is impossible. My husband isn’t old enough.”
“He isn’t the beginning,” she replied. “He inherited the work.”
A final blow struck the door.
The upper hinge bent inward.
The woman rolled up the map and pushed it into my bag.
“If we are separated, take it to your daughter.”
“My daughter?”
Her expression sharpened.
“She is the reason your husband married you.”
Before I could react, the door burst open.
The man in the dark coat stepped inside.
He held no weapon.
Only a photograph.
He raised it where I could see.
My daughter stood outside her apartment, unaware she was being watched.
The date printed in the corner was from that morning.
May you like
“Come quietly,” he said, “or she becomes the next passenger.”
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